Doug rested his head against the steering wheel of the police cruiser, breathing deeply. Wrong, he reminded himself, no matter what the law said. Sometimes the law was wrong.

"Everything about this is wrong." He lifted his head, his blue eyes squinting into the early morning sun before he slipped his sunglasses on and cast a quick glance back at his apartment before pulling out into the non-existent rush hour traffic.

"You're a lousy drunk, Pace." Doug hefted his brother into the backseat of the cruiser. "What is it this time? Drue Valentine provoke you into thinking you're worthless? Joey run into you and talk about Dawson? Dad call you a name?"

"Nah," Pacey slurred. "I'm just livin' the high life. I figure if I start early, I can be town drunk by the time I'm 30."

"Is that what you want?" Doug's foot held the back door open. "You want to fail? Live down to all the depressing statistics Mom and Dad throw at you? You want your friends to look at you, ten years down the line, and wonder what the fuck happened to Pacey Witter?"

"Here." Pacey set an envelope on Doug's lap. "Read it and weep. I would've, but I was too busy laughing."

Doug turned the envelope over and winced, the familiar Police Academy logo catching his eye immediately. "You applied to the Academy?"

"I figured if Steve Guttenberg could do it." Pacey shrugged. "I admire what you and Dad do. I don't always agree with it or like it, or like you guys for that matter, but I admire it. And I though maybe I need a little discipline."

"Because you react so well to authority figures?"

"Female ones," Pacey smirked.

"We're not going to get into that one." Doug slid the letter from the envelope before glancing at Pacey. "Ever."

Pacey shrugged, not looking at Doug, but at the letter in his hand. "Read it, would ya? The suspense is killing me."

"You haven't read it?"

"Oh, I've read it."

Doug opened the letter and read it, his face inscrutable as his eyes darted over the page. He let out a long, sad sigh. "Oh, Pace…"

"Save your sympathy. I completely understand. Dad was trying to preserve the dignity of the Police Corps."

"I'm sure that's not it."

"You and he both made sure to take the time this year to persuade me that police work wasn't for me. And with a few typed words, all those noble intentions fall flat."

"I meant what I said."

Pacey took the letter from Doug's hand and started reciting the words, burned onto his memory. His slurred speech was gone. "Dear John, Thanks so much for your letter of advice regarding your son, Pacey. With just your name to go on, he was already in the door, but your letter, along with the inclusion of his juvenile arrest record…" He stopped and folded the paper neatly and slid it back in the envelope. "What do you think dear old Dad will think when he gets my very regretful letter of rejection?"

"Pacey, you can't let Dad ruin your life like this. He isn't worth it."

"You can say that," Pacey reminded him, looking out the windshield of the cruiser; the dark shadows of the criss-crossed grill highlighting his wan face. "You're his favorite. Hell, you're about the only one he likes at all."

Doug sighed and stared sadly at his brother. "I'm taking you home."

"Just take me to the station, Doug. I might as well be the son he expects."

"The son he expects isn't the brother I want. Or the brother I have." Doug slid out of the car and held the door open. "Get in the front seat."

"I thought I was under arrest."

"I was just driving home and I saw my little brother walking down the street, and I offered him a ride." Doug shrugged. "Come on."

Pacey slid across the seat and got out, standing next to Doug. "Thanks."

"Ah, don't thank me. I've just realized that if you're stuck in Capeside, I'm stuck with you on my couch."

Pacey grinned. "Your true colors show through every time, Doug."

Pacey leaned against the bathroom door, surprised to see Doug changing. "You give up on your weird modesty thing?"

"What?" Doug half-turned to face his brother. Pacey was dressed in his typical nighttime attire of baggy boxers and a white wife beater T-shirt. "Why is it weird that I don't feel the need to get undressed in front of my younger sibling?"

"You used to do it," Pacey shrugged. "I just think it's funny. I mean, the family jewels can't be that different. Unless my unnaturally large endowment stems from the law of averages making up for you complete lack thereof."

"Why exactly are we discussing this again?"

