Jonathan stayed in the bedroom for the rest of the day. Upon entering, he sat heavily on the floor at the side of his bed, unable to bear crawling into it alone. He pulled his knees up, locking his arms around them, bowed his head. He took several deep calming breaths, wiped his eyes with the heel of his hand, and loaded his glass pipe from a jar that held his stash.

He took deep drags from the pipe, needing to calm his racing heart. He could feel a panic attack beginning to onset and wished to heed it off. Tears, one by one, slowly melted down his cheeks as he tried to come to terms with how quickly the turn of events played out.

Mayson sat hunched over on the couch, his elbows bracing his head against his knees. His cries were silent, too hard and too broken to make any sound.

With shaky hands, he too consumed the plant he'd been growing more fond of lately. Jonathan had taught him how to roll several days before with both emptied cigar wraps, and joint papers. He was glad of the skill but frustrated his hands wouldn't allow him to roll it properly.

He focused his mind and completed his task. He lit it, hitting it slowly, deeply; watching the cherry creep up the tobacco leaf. He let out his breath watching the plume of the smoke's exodus dissipate into the air. From the bedroom, he heard Jonathan's soft bewailing and he closed his eyes.

He wondered if he would come out of the bedroom any time soon. The sun was already beginning to make its day's journey into night, not quite yet under the treeline. Or if he was going to need to approach Jonathan.

He sighed. He knew it to be the latter. He just didn't know how. He took another hit off the blunt and held it, fighting off the urge to cough.

"He was only trying to protect you, Mayson," he told himself. "Did you need to turn on him like that?"

He laughed. It was a sound without humor and much heartbreak. "Fuck." He stamped out the blunt and rolled another. "Really fucked things up, didn't ya. He was right. Lucius was right. Even after he's dead he still has power over me. Even after he's dead, even after you killed him...he still won't fucking leave me alone."

More tears replaced the ones he'd wiped away. His lamenting was tired. Slowly falling tears leaking from half unblinking eyes, trekking their way to collect at the neckline of his shirt.

After two more blunts, Mayson felt himself calm enough to attempt to talk to Jonathan; who still had yet to come out from behind the closed bedroom door. He sighed heavily and rolled another blunt as a peace offering. Slowly he opened the door to darkness. The blinds were closed, the lights were off, but there was just enough light from the moon and street lamps to make out Jonathan's silhouette.

Mayson took a seat on the floor next to him and lit the blunt, their shoulders touching just slightly.

"Peace offering?" Mayson offered passing the pot to him. Jonathan took it with a nod, not making eye contact. "I'm sorry, Jonathan."

There was a round of silence as Jonathan sucked the blunt down before, "Me, too, little duck."

"Please, Jonny...don't be mad anymore." Mayson hid the onset of tears at the request by taking several deep hits of the blunt.

"I wasn't ever mad at you, baby." Jonathan looked at him then before looking away.

"But..." Mayson didn't understand and his confusion was clear on his face.

"I only have myself to blame for this, Mayson. How can I ask you for your trust, your love, or...anything...if I can't be honest with you about anything and everything?

"You have every right to be angry. I shouldn't have kept it from you. I just..." He sighed and shook his head. "I just couldn't. I didn't want you to know what that knowledge was like. I mean it...it's bad enough that you were...that he..." He choked on the word 'rape' and trailed off.

"It's bad enough that you've experienced what you have...it's bad enough that I was too goddamned selfish to notice what was going on...so much so that I failed you on such an epic level...that I couldn't protect you from him...I...I wanted to protect you from that knowledge.

"When Mike told me how extensive the...collection...was...I just...I'm sorry, duck, I should have told you sooner."

He stamped the blunt out in the small seashell ashtray sitting on the nightstand and stared at his folded hands that rested on his drawn up knees.

"I'm sorry for how I reacted. I shouldn't have spoken to you like that. It just...shook me...I guess."

"Don't apologize, Mayson. Please." Jonathan looked at him, his eyes watering, spilling.

Mayson reached to wipe Jonathan's eyes and he leaned into the touch. Gently Mayson kissed him, their lips soft against each other.

