Rob had become domesticated. Even more so when Aaron left a toothbrush at the cabin, followed by a shaver, clothes, and a pile of books he wanted to read. Rob never commented on it, but two weeks after that first massage, he was getting them every day, sometimes twice a day, and he felt more comfortable as if the cracks in his muscles were easing and vanishing. Of course, they weren't, and the bullet was still there, but he could almost forget it. Aaron was part of his life.

But not as much as Bran and Toby were.

This morning had demonstrated precisely how they depended on him because when they were bickering over the last pancake, he'd told them to quit it. Dad-like. And they blinked at him before exchanging broad grins.

“Whatever,” he muttered, but he did make another pancake to stop the arguments.

Getting soft in your old age, Rob.

When the pain became too much for massages and painkillers to handle, it was the beginning of the end, but he focused on living his life in the now, with Aaron and the kids.

That first day had turned into two, and a week into ten days, and he still hadn’t left the kids at Crooked Tree. Leaving had been on his radar, but that meant throwing away the kids’ trust in him and how much they loved Aaron and how strong they were as a four.

He had to leave now while he still could, but he had two options.

Vanish as he had first imagined he would do. Take himself out of the equation, so he wasn't a burden. That was option one.

The second option was scarier.

Have the operation.

He’d considered having it away from there, working through it, not being a burden, then coming back if he was able to.

“You stopped reading,” Toby announced and elbowed him in the stomach, which was enough to snap him out of the turmoil in his head. “The teddy is in the box, and?”

Toby had a fierce expression on his face, not exactly the sleepy child he was supposed to be after a bath and a bedtime story. Maybe that had something to do with the fact that this story dealt with a teddy put in a box in the attic by parents after their children had grown up. At least that is what Rob read between the lines. He really should have checked the story before he started it. Then he wouldn’t have Toby glaring up at him, but Luke had handed over a whole pile of books, and he assumed they’d be okay.

“Make it okay,” Toby demanded.

He turned the page and was relieved to see a picture of the teddy climbing out of the box. Toby relaxed then, cuddling into his side, smelling of soap and powder, Bunny between them, and waited for more.

When the book was done, and Toby’s eyelids had grown heavy, Rob looked for Aaron, who had vanished into the kitchen threatening to make the best hot chocolate known to man for Bran. He hadn’t come back yet, but the weakness in his arms meant he wasn’t able to carry a sleeping boy to bed.

Even though he desperately wanted to.

Toby fell asleep in his arms, and Rob closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the fact his nephew trusted him this much and believed however much a teddy was in an attic, unloved, that Rob could make it right. He must have dozed off as well, the weight and warmth of Toby enough to relax him. Of course, the meds helped, taking the edge of most of the pain, but was now at the point where it wasn’t working as well as it should. He was losing the strength in his right arm and leg, his balance was shaky, and the headaches were rough.

I’m losing the ability to hold the boys. To be their hero. Does it matter if I died on the operating table? I would still be unable to hold them. Paralysis though, I’d be in a chair, but I could still read to them. And I’d have Aaron?

Aaron appeared then and reached down to take Toby, smiling at Rob and taking the little boy to bed. When he came back, he slumped in the chair opposite and sighed noisily.

“Twenty-one,” he announced.

“Twenty-one what?”

“Itsby bitsy tiny marshmallows in the mug. We balanced twenty-one of them, glued with cream.”

Rob blinked at his lover. “You gave Bran all that sugar before bed?”

“Of course not. Do I look stupid? I ate them all.”

“So now I have to deal with a hyperactive adult instead.”

Aaron patted his flat belly. “I can handle my sugar,” he said and then leered at Rob. “We’ll work it off.”

Rob shook his head. “Not tonight. I’m sorry.”

That had Aaron sitting up, alert. “Is the pain too much? Do you need me to use the needles—?”

“No, I want to talk.”

Aaron didn’t slump back, but his expression changed, became wary. “I won’t let you leave to go somewhere to die,” he announced, his hands in fists. “I love you, and I will follow you and stop you.”

