Authors' Note: English is not my first language; it's German. This is the best I can do, so consider yourself warned. The spell-checker said everything's okay, but you know how trustworthy those thingies are.

persona non grata (lat.): unacceptable or unwelcome person

You DID know that I'm a failure, right? I mean, isn't it obvious? Been trying for years and years, and look at how far I have come.

Nowhere.

Nada.

Zilch.

It just doesn't work -- all right, on the outside it does. Looks as if it is just what I want.

Man, that's the only thing I'm REALLY good at.

Playacting I mean. Pretend I'm all right with this, want it, this way and no other.

Right?

Wrong.

I've lost count of all the women I've been with all these years. Having a warm pliant body in your arms to touch, feeling arms wrapped around you, touching you -- just not where it really counts. Did you know that the human skin, as sensitive as it is, is one of the largest organs? And have you ever heard of sensory deprivation? Now, imagine such a large organ -- deprived ...

None of them touched me where it really counts. But then there was this very moment I looked up, the moment you entered the building and my life, took away those sun glasses of yours and I looked into your eyes, sea-green and equally deep, that deep I was lost the very second. You haven't said a single word then but have already touched me -- where it really counts. A second later I heard your voice, and my skin started to crawl, in the most pleasurable way. It was like the proverbial honey running down my spine -- and I swear I could feel every single drop. And still do, only thing you have to do is open your mouth and just say something.

Gets even worse when you laugh. Feels like a summer storm sometimes, thunder and lightning included, or like a warm crackling fire in the fireplace in the middle of the winter, complete with chestnuts and hot chocolate with cinnamon, warming my frozen soul for a brief moment. And for that brief moment I allow it to dream, imagine what could be -- yet know it never will.

The thing is, I fell for you that moment almost a year ago, as hard as never before. Yes, I even dare say it -- I love you. Can you imagine me, saying something like this, with each and every consequence and commitment that comes along with it? And meaning it?

Yep, but here I am. Doing just that, at least to myself. Is it right? No. Cause you're my friend, simply not interested in men in general and me in particular, not that way. Don't get me wrong here, please? I'm damn thankful to have you as a friend, and it means a whole lot to me ... wouldn't wanna lose that, not by acting on a feeling that has no right to be, at all. Don't intend to act on it, either.

Maybe it will go away eventually?

Hm.

Maybe. But unless it does, there're still long lonely nights, endless amounts of hours, time for my mind to wander, to envision you, and to wonder ...

To hate myself.

Too harsh a word, you say? Naw, don't think so. Never wanted anybody as much as I want you. Wonder what your skin feels like under my fingertips, the feeling of your hair when I'd run my fingers through it, wonder how you would react to this caress or that touch, wonder how your lips would taste, how you'd open up under mine, wonder how it would feel to simply hold you, sitting in front of that fireplace on a chilly winter's night, just the two of us ... and hating myself for it at the same time. Can't even look at my reflection in the mirror anymore, can't look myself into the eyes.

Wonder when the others will notice?

Wonder when it will start to finally influence my work. Has influenced my life, all right. Got me sitting here, in the middle of the night, all by my lonely self and nursing this drink. Nope, don't know how many I had by now, don't really care, too. Should sleep it off?

God idea.

Thing is, I just can't.

Sleep, I mean.

It's either this mind of mine, hopping into this well-known train of thoughts, or it's nightmares waking me after an hour or so.

Complaining? Me? Naw ...

Stating the facts is all.

And fact is, I'm a failure ...

"Mr. Wilmington? Don't you think you had enough today?"

He looks up from his whiskey slowly, looks at me as if he doesn't recognize me. Considering the way he came in tonight maybe that's even true. Something has happened today.

I remember when I saw him for the first time. Came in here about four months ago, sat down on a chair at my bar quietly, put his car keys on the counter, showed me his badge and stated calmly he would appreciate it if his car'd be still whole the next day. Hell, the man's a fed, so of course I said yes. He nodded a short thanks and ordered whiskey. Not a glass, a bottle. Then he sat there all night long, quiet, not saying anything, only drinking. Thank goodness he seemed to be the silent, calm type, just trying to drown his problems and not making any fuss. I knew something was on his mind, something that bothered him deeply. He had those sad eyes, you know, those special look that speaks of being by yourself inside, alone even in a crowd.

Loneliness. I couldn't quite understand it then, I mean, look at that guy, all tall and handsome, a real looker. I understand it now. He didn't make the entire bottle that night, just asked me to call him a cab some hours later. Came back the next day and gave me a twenty dollar tip. His car was still there, yes sir. He's coming here ever since, mostly once a week, putting his keys on the counter, ordering a bottle, not saying anything else. But I got really worried about him. See, he doubled his visits lately, comes here twice a week, stays not that long during the week, but longer at the weekends.

I asked him once.

"Must be one hell of a lady, mister."

Buck looked up, into the questioning eyes of the bar tender. He knew the man must have been curious, but he hadn't asked any questions, just served the whiskey. Buck knew the man had been watching over him when he was getting drunk slowly, and he appreciated the gesture. Gave the man a big tip every time.

