That First Step

By C.L. Finn

At this point in my life I'd like to live as if only love mattered, as if redemption was in sight. As if the search to live honestly is all that anyone needs, no matter if you find it. You see when I've touched the sky the earth's gravity has pulled me down. But now I've reconciled that in this world birds and angels get the wings to fly.
--Tracy Chapman

Tim Bayliss stood nervously on the sidewalk, thinking very seriously about turning around and heading home, or to the Waterfront, or to the station-- anywhere but the restaurant across the street. He was due at the Zodiac at 8:00, exactly three minutes from now. He checked his watch for the tenth time in as many minutes-- now he had two minutes to decide.

This was ridiculous. A grown man shouldn't be afraid of a simple dinner date.

Date? God, what had he been thinking. A grown man shouldn't be experimenting like a teenager, either. This whole idea was stupid. Closely approaching forty, and now he was exploring his sexuality. Yesterday he was sleeping with Julianna Cox and tonight he was going to...

What was he going to do? Sleep with Chris Rawls? Is that why he was here? No, for God's sake! They were going to have dinner, a little wine, some conversation. That's what he'd told Frank. Pasta did not necessarily lead directly to sex with another man. Even if said man happened to have the most beautiful gray eyes Tim had ever seen, and that soft voice...

Wow, where had that come from?

Checking his watch once again, Tim frowned and looked across the street. The place was perfectly normal... just a restaurant. This was no big deal... just dinner. Tim liked Chris. He was a nice guy, who also happened to serve good food. There was really no reason for Tim to be terrified of walking across the street and sitting down to dinner.

If that was true, why had he gone home after work and showered? He'd used the herbal soap that he only used before dates-- a gift from Emma Zoole. It was probably the only good thing to come out of that disaster of a relationship. She'd bought some for him, insisting that it would increase his sensuality. Tim wasn't so sure of that, but he'd liked the scent, and tracked down a shop that sold it after the bar Emma gave him ran out.

And then there was the outfit. Levi's and a dark green turtleneck sweater. He wanted to be comfortable, and his suit pretty much screamed cop, especially in this neighborhood. He wanted to fit in. And look good-- he could admit that couldn't he? He'd even dusted off the leather jacket in the back of his closet.

"Damn!" Tim muttered, looking at his watch again. It was now 8:05. It would be rude to just not show up, wouldn't it? If there was one thing he hated it was being rude.

Running a hand through his short hair, Tim darted across the street, jumping when an oncoming car honked at him. He could do this. It was no big deal. Just dinner-- then he could go on with his life.

The Zodiac was incredibly busy. Most of the tables were full and it was difficult to see the bar from the front door because of the people milling around it, apparently waiting for tables. Not people-- Tim corrected himself, after looking around-- men. There was only a handful of women in the restaurant, and at least half of them seemed to be on staff.

"Are you here for dinner?" one of the young women asked him, surprising him from his survey of the room.

"Uh," Tim stammered, turning to look at her. "Yeah."

"Oh, detective," she smiled. "I didn't recognize you."

"I'm sorry," Tim stared at her, suddenly feeling incredibly conspicuous.

"Noreen," she said. "I served coffee to you and your partner the other morning. After Chris found that body," she finished with a shiver.

"Oh right," Tim smiled sheepishly.

"It's okay, you were working." She waved off his apology and pushed her dark-framed glasses up on her nose. "Chris reserved a table for you... follow me."

The unhealthily-thin woman waded into the crowd and might have been lost if it wasn't for Tim's height. Once they got through the bar crowd, she led him toward a table near the back, where the restaurant was much quieter.

"So, I suppose he's married," she said out of the blue, when she stopped at the only vacant table he'd seen in the restaurant.

"What?"

"Your partner... black guy, intense eyes."

"Oh," Tim answered, still a bit lost in the whole conversation. He wondered if he'd missed part of it when they went through the crowd. "Yeah, he is. Sorry."

"S'okay. All the beautiful ones are unavailable," she rolled her eyes and glanced around the room, and then mumbled. "I really have to get a different job."

Tim sat down and took the menu she offered, somewhat glad for the conversation. Noreen's chatter was keeping him from turning around and running right back out of the restaurant, even if he was having a hard time following her train of thought.

"I saw Chris in the vicinity of the kitchen last, so I'll just go track him down for you. You want something to drink?"

"No thanks. I'll just wait," Tim smiled at the girl when she shrugged and took off toward the kitchen.

A few seconds later, a young good looking bus boy came by and filled his water glass. Despite what he'd said to Noreen, he immediately reached for it and gulped down the cool liquid. Once he'd taken care of his dry mouth, he pulled off his jacket and draped it on the back of his chair, then took a look at the menu.

He didn't actually read much of what was on the menu, his mind mulling over the idea of Frank being beautiful. It was true that his partner got his fair share of attention from women-- perhaps even an unfair share-- but Frank had been the most married man Tim had ever known since the day they met. If Tim were to be really honest with himself, there were moments, when Frank would smile at him or let down his guard just a little, and Tim found himself drawn to the man in a manner very un-partnerly. Of course, then Frank would put him down or disregard his opinion, and the spell would be quickly broken. Frank was a wonderfully complicated person-- but beautiful? It was just not among the adjectives he would use to describe his partner.

Frank wasn't the only man that Tim had found himself attracted to on occasion. Peter Fields, for all his bullshit and sickness, had recognized something in Tim that he didn't want to admit. And that was the reason Tim was now sitting in this restaurant, scared to death. It was time to figure himself out. Like he'd told Frank, he just wanted to be happy. And maybe, just maybe, it was his own fears that were keeping him from being happy.

"Hey Tim," a soft voice intruded on his thoughts, just before a hand landed on his shoulder. Tim jumped about a foot out of his seat in surprise. He'd been far too lost in thought to notice anyone's approach.

"Sorry you had to wait," Chris said with an apologetic smile as he sat down across from Tim.

"Oh, it's no problem. The place looks pretty busy tonight. We could do this some other time... you know, if you need to take care of things." Tim wasn't sure if he was hoping Chris would take him up on the offer or not.

