Author's note: Well, here's the epilogue. Big thanks to everyone who's read all the way to the end here. I hope you've enjoyed this as much as I've enjoyed writing it.

Perry stared up at his bedroom ceiling, which was illuminated by the moonlight that streamed in silver through his open curtains. Though he was tired, his mind refused to go to sleep and sleep, fickle escape that it was, refused to come to him.

Is Harry all right, alone there in his room? Perry was worried about his housemate. This was their first night back after being released from the hospital. Without the strong drugs from the hospital assisting his slumber, would nightmares of Jake Riker haunt Harry?

The tortured man had not yet spoken about any of his ordeal. Perry had seen the wounds, but those were unlikely all that Harry had suffered at that psychopath's hands. Is he going to need counseling after all this?

Perry closed his eyes and an image of Harry on a shrink's black couch rose up behind his eyelids. The image ought to have been amusing, but, remembering the defeated look on Harry's face when Riker had dropped him to the floor, it became deadly serious -- and a serious possibility. I never thought he'd have to use the psych option on the insurance plan I put together for him...

Perry sighed, his eyes still closed, and ran over the last couple of days in the hospital (Perry had been officially discharged, but had stuck around until the other man was also released). Harry had talked to Perry and Harmony and had even flirted jokingly with the older woman who was his daytime nurse. And yet, he had been quiet -- for Harry Lockhart. There had been times when it was just the two of them in the room when Harry would withdraw completely, not really looking at anyone or anything, his thoughts, if he had had any, a mystery.

Of course, it may have been the drugs -- Harry had been given an enviable cocktail of oblivion consisting of various pain relievers, anti-inflammatories, and soporifics. I could do with one or more of those right now...

Loosing a small groan, Perry rolled onto his side, silk sheets rubbing sensuously against his skin. He tried to focus on that sensation -- revel in it -- but concentrating on the physical only highlighted the dull ache that persisted in his shoulder. Fine, I'll just need another distraction...

The word distraction, however, was now attached to another insomnia-inducing set of issues.

"I love you, Perry," Harry said to him, his voice, though a whisper, the strongest it had been since Perry had found him. His hand on Perry's cheek was a warm contrast to the cold metal of the handcuffs that pressed against the P.I.'s chin.

Meeting Harry's earnest gaze, Perry responded without thought, "I love you, too."

I meant it. The same feeling of stunned wonder Perry had felt after he had said the words returned to him now. He did not bother with the when, where, why, and how the fuck...

What the fuck am I going to do about this? He had no idea if Harry had meant those words. They were, after all, supposed to have been said as an act.

Harry can't act that well, the gayest part of his mind -- the portion that clung to ideas like "romance" and "hope" -- insisted.

But he's straight. Even if he meant the words, it would be the love of a friend or brother, the logical part that was most of Perry's brain countered.

And then, there was Harmony. There was no doubt that Harry loved and lusted for her. Harmony's return of affection was no less certain. And Perry cared for and respected the feisty actress.

Only Hollywood could have such a fucked up love triangle.

Damn, damn, damn. None of this was conducive to sleep. He needed to stop thinking.

He rolled onto his back once more and cast his mind back to a time -- more years ago now than he generally liked to think about -- when he had gone through a yoga and meditation phase. There had been a few techniques for clearing the mind and calming down that had actually been effective. He started the breathing pattern and concentrated on that.

At some point during the timed breaths and visualizations, Perry's exhaustion finally defeated his preoccupation and he drifted into slumber.

Perry was in the small soundproof room in Diana Lewis's garage, his shoulder leaking blood and a chill damp soaking into his trousers. Jake Riker stood gloating before him with Harry sobbing pain and fear into the concrete at his feet. Riker knelt down beside Harry and raised a fist, a gold ring glinting on the middle finger. He brought the fist down swiftly, viciously on the prone man's cheek. Harry whimpered pitifully.

"You god damned son of a bitch!" Perry cried, struggling against his restraints. The imprint of Riker's initials marred Harry's already wounded cheek. "Leave him alone!"

"I'm afraid I can't do that. You chose him, so he has to suffer," the hated voice hissed malevolently. Riker pulled a pine two by four from somewhere and lifted in preparation to strike Harry's head. "This is your fault, Perry van Shrike." The hefty piece of lumber came down on Harry's head again and again, and the struck man screamed in agony again and again.

"Stop! You fucking sadistic psychopathic coward! Stop!"

"It will all be over soon," the fiend promised, striking his final blow with such ferocity that the wood broke in two. Harry, somehow still clinging to life and consciousness, writhed on the floor. He was unable to scream or to cry – only emit horrible tiny squeaks like those of a mouse dying in a trap. Riker took out a bottle of lighter fluid and began draining its contents over Harry.

"No! God damn you to Hell, you viper! This is between you and me! Don't do it!"

"Say goodbye, Perry." Riker lit a match and held it out with a flourish, his satisfied smile the most disgusting thing Perry had seen in his life.

"No! Stop! I'll do anything – just stop!"

"Perry!"

Harry somehow managed to call out to his boss for help, but Perry could do nothing as Riker dropped the match. In an instant, Harry was engulfed in flames.

"Oh, God, no! Harry!"

"Perry!!"

