Brandon stood on a rubber mat in the rain. He gripped the lighting rig tight to keep it upright against the wind. Thunder threatened in the distance. Lightning lent luster to the edges of layer upon layer of dark gray cloudcover. His heart beat with wild excitement. He took advantage of a lull in the wind and leaned the rig against his body. He held it firm with one hand and sluiced water from his eyes.

"Sterling" stood a few feet away, his coat fluttering and flapping. Benjamin Piers in full gear for his role toyed with his staff. His antics garnered laughs from the crew.

Brandon smiled and tasted the warm rain as it ran between his lips.

"Okay out there, Bran?" The photographer, a big guy named Tamerin, shouted to him over the rumble of thunder.

"I'm fine!" A split-second later, the rain stopped as abruptly as it started.

A bold stride carried Benjamin out onto the stone archway. He cycled through his poses aware of what the photographer wanted and they shot still after still.

Gray days, Brandon learned, proved best for such stills, it allowed control over the shadows, to make the shots exactly what they needed. Brandon shifted the rig at the photographer's command with each new pose. They needed publicity shots as well as a few motion pick ups. Tamerin changed cameras at regular intervals.

After lunch, the rain stirred up again. Wind and warm water lashed him mercilessly and he kept smiling. The gaffer got sick, but he was the only one to eat the tuna salad. He went to the boat to lie down and Brandon overheard someone say they weren't cleaning *that* up.

"I want some shots up top," the post-production director announced. "Brandon, you're a natural climber. Grab that rig and come with me. You'll be my gaffer while Eugene's down. Tamerin--"

"Can't do that without a deal memo!" The second director's secretary said and flipped through some papers. "Sign here, sir," he said to the 2D and then to Brandon when the 2D was done, "you sign here."

"Holy Cow. Tamerin, bring the ND. And call up a still of the out point. Let's go! I want to get these in the bin before the rain starts again and I don't want to come back up here."

No one moved. As one, the crew looked up.

Someone asked, "Is it safe?"

Brandon looked from face to face, uncertain as to the speaker. "Sure it is. Right Ben?"

The actor paused. He'd climbed all over the tower just days before. After a moment, he nodded. "Be careful. There is some loose masonry."

"See?" Brandon hoisted the rig. "No worries."

True to the second director's assessment, Brandon went up the tower steps with a simian's grace. Right behind the boss, he got to the top without a mis-step. Tamerin came up behind and the three of them set up the equipment. For a while, the clouds parted, the sun came through and the second director grumbled.

"This light is gonna ruin the shot."

"You don't want the rain, you don't want the sun..." Tamerin quipped. "I thought I was fussy!"

"Sir," Brandon offered for the first time, "if you don't want to come back up, why not use digital mattes and overlay Sterling? Or just take that shot at 4:29. The one right before the segue to the out point? It's fabulous."

"Everyone's an expert, kid. Don't be everyone," the second director said, but his brows tugged together right before he turned away.

"Yessir." Brandon murmured and adjusted the rig.

"Tamerin, call up 4:29. If the kid's right, we may not have to fight the wind and the rain anymore today."

Tamerin winked at Brandon and hefted the digi while the 2D barked orders to the crew below. He wanted harnesses yesterday and declared he was rethinking the entire shoot. Nobody jumped.

"Why can't they hear me down there? They aren't moving." The second director turned to Tamerin, brows raised.

Tamerin shrugged.

"Oh," Brandon said, crouched as he set the feet for the rig, "Sir. Uh, Eugene told me they had to go MOS last week because of the dead spots. We can use the digi to run Foley for the pick ups but I hink your bluetooth might not work up here. The Lavaliers didn't work so well last week either."

"Why the **** didn't someone **** tell me that?" He stomped off down the stone stairs, slipped a little and then greatly reduced his stomp as he went down.

"Ut oh. You got this kid? I better--"

"TAMERIN! GET DOWN HERE!"

"Coming!" And Tamerin scrambled over the side while the 2D shouted his displeasure over the sound of the growing wind.