"No," Chris answered with a grin. "This place runs itself pretty well. And this crowd should clear out in the next fifteen minutes or so. There's a film festival going on down the street-- people are just here for drinks before the film. I'm all yours for the night."

"Oh, good," Tim managed to get out, despite the warm flush at the idea of being Chris' for the night. Okay... he needed to get himself under control. Before he could say anything more, a waiter appeared with a bottle of wine.

"Thanks Chad." Chris took the bottle and poured a small amount of the dark red wine into Tim's glass. "I hope you like this... it's one of my favorites. If not, we can get you something else."

Tim reached out and took a sip of the wine, which had a surprisingly light taste for such a dark wine. He looked back at Chris and smiled in surprise at such a great choice. "This is terrific, Chris. Just perfect."

With a nod from Chris, the waiter filled both their glasses and set the bottle in the middle of the table. "Are you ready to order?" he asked.

Tim looked back at the menu in his hand, which he'd never gotten around to actually reading, and shrugged. Feeling a bit more comfortable, he closed it with a decisive snap and looked at Chris.

"You're the expert. What's the best thing on the menu?"

With a conspiratorial grin, Chris leaned on the table, and said, "I hear the seafood linguine is fabulous here."

"Oh yeah?" Tim grinned back. "Sounds great to me."

"Give us two of those, Chad. And an antipasto plate to start off with."

"Yes, sir," Chad answered, jotting the order down with an amused quirk of his lips at the prior exchange. An uncomfortable silence fell over the table when the two men were left alone, until Chris picked up his glass of wine and raised it slightly toward Tim.

"To new friends," he said softly, his gray eyes intent. Tim dealt with some of the most dishonest and closed off people in his job, he almost didn't know how to react to someone who was so earnest and open.

"To new friends." Tim lifted his own glass, tapping it against Chris', then taking a fairly hefty gulp of the delicious wine. Uncomfortable with the moment, Tim looked around the room. "Do you always do this much business?"

"I wish," Chris grinned, looking around. "We do pretty good business, but this kind of thing only happens occasionally. The Zodiac has been really fortunate to get a good reputation in the community. Fortunately, the appearance of a body in our dumpster doesn't seem to have changed that. The restaurant business is a mercurial thing."

"I know all about it." At Chris' raised eyebrow, Tim went on to explain. "I own part of a bar with a couple guys from Homicide. It's uh... in Fell's Point-- the Waterfront. It's just a cop bar. And a big pain in the ass. But we just started to make a small profit on the place recently."

"Congratulations," Chris nodded. "It's not an easy business, but it can be rewarding. Probably not as rewarding as being a Detective, but it's a living."

Tim laughed. "Believe me, being a homicide detective isn't nearly as glamorous as it looks on tv."

"I don't imagine anything is." There was that smile again-- mostly in his eyes-- warm and open, inviting. This wasn't so difficult after all.

"Very true," Tim nodded, taking another drink of his wine and sitting back comfortably. "So, how long have you been in the business?"

"I've had the Zodiac about six years. But I was a chef and a restaurant manager before that. And before that... I was a waiter and cook for years," Chris went on to explain as he refilled their glasses. They chatted easily about the problems of proprietorship through the h'or d'ourves, laughing over shared horror stories of suppliers, employees, and taxes. Tim quickly forgot his own reservations as he found himself enjoying the company immensely.

That only lasted until just after their food was delivered.

Chris watched Tim carefully as he speared a piece of shrimp and spun a bite-full of pasta onto his fork and then put it in his mouth. It was absolutely exquisite. He closed his eyes and groaned as he savored the burst of flavor. When he swallowed, he opened his eyes to compliment Chris on his chef, only to find Chris staring at him with open appreciation. Those pale eyes had darkened and seemed to be fixated on Tim's mouth.

He froze under that look and felt his face heat up in a full-on, no mistaking it for something else, blush. He cleared his throat and watched Chris blink and then smile as he rested his chin in his palm on the table.

"You look really great tonight, Tim," he said softly, his grin fading as the red flush on Tim's cheeks grew. He frowned when Tim coughed and took a large gulp of his wine. "I'm sorry... I thought... when you accepted this invitation..."

"No, no, no," Tim interrupted him, feeling suddenly bereft as Chris' obvious interest turned to an uncomfortable embarrassment. "It's not that... I mean... I knew this was a date... this is a date isn't it?"

"It's whatever you want it to be, Tim," Chris answered sincerely, regaining some of his composure. "I invited you to dinner because I think you're an interesting person. It just so happens that I find you attractive. But if I misread the situation, I apologize."

Tim couldn't help but chuckle and shake his head. He should have known that he couldn't handle this smoothly. Now, not only was he uncomfortable, he'd made Chris uncomfortable.

"God, how do I get myself into these things?" he muttered and took another drink of wine. "Can I be honest with you?"

"Of course," Chris frowned, and refilled both their glasses.

"I've never done this before," he admitted, then smiled sheepishly at Chris when he looked confused. "I mean... I've been on dates before... just not with another man."

"Tim, if you're not interested, you just had to say so. I'm not looking to convert anyone. I just got the sense that you were interested."

"That's just it," Tim said, leaning forward and lowering his voice irrationally. "I am interested. I've been interested before... in men, ya know? But I've never acted on it. I guess I just reached a point in my life where the interest has outweighed the fear. Does that sound totally insane?"

"No," Chris smiled gently, understanding dawning on his face. "It's not insane at all. In fact, it's not even that unusual. Lots of men don't reach that point until they're older. I think those of us who realize it at a young age are lucky. It's not as easy to redefine yourself when you're older."

Tim relaxed, feeling more comfortable under Chris' quiet assurance. He hadn't laughed at him for being a thirty-seven year old novice, and he hadn't run away... yet.

"Actually, I think I'm very lucky," Chris said, sitting up straight and drinking more wine. "I obviously have great timing." The twinkle in Chris' eyes lit up his face, and Tim relaxed even further. "Now why don't we eat this good food, and enjoy the company, and you can decide later whether this is a date or a pleasant dinner between friends."

"Yeah," Tim said slowly, a smile growing on his face. "Yeah, that'd be okay. Thanks, Chris."

"Don't mention it," Chris shrugged and picked up his fork. "Just enjoy your pasta."