"That'd not be the term I'd use," he muttered, smiling at the image of sparkling green eyes and hard muscles.

"She's not a lady?"

"She's not a she."

O-kay ... that explained a lot. Gay, hm? And a fed, good lord. But the moment he smiled and got that far away look I saw it in his eyes -- guy or not, he got it bad. Sometimes they come in here, crying in their beer how their wives don't understand them, or how they could be so cruel. That's when the ladies had thrown 'em out. The classical scenario, bar tender routine, you know. I don't like that, but I can handle it. This guy here -- man, I'm not sure.

"He's worth it?" I asked, pointing at the bottle. He just looked at me for some seconds, than smiled again.

"Yep."

I didn't ask again.

"Mr. Wilmington? Don't you think you had enough today?"

The question slowly penetrates my mind and I look up. Enough? Oh, that. Yeah, maybe he's right, and I have enough. I should go home, really. What time is it anyway? Call me a cab, will ya? Thanks man, real nice of you.

What? No, no I don't need any ... all right, skip that. Hold the floor for me, okay? Niiiice'n slow ... here we go ... oh, look, a cab ... my cab? What's your name? Gregory? Thanks, Greg, you're a good man ... where to? What does that ... oh, where to ... as in address ... here it is. Bye, Greg ... look after my car, will ya?

Man, he has it bad today. I had to help him into the cab, never happened before. Normally he manages on his own. But even now he's not a little bit aggressive ... there's just this sad look in his eyes. Not even the whiskey can eliminate that. Some people get mean, some get depressed, and some start babbling. But he just gets even more quiet, if possible, looking even more like a -- puppy that's left in the rain.

Lost.

I watch the cab disappear at the next corner and get back inside. I'd like to see the man who's making such a guy act like this. Who could have broken this man's heart?

Oh look, what's that? Sheee, he's left his badge and wallet ... not good. I carefully store the items away; add them to his car keys. Wonder where he goes from here? I wipe the bar, thinking about one Buck Wilmington.

Buck groaned and squeezed his eyes shut again. Sheesh, that had hurt. Speaking of it, his head throbbed, his stomach was training to make some loops, and his tongue felt like the backside of a stray dog. Must've been one hell of a night ...

"Must have been one hell of a night yesterday."

Okay, since when did his subconscious speak?

Since when did his subconscious speak with a southern accent?

Uh-oh ...

"Ezra?"

"Last time I checked."

A cool cloth was placed on his eyes, something clinked.

"There's a glass of water and some aspirin on the bedside table. I thought you might need it. Take a shower, I have coffee ready and some eggs, if your stomach feels like it."

"Ezra?"

"Still."

Buck carefully removed the cloth from his eyes and cracked one open. Ezra had dimmed the light a little, so it wasn't that painful anymore.

"How come I'm here?"

"You rang the doorbell and I let you in? Now, go shower and shave, you -- smell."

Ezra turned to leave the room, but was stopped when Buck called out for him.

"Ez? Thanks."

Standish just nodded, pointing toward the bathroom door.

"Could you freshen up my memory a bit? How ... I mean when ... ?"

"Taxi, I assume. Drunk, no keys. At four in the morning. "

"Did I ... I mean ..."

Ezra snorted at the stuttering speech and sipped at his coffee, pushing the plate with the eggs toward Buck.

"Eat. Now. And I don't know what you mean. You came here, rang, and fell into my arms, mumbling something I didn't quite understand ... something about your car and that I 'the hell' should stop that 'goddam rotatin' of that 'fuckin floor'. Oh, and you told me that you 'luv ya ez'."

"Uhm ... "

Damn...

"And then you threw up on the carpet."

Buck eyes widened in horror. Could this become any more embarrassing?

"I didn't!"

"Nope. But you made every attempt to."

Oh-my-god ... but then Buck noticed the mischievous sparkle dancing in Ezra's eyes. Hell, the man had him good.

"Shit, Ezra!"

"Yes, Buck?"

"Ain't funny."

"Oh? No, you're right. Actually, you didn't threw up on the carpet."

"See."

"You threw up on the couch."

"And you're really expecting me to eat right now?"

"Now that you mention it -- yes."

Another push at the plate.

"Come on, Buck, you need it. And don't forget about the juice. You have to replace some fluids."

Buck looked at the eggs, looked at Ezra, who simply cocked his head before taking another sip of his coffee -- which was quite good, Buck knew -- and then he sighed his surrender, taking the fork to attack his helpless breakfast. Being only too aware of a pair of bemused green eyes watching him closely.

"You've been to a bar yesterday?"

"Hm ... "

Ezra didn't say anything else, just gazed at Buck contemplating, waiting. When he didn't receive an answer he went on.

"You've been doing that often lately."

"What make you think that?"