Cables whipped about and Brandon tugged the roll of gaffer's tape out of his pocket to secure the wiring so that no one would trip. He set out the rubber mats over top of the wires and secured the rig and the cameras. Then, he waited. He stood near the edge of the tower and looked down. The crew moved now! He grinned, watched them run about and waved when someone looked up at him.

He tugged out his phone and sent Joy a text, peppered with little hearts.

Then everyone looked up at once and he felt the ham in him rise so he put the phone away. He felt it buzz in his pocket but struck a bodybuilder pose. Some people smiled but others shook their heads and waved their hands.

Benjamin frowned, just like Sterling. He waved, pointed and shouted, and then, urgently beckoned.

Brandon shrugged and spread his hands again. "Can't hear ya, Ben."

Benjamin pointed again, his arm action vigorous and aimed at something beyond Brandon. He started toward the tower but Tamerin and the 2D grabbed him.

Wind picked up. Gooseflesh prickled across his skin and Brandon turned to look. Above him, a vortex of angry clouds swirled. "They came up fast," he said. No glimpse of the clear sky remained. The rig snapped free from the gaffer's tape and skidded across the stone.

"Oh dear God," he lunged for it. Lightning flashed and a clap of thunder sounded at the same moment, so loud it knocked him off his feet. Dazed, he tried to get up, but a weight settled on his back. The wind moaned, low mournful and then rose in pitch and intensity until it roared so loud he pressed his hands to his ears.

Despite the wind, a voice whispered in his ear, "Fear not. I am Tomas. I have thee."

Lightning crackled across stone and skin. The strong wind lifted the loose rig into the air. Brandon, too, felt himself lifted up, though he scraped skin from his fingertips trying to maintain his hold on the stone.

The wind shifted. The rig slammed hard into him. He gasped for air as glass from the broken Redhead pelted him along with the sudden downpour. Searing pain split his skull into darkness.

"My lord?"

The snap of the elf?s head was practically audible. ?Oh, Wyll. It?s you.?

Wyllam winced. The pallor of those beautiful features emphasized inhumanity but the redness of those lovely brown eyes spoke for the soul within. How long he cried each day, none of them knew, but each day he wept. Each day he called out to his son who didn?t answer.

Wyllam padded across the carpet as silent as the shut of the door the elf hadn?t heard. He rested his hand lightly on the granite shoulder of his lord, his employer, his very dear friend and said, ?My lord, even you cannot keep this up."

The elf scrubbed his face with both hands. "I know. I think we must take him to the hospital and let mages more worthy than I pluck his spirit back to us.?

?I think that?s wise. You need rest and you cannot rest if you are in this chair every moment of every day. You owe your king more than that and you owe yourself a chance to feel joy.?

Lirenel snorted. ?Have you heard from Treazen?"

"Not a word, my lord. Though messages have been sent. Heidi says Stephen texts her daily."

"Dear God. Please, ask him to stop. I know he's worried. He's been a good father to her. Better than I. Oh, Wyll," he stretched as he stood and scrubbed his face again with his right hand. "I said horrible things to her, Wyll. Jack Danser-like things."

"Not you, sir," the man insisted, plucking gently at Lirenel's fine wrought sleeve before he withdrew his touch.

"I did. I swear to you, I did. She may never come home." He looked Wyllam over. "And I've hurt you, now, as well, mentioning him."

"No--"

Lirenel surged close, gripped Wyllam's shoulders in the vice of steel-cold fingers, a half-snarl on his lips. "Do not lie to me Wyllam! We all miss him but no one speaks of him!"

"We have only thought to spare you."

"Don't," he growled, closer than personal space allowed. He blew out air and sniffed at Wyllam, nostrils flared. "Don't spare me," he whispered. "Speak of him. Remember him. He deserves it."