"Now, that," Tim answered with a grin while spinning a large bite onto his own fork, "is a promise I can keep."

After Tim's revelation, the dinner went incredibly well. Chris, it turned out, was an exceptional conversationalist. He managed to get Tim talking about being a Detective, and actually seemed to be interested in what Tim had to say. From there, they moved smoothly into other topics like literature, movies, food, and Baltimore's unique culture.

He hadn't simply sat and talked to anyone like this in a very long time. His talks with Frank tended to be more one sided. If Frank even listened to what Tim had to say, he usually ended it with his own pronouncement. It wasn't that he minded his partner's style of discussion-- in fact, in the six years they'd been partnered, he'd learned more than in the other thirty-odd years of his life. Frank challenged Tim's opinions and forced him to rebuild his own arguments, for good or bad. But this-- this was a true give and take-- real conversation, not debate.

After the incredible pasta, and a second bottle of wine, Tim chose apple pie and ice cream for desert, instead of one of the fancier desserts The Zodiac had on offer. An excellent choice, it turned out.

"God, Chris," Tim groaned after finishing off the pie. "This is the best apple pie I've ever had. I'm serious. This is strictly between us," he whispered, leaning forward over the table, "but I think this is better than my own mother's."

Chris erupted in deep, musical laughter, that added to the warm, happy glow that had settled over Tim in the last few hours. Leaning back, Tim watched Chris laugh, finding immense pleasure in simply watching those gray eyes smile. He knew he had a light buzz from the wine, but he was more intoxicated on the fact that he was having such a good time.

"Well, that's high praise indeed," Chris finally said.

"I mean it... you have to tell the Chef."

"But you just did," Chris answered with a smirk. "That's my recipe... well, actually my grandmother's."

"I suppose that means it's a family secret. Too bad, cause we could double our business at the Waterfront with this on the menu. If there is one eternal truth in the universe, it's that cops love pie."

"What? Not donuts?"

"Oh that too... but mainly as a substitute for pie. See, pie's hard to eat on the run."

"Another mystery solved," Chris nodded in mock seriousness.

"I'm a detective," Tim grinned, tapping his own nose knowingly, "solving mysteries is my business."

"Well Colombo, we're out of wine again," Chris said, pouring the last drops out of the bottle into Tim's glass. "You want more?"

"Oh no," Tim said, finishing off the last of it. "I think I've had too much already. Coffee would be good though."

"Not a problem," Chris answered and stood up, heading for the bar. Tim watched him go, and for the first time in quite a while, glanced around the restaurant-- only to find it practically empty.

The bartender was cleaning things up behind the bar while chatting with a guy hanging around there. Two guys, obviously a couple, were paying their check and getting ready to leave, and a busboy was clearing the last of the tables. Surprised at the scene, Tim looked down at his watch.

Eleven. They'd sat and talked for three hours. Incredible.

Chris came back with a pot of coffee and two mugs, deftly filling the cups before reclaiming his seat. He offered Tim cream and sugar, which Tim gratefully took, and left his own coffee black.

"I didn't realize how late it was," Tim said, looking around pointedly at the empty restaurant. "I should get out of here so you can close up."

"Nah, that's the great part of being the owner-- I can stay as long as I want. And I'm enjoying the company," he finished with a soft smile.

"Yeah, me too," Tim answered intently, then sipped at his coffee. He meant it-- he'd had a great time. The problem was that he had no idea what was supposed to happen next. He really liked Chris, and he was even more attracted to him than he'd been at the start of the evening. But one step at a time was about all he could handle.

Chris waved good-bye to the bartender and his friend, leaving the restaurant empty except for the two men and the sounds of the busboy washing dishes in the kitchen. The sudden privacy scared Tim more than was rational, and he knew it was time to call it a night.

"As much as I've enjoyed this," Tim said apologetically, looking at his watch, "It's a workday tomorrow."

"No problem," Chris said with an easy smile. "Why don't I call you a cab?"

"Oh... I've got my car." Tim stood up to follow Chris to the bar, grabbing his jacket on the way.

"Yeah, and you've also had quite a bit of wine. I'd feel better this way."

Tim shrugged and watched him dial a well-known number. He understood-- as a bar owner, he understood liability-- and as a date, he was flattered by the concern.

Date?!

Yeah, Tim nodded inwardly, definitely a date. He sat down on a barstool with a resigned smile and listened to Chris order the cab.

"Five minutes," Chris said, settling into the stool next to him. "Want some more coffee?"

"No... or I'll never get to sleep." Both men chuckled and then lapsed into the first uneasy silence since the beginning of dinner. Finally, Tim sighed and took a big step. "So... we should do this again."

"Yeah?" Chris asked, raising an eyebrow at him. "Do what again?"

Tim grinned, but it didn't hide the flush in his cheeks at his next words. "Dinner, conversation... apple pie. You know, a date."

"A date, huh?" Chris' grin grew, causing his eyes to crinkle up in the corners. Tim had a sudden urge to reach out and touch those crinkles, but resisted, afraid of where that could lead. "I think we can do that."

"Good," Tim answered with a wider grin, wondering if he looked like a grinning idiot yet. "That's good. I'll ah... call you."

Chris grabbed one of the little cards with the name and address of the Zodiac on it and leaned over to grab a pen from behind the bar. He wrote his home phone number on the back in graceful, fluid lines. Tim watched his hands and had another sudden urge he couldn't explain.

Whoa, Timmy-boy-- you are not ready to go there. He put immediate brakes on his own imagination, shaking off the vivid image of Chris' hands on his own body. He'd definitely had too much wine.

Chris handed Tim the card and then looked out the window past his shoulder. "Cab's here."

Tim turned around and glanced at the cab. "Yeah... I guess I should go." After hesitating for a second, Tim stood up and slipped into his jacket. "So, I'll see you soon."

"Absolutely."

Chris followed him to the door, but put a hand on Tim's arm before he opened it, stopping him. Tim turned around to look at him, and found those gray eyes still smiling, but suddenly much more serious. Tim stared at him for a split second before Chris leaned in closer-- slowly, as if to give Tim time to move away-- and planted a soft kiss on his lips.

