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Beatles songs at his side and looked at him. “What?”
    “These aren’t his colors,” Aiden said apologetically.
    “No. They’re yours. Maybe make it for yourself and see what happens.”
    What happened was he leaned against her voluntarily, just to feel those strong fingers in his hair. “You know,” he said conversationally, “I don’t even let my mom comfort me.”
    “Your mom doesn’t mind that you killed someone,” Ari said. “But I bet she didn’t offer to do it herself.”
    “No,” Aiden said thoughtfully. Then: “Do you think Jeremy would kill for me?”
    “Not a doubt in the world,” Ari responded, and he sat up and looked at her.
    “Really?”
    “You ever see a jackrabbit fight?” she asked. “They’re stronger than they look, hon. So’s Jer.”
    By the time they’d wheeled Jeremy out of recovery and back to the room, Aiden was halfway done with the gaiter. He moved his chair next to Jeremy’s bed so he could be the first thing Jeremy saw when he woke up.
    And it was a gradual thing. No calling his name, no plaintive moaning. One minute Aiden was looking at his knitting, seeing his project take shape, and the next? Aiden looked up and those sweet brown eyes were watching his hands move like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.
    “Bor oo?” he asked, and Aiden found he could smile into his lover’s eyes after all.
    “You like?”
    “Yeah.”
    “What do you want for yourself?” Because Aiden was going to be using a lot of yarn if the past seven days were any indicator.
    “Anyting,” Jeremy said dreamily. “Long oo make i’.”
    “God, you’re easy. Maybe next time you get beat up, you try bargaining a little. We could have milked the FBI for all they’re worth!”
    “No,” Jeremy said soberly. “No’ ’onnet.”
    And that, that right there, was when Aiden knew they would eventually be all right.
    “Yeah. It’s gotta be honest,” he said, almost crowing.
    Jeremy fell asleep on that note, so he didn’t see Ben coming in later to take Aiden back to the apartment to sleep, nor did he hear about Craw, drunk and asleep in the truck downstairs.
    But he was still Aiden’s Jeremy—he’d be there to hear the story later.

A New Nest
     
     
    L ATER , WHEN he thought about it, Jeremy would realize that much of the living he did in the hospital, he did in his head. And much of it was for Aiden.
    Yes, his body was doing the things—the resting, the physical therapy, the surgeries. He got his teeth back, which was nice, and when his physical therapist found out he was a knitter, that made things a damned sight easier. The PT kept working on Jeremy’s shoulder, and Jeremy was given balls to squeeze to build up his triceps again and to stretch, but the nice woman with the soft blue eyes and three kids said one of the best things he could do was to keep on knitting.
    So, propping one needle in the hand of his wrenched shoulder and knitting and yarn throwing with the other hand, that was what he did. He didn’t last long at first, and that was a problem. He couldn’t read—if he couldn’t hold his knitting, he couldn’t hold a book!—and they couldn’t prop him up to see the television well enough to make it worth his while.
    Some days it was just him and Ariadne, and bless it, without the knitting in his hands, he felt compelled to talk.
    “Aiden said he was coming, but I said not to. I mean, he’s got work to do, and what’s he going to do, sit in here and watch me heal? Not that I’d mind healing, I tell you what, but seriously, if it’s as boring for him as it is for me, it’d be a mite comfort if he stayed home. He could tell me how the rabbits are doing—we lose some every year ’cause of the cold, and I’m worried about Harvey—”
    “Harvey?” She sounded weary, and she probably was, because he was exhausting himself .She was game, though, hanging in there, trying to stay with him when the sound of his own voice was more than just for company.