Pacey gestured at Doug, wearing boxer-briefs and nothing else. "You're almost nekkid." He grinned. "You're not gonna go out cruising, are you, Dougie?"

"You know, I was going to offer you the bed, just for the night, to be nice. But I feel my generosity slipping away."

"Aw, thanks, bro. But I think I'm afraid of your bed."

"Can't imagine why." Doug leaned against the French doors that led to his room. "I always use the couch."

"Ew." Pacey hopped off the couch and wrapped the sheet around all the exposed skin of his body. "I feel sick."

Doug laughed and headed toward his bed. "Night, little brother."

"Doug! Jesus, Doug!" Pacey shook his brother's shoulder, snapping him out of his restless sleep. "Wake up."

Doug bolted upright, throwing off Pacey's hand, his body shaking, his breath coming in gasps. "What?"

"You were…I don't know." Pacey looked slightly frightened as he stared at his older brother. "You were screaming and crying like a kid, something about a fire and…" Pacey shivered. "You scared the shit out of me."

"Yeah." Doug got off the bed and walked to the bathroom, turning on the faucet and splashing cold water on his face. Without looking, he grabbed a washcloth off the towel rack and wet it, running it over his sweat-slick chest. "Sorry about that."

"You want to talk about this, Doug?"

"Not in the slightest."

"Oh, come one." Pacey laughed nervously. "You listen to my problems all the time." He got off the bed and walked into the bathroom, trying to catch his eyes in the mirror. "Let me return the favor."

Doug tensed as Pacey lightly touched his shoulder. "Just go back to bed, Pace."

"C'mon, Doug."

Doug whirled around, slapping Pacey's hand away. "This isn't some fucking high school trauma where I'm hot for my best friend's girl. Back off."

Pacey looked stunned as he stepped away. "I never…Jesus. I just wanted to help."

"Go to bed, Pacey."

He stared at Doug for a long moment, noticing the lines on his face and the sudden shadows in his eyes. "No. I don't think so." He crossed his arms over his chest. "Not until I know why you were screaming in your sleep."

Doug brushed past him, shivering as skin touched skin. "Go to bed, Pace. That's what I'm going to do."

Pacey snapped off the bathroom light and watched Doug crawl back into bed by the cool moonlight. "Why won't you tell me?"

"Because it's nothing. And it's none of your business."

"It's not nothing." Pacey walked over to the bed and sat on the edge of it. "Nothing doesn't wake you up in a cold sweat, Doug."

Doug turned on his side, facing away from Pacey. "Goodnight."

Sighing, Pacey got up then stopped. Getting back on the bed, he lay next to his brother and stared at the ceiling. "What are you most afraid of?"

"I'm not afraid, Pacey."

"No?" He turned over on his side and stared at his brother's back. "I'm afraid all the time. Afraid of life, afraid of choices. Afraid of growing up."

Doug's body remained still and Pacey sighed, assuming he'd fallen asleep. He was about to go back to the couch when Doug spoke. "I'm afraid of the truth."

"What truth?" Pacey's voice was quiet, the typical edge of sarcasm gone. "You're kind of one of the upholders of truth."

"Those truths are easy. Others…" Doug paused, his heart pounding. "Aren't."

"What truth, Doug?"

He shook his head, "Go to sleep, Pace."

"You can't say shit like that and then expect me to just pretend it never happened, Doug."

Doug sighed and turned on his back, careful not to let his gaze turn toward Pacey. "You ever wonder why Dad hates you?"

"All my life. I just figured it was because I wasn't you."

Doug turned over, waiting until Pacey did the same. Blue eyes met blue. "You're right. And you're wrong." Doug sighed. "When I was three, I was…shit." He forced himself off the bed and stomped toward the kitchen. Pacey followed him slowly and stood in the doorway while Doug opened the refrigerator, pulled out a bottle of wine and drank about half of it.

Wincing as he dropped the bottle to his side, holding it loosely by the neck, Doug looked at Pacey. "When I was three, my parents died."