"Compromise?" At Jonathan's nod, he continued. "I won't apologize if you won't, either. I understand why you didn't tell me. I really do. So instead of laying blame to either of us, let's agree to never keep anything like that from each other again. No matter how hard it is, no matter how much it hurts one or both of us, we need to know that we can always be honest with each other. Okay?"

Jonathan nodded. "Okay."

"And, Jonny?"

"What, duck?"

Mayson reached out and turned Jonathan's face so their eyes met. "You didn't fail me."

Jonathan scoffed derisively and turned away and began rolling another blunt.

"Jonathan." Mayson took the tray he was rolling on and set it atop the bed, replacing himself into Jonathan's lap. "Jonathan, look at me."

He did. And as he made eye contact he felt his heart breaking at the weight it carried. Mayson kissed him again and when he pulled back looked deeply into his eyes, his hands cradling the side of his face.

"You did not fail me, my love. I swear to you. You're the only one who has never failed me. Why can't you see that?"

"Because..."

Mayson waited but when no further explanation was offered, he pressed, "Because why, baby?"

"Cause I...should have...done...something...I should have tried harder to get you away from him. Because I knew something wasn't fucking right. And I did nothing.

"I should have done something. Anything."

"What would you have done? What could you have done? The truth is you couldn't have done anything more than you did. Because it had to be my choice to leave. You did try, Jonny. Every time you saw me from the moment you met him.

"Do you think that you could have dragged me bodily out? Physically, maybe, yeah...but do you think that it would have done any good if I wasn't going to stay away from him? If I was just gonna go back there anyway? Do you blame yourself for all the other 'assholes and fuckboys' you've watched me bounce between?"

"Yes. And I don't know...something...I just didn't know it was as bad as all that."

"Because he did a very good job at scaring me into staying away from you. You're not to blame, Jonny. He is. Only him, my love. And if anyone is to blame other than Lucius, it's me because I wasn't strong enough to listen to you. Listen to myself...

"But don't you see, Jonny? You did get me out. It just took me a long time to finally accept that...maybe I could do better. I had to be ready, Jonny, and I wasn't."

Jonathan folded himself into Mayson's chest, his arms snaking around his center as the tears came harder at his words.

"I love you, Mayson. I love you. I love you. I'm sorry, baby, I'm sorry."

Mayson said nothing more, he just held on as Jonathan let go.

Jonathan lay next to Mayson, his eyes searching Mayson's blank face. It had been two weeks since Jonathan had found Mayson in the bathtub and he hadn't spoken a single word in that time.

Jonathan looked up at the soft knock at the bedroom door. Mamma Scully entered, her face drawn and tired. Jonathan gave her a small smile. She returned it as she sat on the other side of Mayson.

"Mayson, sweetie, I need to check your wrists, okay?"

Mayson remained impassive. He didn't move as she picked up his left hand and unrolled the gauze, applied ointment and repeated the process with his other arm. She and Jonathan shared many looks, silent and worrisome.

"Dinner is about ready, Jonathan. Come downstairs with me for a minute, please."

Jonathan glanced at Mayson before looking back at her and hesitated. "It won't take long." She kissed Mayson's forehead and stood, leaving the room.

Jonathan followed her into the kitchen, silent, arms crossed, head down. He felt like he was abandoning Mayson and it tore at him.

"Jonathan," she started and sighed. "I don't know what else to do. Have you been able to get him to say anything?"

"No. But he...communicates with me. Why? You're...you're not gonna make him leave are you?" His eyes instantly watered at the prospect.

"No, honey, I'm not going to make him leave. I would never do that. I never made you leave, did I?"

"No, Mamma." He shook his head.

She pulled him into a fierce hug, her own tears falling. "I just don't know what else to do. His wrists are healing fine. He didn't go deep enough...this time...but his mental well being...has he even moved from that spot today?"

"Yes, Ma'am. He went to the bathroom...and I got him to eat a bit earlier. But he goes through periods where he doesn't talk, Mamma. This isn't the first," he said when he pulled away.