Perry felt his shoulders shake, moved by grief and helpless fury. "Harry!"

"Perry! Wake the fuck up! I'm right here."

With a gasp, Perry jerked upright in bed. Pain seared his shoulder but he could not care about that at the moment. He gripped the shoulders of the man who sat beside him on the bed and looked hard at him. The wide haunted eyes were only recently familiar to him, but the face and the expressive mouth was undeniably Harry Lockhart.

"Harry… Thank God," Perry breathed, releasing his grip and sliding his arms around the other man, drawing him close. "Harry…" He moved a hand to the nape of Harry's neck, turning the man's head up, and then he brought their lips together.

He's alive, the warmth of Harry's lips against Perry's reassured the detective. He's here with me. Perry drew Harry's body more tightly against his own. God, I love him so much. He began to shift Harry into a better position to deepen the kiss.

But a half-gasp, half-moan of pain from the other man finally brought Perry into complete awareness. "Oh, shit, Harry. I'm sorry." He released the man, turned his face away, and drew back.

Or tried to.

Harry gripped Perry's shoulders just as firmly as the larger man had gripped his moments ago, though somehow avoiding the bullet wound. Perry returned his gaze to Harry. The same indefinable expression that had filled Harry's eyes in that cold concrete cell pooled in them now.

"I'm sorry Harry," Perry repeated softly. "I was having a nightmare."

"Really? I thought you were just reliving the time I started rearranging your record collection." The sarcasm was weak, but the small grin quirking the corner of Harry's mouth was genuine.

"Why…" Still held in Harry's gaze, Perry struggled for words. "Weren't you sleeping?"

The smile slipped away and a hint of fear ghosted into Harry's eyes. "Didn't dare." A slight shudder rattled Perry's shoulders from Harry's hands.

Perry moved his hands to Harry's face, lightly cupping the trembling man's cheeks. His thumbs brushed over the worried crinkles at the corners of Harry's eyes and mouth. Harry leaned into one of the hands and his grip loosened as some of the tension drained out of him. Instinctively, Perry moved in to kiss Harry again, but he stopped himself, mere inches away.

"It's OK, Perry." It was the same, certain whisper as when Harry had said "I love you." When Perry still hesitated, Harry closed the distance, bringing their lips together once more.

I'm still dreaming… But when Harry opened his mouth against Perry's, the P.I. lost the will to care about reality. He embraced Harry as tightly as he had wanted to in that garage and he slid his tongue slowly into the other man's mouth. He closed his eyes and savored the moist warmth as he moved his tongue languorously against Harry's. He tasted hints of cinnamon gum and even the tobacco that the other man had been unable to smoke for days. So undeniably Harry…

Perry opened his eyes and drew back the barest inch. He moved his lips to brush the expressive corners of Harry's mouth, then the tip of his chin before Harry gripped Perry's face and pulled his mouth back up to resume the kiss. This time, it was Harry's tongue in Perry's mouth, moving, it seemed, with equal parts passion and desperation. Perry moved his own tongue up to caress the underside of Harry's, calming the wildness.

Harry. Perry's eyes fluttered closed again and he slid his hands from Harry's back. His right hand glided down Harry's left arm until it came to the hand. He gripped it lightly and stroked the severed ring finger. His left hand slid down around Harry's right flank, which quivered against his touch. He moved the hand down and then up under the thin top Harry wore to bed. Perry's thumb quested until it found the small bump of Harry's navel. He circled it once, then brushed the pad of his thumb down over it before caressing it more firmly. Harry.

"Perry," the smaller man breathed into their kiss. His voice contained a gasp and a moan and something else that made Perry's heart beat faster in his chest.

Slowly, both men drew back from the kiss, opening their eyes. There was a tiny smile curving Harry's lips and his half-open eyes were free from shadows for the first time since the man had awakened in the hospital.

"Harry," Perry began, but again an unusual loss for words plagued him.

Harry drew back a little further, sitting up straight. His expression was serious as he looked Perry straight in the eyes. "Perry," the tone was equally earnest, "I have to ask you…" He gently bit his lower lip, uncertainty gently wrinkling his brow. "Did you mean what you said – back in that… room?"

Perry knew what he meant, but he was not ready to answer. "Did you?"

"My question. I get to go first."

A soft chuckle escaped Perry. "OK, Chief, you win." He took a deep breath and shifted his right hand, sliding his fingers between Harry's. "Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes," he repeated, lifting Harry's hand to his lips and kissing it softly.

"Good," Harry replied, slumping forward suddenly against Perry. Unprepared for the weight, Perry fell back against the pillows, Harry laying half on top of him. The smaller man then snuggled against Perry, pillowing his head on Perry's chest.

"Good?"

"Good," Harry repeated sleepily.

Perry moved his own arms around the man currently using him as a body pillow. "Harry, you haven't answered my question, yet."

"Tell you in the morning."

"No. You'll tell me now."

"Good night, Perry."

"Fuck good night!" He said it softly, though. "I want my answer." There was no sound from the other man. "Harry." Still nothing. "Harry!"

A soft, contented snore was the only reply Perry got.

With an exasperated, affectionate sigh, Perry closed his eyes.

"Good night, idiot."

~the end, for now~

Thanks again, everybody!