"Ha ha. Very funny. Mom and Dad will appreciate that."

"I said my parents, Pacey. I didn't say Mom and Dad."

The two men stood facing one another for a long moment before either of them spoke. It was Pacey's soft voice that broke the silence. "Go on."

Doug winced at the tone of his voice, broken and confused and hurt all at once. "I was three, like I said. There was a fire; no one's sure how it started. Sometimes, when I dream, when I remember, I think I might have done it, but I don't know, can't remember too clearly, don't comprehend all the images. Anyway, the house…you know the lot on 5th, the one no one will buy?"

Pacey nodded as Doug took another long drink from the wine bottle before passing it over. "I think that was my house. It's the only one I can figure, but no one will say for sure, not even now. And I thought about looking it up and finding out, but then I'm afraid it'll all come back and I'll have even more guilt to wake up with."

He took a deep breath. "So, Dad saved me. Walked into that burning building and saved me, and this beam crashed down and hit him right across the back. You ever noticed how he doesn't take his shirt off? There's a huge burn there where it went through his coat, burned through it in the time it took them to lift it off of him. And the entire time he's got his mask that he's passing back and forth between us, sheltering me from this inferno that I may have started."

Pacey emptied the wine bottle and sat it on the table as he sank into a chair. Doug opened the refrigerator again and set another bottle on the table. Pacey opened it as Doug sat down. "They adopted me and there was this huge fanfare about the great thing he did and they did and I was the number one son, you know? Of course you know." Doug laughed bitterly and held the bottle to his lips.

Pacey stared at the table, not sure if he could meet Doug's eyes. He looked up for a second as the bottle slid in front of him, following Doug's bare arm up until he met his gaze. "Drink up, 'little brother', I ain't anywhere near finished."

Pacey looked away again as he took the bottle, his eyes settling on the curtain above the sink, blowing slightly in the cool night early morning breeze. Doug watched him, his eyes unrelenting. "So they didn't think they could have children. That's why they did it, as well as the publicity, I think. That was the first year Dad was nominated for Sheriff. He didn't win, but it was close, gave the incumbent a run for his money. After that, everyone knew the next sheriff in town would be named Witter. He was living the high life. Cream of Capeside society for a little while and then Mom got pregnant."

"And that was okay, because they were all girls, ya know?" Doug took the bottle from Pacey's hand, careful not to touch him. "Girls were okay because girls could be pampered and spoiled and princesses and they didn't do anything to take away from the father/son bonding that was going on with me and Pop." His smirk was sharp enough to cut glass. "And then you came along."

"His real son."

Doug flinched as Pacey spoke, surprised by his words, by him uttering them. "Yeah. Funny, huh? He got the one thing he always wanted, but by then he'd already done everything he could to make me over in his image. You were extraneous by that point, unnecessary."

"A fact I was made well aware of."

"You also weren't planned. Well, no more unplanned than any of the girls, but you're the one that tightened the budgetary constraints. You were the one that dropped the socio-economic class to something lower. Dad complained from the first day, from the first bill, from the lack of fanfare. You were born on election night and he was pulled out of something, some dinner or something because Mom was sick and bleeding and you're screaming. He came into the hospital room and I was scared to death, all the girls huddled around me in the corner and Dad came in and you shut right up and he went to Mom's side without even looking at you."

Pacey held onto the bottle with both hands, tears stinging his eyes. "Why are you telling me this, Doug?" He whispered softly, the salty liquid trailing down his cheeks as he looked up at him. "Why?"

"Because you wanted to know why I wake up screaming." Doug reached out and put his hands over Pacey's, feeling the moisture gathered on the bottle against the warm skin of his hands, feeling the man across from him, the man he's always viewed as his younger brother shake.

"Because of the fire?"

"Because of all of it. Because there's this ball of guilt that sits in my stomach whenever I fucking see you, whenever I see what he does to you. And I wish I could hate him."

"But he saved your life."