Rob had no doubt that was true. “I love you, too.” There, he’d said it, and he meant it, and Aaron’s mouth fell open. “I love the boys, I want to be a dad to them, and I love you.”

Aaron moved then, kneeling in front of Rob, so many questions waiting to tumble out of him.

“What happened?”

“Toby trusted me to save the teddy, and Bran asked me to show him how to shave so he would know well in advance. And you…”

“What about me?” Aaron glanced at him suspiciously.

“You make me think that all of this could be real.”

“It can be.”

“What if I’m paralyzed? What if we can’t make love? What if this is us done and you end up as my carer? I don’t know if I can do that to you or the kids.”

Aaron rested his hands on Rob’s knee.

“I’ve only loved one other man, you know. His name was Elijah, and he was another medic. It was flash-fire fast, more lust than love at first, all done on the quiet, no future for us. Everything was bleak, but we finally said that we loved each other. He only lived another week after that. An IED took out our transport, and he died in my arms.” He paused. “You want to know something? There wasn’t a scratch on me, and I was desperate to die alongside him. I was trapped out there. I’d lost the only brightness in my days, and I never re-enlisted. That was six years ago. I’ve come to think that I was lucky to have him for as long as I did, but if he’d survived, lost a limb, suffered head injury, I wouldn’t have loved him any less.”

Rob closed his hand over Aaron’s. “That was some speech.”

Aaron smiled at him, and the humor reached his eyes. “Whatever happens, we’ll deal with it together. I’m not naive, I know it’s not as easy as getting ramps installed, or working through the pain. But, I won’t ever leave you to deal with this alone. So, you have to promise me this; Don’t let the past steal your future. Our future. You, me, and the boys, and maybe a girl or two.”

“What?”

“I’m one of five. I like big families.”

Then he grinned, and Rob knew he was teasing, but the thought of more children, of life beyond today, was exciting and shiny, and he abruptly wanted it so bad that he could only really make one choice.

“I spoke to Doctor Maynard today. He wants me to come in. Aaron, tomorrow, will you drive me to the hospital?”

Aaron sat up and kissed him deeply, then pulled back, and his eyes were bright with emotion.

“God, yes.”

Doctor Maynard smiled at them when they walked in. That was a good sign, right? He wouldn’t be smiling if he was going to hand over a load of bad news. He held out his hand, and they shook.

“This is Aaron Carter, my…” Rob didn’t know what to call Aaron.

“Rob’s partner,” Aaron said with confidence and held out a hand which the doctor shook. He was still smiling. In fact, he had dimples, which went nicely with silver-white hair and a neat goatee, which was disconcerting to find attractive on a man who had to be close to retiring.

Doctor Maynard pulled a file in front of him. “I’m so pleased you came in." Rob and Aaron sat, and then everything passed in a blur. Aaron had questions, asked them with the authority of someone who had medical knowledge, and Rob began to tune out the back and forth, staring out at the parking lot and wondering all over again what the hell he was doing here.

For Bran and Toby.

For Aaron.

For me.

“…Type I, transfixing with small fragments inside the canal… computed tomography is the next test… accurate location of the bullet, definition of bone damage and the presence of intracanal fragments… evaluation of instability… intravenous broad-spectrum antibiotic therapy seven to fourteen days…”

The words all ran into each other, but he tried his hardest to look interested. He’d gotten to the point where this worked. Or it didn’t. What else could happen?

Aaron took his hand and squeezed, and Rob came back into the room and imagined he’d missed something vital.

“Huh?” he asked.

“Doc was explaining that removal of the fragments might not resolve all of the pain, but it can be managed with tricyclic antidepressants and anticonvulsants.”

“Such as amitriptyline or gabapentin,” the doctor finished, and Aaron was nodding along in agreement.

Only one thing was in Rob's thoughts, quite apart from managing any possible pain. “If I live, will I be able to move? After, I mean.”

“Surgery will be performed by myself and Doctor Trevor McArthur, an orthopedic surgeon and at the top of his field.”

“But that doesn’t answer my question,” Rob prodded.

“Full recovery is possible,” the doctor began, his expression serious. “Also full paraplegia, or paralysis below the waist, is possible. Then there could be anything in between.”