It was a surprisingly chaste kiss-- just a soft meeting of lips that lingered only a second before moving away-- but it left Tim stunned by the sweetness of it. Other than the hand on Tim's forearm, it was the only contact Chris made with his body, but he felt it everywhere. It was almost platonic in its gentleness, but the warm breath in the second that Chris lingered held a clear and present promise of future possibilities.

"Goodnight, Detective," Chris said softly with a grin at Tim's expression and opened the door for him.

"Yeah," he breathed distractedly, before pulling himself back together. "Yeah, it was," he finished with a growing smile, before stumbling off to climb into the back of the waiting cab. He was pretty sure that he didn't lose the silly smile plastered across his face until long after he'd gone home and gone to bed.

Two days later, the Baltimore City Court House was bustling with activity by the time Tim showed his badge to by-pass the metal detectors at the entrance. He found his partner, already ensconced on one of the benches outside Court Room D, reading the Baltimore Sun. Flopping down next to him on the bench, armed only with a large coffee and two lemon-poppyseed muffins against the long day of waiting that stretched out ahead of him, he yawned.

"Morning, Frank," he muttered.

"Bout time you showed up," Frank answered, without looking up from his paper. "Court's been in session for an hour."

"Yeah, and Danvers said they'd probably be doing motions most of the morning. Face it Frank," he said pulling out the first muffin, "we'll probably be here for the day. You want one?"

Frank shook his head and folded up his paper, setting it aside. He looked over at Tim, carefully examining him like a suspect in the box.

"Late night?" he finally asked casually.

"Yeah. Laura and I went to an art show. I got home early, but didn't get much sleep." And it hadn't been from any lack of trying either. After dropping Ballard off, he'd gone home hoping to sleep. Instead, he'd tossed and turned all night, trying to sort out a whole host of questions.

"Laura? You mean Ballard?" Frank asked incredulously. "You had a date with Ballard last night?"

"Yes, Frank. She's the only Laura we both know."

Frank took a deep breath, and Tim steeled himself. He could see a rant coming on from a mile away, and he was really not in the mood for it. Taking a large drink of hot coffee, he leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.

"So, let me get this straight," Frank began. Apparently, he couldn't take a hint. "Two nights ago, you... you had a date with Chris Rawls... a gay man. Then last night, you had a date with Laura Ballard... who apparently, unbeknownst to me, smolders. What I want to know is, who, or what, is on tap for tonight in the Tim Bayliss smorgasbord?"

"No one." Tim pulled his glasses off and rubbed at his eyes. It was far too early in the morning for this. "I thought I'd stay home and get some sleep. I swear, I'm getting too old, too fast."

Frank snorted. "I don't doubt it. Anyone would wear themselves out with your recent social calendar."

"What exactly is it that bothers you, Frank? Laura or Chris?" Tim asked, sitting up and replacing his glasses, annoyed at the conversation.

"Neither. It is your inability to pick a gender and stick with it that bothers me. You don't get to have everything, Bayliss. That isn't the way it works."

"I don't want everything, Frank. But something would be nice." Tim sighed and bit into his muffin when Frank refused to answer him, instead pointedly going back to his paper.

"Besides," he finally said after several minutes of silence between them, "I doubt I'll be going out with Laura again."

"That's your choice? When faced with Laura and Chris, your choice is a gay man? You're more confused than I thought."

Tim couldn't help the laughter that bubbled up within him as he realized what this was all about. At his partner's dark look, Tim tried to suppress the laughter, but couldn't.

"Frank Pembleton, was it not you only a few days ago who was congratulating me on my new sensitivity in dealing with a gay man? The man who is always telling me how I need to learn to accept all types of people. The man who can pontificate about discrimination and hatred till the end of time. But now... now suddenly... you can't deal with the fact that I might be expanding my own horizons. It's okay if there are gay people out there in the world," he exclaimed gesturing in a wide sweep of his hands. "But you can't wrap your mind around the idea that your own partner might be gay."

"Are you gay?" Frank asked carefully, setting his paper aside again.

"No!" Tim exclaimed and jumped up from the bench. "I'm making a point here. I'm not sure I'm anything! But it's just possible that I might be bisexual. What I'm asking you, Frank, is whether this is going to become a problem between us?"

Frank stood up as well, his dark countenance closed up even more than usual. Moving into Tim's personal space and pointing a finger, he began in a deceptively calm voice, "All right, first of all..."

"Detective Pembleton?" The bailiff poked his head out of the courtroom, interrupting Frank before he could get started. "They're ready for you."

With a deep breath, and a nod, Frank grabbed his suit jacket and slipped into it, then walked into the court room without another word to Tim.

"Terrific," Tim muttered and collapsed back onto the bench. This was exactly what he'd been hoping to avoid. He didn't need Frank's disapproval on top of everything else-- he had enough of his own doubts to deal with.

The date with Chris two nights ago had been fantastic, but his subsequent date with Laura Ballard just left him confused. He liked Laura-- had in fact been attracted to her for some time. The night hadn't even been unpleasant, just... off, for lack of a better word. They had failed to click-- to connect-- in the way that he had with Chris. And he spent most of the night thinking about Chris instead of paying attention to Laura.

It wasn't exactly something to complain about-- one out of two wasn't bad. In fact, it was far above his lifetime average. But it was the fact that he had connected with his male date and not his female date that had him so concerned. He was right when he told Frank that he wasn't gay, but was he really ready to admit to being other than strictly heterosexual? That was the question which had kept him up all night, and which still plagued him.

He wasn't sure he was ready to deal with any of this, but he did know one thing. He knew that he was going to call Chris and ask him out again. No matter what his fears and doubts were, he'd been lonely far too long to bypass the opportunity to spend time with someone that he enjoyed so much.

Whether Frank Pembleton liked it or not.

"So, I open the rest of the drawers in my desk... and there's grilled cheese sandwiches stuffed everywhere," Tim Bayliss exclaimed, pantomiming with his hands. "I think when I counted there were fifteen of them."

Tim's companion laughed as he walked along beside him. It was the end of another wonderful evening together-- crab cakes in the Inner Harbor and a movie. It was a surprisingly warm early spring night and Chris lived near the theater, so they'd opted for taking a cab and walking instead of driving. In his quiet way, Chris had gotten Bayliss telling stories about the more childish antics of homicide detectives.

