Mayson, who was preparing dinner as promised, gasped and spun around at the blood-curdling scream, the knife in his hand cutting him in the process.  He ran fast as he could and burst through the open bedroom doorway and through the bathroom door. He pulled open the shower curtain to find Jonathan curled up in the corner, his hands and arms covering his head, as if expecting to come to blows by a terrifying force, his forehead pressed against his knees. He screamed again when he was exposed to Mayson's towering height. Jonathan was eight years old again, and Daddy had come.

"Jonny..." Mayson dare not touch him, he knew what this was. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, fortifying his resolve. "Jonny, I'm gonna get you a towel, okay?"

Without waiting for a response Mayson stood and grabbed a towel from the closet before kneeling back down. He shut off the water, ignoring best he could the whimpers escaping Jonathan's cowering form.

"Jonny, it's me, Mayson. Come on, love, can you look at me? Just look up enough to take the towel so you can dry off...then I'll go get you some clothes, okay?" He spoke as softly as he could, keeping the panic from his voice; though he couldn't say how. Jonathan did eventually look up and tentatively take the towel.

Mayson smiled sadly. "I'll go get you some clothes." He turned exiting the room.

Jonathan watched him go making sure he was out of sight before he dried off, then wrapped the towel around his waist. He stepped out of the tub just as Mayson came back with fresh clothes. "Here. You look cold...so I, uh, b-brought you warm clothes and a pair of socks."

He placed them on the rim of the sink and took a deep breath before slowly releasing it. "I'll be right outside in case you need me."

When next Jonathan became fully aware of what was going on in the now instead of the then, it was well into the night. Mayson lay next to him, his eyes closed, a worried frown marring his brow. Jonathan reached out and touched Mayson's arm, softly whispering his name. Mayson's frown deepened but he didn't respond. He was asleep. Suddenly needing to feel Mayson in his arms, he shifted until he was completely wrapped around the younger man. Mayson whimpered before wrapping his arms around Jonathan. When Jonathan felt a small kiss to the top of his head, he knew Mayson had woken up.

He couldn't speak, and Mayson didn't ask him to. Visions of the day began slamming into his mind, pounding his emotions with an iron fist. He remembered the events that lead to right now, in the shower with Mayson, and he wanted suddenly to bolt from Mayson's embrace but wanted so badly to feel his protective hold.

Mayson turned so he lay facing Jonathan on his side. Gingerly he reached up and swiped away tears Jonathan didn't realize were falling. Almost hesitantly Mayson leaned forward, brushing his lips slightly against Jonathan's.

His lips trembled through the kiss, but he didn't pull away.

Mayson leaned his forehead gently against Jonathan's and closed his eyes. "I'm sorry, Jonny."

Jonathan didn't answer. He couldn't. He just stared as Mayson's face contorted in a pain Jonathan was sure he'd never seen on the other man.

"I'm so sorry, Jonathan. I didn't..." He trailed off and shook his head, his eyes slipping closed. It was as if his thoughts interrupted his apologies.

Your meaning is immaterial. Look at him. You did that to him. You did that because you're fucking selfish. You're just like your mother, Mayson. Just like his father...how can you expect him to love you after this?

Mayson departed all contact with Jonathan as his mind berated him in the worst ways. He sobbed once loudly, took a deep breath, and opened his eyes. Tears ran down his face and clouded his vision. "I'm sorry. I kn-know y-you hate," his throat closed and he blinked, "h-hate m-me...I'm sorry, Jonny. God, I'm so sorry."

Suddenly it felt like he couldn't breathe, like the walls were closing in and the roof coming down from above. He had to get out. He had to breathe. Scrambling, Mayson backed up and stumbled to the floor before turning and sprinting from the bedroom. He threw open the front door and didn't stop as he leaped off the wooden porch. His lungs burned as he ran but he didn't stop. His muscles ached and tears streamed into his ears with the force of the wind against his face. He leaped over roots and sticks and small trees that were in his way. He ran blind. He paid no attention to where he went, he only ran, until finally, he couldn't run anymore. Mayson's knees gave out and he landed, scraping the skin of his knees and legs. He buried his face in his hands and screamed. He screamed again as that night played through his mind.

He had witnessed Jonathan have flashbacks before. They were infrequent, as Jonathan forced himself to learn to control them before they became overpowering, but this one was different. This one Mayson caused himself by carelessness and selfishness. It was all his fault. It was all his fault...Mayson screamed again; a bone-chilling grief-struck wail as only the night animals that were prowling paused to give a silent moment.