"He gave me a life, Pacey." Doug got up from the table and walked to the sink, staring out the window, his dark hair ruffled like the curtain. "He gave me the perfect life. A family and a calling and everything…"

"So what's the problem?" Pacey got up from the table. "John Witter wanted the perfect son and he got him. He didn't even have to spill a single fucking drop of sperm." He tossed the bottle in the sink next to Doug, listening to the glass clink and shatter. "Congratu-fucking-lations."

"I'm not finished."

Pacey stopped walking, the strength in Doug's voice surprising him, stilling him. "I can't think of anything else you could possibly say to me, Doug."

"I've known almost all my life that you're not my brother, Pacey. Not by blood."

"And you've hated me, accordingly?"

"No." Doug turned and stared at him, his blue eyes tortured. "The exact opposite."

"Great, I'll try and feel the brotherly love."

"No." Doug's voice was raw and hard. "That's not fucking it at all." He walked up to Pacey and stood in front of him, resting his trembling hand on his cheek as he bent down and kissed him softly. "Not it at all."

"The fuck!" Pacey shoved Doug away and stumbled back into the living room, practically tripping over himself in his haste. "Jesus fucking Christ!" He grabbed for his clothes, draped over one of the chairs and hurriedly got dressed. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"Nothing," Doug laughed bitterly as Pacey slammed out of the apartment. "Nothing at all."

Pacey sat on the wall and stared out at the creek, shivering in the dewy air. He pulled his arms tighter around him, the thin tank top doing nothing to combat the chill. Turning his head, he could see the police station off in the distance, the stiff, gray building imposing in the fog. He could see his father on the steps, talking to some of the other officers, could see him laughing, slapping them on the back.

Tears stung his eyes again, from cold and pain. His lips were raw from rubbing them, scrubbing away the feel of Doug against them, chapped from the wind, from the dank water of the creek that felt cleaner than he did as he washed out his mouth.

Doug was his brother. He was the one he'd always gone to for comfort when he was younger, the one that he fought with and hated and loved in equal measure. He'd trusted him, confided in him during the whole mess with Joey, with his life. And all the fucking time he'd probably been sitting there with a hard on, wanting to fuck him.

His lips burned. Burned and hurt and bled a little, as he chewed them and spit out slivers of skin. Fuck him and his thoughts and desires and his perfect fucking world. He shoved off the wall and started walking, unsure of where to go. Every place here had some memory clinging to it, all of which seemed warped in the light of Doug's confessional.

He stopped outside the police station, staring up at the face of it, wanting to laugh and cry and throw things all at once. Suddenly resolute, he walked away, heading for the library, not wanting to stay and see his father's face.

His father. Doug's father. His father's son by blood. And by love.

Doug looked up from the floor blearily, blinking in the harsh glare of the overhead light. "What the fuck do you want?"

"You drunk?"

Doug laughed at the incredulous tone. "What the fuck you do…do you think, little brother?"

Pacey stared down at him, "You look like hell."

"Yeah? Well, you're a fucking peach."

"You kiss your mother with that mouth?"

Doug laughed, delight and bitterness entwined. "No, but I've kissed my brother with it." He watched Pacey's face through hazy eyes. "Why are you here?"

"Because I knew that, in true Witter fashion, you'd be self-destructing." He squatted down across from him. "I don't think I've ever seen you drunk."

"There are a lot of things you've never seen me do, Pacey." Doug managed to lever himself to his feet. "Why don't you get the fuck out of here, okay? I'm sure one of your friends or enemies or whatever you are this week will take you in." He turned toward the sink and stared down at the bottles now buried in it. He dug through them until he found one with something in it. "Because I sure as hell don't want you here."

"I looked it up." Pacey's voice was measured. "The fire and everything."

"You thought I'd make that shit up?"

"I didn't know what to think, Doug. I still don't." He walked into the room and sat down in the chair he'd abandoned hours earlier. "Imagine you woke up in the middle of the night with your older brother screaming and suddenly there's this confession and then he's kissing you. It's hard to think."

