Two weeks of training had borne witness to considerable improvement in Trevor's sword skills, in spite of his being sleep-deprived from his continued evening hunts. He didn't know what annoyed Eric more, being woken up when Trevor got home late, or being woken up early when Trevor left in the morning, especially when Eric was working long shifts.

Trevor was prowling every night, even though Number Two had dropped off his radar. There were always more bullies out there, and he wasn't going to limit his heroism. Trevor really enjoyed the hunt, the adrenaline, the opportunity to feel powerful. He was getting good at deciding who was going to strike, so he could preempt things before they even started. It always left him jazzed, as it had tonight. Trevor jumped onto the bed, and Eric jolted straight up.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Eric snapped.

"I stopped a bad guy tonight," Trevor sing-songed as he bounced on the bed a few more times.

Eric shook his head and settled back against the headboard. "And how did you torture this one?"

Trevor stopped bouncing and narrowed his eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"This is the third time you've come home with news like that in the past two weeks. Both times before you used something on them, knife, switchblade, whatever. One of those targets, I heard, ended up in the emergency room needing stitches."

"He deserved it. He was a bastard."

"I'm starting to think someone else is a bastard too." Eric's cold stare bore through Trevor. "You wanted to protect people who can't defend themselves. Fine, I can deal with that, and your Immortality probably lets you do that better than most could. But you seem to have a taste for inflicting pain too, and you haven't proven that these people brought that end of it on themselves."

"But they're bullies."

"I'm not so convinced you know that for sure, considering how quickly you pounce on them."

"I do know it. They're the bullying types."

"Then bully them back, for crying out loud, but for God's sake don't knife them." Eric's expression softened. "You used to be a good person. Don't let this happen to you."

"Let what happen?"

Eric closed his eyes and shook his head. "You're becoming a monster, Trev. You didn't used to be." He sighed. "I don't even recognize you anymore."

Trevor frowned. "I'm the man you love."

"I love the Trevor I knew. Now I'm not sure I know who you are."

Trevor set his jaw. Eric had always understood him. Why couldn't he understand the situation now? "Well I'm not sure I know who you are either." In one move Trevor grabbed his pillow and stood up from the bed. "I'll be sleeping on the sofa, then, stranger."

Duncan had moved Saturday's practice from morning to evening, and Trevor had moved his work shift accordingly. Trevor was sluggish when he arrived at the dojo; Saturday mornings were notoriously slow and boring at the CD shop, and he'd had three nights of iffy sleep on the sofa. Saturday night seemed a strange time for practice when most people were out partying, but since Eric wasn't speaking to him much anyway, Trevor figured he was better off working off his frustration. The night that had changed Trevor's life had also left him with no one even trying to understand what he was going through, not even the man he loved. Trevor knew life wasn't fair, but this seemed particularly unjust.

After just half an hour of practice, Duncan gave up trying to get Trevor to pick up the pace and suggested a break. Trevor sat in the middle of the bench, and Duncan sat far to one side. Trevor gave a mirthless laugh. "You're not quite comfortable around me, are you?"

Duncan shrugged off the suggestion. "I don't have a problem with you."

"I'm not saying you hate me or anything, but you still get a little freaked out that I like men. Admit it."

Duncan nodded slowly. "Maybe a little. I'm just not used to the idea."

Trevor cracked a smile. "You own a gym. You're probably around it a lot more than you realize."

"Probably so." Duncan shrugged again. "It's just not something I've given a lot of thought to."

"But you think about it too much when I give you any sort of sign of admiration." Trevor shook his head. "Sometimes it's actually admiration for your skill, not for, well, other things." Trevor offered a sly smile. "But if the admiration of other things bothers you, hell, just take it as a compliment. You're a good-looking guy. But one, I'm involved, and two, I don't waste my time on straight guys. It's not like I'm going to molest you or anything." Trevor grinned. "You'd beat me into a pulp before I could even try, anyway."

Duncan grinned back. "I would try to be nicer about the rejection first."

Still smiling, Trevor nodded. He shifted uncomfortably for a moment, then sighed. "I have to tell you that I'm grateful for what you and Amanda have done for me. My family left me to fend for myself when I came out to them, and not a whole lot of people have volunteered to help me in any way since." Trevor shook his head. "I know you see it as your duty to work with younger Immortals, so I'm sure I'm not the first or last on your list of trainees, but I'm smart enough to realize that you are saving my life by taking me under your wing. I really appreciate it."

Duncan smiled. "You're welcome." He gestured toward the empty floor. "Shall we try this again?"

