Fandom:	Houston Knights
Series:	Other Authors- Glo- Rawlings Street AU
Rating:	NC-17
Pairing:	Joe/Levon
Archive:	Starwinder's
Title:	Barrio's Forge
Author:	Glo
e-mail:	gentlerainfall@yahoo.com
Standard Disclaimer: Houston Knights belongs to Jay Bernstein and Michael Butler and Columbia Pictures. No copyright infringement is intended. This is fan fiction, written out of love for the shows. I am making no money off this. I have no money so please don't sue me. Any original characters that may appear in these stories are the property of the author.

A slash story set in the Rawlings Street A/U of Houston Knights
By GLO

[NB: dialogues in Spanish are signified by bold italics]

Lundy watched his partner fiddle with the radio dial, trying to find something that *wasn't* western or country music. Boy sure cain't seem to fit in down here, culture-wise, he thought, mentally shaking his head. They were cruising down a city street in a less than elegant section of Houston's slums. Levon Lundy's regular ride, a red 4X4 Jimmy, was in the shop for maintenance. There had been an old jeep with roll-bar in the impound lot and the blonde cowboy decided to check it out for old times' sakes. Joe LaFiamma, his partner, had offered to drive the Cobra, his sporty, low slung car, but it was Levon's turn to drive and he decided on the Jeep.

The hot, humid Gulf airs rushed over them as Lundy pushed through the gears and moved them jauntily down the center lane. He sniffed the air which smelled of industrial waste from the oil rigs and car pollution and even that couldn't spoil his feeling of well being. With a sigh, LaFiamma sat back, shaking his head and frowning at the radio which wailed a country ballad, oblivious to the pained look on the ex-Chicago cop's face. Lundy grinned.

It was a strange world that brought them together. Lundy wuz glad that he'd gotten used to his northern partner's ways - now, after a couple of years together, he even found them endearing at times. LaFiamma had been a lit fuse when he arrived in Houston, exiled from the Chicago police force after an unfortunate clash with the mob. Even his family ties to the outfit had not been enough to protect the in-your-face detective, so now he lived down in Houston, working for the Major Crimes Unit of HPD with Lundy.

Once Joe had finally begun to give the Texas city a chance, things had gotten better. Lundy's secret affection for his partner had somehow grown up over the course of their two year partnership, finally blossoming into love that he found reciprocated, much to hiz amazement. Nowadays, they lived together, alternating between their ranch - once Lundy's, and a Victorian house apartment in the Rawlings Street District. They tried not to show their love too openly away from Rawlings Street or the privacy of their ranch. The rest of the world had become accustomed to seeing them in a head-butting kinda relationship at work that was more habit than substance these days and Lundy and LaFiamma were content with that in public. It kept Lundy on his toes and kept Joe sharp. All to the good for both of them as far as Levon wuz concerned.

"Lundy! Pull over!" Joe's urgent order broke the spell of Lundy's musings.

"Wha..?"

"Over there," Joe was pointing toward the tenement buildings to Lundy's left where smoke was beginning to billow out of an upper story window. With the sound of squealing wheels, the Texas cop dragged the Jeep to a standstill at the curbside. "Call it in!" LaFiamma shouted as he grabbed hold of the rollbar and vaulted easily from the passenger side of the Jeep.

"LaFiamma! Wait!" But Lundy was yelling at the back of Joe's form as his partner ran toward the stoop of the old building. "Damn!" then Lundy was calling in the possible fire on the portable CB they'd put in the Jeep that morning. By now panicked folks were running out of the building and smoke was appearing at more windows. As soon as he'd given the information to dispatch, assuring that fire trucks would be on the way, Lundy followed his partner into the building, shoving his way through the ragged crowd hurrying out.

There was no sign of hiz partner inside the entry, but Lundy figgered Joe had headed upstairs, so he forced hiz way through the scared crowds of people still staggering out, some coughing and crying, a few screaming in Spanish, mothers and children among them from the looks of it. Entire families, too large for the small apartments in the tenement, likely living five er more to a room. He grabbed hold of the worn wooden banister and stayed to the side, hauling himself up against the swirl of terror-struck humanity heading down and away from the smoke. The smell of the smoke pervaded now. The mostly Hispanic inhabitants were crying out in Spanish, calling names of others in panic, fear.

Then Joe appeared at the head of the stairs, nearly two flights up from Levon, surrounded by small children, all coughing, faces sooty and burnt. He staggered with a blanket wrapped bundle, shooing the kids in front of him. "Lundy, here!"

As Levon's eyes widened, the bundle was already dropping down toward him. He automatically caught it with a grunt, peering down to see a tiny infant crying nearly soundlessly in the bedlam around them. He wasted no time shoving the child into the arms of a harried shawl-covered woman who bumped against him at that moment. By the time he could look up again, Joe was gone and the children were pouring down the stairs, screaming.

"JOE!" His scream barely rising above the noise around him, a frustrated Lundy surged through the last of the fleeing tenants and pushed to the top landing of the now burning stairwell. Flames flickered out of doorways on the top two floors but there was no sign of LaFiamma anywhere. "JOE!" Levon spun about in dismay. "JOOOOOOEY!" He ran toward one door, found it shattered and smoking. "LaFiamma, you in there?" When there was no answer, he turned to another door to repeat his cry. By the time he had called in at all the doors, the ceiling rafters were beginning to crackle and pop with flame, one falling with a great crashing sound at his feet.

