"Maybe he's allergic to something," Mariluz suggested.

Zephyr grumbled at her.

Oscar thought coffee was to blame. "I heard somewhere that autistic people aren't supposed to have caffeine. Reg drinks an awful lot of coffee."

"He does not have a problem with coffee!" Zephyr snapped at him.

"I still think he has a toothache," Connor offered.

"Who asked you to think?" Zephyr growled.

"I saved this for you," Shauna said, handing him a magazine clipping. "It's an article about gay health issues. A couple of the things it covers might be possibilities."

"Don't even go there," Zephyr warned her. "Everybody, just lay off! There's nothing..." He tried to continue, but this early in the morning he could barely articulate. No, it was his frustration preventing him from thinking straight.

"We are only trying to 'elp," Mariluz insisted.

"Well, stop! You can't help!" Leave me alone, he wanted to scream, but thought it sounded like something a small child would say. Instead, he stormed the rest of the way down the hall and slammed his office door behind him. Yeah, that was... not significantly more mature than his feeble attempts to argue back. But it was the best he could do. All he wanted right now was a rock to hide under. Unfortunately, all he had was his desk... oh, but Reg's desk was further away from the door and made a reasonably good hiding place. Without bothering to turn on the lights or open the blinds, Zephyr circled around to Reg's desk and sat in his chair.

Nah, not quite good enough. He slid off the chair, nudged it aside, and sat cross-legged on the carpet with his back against the column of drawers. It was somewhat like hiding under a rock here... or at least hiding in a cave. Zephyr realized he was acting increasingly like a child, but he didn't care. He felt like a child. Reg had gone nuts, his co-workers were relentlessly on his back, and his brain was threatening to shut itself down. Yeah, the situation had distinct parallels to a great deal of his childhood. If he wanted to regress, he had every right to.

And he'd always been more comfortable in small, quiet, dark places. He could think better here. He could disappear into himself and take a break from worrying about the usual things. Like Diane Morey, who used to be one of the people he'd had to hide from. And now she depended on him. He was surprised that he hadn't enjoyed any feelings of vindication when he learned about her injury. As badly as he'd wished all his life that Diane would be humbled, now that it was true, it didn't satisfy him at all. It made him feel dirtier and uglier than ever, and maybe even guilty that he was doing well for himself. But that was silly. He shouldn't be comparing himself to her, and even if he did, he wasn't required to always be worse off than her.

Diane was a disabled client and Zephyr was going to provide equipment for her; it was as simple as that. None of the past had anything to do with it. The pretty, popular blonde girl and the shy, damaged misfit she tormented were two completely different people. Those people had ceased to exist many years ago. Diane didn't see Zephyr as a victim anymore, and Zephyr needed to force himself to see Diane only as a person in need of his services. The project was already progressing quickly; after only a week, they had already drawn up plans for a new wheelchair to replace the sad second-hand one Diane currently used. Most of the components were still on order, but there was plenty to do before they arrived.

And Reg wasn't around to do it. It occurred to Zephyr that he could do it himself. If he recalled correctly, he had one in-office appointment and the rest of the day was his.

"Zephyr?" Connor said into the room. Damn, he'd forgotten to lock the door. He tried to leap to his feet to avoid getting caught using Reg's desk as a cave, but it didn't happen. By the time Connor wandered around the two desks and spotted him, the most he'd been able to do was unfold one of his legs.

Connor towered over him. Zephyr glared defensively up at his young assistant, but Connor didn't laugh or scoff or even seem confused.

"Sorry to bother you, but, um, I don't have anything I can do on my own."

Zephyr tried to think of something to say. "Yeah, I'll get to it. Give me a minute."

Connor sat on the floor across from him. He stretched his right leg out and tucked his left foot under his knee. "Hey, uh, I just wanted to say I'm sorry for what I said about Reg. I don't know what I'm talking about. I didn't mean to imply..."

"No big deal. I'm just... this is my problem. Nobody else's."

"I know," Connor said. "But I can't help caring. I know how much you love Reg, and... well, I like him in my own way. I worry about him. I know I can't do anything to help, but I wish I could, you know? But you're right; it's none of my business. Sorry."