She nodded. "I know. He just..."

"I know, Mamma. But I'll take care of him so you can take care of all of us. I promise, Mamma. You can count on me."

She smiled. "I know I can, baby. And if anyone can get through to him, you can." She sighed and turned, loading two plates of food and handed them to him. "See if you can get him to eat a bit of supper. You eat something, too, okay?"

"Yes, Mamma."

When he returned, Mayson had turned to his side and relief flooded his eyes when Jonathan entered the room. He sat down next to him, setting the plates on the side table.

"I didn't go far, ducky. Just to get some dinner."

Mayson nodded and tentatively reached out for Jonathan's hand, who clasped it tightly.

"I won't ever abandon you, duck. I swear by it, Mayson. I'll always protect you. I swear by it and everything I hold dear that I'll always protect you. Even if I have to protect you with my body, and give you my last breath so you can be safe, I will." He reached out and wiped Mayson's cheeks.

"Will you eat for me, ducky? Please."

Mayson glanced at the food, glanced at their joined hands, and back up to Jonathan's face and nodded.

"Sit up, duck. I don't want you to choke." Mayson sat up and accepted the plate, but did not attempt at eating.  Jonathan watched him a moment before picking up the fork, winding the spaghetti around it and lifting it to Mayson's lips.

"Eat, duck. Please." And he did. Slowly, Jonathan hand fed him, every few bites Mayson took, he would pause and eat some from his own plate. They ate in silence. Jonathan always smiling encouragingly with each bite. He ate just over half before he was done. Jonathan smiled and set the plates aside.

"You ate more than I thought you would. That's good though. I'm proud of you, duck. It's the most you've eaten in a week."

Mayson looked away, his eyes watering and his cheeks becoming a deep shade of pink.

"What'd I say? I didn't mean to upset you."

He shook his head before looking back up to Jonathan, reaching for his hand. Jonathan gave it without hesitating, coming a bit closer to Mayson's side.

"N-n-n-no one's ever t-told me th-that before."

Jonathan frowned. "Told you what, duck?"

"They were proud of me." Mayson pulled his legs up and looked down; Jonathan slid a bit closer.

When he reached out again, Mayson jumped back, a gasp of surprised fear escaping his lips accompanied by a small yelp. Tears pooled in his eyes and slipped slowly down, leaving wet, crooked trails down his cheeks.

"I'll never hit you, Mayson. That's not something you ever have to worry about."

"I'm sorry, Jonny," he said as he began to cry harder.

"What on earth are you apologizing for?" Jonathan asked incredulously, a small frown crinkling his brow.

"For not being stronger. For-for not calling you home first," he wailed as he held up his right wrist. "I didn't mean to worry you. I didn't know what I was doing. It just hi-hit me. I was all alone. And they start whisp-whispering and I couldn't make them stop. I didn't mean to make you mad."

Jonathan knew very well who 'they' were. There had been many nights over the last year where Mayson cried into Jonathan's chest, begging him to make 'them' stop whispering.

"I am worried, ducky. But...look at me, Mayson..." Mayson slowly brought up his head to meet Jonathan's gaze. "I was never mad about it...Mamma wasn't ever mad about it, either. No one's mad at you. I promise."

"They keep saying you are. They won't stop."

Jonathan stretched out beside Mayson before gathering him wholly in his arms. Mayson clung to him, Jonathan's shirt balled into Mayson's fists.

"Make them stop, Jonny. Make them stop. Please, I can't listen to it anymore. Please, make them go away."

Mayson's lamenting broke Jonathan's heart as he remembered similar words coming from another boy he'd held in this position, who begged him to make it stop. A boy he failed. He shoved the thought of Max from his mind, focusing solely once more on the now.

Once his cries died down to soft mewling, Jonathan began to sing.

"I am an old woman named after my mother
My old man is another child that's grown old
If dreams were lightning thunder was desire
This old house would have burnt down a long time ago

Make me an angel that flies from Montgom'ry
Make me a poster of an old rodeo
Just give me one thing that I can hold on to
To believe in this living is just a hard way to go

When I was a young girl well, I had me a cowboy
He wasn't much to look at, just free rambling man
But that was a long time and no matter how I try
The years just flow by like a broken down dam.

