He awakens to the clean smell of scrubbed linoleum and the familiar itchiness of 100-count cotton sheets. The world beyond his closed eyelids is cool and white, gentle with a soft expectation. He knows, even before he opens his eyes, which small, dark face pinched with concern will greet him. And he isn't disappointed.

"You," he says, almost accusing, with an edge of soft amusement. His voice is dry and tender, strangely vulnerable. "Always you. I just can't shake you, can I?"

And embarrassed, Larry ducks his head, focusing on the hand intertwined with Daryl's. "No," he answers, "you can't."

Hosted by www.Geocities.ws