"As you will, my lord," Wyllam said and brought his hands up to grip Lirenel's forearms. His heart raced at the sniffing, the proximity. By the look on Lirenel?s face he could feel Wyllam?s heart as strongly as he. "I am here for whatever you need. You know that." Ice cold fingers brushed his cheek. Wyllam shivered despite the heat of his ruddy skin.

?I know it.?

"Anything, Lirenel," Wyllam whispered. He said it though the body of the man?s son lay on the bed behind them. He offered that ?anything? though his heart tripped and fear gripped his spine. His breath fluttered.

Lirenel missed no signs. ?Were you there for him,? he whispered, close to Wyllam?s ear, ?in the long nights when I was not??

Heat blossomed on Wyllam?s cheeks at the caress of breath. He hid his eyes with lowered lids and his lips parted. "No, my lord, Lirenel."

Lirenel leaned back, just a bit, "You desired him, but he would not."

"No! No, my lord," Wyllam swore, pledged it with his whole heart even as the power of that hypnotic gaze held him, compelled him. He could only speak the truth. He watched confusion narrow his master?s gaze and then watched his eyebrows rise and his mouth part in a silent, ?oh.?

"Not him," Wyllam said and squared his shoulders.

"Not him," Lirenel echoed and withdrew again to the chair beside the bed.

"He always knew," Wyllam said, restraining the pain of the withdraw to the space of his heart rather than letting it tint his words. "He encouraged me, even. Don?t you remember? The snowball fight? Jack thought perhaps if you believed you had more than just 'old Jack' to stay for, you'd--" he stopped, certain of his knowledge, but unsure of the moment.

"You never told me."

He thought he heard sorrow in that but then, there was much for Lirenel to be sorrowful over. How could he matter much in the scheme of things? "What was I to say? You were not my husband and that matters, Lirenel. Besides, you needed one another and he needed you far more than I did."

"Have you been lonely, Wyllam? Have I failed again?"

The younger man --who, he, himself knew, looked much older already, far too old, in fact-- shook his head. "I have been content, my lord."

"Yet I have failed. Jack thought he was not enough."

Gentle, the head groom moved to the bedside to turn Brandon on his side and support him with pillows. They moved him every four hours, even through the night. "When the Summerlands and their Scarecrow King could steal you away so easily? When you took up service there on a whim that kept you from us all? Honestly, Lirenel, what ought he to have thought?"

Lirenel took Brandon's fingers into his to curl them and stroke his son's skin. "That I loved him and would be back."

"Please. Think of it from his perspective. Time moves differently for you and your Crow and to a dream, time is already far too fleeting."

"Yes."

He hesitated to echo things he knew, from conversations with Steven and Heidi, that Brandon had said, but then, he plunged ahead. Lirenel needed to know what he thought, timing be damned. "You must recognize your part in his ... waning."

The elf held his son's hand tightly. "So you agree with Brandon. I withdrew my love and Jack suffered for it."

"We all did. We missed you, my lord. We miss you still. Now there is young master Benjamin." Lirenel looked up sharply and Wyllam looked steadily back. "You cannot deny that you are with him whenever time allows."

"You are but a lad, yet, Wyll."

"Well on my way to gray. Soon, Brandon too will be old, perhaps even your young thunder-bird. But you will go on."

"You cannot know what that is like. Don't be cruel, Wyllam. It doesn't suit you."

"Have you not been cruel? Time passes still," and he gestured to his charge on the bed.

Lirenel released his son's hand. "I've been in and out of the dreamscape six ways from Sunday, Wyllam. I found him there, but he is behind a wall so think even I cannot break it. I've gone through Faerie via the Summerlands with new doorways open to me." He stood and spread his hands. "What has hold of him is beyond even me. But I haven't stopped trying. I'm not leaving him there to age and die!"

