Zephyr didn't want to hear it. What he wanted was some peace and quiet, some time to look over his notes and come up with a few brilliant ideas, and some lunch.

"Want to stop somewhere for lunch?" Connor suggested.

At first, Zephyr thought Connor had somehow read his mind - or maybe he'd been thinking out loud. But the dashboard clock read 12:47, so he figured Connor was simply hungry too. "No," he grumbled, "Let's just go back."

"Right." The Count Basie CD started playing again and as Connor started the drive back to the office, Zephyr forced himself to close his eyes and listen. It was difficult, he discovered, to resist peeking at the road occasionally just to make sure everything was okay. That was stupid, he thought. He couldn't make Connor a better driver by watching. He should just relax and trust the kid and listen to the music. But he couldn't, and trying so hard only stressed him out more.

When they arrived, Zephyr gave Connor a list of things to do to keep him occupied for a while, and then headed to the rear of the building to his office. In a few minutes he should go downstairs and check on Reg. He doubted anyone had offered Reg lunch while he and Connor were gone, but that was fine... there was some leftover chicken and rice with cheese in the breakroom fridge. In a little while he'd heat it up and he and Reg could have a nice, quiet lunch together.

The office door was unlocked, but the lights were off. Zephyr reached for the wall switches, but changed his mind. There was something appealing about the dimness. Instead, he closed the door behind him, dumped his stuff onto his desk, and wandered over to the window to open the blinds. The hazy outdoor light gave the office a comfortable, blue-gray aura. He stood in the small square of empty space in front of the window, with Reg's desk to his left, and tried to get himself to relax.

He planted his feet about shoulders'-width apart, spread his arms, and did a few slow stretches side to side. He reached up over his head for a few more stretches, and then reached down and slowly touched his toes. Gradually his tension eased out of him and got lost in the grayness. He let it go: the dark ugliness of newly rediscovered past, the shock and sorrow of finding out what had happened to Diane, the helpless resentment of finding himself stuck in the situation. He didn't want to know, didn't want to help. He wanted to put the past back where it belonged, not to be thought about except during occasional late-night rememberings. He wanted it all to slip away, out of him and into the overcast remoteness of the world beyond the window.

Stretching felt good, especially when he was careful not to push too far. He spread his arms again and began twisting at the waist, small, slow twists at first, working up to longer, deeper twists. He turned to face the couch and--

"AAAGHH! Oh my god, Reg, I didn't see you there!" Zephyr took a few slow breaths in an attempt to resettle his heart as he approached Reg, who was sitting perfectly still in the center of the sofa. He must have been there the whole time, Zephyr thought; but why would he sit in the dark? "You scared me half to death, man," he said, grinning, and sat down next to him.

Reg didn't move. He slouched a little, as if he were tired or dazed. Zephyr could see that his eyes were half open, but Reg made no attempt to focus on him. Even touching him got no reaction. Zephyr's heart raced again as he desperately searched his memory for similar incidents, possible problems, maybe something he could do to help.

"Reg?" he asked, aware of the apprehension in his voice.

Reg's hand flew out so quickly that Zephyr didn't even notice it until it was on top of his own. He placed his free hand on top of Reg's and rubbed it gently, a tiny bit more reassured.

"Reg, are you all right?"

Reg remained unresponsive, and when he finally spoke he startled Zephyr again. "Are you all right," he repeated, but without the inflections Zephyr's question had contained.

"I'm all right. Are you all right?"

Reg said nothing. Zephyr got up off the sofa. Reg didn't remove his hand from between Zephyr's, and although he didn't have a firm grip, Zephyr made no attempt to remove it for him. He knelt in front of Reg and looked up into his face. Reg remained unresponsive.

"How do you feel?" Zephyr asked.

Suddenly, as if someone had hit an 'on' switch, Reg sat up straight, looked Zephyr straight in the eye, and said, "The human body is like a machine. It requires fuel in the form of kilocalories and nutrients in order to perform."

"...order to perform," Zephyr recited along with him. Reg seemed determined to recite the entire thing, so Zephyr said along with him. "Just like we put gasoline in an automobile, we put food into a body to keep it running. Your body needs more kilocalories. You need to eat this food." When they were done, Zephyr laughed in relief. "There's some food in the breakroom. Come on, let's go eat it."

He stood up and Reg stood up with him. Hand in hand, they left the office and went to the breakroom. Zephyr could tell by the wrappers at the top of the wastebasket and the dirty dishes in the sink that they had just missed Connor. He led Reg to a seat at the long table and then pulled himself loose from Reg's grip so he could reach the fridge. The plastic container full of last night's leftovers was behind some cans of soda, so he took a lemon-lime for himself and popped the chicken and rice into the microwave. He poured some orange juice for Reg (the carton was almost empty; he needed to buy more) and put the juice and the soda on the table.

"Hey, Reg," he said as he sat down to wait for the microwave to beep, "what were you doing in the dark?"

Reg opened his mouth to speak, but seemed to have trouble articulating. He tapped his fingers against the table. Zephyr waited.

"Direct current," Reg said. "Nine volts times five, 1.5 cc too much volume. Times four, try times four."

"Huh?" As the beep announced that lunch was warm, Zephyr started to figure it out. "You were thinking?"

"Thinking," Reg repeated.

Zepyr took the container out of the microwave, stirred it, and divided its contents between two paper plates. "Thinking in the dark?" he inquired as he brought the plates to the table.

Reg put his hands over his ears briefly as if trying to express something sign language style. He curled and uncurled his fingers on both hands several times and stared at his plate.

Zephyr put forks beside both plates and settled down next to Reg. "It's all right. You can tell me later. Now you should eat."

"The human body is a..."

"We already said that. You want me to say it again? Okay." Zephyr launched into the speech again. He'd recited it at least every other day for just about the entire time he and Reg had been together... it was his solution to Reg's frequent reluctance to eat, and it usually worked pretty well as long as other stress factors didn't interfere. To tell the truth, he didn't particularly enjoy it, and he hadn't in years. It was just one of those things he did because he had to, like wiping the counter or cleaning the litter box. But for some odd reason, this time it made him feel pretty good. It was part of the routine, and the routine made everything all right. Reg was all right, and as long as Zephyr could say that, everything else in life was extra.

When Zephyr was done, Reg picked up his fork and began to eat. Zephyr watched him for a few seconds, and then leaned over and kissed him, although he knew that would probably just distract him from the task at hand. But sometimes Zephyr just did things because he had to.


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