"So, not every drama in the life of a Homicide detective is a matter of life and death?"

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong, Chris. That grilled cheese sandwich was a metaphor."

"For what?"

"For..." Tim paused, trying to come up with a quick answer. "For... I'm not sure what. But it was important at the time." At Chris' deep laugh, he shrugged and grinned. "So, okay... murder police aren't always the most mature people on earth."

"It makes sense though," Chris said, becoming a bit more serious as they turned a corner onto a darker residential street. "You deal with death and evil on a daily basis. I would imagine there's a need to balance it with the inane and ridiculous."

"Yeah," Tim grinned and nodded his head. "You know, you're right. And some of those guys really have it down to an art form now. You should meet John Munch."

Chris stopped in front of a rowhouse half-way down the block. It was an old red-brick brownstone that had clearly been renovated in the past few years along with much of the now-upscale neighborhood. The neighborhood was known for its burgeoning population of young artists and professionals, largely gay and lesbian, who had revitalized a once crumbling neighborhood, which in turn had recently sent the property values soaring-- a neighborhood on the upside of transition.

"This is me," Chris said, motioning to the front door at the top of the stoop. "You want some coffee?"

"Ahh, I'd really love to," Tim hedged nervously, despite unconsciously moving closer to Chris. "But I have an early shift tomorrow. I had a really great time tonight, though."

"It could be better," Chris whispered, closing the distance to place a soft kiss on Tim's lips. "I make an outstanding Irish coffee."

"Yeah?" Tim asked, a shiver running through him at the kiss. He leaned in again, his entire body brushing against Chris', sending a warm flush throughout his limbs.

"Yeah," Chris answered with a slow nod and a smile, before reaching up to run one hand through the hair on the back of Tim's head and pulling him closer for a deeper, longer kiss. Tim relaxed into his body, raising one arm to wrap around his waist. When Chris ended the kiss, he smiled softly and reached back to take the hand Tim had on his back and turned to lead him up the steps. "Come on."

Tim resisted when he reached the third step and Chris turned to frown down at him.

"I'm sorry," Tim said. "I really do have to go."

"Tim," Chris began softly, letting go of his hand. "Is there something wrong? I mean, I thought things were going well here. I know this is something new for you... but if you're not interested..."

"What?" Tim interrupted. "Of course, I'm interested."

"We've seen quite a bit of each other in the past few weeks, but we can't seem to get past a goodnight kiss. If you're uncomfortable with this, just say so. I can take it as slow as you need... as long as I know it's going somewhere."

Tim stuffed his hands in his coat pockets and studied his friend's amazingly gentle face. He couldn't deny the fact that he'd been drawn to those startling blue-gray eyes framed by dark brows ever since Chris had complimented his tie. The earnest appreciation had stunned Tim and sent a whole flock of butterflies fluttering through his belly. And those lips-- since Chris had kissed him chastely after their first date, he hadn't been able to get them out of his mind. But as much as he clearly wanted this man, that very desire terrified him.

"Ah, Chris... I'm not uncomfortable," he began, then grinned and ducked his head at Chris' raised eyebrow. "Okay... maybe I am a little. But it's not you. It's... look, I do want this to go somewhere. But I really do have an early shift tomorrow." Tim shrugged and looked away, then added in a voice barely above a whisper, "and... slow would be good."

Chris looked at him for a moment, as if considering his answer, then he smiled sadly and nodded. "Okay, Tim. Whatever you need." He stepped back down a step and kissed Tim softly then stepped back. "Goodnight."

"Night, Chris," Tim said softly and turned to walk back the way he'd come, sporting a crooked smile. He was amazed at the man's easy acceptance of his need to take things slow. He'd really expected Chris to send him on his way. Who needed a blushing virgin? That kind of thing was attractive in a college girl, but surely not in a man closely approaching forty.

Waving down a cab on the next block, Tim rode home lost in thought. He really liked Chris, and there was no denying that he was physically attracted to the man-- his body was still protesting the fact that he left. But he was still having a hard time bringing himself to actually step over that line. Kissing was one thing, but further? He wasn't sure he could, or wanted to do it. It wasn't just as simple as liking someone and taking pleasure in them.

It was true that he'd gotten over his own prejudice against homosexuals and bisexuals, but that didn't mean society had. And it especially didn't mean that the guys on the police force had either. Higby was a prime example of the prevailing attitude. Hell, even his own partner, Mr. Liberal Pembleton, was none too happy about Tim's experimentation. It shouldn't matter, but Tim couldn't help it. It mattered what people thought of him.

And then there was his past. Ever since he'd had Peter Fields in the box, Tim had been having some of the old nightmares about his uncle. Telling Frank and taking care of his uncle had brought him a long way toward putting that demon to rest, but he'd never be completely free of it. It colored everything, particularly anything sexual. There'd been times with women that he'd been unable to keep away the flashbacks. What if he crossed that line with Chris and then couldn't handle it? The last thing he wanted to do was hurt Chris... or have to explain.

Shaking off his dark thoughts, Tim paid the cab driver and went into his apartment. His dark, silent apartment made him briefly sorry he'd turned Chris down and come home. But it was nothing new, and he found it easy to slip into the mindless ritual of getting ready for bed, pushing away the thoughts of Chris, Uncle George, and his own fears.

"The only good thing about a red ball is the end of it," Frank groaned, pushing through the doors into Jimmy's ahead of his partner.

"Amen brother," Tim answered, smiling at his own joke. Dead priests had led to a direct increase in religious jokes around the squad.

"What are you talking about? You were on vacation when this thing started, and you were at home sleeping last night when Ballard and I were dragging young Rock-Rock around on a spiritual journey."

"Sorry Frank, didn't mean to falsely imply that I work as hard as you," Tim answered sarcastically and turned to his menu.

Once they'd ordered, Tim sat back and sipped at his tea while he watched it grow dark outside. Once Frank and Laura got the kid to talk, it had taken the rest of the day to take his statement, round up the killers, question them and process the whole mess. Tim didn't begrudge his partner the bad mood, knowing how long it had been since he'd had any sleep or been home to see his family.

