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Part 3

When I get out of the shower, they're in the kitchen, cooking. Together.

"Come on, Jase. It doesn't take a genius to flip pancakes."

"These are patented Newsted family pancakes. They have to be done right."

"They're already made. I can flip them over."

"They have to be flipped at the exact right moment."

I can almost hear Kirk roll his eyes. "They're *pancakes*. It's not rocket science."

"Get away from my spatula," Jason growls. He glances up and sees me waiting in the doorway. He moves away from the pan, still holding onto his spatula, and pours me a cup of coffee.

I take the mug from him and wrap my hands around it. "Thanks."

He nods and goes back to scrutinizing his "patented Newsted family pancakes." After he flips them, he starts pulling plates out of the cupboard and silverware out of a drawer. He adds some napkins and hands the whole stack to Kirk.

"Why do I have to set the table?"

"You wanted to help."

Kirk makes a face at him. "I wanted to help with the pancakes."

"You can't, so go set the table."

Kirk mutters, "Bastard," under his breath as he passes me to go into the dining room.

"I heard that!" Jason yells after him.

"Good!" Kirk yells back.

Jason chuckles and flips the pancakes out of the pan onto a plate he sticks back in the oven. "You feeling any better?" he asks me as he pours more batter into the pan.

I shrug.

He sighs. "Sometimes I think you take this strong, silent type thing way too seriously."

I sip my coffee while he watches the pancakes.

Kirk comes back and peers at the pan. "Aren't they done yet? I'm hungry."

"Great food takes time. Get the syrup and butter out of the fridge and put them on the table."

"Make James do it." So he does know I'm standing here.

Jason flips the pancakes. "James isn't wandering around my kitchen getting in the way."

"Of course he isn't," Kirk sneers. "James wouldn't do that."

"Kirk," Jason says sharply.

"Well, why shouldn't I be mad?" Kirk throws open the refrigerator. "He's the one who waltzes in here with his problems and ruins our morning. He always does this." Kirk slams the refrigerator door shut and takes the syrup and butter into the dining room.

I set my coffee cup on the counter. "Maybe I should go."

"He's probably just blowing off steam. At least stay for breakfast." He flips the pancakes onto the plate with the others and turns off the oven and stove. "There's enough food." He hands me Kirk's juice and grabs his own coffee cup. I pick up my coffee and follow him into the dining room.

I sit down across from Kirk and hand him his juice. He scowls at me. Jason puts the plate of pancakes in the middle of the table and sits.

"Dig in," he says cheerfully.

Kirk glares at him for a moment, then grudgingly takes a couple of pancakes. Jason takes some next, then passes me the plate. I take some pancakes and wait for Jason to pass me the butter and syrup.

"God," Kirk says after his first bite. "These are the best damn pancakes I've ever had."

Jason beams. "I told you they'd be good."

"You didn't say they'd be this fucking good." Kirk crams another large bite into his mouth.

Jason laughs. "Jeez, Kirk. Slow down. No one's going to take them away from you."

Kirk gulps down some juice and takes a smaller bite. I take a bite myself. Kirk's right. They are damn good pancakes.

Kirk finally pushes his plate away and heaves a sigh. "Damn good pancakes."

"Thanks." Jason quirks an eyebrow at me.

I echo Kirk. "Damn good."

Jason grins and starts gathering up plates. He waves me back down when I get up to help. He takes the plates to the kitchen and comes back with the coffee pot and the orange juice carton. He pours more coffee for me and juice for Kirk. Then he goes back to the kitchen, leaving Kirk and me at the table. Alone.
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Part 2

I hear some rustling, and then one of them gets up. I recognize the footsteps. Jason.

I open my eyes and glance at the couch. Kirk's closer to me now. I let my eyes fall shut again.

"I came over to jam," he says into the silence. "We did some awesome shit. We made tape, if you want to hear it."

I shrug. "Okay." I don't bother to open my eyes. I know what he looks like. He's disappointed that I'm not showing more interest.

"I stayed over. Jason makes a good teddy bear."

I don't need to know this.

"And he's good with nightmares too."

"Maybe I should give him a try." Even I'm surprised by how choked my voice is.

"Maybe you should." His voice is soft, gentle.

I look away from him.

"James," he says tiredly.

Whatever else he might have said is lost as Jason comes back. "I left some towels and clothes on the counter for you if you want a shower," he tells me.

I push myself out of the chair. I walk to the bathroom even though I really want to run as fast as I can. I can feel their eyes on my back. I can hear the murmur of their voices. I shut the door on them.

Part 4
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Jason laughs and holds out the spoon for Kirk, who tastes the sauce, then adds more of something out of one of the jars on the counter. I watch Jason lean in for a quick kiss.

Lars notices my distraction and stops talking. He watches them for a moment, then asks me, "Are you jealous?"

"No," I lie.

He looks up at me. "Liar." He puts his arm around my waist. "Stop being such a grumpy fuck." He pulls me into the kitchen and grabs me a soda out of the fridge.

I lean back against the counter and take a deep drink of the sticky-sweet cola.

Kirk scrapes his cake batter into a pan and turns toward me with the bowl. "Want some?" he asks, holding the spoon out to me.

I shrug and take the spoon from him. He does make a damn good cake.

He scoops up more batter on his fingers and holds them out to Jason. Jason closes his lips around them and carefully licks off all the batter. Kirk grins and stands on his tiptoes to whisper into Jason's ear. I have a pretty good guess about what he's saying, and it makes something twist inside of me.
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Part 1

The three of us look at each other for a moment, then Kirk slides past me and peers into the coffee pot.

"No hot water for tea?"

Jason smacks Kirk's ass. "Go get dressed. I'll make you some tea."

Kirk jumps away from Jason's hand. "Dick."

"Don't insult the man making your morning tea."

