He looks around his house like it's the first time he's been there. And really, it's the first time he's been here like this in a while. Alone. Without his... without his Team. He can't just quite bring himself to give them the proper name. Because he's had something like that before. And it didn't last. But this different, too. So there should be a new word for it.

Maybe Team is the perfect word.
’Lovers’ or ‘relationship’ just doesn’t cut it.

But right now the world won't let them be the team they are. There's something going on. Somebody is looking into them. It's probably nothing. And it sure as hell has nothing to do with what they are doing off-duty. But in this world where people can't comprehend anything that goes beyond two halves equalling one, they cannot take any chances. So each of them went back to their long abandoned places.

As he wanders from room to room, he wonders if there is anything left at their old places. Maybe the clutter should annoy him. But it hasn't bothered him until now--he didn't even realize it was there--so why start now?

They left their mark on his house like they left their mark on him. But while their things are still here, the house feels unnaturally cold.

For once, he can't bear the silence. He likes the quiet. But he also likes choices. And today, he didn't choose quiet.

His hand wanders to the buttons on the stereo on their own accord. The soft sound of a female blues singer fill the house. Cait. McGee gave her the CD last week. No special occasion. Just because.

He sits down on the couch and lets the notes wrap him in a cocoon for a while. He can hear the easy laughter that echoed through the house that night and brought him out from the basement. They have a way of doing that.

He opens his eyes. The coffee table is cluttered with magazines and books. An odd collection of the magazines Tony reads and whatever Tim is burying his nose in this week. He picks up a random book and tires to remember who brought this one. He can’t remember. It’s not what Tony would normally read, but often Tim challenged Tony read something and discuss later - and then Tony would come back with some other obscure book. He and Tim got into more than one mock fight that way. Which usually is just the prelude to something else. But he pushes that thought aside for the moment. It's still early. And it would only make him feel more alone.

He stacks the magazines and books into neat piles and then moves to pick up the trail of random things his three lovers have left around the house. Then he looks at what he has in hands (a sweater, more books, some DVDs and just general clutter) and decides he doesn't want his house neat and tidy. He wants them here. Clutter and all. So he carefully puts their things on a table at the wall.

He stands there for a moment, contemplating what to do. Turn on the TV and watch one of those shows the three of them keep insisting he watch? He hates them. Well, not really. But he'd never tell them that. He needs to keep some last remains of his façade up--even if they see right through it. So TV or the boat?

The boat it is. He hasn't worked on it in a while. And a little bit of good old-fashioned manual labor and the familiar feel of the well-loved tools is just what the doctor ordered for tonight. Maybe the monotonous motions will quiet his thoughts and cure his loneliness for a little while.

He takes a deep breath, inhaling the comfortable aroma of sawdust. Carefully, he starts sanding down one of the planks. It brings back memories of many nights he spent down here, feeling alone and lost, trying to make sense of the world and expelling his demons by repetitive movements. And it also brings forth more recent memories. Still some are of unconquered demons. But then there are others. When he came down here just because he enjoyed the work. And some of Tim, Cait or Tony helping him with some part or other when then they had to work through some issues of their own and weren't ready to talk yet. Or them just coming down here to watch him, to just be with him and chasing away the blue clouds.

He hasn't felt alone since they started this.

He glances at the clock on the wall and is surprised to see that it's the middle of the night already.

The bedroom feels cold and empty at first. But then he notices the little things. The items left lying around. Their smell clinging to everything.

They might not be here right now, but they aren't gone.

So he gets comfortable in the middle of the large bed, draws the sheets that smell like all of them closer, and falls asleep with a tiny smile on his lips.

[the end]