"So where were you?" Frank asked, breaking into the silence.

"Huh? When?"

"Your vacation? Where'd you go? Romantic getaway with your new boyfriend?"

"No Frank... I took my mom up to New York for her birthday. Took her to dinner and then to see Ragtime on Broadway. We hit a matinee of Diary of Anne Frank the next day before coming home." Tim pointedly ignored the boyfriend comment, hoping that they could continue to ignore that particular subject.

Since the day in court, Frank had never brought the subject up again, and Tim was thankful. He wasn't ready to hear what Frank had been gearing up to say. And now was an especially bad time. He was having second thoughts about the whole thing. Chris' obvious invitation to bed a week before hadn't really scared him. But the fact that he really wanted to take him up on the offer had terrified him. He'd been avoiding Chris by claiming that things at work were crazy, which had subsequently come true in the form of a red ball.

"People are talking, you know," Frank said, after a few seconds of silence.

"About what?" Tim asked, losing track of the conversation.

"About you, Bayliss. About your... your... whatever Rawls is." Apparently, they weren't going to skip the subject.

Tim sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. That was exactly what he didn't need to hear. "Who's talking?"

"Gharty for one. But I shut him up by telling him you dated his partner too."

"Frank, I don't need you defending my honor." The whole assumption and smug satisfaction in it irritated Tim to no end.

"So? What? You don't care that Gharty's discussing your sex life in the break room? I find that hard to believe," Frank snorted in disbelief.

"Of course I care, Frank. I've already got Kellerman on my back about Julianna, and now Gharty talking about my private life. But I don't see that there's much I can do about it at this point. Denying it wouldn't exactly make the rumor go away, now would it?"

Tim never got an answer, because the waitress showed up with their sandwiches at that moment. Once she left, Tim watched Frank pull the tomatoes off his BLT, silence falling over the table once again. He never understood why Frank couldn't just order the sandwich without tomatoes, but he didn't. He always ordered a standard BLT and then took the tomatoes off, looking at them as if they were an affront to him personally.

He couldn't stand it. As much as he'd told himself it didn't matter, he couldn't not ask. It was time to get the cards on the table.

"You never answered me before, Frank. Is this going to become a problem between us?"

Frank looked up from his sandwich with an annoyed look at the question. He intentionally took a bite of his sandwich, chewed and took a drink of his soda, before saying a word.

"For Pete's sake, Bayliss," he finally said, when Tim refused to look away, "what do I care who you're sleeping with? It's got nothing to do with solving murders. You continue to do that, and I could care less if you start sleeping with goats. I just don't get it."

"What don't you get, Frank?"

"I don't get how the guy who thought phone sex was disgusting, has now decided to become the poster boy for sexual experimentation. Or, or... maybe it does make some kind of weird sense in the Tim Bayliss school of logic. You... you've come to terms to some degree with what you're uncle did to you... so, so now, you're reclaiming that power he had over you sexually. I suppose it makes some kind of psychological sense."

Tim couldn't help it-- he had to laugh at that theory.

"No Frank. See you've got it all backwards, all turned around. My relationship with Chris is not about what happened to me at all. It's not some weird psychological game, or twisted logic. See... the truth is, Frank, that I've been attracted to men as well as women for most of my life. But that always scared me to death... because I thought that it somehow was a product of what he did to me. But facing him... seeing how very little power he actually has over me now... well, it made me see that not everything is about him. Most of it is about me.

"And I told you before, Frank, this is about trying to find a little bit of happiness in my life. I like Chris. He's a great guy and I really like being with him. He makes me happy, Frank. So what should it matter that he's a man? Tell me that, Frank? Huh?"

"It matters to a lot of people, Tim. Gharty's just the tip of the iceberg." Frank would have seemed concerned for Tim if it wasn't for the tone of his voice. It had that edge to it that said, 'I'll be ready to say I told you so.'

"Yeah, well..." Tim picked up his own sandwich, wanting the conversation to be over. "I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. I've got to get over this particular bridge I'm on first."

Digging into his chicken salad sandwich, Tim could see the conversation was over. But in a round about, classic Frank Pembleton sort of way, he'd gotten what he wanted. No matter what the outcome of his current dilemma, his partner would still be there. And, in fact, giving voice to his feelings had done more to clear his mind than all the stewing, and worrying, and dissecting he'd done over the last few weeks. He could thank Frank, but he knew somehow that Frank wouldn't appreciate it.

"So, explain to me how taking Rock-Rock to the shore got him to start talking?" he asked, putting aside the previous conversation. Frank took a deep breath, and Tim had to smile, knowing he was in store for a good old-fashioned speech on the Pembleton Facts of Life.

"Bayliss, this package was delivered while you were gone." Naomi held out an oblong box to Tim when he and Frank returned to the squad room after dinner. With the case put down, all that was left was paperwork, which thankfully wouldn't be too much since it hadn't been their case. But it had to be done, because red ball paperwork waited for no man.

"Thanks," he said, taking the box and examining it as he headed for his desk.

"You got a secret admirer, Timmy?" Meldrick asked as he passed by.

"Not that I know of," he answered absently as he tore off the brown wrapping and opened the box. What he found was a bottle of French Cabernet-- the kind Chris had served him the first night at the Zodiac. Meldrick whistled at the label and then continued on to the break room, but Tim could feel Frank hovering over his shoulder as he opened the card.

There was nothing revealing in the card, simply a short note congratulating Tim on the arrest that had obviously already been reported on tv. But it was the other item in the card that made Tim grin. A folded piece of paper held a handwritten recipe for Grandma Rawls Apple Pie.

"Well, what do you know," Tim chuckled, his grin nearly splitting his face.

Frank snorted and grabbed the paper from him. "An apple pie recipe? That's romantic?"

Tim carefully took the recipe back and put it in his pocket, standing up. "Yes, Frank. Yes, it is," Tim grinned again and leaned in close. "You know what they say... the way to a man's heart is through his stomach."

Leaving Frank speechless, he walked off in search of the forms he needed. A speechless Frank Pembleton was a rare sight indeed, and that, more than the gift from Chris had Tim grinning as he found the forms and got himself a cup of coffee. When he came back, Frank was hard at work at the typewriter. Taking the opportunity, Tim picked up the phone and dialed.