"Hard to think," he nodded and stumbled to the other chair. "And hard to deal with, I can see." He reached out as if he was going to touch Pacey's lip, but his hand stilled inches away. "Let's just pretend this never happened, okay? Let's just pretend you never woke me up and let's just move your ass off my couch and back home or whatever before you go away and we can just resume our animosity toward one another and you can just go away and let me finish being very, very drunk in peace."

Pacey slipped out of his chair and leaned on the table, squatting down beside Doug's knee. "I can't pretend, Doug."

"Oh, Jesus." Doug shoved away from the table and spun toward the refrigerator. He opened the door and dug through until he found a beer. "I don't give a fuck if you can pretend, Pacey. I don't give a fuck if you hate me or whatever. Just…I just don't give a fuck anymore." He lifted the bottle and started to drink, stopping as Pacey grabbed it, covering him with beer as he tugged it away. He glared at him angrily, fury fueled by the bitter smell and the sight of Pacey's ragged lips, torn and cracked. "What?"

"What do you want from me?"

"I don't want a fucking thing."

"Then why did you kiss me?"

"Because I'm sorry." Doug felt tears cloud his eyes, taint his lashes. "I'm so fucking sorry that I ruined your life, Pacey. Sorry that I couldn't stand up to him, that I…" Doug shrugged and rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes, scrubbing away tears and beer like a child. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Pacey stood there, his head slightly tilted. "You didn't make him make the choices he made. You didn't make him be the man he is. You were just his means to an end." "I could have done…something."

Pacey took Doug's arm and led him toward his bedroom. "No. You couldn't have." He pushed him toward the bathroom. "Get undressed."

"Pacey…" he whimpered the word softly, quietly.

"Just do it, Doug." He passed him and reached into the shower, turning it on and adjusting the heat. He held the door open for him as he got undressed, slipping naked into the shower. Shucking off his pants, Pacey followed him in, wearing his boxers and wife-beater, capturing Doug's hand as he stood there unsteady.

Doug held onto Pacey's hand silently, the other hand against the slick tile as the hot water beat down on him. He tilted his head back, wondering if he could scrub away the feelings that felt as if they were pounding inside him, desperate to get out. He closed his eyes as the water poured down, freeing his hand from Pacey's grip and resting it on the shower door. "I'll be fine."

"I'd rather not take that risk. The last thing I need is to be sent up for murder." Pacey leaned against the back wall as Doug just stood there. "These feelings that you have…"

"Don't." Doug shook his head, sending a spray of water the opposite direction. "We're pretending it didn't happen." He looked up, surprised to find Pacey so close. "What are you doing?"

"You're in no condition to bend over. I'm cleaning you up."

"Pacey." He didn't say anything for a long moment until he felt large hands guide the washcloth over his chest, the clean scent of his soap tickling his nostrils. "I really don't think…"

"Shut up." The words were whispered, almost not spoken as his hands moved over the expanse of his chest, over his arms, spread apart and his neck, his head still thrown back. "Turn around."

Doug did as he asked, not speaking, not looking as he faced the wall, leaning forward and stared down at the ground, deliberately not looking at his body, not focusing on the feel of Pacey's hands as they moved down his back to his waist, scrubbing in small, concentric circles to his lower back and the upper curve of his ass. He whimpered softly and spread his legs just a bit more as Pacey's hand slid lower, still moving in the steady circles, still covered by the soft washcloth. It moved down the back of his thigh, his calf then up the inside of his leg.

Doug braced himself as his knees trembled, threatening to give way as Pacey's hand slipped forward, the soft cloth brushing the back of his balls, the sensitive slip of flesh behind them before moving back and up over his ass and then around his waist to the soft indentation of his hip.

Pacey's body was almost pressed to his, just far enough away to feel out of reach. "You should stop," Doug whispered.

"Turn around."

He did as he said again, not arguing, not sure he could. He met Pacey's eyes this time, watching him for a second as he just stared at him, his clothing soaked and clinging to his body, revealing just as much as it disguised. He refused to let his eyes slip lower, down past the tight beads of his nipples, pressing hard against the see-through cotton.