At least he wasn’t sugarcoating all of this, so the ball was now very firmly in Rob’s court.

“I want to go home,” Rob announced over the two of them talking about acute care facilities and discharge.

Aaron turned to him straight away. “Rob, no, you decided you were doing this. We should talk some more, if you have any doubts…”

“None,” Rob murmured. “I don’t mean I want to go home forever. Book me in. I want to go home and say goodbye to the kids properly and explain a little about what is happening. I need to do that first. Okay?”

His head hurt, and he wanted to sleep, which is what he did when he got into the car. He slept all the way back to Crooked Tree and for the remainder of the afternoon.

Sitting with the boys and explaining what was happening was something he never wanted to do ever again. Not even with Aaron there as his backup.

“Mom went into the hospital and didn’t come out,” Toby cried.

This is what I was afraid of.

I should have left when I could.

Rob opened his arms, and Toby climbed onto his lap, burying his face into the soft fabric of Rob’s shirt.

“I promise I will try my hardest to come home,” he said, but that was the wrong thing to say.

“Didn’t Mom try then? Is that why she died?” Bran was dry-eyed. He hadn’t shed a single tear, just pulled back his shoulders and sat stoically on the end of the sofa.

“Of course she tried,” Aaron tried to explain, but Rob held up a hand to stop him.

“Your mom was so strong, and she loved you more than anything. So much that she made sure there was someone to look after you if the cancer was too much.” He was lying now because what she’d done was name him, but the truth was that he knew her, and she would have fought every single step of the way.

“You didn’t come for a whole year,” Bran accused, but he did stand up and looked as if he might join Toby and Rob in the soft recliner.

There was no defense for what he'd done, cutting himself off from Suzi and the boys. He thought he'd been doing the right thing, not infecting them with the terror he saw, not putting them in danger, but every day he lived with Toby and Bran he doubted his conviction.

“All I can say is sorry,” he offered and waited for the response.

Bran didn’t say anything, but he did perch on the side of the chair and leaned against his uncle. That was step one.

Toby fell asleep a little later, and Aaron was the one who put them to bed.

“What will happen to us if you don’t come back?” Bran asked, sitting upright in bed. “We won’t go back to places where the dads shout at us all the time. We’ll run away and live in a tent at Silver Lake.”

“You’ll have me,” Aaron murmured and tousled Bran’s hair.

Rob wanted to add to that. “Crooked Tree has so many families, and there will be one here for you. That I can promise.”

Bran nodded and snuggled under the covers. “We’ll come and visit every day,” he announced sleepily, “even if we have to catch the bus like we did with Mom.”

“We’ll stay near your uncle,” Aaron said, and that seemed to be enough to pacify Bran, and finally he closed his eyes.

Rob went into the kitchen but couldn’t recall why he’d been heading that way. This was a known side effect from the lead in his spine, a general feeling of disconnection, and some major headaches. He didn’t have the energy tonight.

But he let Aaron guide him to bed to sleep, and that was enough.

The car ride to the hospital was quiet. Aaron had to drive of course, which meant Rob had plenty of thinking time.

He had to channel his determination to get things done, his ability to fight against the odds, and then come back for the boys, be an uncle to them for real. This was a risk worth taking.

It had to be.

He was resigned to it all, which should have made things easier, but he also felt sick to his stomach with fear. Not that he would ever tell anyone that. Not even Aaron.

Justin had hugged him this morning. Wished him luck. Promised he would be there for Bran and Toby, and that was all Rob could ask for.

Only he wanted more, and this time there was no way he could manage the situation. His life was literally in another man’s hands.

The boys had kissed him goodbye, and he had the newest animal drawing from Toby in his pocket.

“We’ll come and visit you every day,” Bran had told him.

He wanted to shout at Justin not to let them visit, but he didn’t have to. They’d exchanged glances, and Justin nodded his understanding. He would protect Bran and Toby from anything that might hurt them.

All he wanted to do was get in the car and sleep, but there was one thing he’d needed to do first. He just had to be very sure that Justin knew what to do if the surgery went wrong, or the outcome wasn't good. He tugged him to one side and spoke quietly.