Trevor let the door to the dojo swing shut behind him. It was calm here, the sounds of the city's night life just barely audible over the sound of the wind rattling window screens and garbage can lids. Trevor started walking toward home. On a normal Saturday he'd be out and about, dancing and half-drunk by this hour, but nothing in his life was normal anymore. How normal could it be when you were taking sword fighting lessons from a 400 year old guy because you need them to keep your head on your shoulders?

Then there was Eric. Things had been going really well with their relationship until three idiots with a baseball bat had changed everything. Trevor clenched his fists and crossed his arms tightly over his chest. It just wasn't fair that his whole life had been turned upside down. He probably should have been grateful just to be alive, but he wondered if this version of living was really any better than being dead.

Sighing, Trevor kicked an empty soda can and watched it scuttle noisily down the road. Looking up, he recognized the unornamented facade of Scout's, his favorite place to be on a Saturday night. While there was little more than a low-key metal sign outside, inside it would be all strobe lights and neon, loud music and at least some of Seacouver's sexiest men. The temptation warmed him for a moment in the chill wind, luring him with the idea of escaping from his thoughts, if only for a little while. Trevor shook his head to break the spell. He was just too tired. The call of his distant bed -- well, the sofa, anyway -- was more appealing at the moment.

Trevor was only a couple of streets past the bar when he heard it.

"What's the matter? You afraid, sissy girl?"

Trevor had heard a taunt like that before. The blood momentarily froze in his veins until his pounding heart got it moving again.

"You should be used to being on your knees, you fairy cocksucker. Maybe you can beg for your life too -- you're used to begging, aren't you? Begging for someone to shove it up your --"

Trevor shuddered as the identity of the voice finally came to him: Number Two. He was here, and he had found a victim. Fear flooded Trevor, fueling the fire of anger within him. Before he knew what was happening, his legs were carrying him toward the sound and his hand was pulling the sword from his overcoat.

Clearing the corner, Trevor took only a moment to survey the scene as he ran before he slammed Number Two against the wall, pushing the sword blade against the man's throat. "Run!" he yelled at the still-stunned young victim. The blond boy struggled to his feet and took off into the night. Adrenaline still pumping through his body, Trev turned his attention back to the attacker. "You cannot even begin to know how much I want to kill you," Trevor growled through gritted teeth. "How much I want to push this sword through your slimy little neck and pop your head off like a champagne cork."

Number Two looked back in Trevor's eyes. "You another queer? You don't scare me." He swallowed hard as Trevor pushed on the sword and a line of blood showed at the man's throat.

"If I don't scare you, then you're not too bright, seeing as you're on the wrong side of the sword. Better say your prayers."

Suddenly an arm gripped Trevor's throat and his sword was not in his hand, but in that of the person behind him -- Duncan. "The sword is not a toy," Duncan said, calmly but sternly. To Number Two he said, "If I were you, I'd get out of here, fast." Number Two did just that, scrambling away from the two lunatics with the sword. Duncan let go of Trevor, but kept the weapon.

"What the hell did you do that for?" Trevor's eyes shot daggers as he reached for the sword. Duncan held it out of his grasp.

"The sword is not a toy. And it's not to be used for something like that." Duncan nodded in the direction that Number Two had run. "Do you understand that?"

Trevor stood his ground. "It was what I had on hand."

"Hurting him is not the answer."

"Why not? He hurt me."

Duncan shook his head. "Eye for an eye has never worked."

"How do you know? Have you tried it?"

"Yes, I have."

"Well, he deserves it. They all do, for what they did to me."

"But it's not your right."

"You don't know what they did, what I've been through--"

"Bullshit." Trevor realized he'd never really heard Duncan swear before, and it stunned him to silence. Duncan's expression was more serious than Trevor had ever seen it. "Don't tell me I don't know what you're going through, Trevor. A long time ago, solely because I was a Scot, I was tormented, tortured and beaten down by the English. They would have killed me too -- only my Immortality kept that from happening. I was angry, Trevor, as angry as you are now, and I sought revenge." Duncan's eyes were dark and haunted. "There will be a line that you will cross, Trevor, a line you probably won't even see. But you will regret crossing that line, for months, years, decades, perhaps even centuries." Duncan shook his head. "You're heading for that line. I know my words won't stop you -- they wouldn't have stopped me, back then -- but you need to know that the line is out there." Sighing heavily, Duncan handed Trevor's sword back. "May you not step too far over that line, Trevor, and may your regrets be short and few." Duncan paused a moment, then headed back toward the dojo.