Pacey bent down once more and started at Doug's ankles, then his shins, then his thighs. His gaze remained locked somewhere distant until his hands rested on Doug's hips, water beating down on them both. Pacey turned his gaze to Doug's cock, swollen and pulsing. "You sober yet?"

"Yeah."

Pacey nodded and closed his eyes, leaning in and wrapping his bruised lips around Doug's cock, pulling it deep into his mouth.

Doug gripped Pacey's shoulders in one last fit of strength and pushed him away. He turned away himself, fumbling with the shower knobs to stop the relentless spray and drown them in silence. "Go away."

"I can't. No more than this will."

Doug pushed the shower door open and got out, wrapping a towel around his body. "It will go away. I don't want this. You don't want this."

"If you didn't want it, then why?" Pacey's voice was soft, curious. "Why start something that can't go away? Why start something that ruins everything?"

"Ruin everything?" Doug's laugh was bitter, the drunken cynicism sharper in his sobriety. "What did I ruin, Pacey? Your relationship with Dad? No more so than it already was."

"Our relationship."

"I told you the truth you'd been looking for all your life."

"Yeah," Pacey agreed, shivering slightly in his wet clothes. "But that's not the only truth." He watched Doug as he tried to back away, unable to in the small room. "You want to take the pain away, don't you? And you want me to forgive you for causing it in the first place."

Doug stilled, surprised by the insight. "It doesn't matter what I meant or wanted."

"It does." Pacey peeled his shirt off and let it fall to the floor, the wet sound loud in the quiet. "You want something to heal you, heal us, right? And this is it, isn't it? This is the only way to prove trust and love and honesty."

"You can lie to me with words."

"And I can't lie like this." Pacey pushed his boxers to the floor. "You want forgiveness in flesh."

Doug shook his head. "No. I just want forgiveness."

Pacey moved closer and took Doug's hand, guiding it to his erection. "What do you feel?" He waited for a long moment before answering his own question. "You feel the blood pounding? Not the same blood."

Doug's hand moved along the length of Pacey's cock, his own arousal growing at the simple hardness of it, the blood that flooded the thick shaft. Not the same blood. Pacey held his hand over Doug's, stilling it as he reached out with the other hand and flicked the towel away. Tilting his head toward the bed, he took a step and led them both there.

They lay beside one another, touching and exploring. No words or whispers were spoken, the soft guttural sounds of arousal peaking and fading as fingers and tongues found places; wet, sweaty bodies clung to one another and pulled apart.

Pacey lay his head on Doug's stomach, feeling the movement of his chest rising and falling, the hushed, frantic heartbeat. He pulled away and got off the bed, heading back to the bathroom. Doug closed his eyes and listened, touching places Pacey had touched and left heated in his wake.

He was beside him again, his hand wrapped around the base of Doug's cock, moving up the sleek skin, coating it with thick gel. Doug shivered, anticipation like beads of sweat along his spine. Pacey handed him the gel and lay down on his stomach, his face turned to the side to see Doug's expression.

Unwilling to meet the piercing blue, Doug sat up, kneeling between Pacey's spread legs. The gel was cool on his fingers, cool against the hot skin of Pacey's ass, slick against the tight ring of muscles as he coated it, sliding both hands over the supple curves of his ass before pulling them slightly apart and penetrating him with a finger.

The hiss sizzled in the air, dancing like water in a hot skillet as, once begun, it was impossible to stop, spreading the resisting flesh with one finger, then two, then three before pulling away and placing his cock against the lubricated surface and pushing in.

Pacey's breath caught and hitched and hissed as he moved beneath Doug, hurting and hating and loving as the thick shaft pushed deeper and harder, Doug holding his hips, grunting and sweating and no longer controlled and safe, but reckless and abandoned.

Dark hair, wet and tousled, eyes closed and every muscle in his body held tight at the breaking point, Doug nearly screamed as he came; thick, hot liquid flooding Pacey's ass with one long stroke. His hips moved involuntarily as Pacey's body clenched around him before he could pull away.