When he finally found his way back to the cabin it was almost sun up. He didn't realize he'd run so far. He was tired. He was sore, hungry, thirsty. His heart crepitated with self-inflicted malcontent and breath-ceasing pain with every beat.

Mayson paused at the door, his hand on the knob. He felt his heart break at the thought of facing him. 

He opened the door and walked inside. The house was silent. Still. Mayson felt his heart sink as he listened. Nothing moved but the silence. From the entranceway, he looked to his left toward the kitchen and spotted a white sheet of paper fluttering in the wind under a coffee cup. He picked up the paper with sweaty, shaking hands and read the words scrawled across the torn page in Jonathan's handwriting.

I can't do this. I'm sorry.
-J

The note was simple and to the point. No expression of love present, just goodbye. Mayson was finally and really and completely alone and all he could do was cry.

When Mayson opened his eyes again he realized he was still outside. He shook his head of his thoughts and he wiped his eyes. As he fortified himself for what might be waiting on the other side, the door opened in a hurry, and he was met with worried eyes.

"Where the hell have you been?" The words were spoken harshly causing Mayson to flinch and take two steps backward. "I'm sorry...just...come inside, Mayson."

He was so sure that vision had been real. Now he had to face Jonathan head-on. Why didn't he just leave? Mayson entered the cabin and closed the door, leaning up against it. Jonathan turned back to face him as he stood in front of the couch a few feet away. He looked sad, worn, tired. Much older than his not yet thirty years of age.

"Mayson, can you, uh, do me a favor?"

Mayson nodded but didn't answer.

"Can you please stop fucking running off when shit gets difficult? Do you have any idea how goddamned worried I've been all fucking night? Shit's fucking hard right now. Last night..."

Mayson's eyes teared up at those words and he looked down, his arms hugging himself as he braced himself against the front door. "Was my fault."
Mayson looked up as he spoke. "Last night was my fault. I did that..." Mayson shook his head and looked away. "How can you ever forgive me? How can you ev-ever love me af-af-ter th-that?" Mayson sank to the floor and buried his head in his arms. He cried so hard in guilt and grief that he didn't notice Jonathan's approach until he wrapped his arms around him and pulled him against his chest. Mayson began to fight his hold, consumed in self-loathing and feeling undeserving of Jonathan's comfort. He writhed and squirmed, twisting and fighting.

"Mayson, stop it. I won't let you go. Stop it, Mayson, stop fighting, and listen. Little duck, listen to me, stop it." With that, he pulled Mayson's smaller body tightly into his chest. Mayson finally ran out of energy and simply clung tightly to Jonathan's surrounding arms, his well of tears not as exhausted as he had once believed.

When Mayson calmed down he noticed Jonathan's face was buried into his shoulder, just above where his shirt sleeves began. The cotton material was wet.

Jonathan rocked them slightly, his shoulders still slightly shaking, as he repeated just loud enough to be heard. "I'll never let you go."

Mayson didn't answer. He just listened to the words and felt the emotion within them and tried to hold onto that.

"We need to talk about last night, Mayson," Jonathan braved after they'd both slid into a long stretch of silence. They had moved to the couch sometime ago, their backs beginning to ache from their positions on the floor. Mayson tensed but didn't attempt moving from Jonathan's arms.

Jonathan, too, tensed, tightening his hold slightly. "Please don't go. Duck, please don't go."

"I'm not going anywhere, love."

"Don't leave me, Mayson. Don't leave me. I don't know what I would do without you. I need you, Mayson, I need you, and no stupid flashback is going to cause me to leave you...or allow me to let you walk away from me. Please stop running. Please don't run from me. But I need to talk about it."

The whole time he spoke Jonathan kept his face away from Mayson's, buried where Mayson's neck met the curve of his shoulder. Mayson could feel Jonathan shaking against his back, and in the tension of the arms encircling him, in the hands holding a prisoner of his shirt.

Mayson brought his arms back up to wrap around Jonathan's. Slowly Mayson stroked his thumb across Jonathan's forearm.

Jonathan was terribly frightened this was the end. That Mayson would really leave because of insecurity and fear. That the flashback he caused unwillingly the night before would cause him to run; his mind telling him nonsensical lies that were pure truth in his heart.

It was a moment or two before Jonathan calmed enough and finally relaxed his arms that still wound around Mayson's frame. Mayson had leaned his head back against Jonathan's broad shoulder, trying to help Jonathan relax by placing his posture so it looked as if he wouldn't bolt the first chance he got.