Wyllam's voice remained soft as he spoke, yet the iron in it was undeniable. He rebuked his lord with kind words. "You're stronger than all of us, yet you behave as a child. You try and then you flee to seek succor in the physical--"

"You are jealous--"

"No. I am far beyond jealous. I am angry. I love you, my lord. I do. I always will. I always have since you gave me back my dignity and let me care for your horses, animals worth so much that other owners wouldn't have let a boy like me near them. You saw me and never once did you devalue me or take advantage. And this is why I will speak the truth to you. Because someone must! You haven't tried nearly hard enough. You are the most powerful creature of your kind that I have ever known, stronger than the so-called prince of this city. Certainly stronger than the one in Kentucky and you proved that."

"I could kill him if I am not careful!"

"You are careful. You take tremendous care," Wyllam said and circled the bed to take hold of the elf's arm. "But you are far too careful!"

Despite the raising of voices, Brandon continued to breathe in and out, deep and regular, in repose. His features remained relaxed, but for the occasional twitch of a brow as if he were in deep thought.

"I would destroy any obstacle to get to him, but I won't hurt him in the process."

Wyllam nodded and squeezed the golden marble flesh revealed by the rolled up sleeve of his master's arm. "You tore out five spindles of the grand staircase in the Kentucky manor to get him free when he stuck his head between them. It wouldn't have hurt him much to wiggle his stubborn skull back through, but you wouldn't take that chance. It cost you eight hundred dollars, ten years ago, in specialized labor to replace those spindles."

?So?? Lirenel tugged his arm away.

?You will pay the price, whatever it is. Don?t shy away for fear.? The man lowered his hands and inclined his head even as his master resisted him. ?If I have stepped outside my place, I?m sorry. But steps must be taken.?

?Call the hospital. We?ll take him there today.?

?As you will, my lord.? Wyllam turned to leave the room and then make the call.

?Wyll??

That soft voice stopped him. He turned back. ?My lord??

?I love you, too. I hope you know that.?

Color rose again in his cheeks and his eyes wrinkled at the corners. ?I know.?

He's Awake...

Just a short text and Benjamin's lazy sprawl over Star's barrel was done. He scrambled off of the horse and thumped to his ass as he texted a response. Halfway through, he was up once more. Send, then he flared fingers at the small sacred fire pit in his front yard.

A small blaze caught quickly there, and he rummaged through his shorts before realizing he was wearing shorts. He turned to the house to simply grab a packet of Jack's cigarettes. He tossed a few to the fire, along with a few sprigs of white sage.

Benjamin paused there, whispering words of a prayer of thanks, then, he was scattered back into motion. Digging through his clothes and stumbling into a shower. Poetry in motion.

His smile was incandescent, an irrepressible joy bled off of him until he'd pulled the clouds in to set off a small thunderstorm. It wouldn't last long, enough to cool the day off.

Benjamin laughed, spun into Lirenel's arms and then holding him in turn. He murmured soft nonsense with his breath, stroking golden hair.

It had been so long since Bran had fallen into the strange coma, so much time had passed, but now it was only time to be made up.

~Three years, is that right?~

~More. But close enough.~

~Three years.~

That's how long to return to awareness, to regain strength. He shook his head, unbelieving.

"Can't be," he said aloud, the wind tearing the words from his lips. The storms like to rage here, on the self-same tower where the desire to enter the film-making business proved nearly fatal. Still, this one was mild. At least, compared to the one that took his senses the first time.

~'Tis true,~ his other self reminded him.

"You wouldn't lie to me, I know. Our conversations have only proven you to be an honest man."

The sensation of humble thanks filled him, not his own.

The discovery that he hosted the spirit of another had come as slowly back to him as full strength. He often still experienced great weakness, especially when his other self took control. At least the black outs seemed more gray these days. And his 'possessor' in those moments took the time now to fill him in on what he'd been up to in his host's body.

Always good things. Always noble. Always in the name of the Most High.

Except that one time when the over enthusiastic knight within found out what spray paint could do and how much fun it was to use it.

~I did apologize, Master Brandon. To you and to the Almighty.~

"You did indeed. Now, let's see how well we fare diving into the water from here, eh?"

~Do you think that--~

Between one thought and the next, Brandon leapt off the tower for the water below.

~--wise?~