Feeling the pressure ease off of him, Pacey moved as Doug did, both of them lying on their backs, neither touching now.

Suddenly Pacey moved and was on him, rolling Doug onto his stomach. There was no gentleness as his felt fingers push the gel into his body, replaced quickly by a slick cock. Pacey pushed in with steady determination, practically forcing himself inside Doug's body, willing yet resistant.

Pacey's rhythm was angry and erratic, thrusting and rocking, the steady rain of tears on Doug's back the only gentle thing as his fingers dug into Doug's flesh, drawing forth small half-moons of bruised skin as he came.

He found the camera while Doug slept, found the pictures. What had been honest guilt had turned into innocent obsession. And innocent obsession had become this. He didn't need the flash in the glow of the bathroom light. Didn't need anything as the pictures fed out one by one.

As he piled them together, he took one last look without the cold eye of the camera between them. He'd heard once that people revealed everything in their sleep.

Truer words had never been spoken.

"Doug?" Doug looked up from his desk; his curious expression changing in the face of his father's barely suppressed anger. He stood up and moved into the Sheriff's office, shutting the door securely behind him. "You seen your brother lately?"

"Pacey? No. Why?"

"Isn't he staying with you?"

"He was. I think he planned to do something with his friends this weekend. Why?"

"Why?" John Witter hovered on the brink of eruption. "Why?"

"Yeah. Why."

The envelope landed on the edge of the desk, the pictures spilling out. He picked them up, knowing them. Pictures of Pacey. Harmless. Doing things you'd take pictures of.

Not so harmless. Sleeping. Covers off, clothes rumpled, erection obvious.

Damning. Pictures of Doug, naked. Bed destroyed with sex and sweat. A picture of both of them naked, together on the bed. His mind wondered how Pacey had taken it in the brief second before betrayal roared and his father backhanded him.

"You wanna fuckin' explain that?"

"No."

"What?"

"No, sir."

"You think I was fucking asking for deference?" Sheriff Witter grabbed a picture, another private moment. "Explain this goddamned shit to me."

"Pacey was fucking around."

"Pacey fucks around by taking nude photos of you and of you and him?" He grabbed Doug's chin and held it in an iron grip as he forced a picture in front of him. Pacey, dressed only in boxers lying on Doug's couch, his hand hidden beneath his waistband. "And how did Pacey manage to fucking take this one?"

"Dad, I…"

"Don't you fucking dare. I didn't risk my life to save your worthless ass just so you could throw everything away."

"It's…"

Sheriff Witter held Doug's face in front of his, the spittle from his angry words another weapon. "Did you fuck him?"

"It's…"

"Get the fuck out of my police department."

The door was unlocked when he got home, a sign that Pacey had come and gone. He locked it behind him before walking into the bedroom. He knelt before the nightstand, dumping the drawer out onto the floor and sent the camera skittering across the rug. No photos.

The drawer still in his grip, Doug walked into the bathroom, almost relieved to have found it.

"Now you know how it feels to be destroyed."

He wondered briefly whose lipstick it was while his hand fumbled at his belt.

The first bullet only shattered the mirror.

They wrote about the rescue again, dredging up old news to compliment the new. They listed his awards and commendations, they talked about the good he did and how good he was.

The father had enough power to keep the truth out, save for the scantiest details. Dirty words like sex and incest and abuse and how long and who knew weren't bandied about in print, although rumors spread, as they always do. There was never any truth to the lies that got told, nothing that touched on anything more than barest fact.

The pictures and negatives had been burned long before the story became news. Burned and destroyed like the lives they took with them.

He tossed the paper to the table in the run-down motel he was staying in, unsure of the town. It was somewhere to be, somewhere to hide. Somewhere to wonder if, when Doug pulled the trigger, all the guilt had landed on his shoulders.

Picking up the cold steel that lay next to the paper, he fit the barrel in his mouth and stared at himself in the mirror.

And in the night, a shot rang out. Different than the one before, but similar enough to be brothers.

08/15/01