Jonathan didn't get scared or lose control often. Mayson knew the flashback really tore him apart. Mayson also knew that despite this folly and the consuming guilt that simmered in the back of his mind, that there was no way he could ever really leave him. They both had a lot to work through, but as Jonathan held onto him and cried into his shoulder, he knew that whatever walls they came across on down the road, they'd help each other destroy them and move on.

"Jonny," Mayson turned his head to the right, his nose nuzzling the moist skin of Jonathan's face, before gently kissing his temple. Upon the second call of his name, slowly Jonathan brought up his head, eyes stubbornly cast downward. Feeling Jonathan's arms loosen, Mayson sat up to turn around but was blocked as those arms tensed up once again.

"No." The word was whispered in a broken plea. Another lone tear fell its way down his face.

"Jonny, I'm not going anywhere, baby, but let me turn around."

Jonathan dropped his arms completely. Careful to maintain contact in some way, Mayson turned to face him. He looked so broken just then. Resigned to whatever his fate may be. Briefly, Mayson wondered if this is the look he carried before they met at Mamma Scully's. His face, to any outside observer, would seem blank. But Mayson knew him too well to think he was alright. To think that they will have an easy time of whatever lay ahead. When Jonathan finally did look up, his eyes spoke volumes.

He didn't speak. He kept Mayson's gaze even through the blurriness of fresh tears and clutched the hand he held. Mayson turned to face him completely, never once letting go of his hand, and slipped his legs around Jonathan's waist, feet crossed behind Jonathan's back. They sat nearly pelvis to pelvis, faces merely millimeters from each other.

Jonathan looked deeply into Mayson's eyes in an attempt to gauge their status. He was so lost he didn't know what was true anymore from a hole in the ground. Mayson gently pressed his lips against his, a brief, chaste kiss. It was not a romantic kiss, lights didn't explode overhead, but in the kiss, Jonathan felt the promise behind it.

"I'm sorry, Jonny. I'm sorry." Mayson leaned his forehead against Jonathan's and closed his eyes before speaking again. "I just got scared...then I was ashamed when I realized that I...that it was my fault. I won't run anymore like that. Wherever we are, if something happens and I need to go outside, I'll stay in close proximity. I'll stay in the yard, okay?"

Jonathan nodded, feeling numb. Everything tingled like when your foot falls asleep. His mind was going in too many directions to be coherent.

"Jonny?"

"Don't ever do that again."

Mayson nearly flinched at the tone in his voice and frowned. Which part? He didn't ask, but Jonathan supplied an answer.

"If we're going to be together...if...if you love me in any respect, don't ever do that again. I've been used and fucked and taken by a lot of people over the years. Some of them I let...most of them I didn't...if you...if you need sex, Mayson."

Jonathan untangled himself from Mayson with the sudden need to stand and move. He paced a few times before continuing. "If you need sex, I get it. It's different than the sensual kind...just raw...if you need that, fine. Tell me what you need. Because that...in the shower...he would...and it was so unfeeling and mechanical...I never told you...I guess I should have...but it never could compare to before...he would always kiss between my shoulder blades after he-finished with me."

Mayson felt himself grow sick. It really was his fault. Jonathan continued, "I love you, Mayson. I love you more than I thought someone could love anyone. But I...I've worked too hard to not let what they did to my brother and I affect me more than it does and I won't let that be destroyed for anyone. I would rather..."

He stopped his pacing and sat beside Mayson and looked him dead in the eyes. "I'd rather be alone, Mayson. With as," Jonathan's throat closed and his voice faltered. "With as much as I love you...with as much as it would likely kill me if you left...I won't lose myself like that again. I won't go back to who I used to be. Mamma fought too hard to drag me from the trench I was in when she got me. Before you came to the house I attempted suicide four times in some fashion but she was too stubborn. She made me into the man I am today, and I won't let that be destroyed for anyone. No matter how much I love them. If you love me, Mayson...never again. After this conversation ends I will pretend none of it happened. Whatever happens after this as far as nightmares or, God forbid, flashbacks, I will not associate them with yesterday. I've been having them more frequently than yesterday anyhow. I don't want any residual feelings from this, after this, from either of us...can we make a deal to talk it all out now? And when it's done, its resolved, and go about like this never happened? Start over this stay? Please?"

Mayson, who had been looking at his clasped hands during his speech, looked up at the word 'please'. It was the first time since he'd began that Jonathan sounded unsure.

Mayson nodded. "Yeah, Jonny. If...if that's what you need. We can do that."

Jonathan smiled before crushing his lips against Mayson's in both need and urgency.