Kirk only grins at him and slides past me again.

Jason busies himself heating water and finding a tea bag. I turn my coffee mug in my hands, feeling the heat seep into my joints. Jason leans back against the counter and watches me while he waits for the water to boil.

"Why'd you come over?"

I shrug. "Couldn't sleep. Thought we could shoot some hoops."

He sips his coffee and runs a hand through his hair. He sets down the coffee and pours boiling water over the tea bag in Kirk's mug.

Kirk comes back into the kitchen, yawning, and takes his mug from Jason. He sips it and stares at me through the steam.

Jason gulps down the last of his coffee and sets his mug in the sink. "We're gonna shoot some hoops," he tells Kirk. "You wanna play?"

Kirk makes a face. "No."

Jason grins and reaches over to ruffle Kirk's hair. "We'll be outside." He takes my coffee mug and puts it with his in the sink. "Come on, James. Time to kick your ass."

I dredge up a smile. "No way, man."

"Oh, yes." He puts his arm around my shoulder. "I'm going to kick your ass, my friend."

I resist glancing over my shoulder at Kirk as Jason leads me outside.

Unfortunately, Jason's right, and he does kick my ass. I'm panting and sweating, and he's still dribbling toward me. I bend over and put my hands on my knees.

"Admit defeat?"

I nod and push my sweaty hair out of my face. "Yeah, yeah. You kicked my ass."

He scoops up the ball and ruffles my hair. "Come on."

I follow him into the house and back into the kitchen. He grabs two bottles of water out of the fridge and tosses one to me. We gulp from the bottles, and he heads into the living room. He flops onto the couch. I take one of the chairs.

"So. Couldn't sleep?"

My throat goes dry, and I drink down more water. "Yeah."

Jason just watches me patiently.

I stare blankly at his walls, not looking at him. "Had a nightmare."

"About what?" he asks softly.

I shrug. "Dunno." We sit in silence for a little longer. "Something about Kirk."

Jason's eyes flicker over my shoulder, and I know before I turn to look that Kirk's behind me. He comes around my chair and sits next to Jason on the couch. He's taken a shower; his hair's wet.

"Dreaming about me?"

"Yeah." I can feel myself shrinking back into the chair.

"What'd you dream?"

I grip my water bottle with both hands. "You were in danger."

He scowls at me. "I can take care of myself."

I close my eyes and tip my head back. "It was just a dream."

Part 3
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"Kirk!" My shout yanks me out of the /nightmare/ dream. Just a dream.

I lie there in the pre-dawn stillness. I stare up at the ceiling for a long time, try to calm down. The house is so /empty/ quiet.

Jason's. I'll go to Jason's. He's up in the mornings. His house won't be quite so /lonely/ quiet.

I pull myself out of bed, take a shower. Shorts, t-shirt. Don't need a basketball; Jase has enough to supply a whole high-school PE department.

He smiles at me when he answers the door, and lets me in. His hair is sticking up like he just got out of bed. Maybe he did. He takes me to the kitchen, starts the coffee.

"You're up early."

I shrug. "Couldn't sleep."

He pours coffee into sensible dark blue mugs and hands me one. I rest my elbows on the table, sip my coffee while he spoons sugar into his.

"You here for a while?"

I shrug again. "Maybe."

He nods, looks off into the distance.

"Hey, Jason--" Kirk comes into the room, but stops when he sees me.

He's naked. I've seen him naked before. But not in Jason's kitchen.

Part 2
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Kirk decided that he wanted to talk to me this morning inspired, no doubt, by Spooks' question about Jason's leaving, "Who the hell is going to protect him [Kirk] now?"

I'm crying. So hard I can barely see to write this. Lani's in the other room, making us some tea. She's trying to help, trying to make me feel better, but it's not working.

Jason. Jason. Jason's leaving. Jason's already gone.

This band has always been split: James and Lars, me and the bassist. In the beginning, there was Cliff, and we were so close. He told me everything, even, or maybe especially, things he wouldn't tell James and Lars. He'd come off stage dripping with sweat and grinning like a madman and tell me he'd dropped acid beforehand. He never tried to make me take a hit, but I always knew he would share if I wanted to.

Then Cliff died, and there was Jason.

Jason protected me; Jason protected all of us. He protected us from ourselves at first. He let us do everything and anything to him instead of fighting back. If he hadn't, we would have taken out our grief on each other and ourselves.

Later, when we weren't so horrible to him, he became the fan man. He'd stay out, late at night in air so cold you could barely breathe, signing autographs even past the time we couldn't anymore. We tried, oh, we tried, but for all that we're rock stars, we're still only human. Jason wasn't like us. He just kept feeding on the energy of the fans until they, too, were tired and satisfied.

And me, he protected me. We were close; how could we not be when we were the other half of the band, the ones who weren't James and Lars? We stuck together. I would drink silently and listen to him vent about how James and Lars wouldn't let us do anything. We would jam together, and that was an outlet for both of us, to play whatever we wanted, not what James and Lars wanted us to play. We protected each other, I suppose. It wasn't enough for him. He left anyway.


I know I said I wasn't going to put snippets in italics, but this one wanted to be that way. An expression of Kirk's tears, I suppose.

Yesterday I was reading Silver Birch, Blood Moon, one of a marvelous series of books edited by Ellen Datlow and Terri Windling which collects together new retellings of old tales. As I was reading, I was also listening to Melissa Etheridge's Breakdown, and the line "I gave you my soul" struck me. It's the perfect title for a modern-era fairy tale set, as all such tales are, in the wilds of bohemian/lesbian New York City. I got down off my bed (it's lofted) and started writing, but then I realized that I don't really know what it would mean to give away one's soul. I need to figure that out before I can do more with the story.

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Ruth Sadelle Alderson

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