Make me an angel that flies from Montgom'ry
Make me a poster of an old rodeo
Just give me one thing that I can hold on to
To believe in this living is just a hard way to go

There's flies in the kitchen I can hear 'em there buzzing
And I ain't done nothing since I woke up today.
How the hell can a person go to work in the morning
And come home in the evening and have nothing to say.

Make me an angel that flies from Montgom'ry
Make me a poster of an old rodeo
Just give me one thing that I can hold on to
To believe in this living is just a hard way to go"

As the song ended, Mayson's tears finally dried, and he lay, his head against Jonathan's chest, listening to the steady thump thump thump of his heartbeat. For reasons he didn't understand, Jonathan always seemed to be able to calm him down just by singing to him.

Mayson felt Jonathan kiss the top of his head, heard him inhale before, "I love you, little duck. I swear I'll always protect you." That was the first time Mayson had ever heard him say he loved him.

As Jonathan sobbed against his chest, Mayson held him tightly. Mayson knew, also, that the tears weren't just for "failing" him, but for his perception of how he'd failed not only him but Max as well. These failures were at Jonathan's top unforgivable things he could have ever done.

Mayson began softly to sing. "I'm an old woman named after my mother..."

By the time the song had ended Jonathan's tears had dried, and he lay much akin to how Mayson laid against him that day so long ago.

"You didn't fail me, Jonathan," Mayson whispered. Jonathan tightened his grip around him, a silent form of protest. "You didn't fail me, baby," he repeated before he pulled back to look into Jonathan's eyes. "And you didn't fail Max."

Jonathan looked away as his eyes watered again, but Mayson kept his eye contact. "Jonny, look at me...I would never lie to you. You didn't fail either of us. I'm a big boy, Jonny. I have to be accountable for myself. You can't take all the blame for everything, especially things out of your control."

Jonathan was silent for a long moment before he spoke, his voice a low whisper, broken and jagged like shattered glass. "You know you're the only one that can call me that? It's...it's what Max used to call me. I broke a kid's nose once because he wouldn't stop calling me that after I told him not to. That's how I ended up at Mamma's house. I was just about to turn fourteen. And he...but then you called me that one day, not long after you started speaking...and I couldn't tell you not to call me that. So I allowed it." He laughed lowly. "You know Mamma asked me about that once. She'd called me that once, by mistake, not thinking about it...I freaked out. I yelled and screamed and cried...I freaked out pretty badly...she heard you call me that once and waited...but I didn't freak out."

Mayson half smiled. "I didn't know."

"I know." Jonathan wiped his eyes as Mayson slid off his lap, handing him back the tray. As he began rolling the once abandoned blunt he continued speaking. "When you first called me 'Jonny' my heart stuck in my throat. You sounded so innocent saying it. And you had just started to open up and talk...so..." He shrugged and licked the wrap down. "I didn't correct you. But...I found later that...it didn't bother me." He brought the tip to the fire and pulled long and deep, holding his breath before letting it out.

"What did Mamma say?" Mayson asked as he accepted the weed.

"Not much," Jonathan replied with a shrug. "If I was okay with you calling me 'Jonny' or if she needed to tell you to not. Just being Mamma. Trying to protect us both."

Mayson smiled. "I really miss her. She...was an amazing woman."

Jonathan nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, she was."

"Jonny?" Mayson passed the wrap back.

"Yeah, duck?"

"You really didn't fail me. You rescued me. Again. Please believe that. I'm alive. And I'm with you by your side. You've done more for me than anyone in my life. You...you've done more for me than I can ever tell you. I love you, Jonathan. More than that, I'm in love with you."

Jonathan smiled brightly, his heart speeding up, as it did every time Mayson announced he loved him. "I love you, too, Mayson. I'm so very in love with you I can scarcely breathe." And with that whispered admission, leaned to the left and kissed his love softly, his love pouring from his soul, conveying it within that single brush of lips.