“Promise me something, Justin.”

Justin looked wary. “What?”

“If this all goes wrong, you have to help me. You have to make sure, however often I ask you…”

“Rob?”

“Don’t give me the gun, never again, and don’t let me end it all. Help me fight.”

Justin’s wary expression vanished, and he gripped Rob’s hand. “Always.”

That done, Rob relaxed a little, and when Aaron called him to go to the car, Rob felt at peace.

Whatever happened, happened. Wasn’t that how it went?

And now they were here, at the hospital, and in less than twenty-four hours he would know what was going to be left of him. He had a DNR set up, no heroic measures to keep him alive on a ventilator. If things went wrong, then he wanted to slip away because he couldn’t imagine the hell for Bran and Toby visiting him if he was in a coma or awake but unable to communicate.

“Ready?” Aaron asked after they’d sat in the car in the parking lot for a good fifteen minutes. Aaron had sensed he needed time to psyche himself up, simply held his hand tight, and waited.

Rob closed his burning eyes, finding it hard to swallow through the tightness in his throat, and nodded. “Yeah.”

When he woke from surgery, the fire in his veins was like acid that burned so hot he wanted to die. Then the meds kicked in, and everything was fluffy clouds and soft water.

And through it all, Aaron’s voice or Bran’s or Toby’s always anchored him.

He could walk. Slowly, shakily, and dosed up to the eyeballs with medication, he actually walked. He couldn’t tell if the pain in his arms was still there, because everything hurt.

Everything.

Intravenous broad-spectrum antibiotic therapy lasted ten days, and by the end of it, with Aaron supporting his weight, he managed to use the bathroom on his own. Something about Aaron holding his head as he was sick and pissing all at the same time, made Rob’s heart hurt. He didn’t want to be pathetic.

“Did you know I once single-handedly took down four members of a cell in Seattle, that were running drugs and guns across the border to finance bomb making in the city?” He said, as he clutched the toilet and Aaron’s hand.

“You never told me that, no.”

“I did. All on my own.”

Not like the pathetic thing he’d become.

“I want to hear all about it. Tomorrow. When you wake up.”

The first day back at Crooked Tree, after a total of three weeks in the hospital, with swelling pressing on his spine, he cried in Aaron’s arms.

The second day, he got angry, shouting at Aaron and scaring the boys.

The third when Bran brought him tiny pieces of a cut-up grilled cheese sandwich, he was told categorically that he’d scared Toby yesterday.

Even though the pain was like knives in his back, he apologized for shouting.

One the fourth day when Toby finally came back in the room, holding a donut with the chocolate melting on his fingers, he accepted Rob’s apology. And Rob accepted the donut.

But it was exactly ten days before he could get up and about for real. He had a walker to shuffle about with, but he managed a reasonable distance in circles around the sofa. The boys were watching cartoons and simply peered around him every time he walked in front of them.

This was normal.

I love normal.

When three months had passed, and the hospital gave him the post-op all clear, he and Aaron celebrated with Bran and Toby. Sam made a cake. There were mocktails, cupcakes, so much food that it would never be finished, and through it all, Aaron was at his side.

Darkness claimed the ranch, and Bran and Toby had fallen asleep a long time ago, tired from running, and laughing so hard that it had been contagious. Aaron and Rob went to sit on the porch, staring up at the stars, sipping on some nonalcoholic mix of orange and cranberry, complete with small umbrellas, chatting, talking about the party.

“I love you,” Aaron said.

He'd spoken clearly and firmly as if he was expecting Rob to disagree with him or tell him that he was stupid.

“Aaron—”

“I spoke to Eddie. He has a friend, Zach, who does building work, and he’d quoted me for extending the house. He could have it done in four months or so, quicker if my brothers help me on our off days.”

“Aaron—”

“And the boys could have their own rooms, with a shared bathroom, and there’d be an extra room for someone staying, or if we decided to adopt—”

Rob stopped him from talking by pressing a finger to his lips.

He had just one thing to say under the star strewn night sky.

“I love you, too.”