Zephyr sighed uncomfortably. He wanted to tell Connor that it was NOT okay to speak so openly. People did not go around discussing each other's relationships like they were talking about the weather. Okay, maybe some people did, but he was never allowed to. And he didn't like to be forced into this position. The fact that he was sitting on the floor under Reg's desk made him feel too vulnerable already. But as much as he wanted to tear Connor's heart out for such a brazen breach of etiquette, he didn't have the slightest clue how. All he could think to do was close his eyes and hide until all the pain went away... like he used to try to do when he was little and afraid of his mother.

Why were all his reactions the same ones he had when he was nine? He should be acting his age, not his shoe size... gah, there was another one. Besides, he didn't even have a legitimate shoe size. He should drag himself out of this silly state of mind and determine what people did when they were 33.

They didn't let 20-year-olds dominate them.

They didn't fall apart over small hurts, either. They faced their problems and solved them when they could. And they were nice to their friends. Connor was trying to help, and that was only because, obviously, help was needed. Reg needed help. Reg didn't need a spouse who abandoned him and hid under furniture.

Eventually he filled the awkward silence. "I keep wondering if leaving him at home was really stupid."

Connor just shrugged. "I dunno."

"But he never does anything! He's not going to burn the house down if he doesn't even move. Right?"

"Maybe you should call him and check on him later."

"Wouldn't help. Reg doesn't do phones. He's never used a phone in his life."

"Oh. Maybe you should go home, then," Connor tried. "I can drive you. Now, or anytime, or whatever."

"No." If Zephyr was going to force himself to do the right thing, the time was now. "You and I have a lot of work to do. We should do it, especially since we don't know how long this is going to last. It could end tonight, or it could last..." No, it wasn't permanent. One thing he could depend on was Reg's state of mind always being in flux. Reg was predictable in certain ways, but not in very many of the ways most people followed.

"Maybe he's already getting better, as we speak," Connor offered.

Zephyr found that optimism was not helpful at the moment; he didn't even want to imagine what might happen if Reg changed while he was gone. But he shouldn't take that out on Connor.

"Maybe," he grumbled. "Okay. First we need to... uh..."

"Get some coffee?" Connor stood up and waited for Zephyr to stand as well... which he did, slowly.

"Coffee, yeah," Zephyr said.

"Okay, I'll get us some. I'll be right back." Connor bounced to the door, but just before he moved into the hall, he turned and looked at Zephyr. "Hey, I just want you to know I understand. Everyone has bad days."

Everyone has bad days, Zephyr repeated to himself. Maybe so, but nobody was as bad at bad days as he was. Even Reg handled crises with much more grace than he did (usually). He hated the double pressure - he had to learn how to deal with it and simultaneously look like he knew how to deal with it. But wait... wasn't Connor trying to tell him that impressions didn't matter? The one thing Zephyr wanted was to know that his friends understood, and Connor had told him just that. On top of everything else, he'd have to be really dense to reject that.

Accepting Connor's attempt to help made him feel a lot better. Now he could concentrate on making a couple of good decisions for a change... like doing his job. Yeah. Stop agonizing over people and focus on work.

****

Zephyr ended up asking Connor to drive him home early, but once everything was done (including an emergency meeting to discuss the loss of their most productive partner, which Zephyr thought went surprisingly well - Connor apparently wasn't the only one who could demonstrate patience in the face of the problem) it was 5:30, only a half hour before his usual quitting time. He went in through the garage so he wouldn't have to bother with his key and found Reg on the couch with 3, reading a magazine.

"Hi," Zephyr greeted him cheerfully. "What did you do today?" He didn't expect an answer, and couldn't even really explain why he'd asked. Maybe it was a pathetic attempt to inject some normalcy into his life.

But Reginald was happy to answer... with a very detailed run-down of every activity he'd performed and the exact time he'd done it. Most of the monologue consisted of which magazine articles he'd read and what times he started them, interspersed with descriptions of some of the most mundane things Zephyr imagined a cat could do. Suddenly Zephyr was very grateful that Reg had such a solid attention span. He was also grateful that, whatever the problem had been, it was apparently over now. Now he could turn on the television without fearing for its life.

He dropped his stuff on the floor where he stood and gave Reg a great big warm grateful hug.

And then he discovered that the TV was unplugged. Again. And so was just about everything else. When he was done plugging everything in, he hugged Reg again.