His legs felt weak; he had to sit down. But he still stood there in the living room entrance for another few minutes, leaning on the coat closet door. His heart raced and his mind went blank and his knees threatened to give way.

Focus, Zephyr thought. What urgently needed to be done? Reg had let 3 out of her carrying case and was now adjusting the thermostat. 3 wandered restlessly between the living room and kitchen... she probably needed food. Reg wouldn't think of that, Zephyr knew. Who could even anticipate what was going on in Reg's mind, after his unusual behavior in the car?

Zephyr limped slowly into the kitchen and changed 3's water. His hands were being painfully uncooperative, but he forced himself through the task. He gave her a shake of dry food, planning to deal with canned food later. Then he stumbled past Reg into the bedroom, put his glasses on the dresser, and collapsed on the bed.

It was still cold. He pried his shoes off and slipped under the top two covers. It was warmer under there, but he didn't stop shivering. In the stillness, his mind started to race as quickly as his heart. He shouldn't have allowed Marsh to accompany them, shouldn't have given in so much, hated his mother, should have handled the children better, should have protected Reg more, resented Portia, despised himself. Too much all at once and he wasn't good enough to handle it all. Too much, beyond his limited abilities, too much stress and he was never ever ever ever going to ever go back again. He should know better by now, so stupid to keep trying and failing and trying and failing and failing and failing and he wasn't strong enough or good enough and he was so tired... so tired. He was just going to stay here, hide here under the blankets in the quiet house where nobody would ever think to look for him, and they'd all forget him and he could stay here in peace with no people expecting things of him or talking to him or looking at him. There was nobody around to see him, not if he stayed quiet and didn't move and stayed here forever. No more people. So tired. No more people.

The house was warm now, but he still shivered. His breath came in short, shallow bursts. He listened to it and marveled at it and eventually it made his chest hurt, so he tried to relax and breathe evenly. But that made his chest hurt more. A dull pain formed directly behind his eyes. The quiet bothered him. It felt wrong... everything felt wrong. He felt wrong. He thought that maybe he would have gotten up and looked for something to do, if only he weren't so wrong. But he was afraid to move, afraid to discover that he really was who he thought he was. It was safer to lie here motionless, curled up out of sight, and wait for all the fear and wrongness to fade away.

But he knew it wouldn't.

He wished for something to change, and then wished that he hadn't. The quiet echoed painfully in his mind and his heart raced. And then the quiet broke with the sound of the bedroom door opening and his heart leaped as he thought of people and feared he'd be discovered and knew that his wrongness was too big to hide.

The bed dipped and creaked and the covers lifted. Zephyr shivered. He felt the gentle touch of Reg's hand on his shoulder and then on his side. The blankets lowered again. He felt Reg's breath, warm and alive, near him, rising and falling in a mesmeric rhythm. He smelled Reg's scent, dry like sand in the wind. Zephyr always wondered whether a person could smell like sand, but that's what it reminded him of - a lakeshore beach with fine white sand and a warm breeze and the sun beating down.

Reg's hand meandered over him and when it reached his back, he arched his back and turned over so Reg could rub it. Reg rubbed with both hands, and arms, and Zephyr gradually relaxed... slowed down... relaxed. And slowly forgot. The warmth settled in, way deep into his bones where the cold had been coldest, until he couldn't even remember what it felt like to shiver. Reg's touch gently warmed him inch by inch, rub by rub. And he found it easy to forget whos and whys and wheres, and when it started easing back into his consciousness, he found it much less frightening.

He turned over again so he could see Reg, and he looked at the man who had spouted a surreal, nonsensical monologue in the back seat of Marsh's car a mere hour ago. He could hardly remember why he had been frightened then, why Reg had seemed so unfamiliar. Now everything about him was comfortingly familiar. Zephyr supposed Reg might seem distant and eerie to other people, the way his mouth held no expression in its thin, straight line, and the way his eyes gazed glazed and unfocused at nothing behind his thick glasses. But Zephyr knew better than to look for Reg in those features. The real Reg was in his regular, rhythmic breathing; his slow, deliberate touch; his sureness of movement.

Zephyr reached up with both hands and removed Reg's glasses with his palms, as his fingers were still stiff. He folded them, placed them on his dresser, and settled back in. If all else was well, with the loss of his vision Reg would focus more heavily on the senses that really mattered. If all else was well. Zephyr still had no idea what had caused Reg's odd behavior starting the night before, and wasn't sure whether it was still a factor. Sometimes when Reg got himself into a strange state of mind, it still didn't affect his affection. But sometimes it did. If only Zephyr knew what was happening... but of course there was no way for him to guess. Reg was a man of extreme predictability and extreme unpredictability; the one thing keeping Zephyr from anticipating either of those was that he never knew why.

Maybe someday Reg would be able to explain it to him. In eleven years they had already made great strides in getting to know each other. It was best not to think about it too much. Better to just trust Reg and let him do as he would. After all, Reg had managed to get this much right. Whatever senses Reg used to guide him, his sense of Zephyr seemed to be much better than Zephyr's sense of himself.

Reg isn't stupid, Zephyr thought to himself (and anyone else who might have been listening). Just the opposite: he was highly specialized. And Zephyr loved him like that.