"Zodiac," a now familiar voice on the other end answered.

"Hey Noreen, is Chris around?"

"Detective Bayliss?" she asked, then went on before he answered. "Hang on, I'll get him."

Two minutes, and a Jon Secada tune later, Chris answered. "Zodiac, this is Chris."

"Hey, thanks for the gift," Tim said softly, not particularly wanting to be overheard in the squadroom. "I hope lessons come with the recipe though. I'm not much of a cook."

"You got it," Chris laughed, then asked more seriously. "I hope it was okay sending it there. You know, I didn't think until after I'd sent it. I don't wanna..."

"Nah, it's fine," Tim cut him off. "Lewis thinks I have a secret admirer now."

"Oh that's great. A mystery among a squad of detectives. That's a bit like candy in a room full of children, isn't it?"

"Yeah, something like that," Tim laughed at the observation and looked around the room. He decided against mentioning that it apparently wasn't such a big secret anyway. "So, the case is over and I'm outta here in the next half hour. You working late tonight?"

"Nope, it's a slow night and Noreen runs the place better than me anyway. Have you eaten yet?"

"Yeah, but I was thinking about that offer of Irish coffee... if it's still open."

There was silence on the other side of the line for a few seconds, making Tim nervous. "Of course it's still open, Tim," a deep, smiling voice answered finally.

"Good," Tim said, not sure what else to say. "That's good."

"Tell ya what. I'll grab some dessert and meet you back at my place when you're done there. No apple pie tonight, but the Tirimisu's good."

"Yeah... that sounds great. So... I'll see you in about an hour."

Tim hung up the phone and stared at it for a few minutes considering the plans he'd just made. Frank snapped him out of it when he dropped a file on his desk.

"It's all done," Frank said, pulling on his coat and wrapping his scarf around his neck. "Now, I'm going home to my family to seek my own happiness. Get out of here, Bayliss," he said as he walked away.

Tim had to grin at his partner's exit as he put the file in its proper box to be perused by Gee on Monday morning, then grabbed his coat and the box of wine. The evening was definitely looking up.

"This place is great," Tim said, looking around Chris' home for the first time as he took his coat and suit jacket. A lot of care had obviously gone into restoring and decorating the small row-house. Taking in the dark, masculine colors, Tim mentally chastised himself for falling prey to a stereotype and expecting chinz and swags. Though a sense of style was clearly in evidence in the blend of antique and modern, brick and wood.

"Thanks," Chris said with a light smile, looking around the room himself. "When we bought the place it was about ready to fall down. I really enjoyed fixing it up. Come on, I'll show you my favorite part."

"We?" Tim asked, following Chris through the living room, back into what appeared to be a full gourmet kitchen.

"John and I," Chris answered, going to fiddle with the coffee grinder. "He was... what you'd call my 'significant other' for a long time. He's gone, but I still have the house."

"Looks like you got the best end of the deal," Tim answered, suddenly curious about this ex-boyfriend. But it was clear that the subject wasn't really one for discussion when Chris filled the silence with the coffee grinder. Tim shrugged and sat down on one of the stools at the center island.

There was something about the kitchen that was a reflection of Chris-- with its dark blue counters, brushed steel appliances, and iron pots hanging over the island. It was cool and calming, and Chris seemed a natural extension of the place as he moved around putting the coffee together. It was comfortable. Tim hooked one of his feet over the bottom bar on the stool, leaned forward on his elbows, and felt himself relaxing as he watched his friend.

Leaving the coffee to percolate on the stove, Chris moved over to the fridge and pulled out a white box from his restaurant. Grabbing a few plates, he turned to look at Tim comfortably ensconced in the kitchen.

"You want to eat in here, or the living room?"

"In here, definitely," Tim answered with a grin.

"See... I told you it was my favorite room," Chris grinned back and pulled out some silverware. "So tell me about this... what do you call it? Red ball? I can't believe kids would kill priests."

"Yeah, well... you'd be surprised what people will do. They still manage to surprise me on occasion."

They went on to laugh together at Tim's descriptions of posing as a priest, trying to get himself mugged, but instead getting only a few very colorful propositions from prostitutes and hustlers. Chris served up some large pieces of Tirimisu, which turned out to be excellent, and steaming cups of Irish coffee, not skimping on the whiskey. They sat across a corner of the island table and moved smoothly from one subject to another as the dessert disappeared.

Tim found himself once again warm and relaxed in Chris' company, and wasn't really surprised when he found himself focusing on the movement of Chris' lips as he talked instead of truly listening. He was talking about how he had finally come to the decision to give up on working in someone else's kitchen and opening his own restaurant. His gray eyes were even more striking against the black sweater he wore-- they seemed to reflect the room's silver appliances. It wasn't the first time he'd found himself admiring one of the man's features, but it was the first time in the past several weeks of seeing him that he didn't feel an immediate need to shut that line of thought down. It was a nice feeling-- to simply go with it.

"The community's been good to me," Chris said, and got up to refill Tim's mug and top it off with a bit more whiskey. "And it's kind of nice having the label 'gay restauranteur' be a positive thing instead of a hushed warning."

"I can imagine," Tim answered, picking back up on the thread of the conversation. He wiped up a few sprinkles of the espresso powder from the tirimisu still left on his plate and sucked it off his finger before taking a chance on his next question.

"Chris, what was..." he hesitated, trying to figure out how on earth to word his question. Perhaps a different approach. "You ah... you told me you knew fairly early that you were gay. How... I mean..."

"How did I know?" Chris asked, smiling and setting his mug down. He shrugged. "It's hard to describe really. I always knew I was somehow wired differently... if that makes any sense. I just didn't know what that difference was. I had these feelings in high school that I didn't know what to do with. I guess I didn't really understand it at all till I was 17."

"Why?" Tim asked, grateful for his willingness to discuss the subject. "What happened then?"

Chris chuckled, and smiled softly at a distant memory. "I met a boy," he said simply. "After graduating, I spent the summer at my grandmother's place on the shore, and I met this local guy who was a few years older than me. I had my first cooking job that summer too... flipping burgers at a place on the Boardwalk. Something just clicked into place that summer, you know? He ah... taught me a lot of things, including who I was."