"No keys. You left your car. Which means you left with someone, or you planned on getting drunk, too drunk to drive. You came here by taxi and without your wallet -- you owe me twenty-three dollars, by the way. You've been doing that more often lately, every time the same bar, because you like your car too much to just leave it somewhere, without someone to look at it. According to JD you haven't come home before three or four in the morning, every time more or less drunk. But you haven't been with anyone or you would've mentioned. You've been more withdrawn lately, I caught you daydreaming now and then."

Ezra listed his observations calmly. He had the feeling that there was more behind it, that something serious was on his friend's mind, but he didn't want to push the matter, in case Buck didn't want to talk about it. Or to him.

Buck rose, walked over to the window and looked outside, not really seeing the nice view. Inhaling deeply he raked a hand through his hair, turning slightly but not looking at the southerner. He sighed.

"You're right."

"Uhm-hm."

Just that. Just that little sound, indicating Ezra was listening and encouraging him to go on whenever he was ready.

"It's ... not easy."

"Figured."

"I ... I fell in love."

"And that is a problem because...?"

"Because it's for real, Ez." Buck turned, gazing at his friend who was still watching him calmly. Hell, the man had missed his calling.

"You know me, I think, pretty well. Me and the ladies ... whew. But this ... I've never felt this way, not really."

"I repeat: that is a problem because ...?"

"Because - it's a man, Ez."

There was a moment of utter silence that made Buck's heart sink. What the hell had he been thinking, revealing himself to Ezra, of all people?

"I see."

Just these two words, uttered as calmly as everything else. But encouraging nevertheless, making Buck look up, look at Ezra. His friend was still watching him, even more intense then before. Well, that might be his own imagination.

"You didn't know I swing both ways, huh?"

"It's not exactly written plainly on your forehead, Buck. Considering your way with women it wouldn't be my first guess, no. More coffee?"

Buck gaped. The man was thinking about coffee?

"You're thinking about coffee??"

"Hm, now that you mention it ... one would think that a good hot cup of Earl Grey would fit the situation far better. Now, you want one or not?"

"Ezra?"

"Hm?"

"You realize I'm just pouring my heart out here."

"Of course. Cream?"

"No, thank you."

"You're right, why ruin a perfectly fine hazelnut-blend with cream. Does he know?"

"What ... huh?"

"The man you're in love with. Does he know?"

"No."

"You plan on telling him?"

"No."

Ezra sipped his steaming coffee, looking thoughtful.

"Hm. "

"Hm?"

"Yes, hm. If he doesn't know, how do you know he's not interested?"

"I do. He doesn't swing that way. 'Sides, we're friends."

"Ah. I see."

"You do?"

"Indeed. You have fallen in love with a man you consider your friend. It's complex as it is, but adding this dilemma to the list ... "

Ezra's voice trailed off. Buck closed his hands around his mug, feeling cold all of a sudden.

"yeah ... like betraying a trust. As if I'd lie into his face every time. Every time I see him, every time ... I have to pull myself together, not to let anything slip, not to ... and every time I wonder why the hell he doesn't see, doesn't notice. Why nobody notices. It's so obvious sometimes ... "

"So I take it the others aren't aware of your situation either?"

Buck shook his head, not daring to look up.

"Chris does know -- about my bisexuality, that is. He's my friend and my boss, he has to know. In case .... you know ... "

"Should it interfere with the job."

Ezra's voice was calm, still. A part of Buck wondered why the hell the other man didn't run screaming, being exposed to this sort of revelation from a man he thought he knew. But Ezra didn't run, nor did he scream. The man sitting in front of him, at the other side of the table was collect, silent -- just asking here and there, listening. And seeming to understand.

"yeah, one never knows. Vin suspects, I think, and the others don't know. 'Specially JD. I ... if he ... "

"You're afraid if how he might react?"

"Hmm."

"Maybe you underestimate our dear Mr. Dunne?"

"Maybe. But what if not? Too much a risk."

"I he's your friend he should be able to handle it, don't you think?"

Yeah.

Maybe.

But what if not?

What if ...

I look into this sea-green eyes of yours, see you watching me, see the highlights of the morning sun reflecting in your hair, even notice the way you smell. I have problems with people's scent sometimes, did you know that? Of course you didn't. But not with you, never. I like your scent, it's all warm like vanilla and cinnamon. Like a night spend cuddled together in front of an open fireplace at Christmas, with this mug of hot chocolate and marshmallows, with cinnamon cookies and, yes, maybe even a Christmas tree. Yep, I know, I seem to be obsessed with open fireplaces. It's simply because ...

It feels like -- home. YOU feel like home to me.

"Ezra?"

"Yes, Buck?"

"Thanks."

You sit there, at the other side of the table and you're still my friend, after all.

"That's what friends are for."

After all I just told you you're still my friend. That means damn much to me. Because, though I poured my heart out here, there's one thing I didn't tell you. Will never tell you.

Hopefully...

Because, you see, it's you.

It's you I fell in love with.

I love you, Ezra Standish.

With all that I am.

For whatever the love of a failure is worth.

~ Fini ~