"So what happened to him?"

"He was sweet, but it was a summer kind of thing," Chris shrugged and looked a bit embarrassed at the admission. "I ran into him again about ten years ago at a rally in D.C. It was weird seeing him again. He didn't even recognize me... and I wouldn't have known him if I hadn't seen his name tag. He had a beard and beer belly out to here," Chris pantomimed the guy's size and laughed.

"Those rallies are sometimes the gay version of class reunions. Seeing how old everyone else has gotten only makes you realize how much older you are."

Tim laughed with him, remembering the one high school reunion he'd gone to ten years ago and how depressing it had been. He hadn't been back to one since.

"So, I'm guessing the question wasn't just idle curiosity," Chris finally asked, after they both sipped at their coffee.

"Um..." Tim stared down into his cup. "Not really, no." He took a deep breath and decided to plunge ahead. "It's just... The last few weeks have been great, you know? And I... I've done a lot of thinking... trying to figure things about. I know what I want but," he said, finally looking up to meet Chris's eyes.

"But that first step's a doozy, huh?" Chris filled in for him with nothing but understanding and sympathy in his face.

"Something like that." Tim smiled and shook his head. "I don't know why you put up with this. I've been pretty hot and cold lately."

"Honestly?" Chris asked. "I normally wouldn't. Someone in your situation is generally *full* of emotional landmines, and I'm just too old to have the patience. But," he smiled again and reached out to tug playfully at Tim's loose tie, "I have a feeling you're worth it."

"Yeah?" Tim breathed in wonder, finally giving in to the urge to reach out and touch the crinkles at the corner of Chris' eyes when he smiled. "You too. I mean..."

Chris pulled him forward by his tie, cutting off his explanation with a deep, passionate kiss. This one was not reserved, or careful, as most of them had been over the past few weeks. And Tim followed him right over the edge of that cliff, moving off the stool to stand between Chris' thighs without breaking the kiss. He tasted of sweet custard and dark coffee, with a slight tang of whiskey. Tim fulfilled another fantasy by grabbing handfuls of thick dark hair, deepening the kiss until they had to break it, both men panting from lack of air.

"Wow," Chris said with a grin, his swollen lips even sexier than usual. "I knew that was in there somewhere."

Pushing Tim away gently, Chris stood up and held out his hand in invitation. "Let's take this upstairs, huh?"

"Yeah, okay," Tim said dumbly, wishing he had some other profound words. Unfortunately, his speech center seemed to already be disengaged. Taking his hand and following Chris up the stairs, the nerves returned, but this time alongside a pleasant buzz of anticipation.

He wanted this. He was ready.

The bedroom, he found, was no less tasteful, but done in warmer, earthier colors. Thoughts of decor fled quickly as Chris undressed, and then carefully did the same for Tim, calming him with gentle, seductive kisses.

In fact, Chris seduced Tim so gently, so carefully, that he wasn't even aware of the moment when the nerves fled completely, taken over by arousal. Chris made love to Tim reverently, never giving him a chance to stop and think about the fact that he was in bed with a man. He only knew the hands and mouth that touched him everywhere, and coaxed a powerful, emotional orgasm from him.

When he could breathe again, Tim returned the favor. He felt awkward and clumsy, but Chris encouraged him and laughed with him, and seemed no less appreciative of the effort. When Chris came in his hand, gasping against his chest, Tim found watching another man in orgasm fascinating.

They continued to explore each other, Tim becoming more sure in his touches, more comfortable with taking the lead. He found the large body and equal strength to give a whole different quality to lovemaking than he'd ever experienced before. Chris was passionate and sensual, but he was also the same man Tim had come to know over the past few weeks-- open and gentle, laughing and teasing Tim as he seduced him. They both came a second time body to body, entwined together as they rubbed against each other, locked in intoxicating kisses. Exhausted and sated, sleep didn't take long to claim them both.

Tim woke up later to light snoring, the sound not unpleasant, but comfortable. He was suprisingly warm and lethargic, but he also had an urgent need that refused to be ignored. Pulling carefully away from Chris, he grabbed his glasses from the bedside table and stumbled in the direction of what appeared to be the bathroom, scratching idly at his belly. He wrinkled his nose at the dried semen his fingers encountered there, but then grinned in remembrance of how it had gotten there.

After relieving himself, he washed off his hands and belly, then leaned over the sink to splash his face. The cool water felt good and brought him further awake and aware of where he was and what he'd done. Looking up into the mirror, Tim wiped water out of his eyes and stared back at his reflection. What he saw didn't truly surprise him, but reassured him.

It was the same Detective Timothy J. Bayliss staring back at him that he saw every morning. Sleeping with Chris hadn't transformed him into a different person. But there was something different-- a few shadows were gone from the recesses of his eyes. Not all, but some. And he was smiling. He was content-- maybe not exactly happy, but definitely content. And freer somehow.

Drying off his face, Tim shut off the bathroom light, leaving his glasses on the bathroom counter, and went to crawl back into bed next to Chris. When he did, Chris turned over, and wrapped an arm loosely over his midsection, one large hand curling around his side. Tim smiled and pulled Chris closer, nestling his head into the crook of Tim's shoulder.

"Y'okay?" Chris mumbled, snuggling into place.

"Yeah," Tim answered softly, running his fingers lightly down Chris' arm and over his hand, contemplating it against his pale body. It was a gentle, loving hand-- not the hand of his nightmares that meant fear and shame. This one had brought him pleasure.

"Regrets?" Chris asked, not looking up, but sounding more awake.

"Yeah," Tim chuckled and reached up to run a hand through a mop of dark hair, "that I coulda had this a few weeks ago."

He felt Chris smile against his collar-bone, then place a soft kiss there. "Good."

"Thanks Chris," he said more sincerely, and settled down in the bed to sleep. Chris was obviously already on his way, because he simply hummed a soft "hmm mmm."

Tim closed his eyes and started to doze off thinking how glad he was that he didn't have to work the next morning. There were so many possibilities left to explore. Happiness, he thought, was perhaps not such an alien concept after all. And boy... that first step had been a doozy.

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