The sound of sirens and the deep throated blare of multiple horns on the fire trucks broke through his concentration. Help was arriving. Wishing for a radio or cell phone he ran back through one of the less smoke-filled apartments, tripping on over-turned furniture left by the fleeing tenants. Making it to a front window, he hung down and waved his arms to attract the attention of the teams arriving. Within minutes, a high-rising ladder was meeting his windowsill, a heavily-coated fireman, complete with breathing apparatus at the top.

The fireman signaled for Lundy to join him on the ladder. The cowboy backed away slightly and yelled, "HPD! Ma pardner's in here some'eres, cain't find him! Need help searchin'..." he broke off to cough, bent nearly double from the smoke and fumes. When he looked up, he found the fireman and another he hadn't seen standing in front of him.

"Officer?" One of them shouted to be heard through his mask and the noise of the combustion around them, "We'll look for yore pardner, you need to vacate, now! We'll take it from here."

"NO!" Desert LaFiamma? Unthinkable! Lundy shrugged free of the man's grasp on his arm and started to turn away. A piece of flimsy ceiling tile, flaming and sparking dropped in front of him, knocking off his hat and sending burning cinders into his hair. Instantly the two firemen were on him, slapping out the fire and catching him as he staggered. He'd inhaled another lungful of black smoke by now and the world was beginning to spin.

"Tarle! Take him out, now!" The barked order, from one fireman to the other was acknowledged with a nod. Then, before Lundy could get himself upright and breathing agin, his legs were off the floor as he was hoisted into a fireman's carry. He started to struggle, sucking in air to bellow his protest. That finished him - the last lungful of heavy, fume-filled air choked him into unconsciousness and he collapsed in the hold.

********************

Joe LaFiamma sent a prayer to the saints and dropped the tiny baby, blanket-wrapped, to his partner and lover, Levon Lundy, nearly two floors below in the stairwell. Saw Lundy catch the bundle and lean over to check the infant. Joe pushed the kids around him down the stairs, hissing in his 'Cuban' Spanish to "run! run!"

Seeing them start to dash down the stairs, screaming their confusion and fear, LaFiamma spared a final glance to Lundy who was handing the bundle to a woman who was climbing down the stairs past him. Good. Then Joe thought he heard another muffled cry and spun about, dashing back into one of the ratty, dilapidated apartments opening on his landing. There it was again, a kind of low moan followed by a tiny yelp. Someone was hurting.

"Hello!" Switching to Spanish, Joe continued, "where are you? I'm coming, I'll help - where are you?"

No answer. Then the sounds again. Smoke was starting to be a real problem. LaFiamma pulled his silk jacket lapel up over his nose and mouth and held it there with one hand as he raced toward the small sounds.

The apartment was a series of rooms, one behind the other, no hallway, no privacy. He found the source of the noise in the tiny bathroom at the back - a little more than half-grown dog, all yellowish-brown fur, longish, tangled and dirty, awkward legs and big fur-webbed paws. The animal was chained to an exposed pipe, a small tipped over dish of water at its feet. It was straining at the chain, crying and yelping softly, already suffering from smoke inhalation.

"Oh, god." Joe skidded to a halt on his knees by the animal that now cowered back and whined, baring its teeth. Joe saw where the chain was simply wrapped and knotted to the pipe and cautiously reached past the young dog to unravel its lead. He needed both hands for the job that meant dropping his face covering. Once the dog could see his face, it ceased its growl and jumped forward to lick the human. Joe coughed, he tore at the chain, finally freeing it. No time to unleash the animal, he picked it up and held it to his chest where it settled quietly and laid a soft head on his shoulder, panting.

"Ok, pup-pup, we gotta get outta here." The glass-brick window was too small, even if he could smash through it, they'd not escape that way. He turned back toward the rest of the apartment to face a wall of flames. "Shit!"

"We're gonna hafta wait for help, pup-pup." He looked around and grabbed down the heavy vinyl shower curtain - tossing it out into the corridor. Then he grabbed at the thin towels that hung on the wall. Turning on the shower produced a thin stream of cool water. He climbed in with the dog and towels, getting them all as wet as he could. He wrapped one around his face, one over the dog's snout, and the rest he draped over them both as he huddled on the tile floor, letting the water continue to dribble down over them. Now's the time for some intervention, he thought to his saints, eyes closed and wishing he was back in that beat-up jeep with his growly partner and mate, Levon Lundy. Well, Levon knew he was up here somewheres and would be sending a rescue team in as soon as he could. It was up to Joe to survive 'til they reached him.

The heat was building up now, even the water was getting warm. The dog sagged down into his lap and stayed tight against him, whining softly. Joey was sweating now and having trouble breathing. The oxygen was disappearing in the maelstrom he could see in the doorway. A sudden gust of flames shot into the tiny tiled haven, seeming to suck what remained of the air out with a gigantic whooshing sound. There followed a kind of thunderclap and the ceiling fell, pulling the pipes over, leaving LaFiamma and the dog trapped in a kind of bower of bent plumbing and broken building. But Joe LaFiamma didn't notice, one of the glass bricks had hit him squarely on the back of his head, leaving the police detective unconscious.

*********************

Coughing and sputtering, Levon fought his way out of the darkness. White tile walls, white coated folks, all motion and quiet, intense noises. Hospital. What had he done to himself this time? And where wuz Joe? "Joe?"

"Ah, Detective Lundy? You're awake. Good."

A white-coated man stood over him. Doctor. "Doc? What happened? Where's my pardner?"

"You were brought in unconscious, serious smoke inhalation, I'm afraid. Apparently there was a fire in the Barrio. One of the firefighters who was just admitted says it is pretty bad, they are having to let it burn out, can't control it." The doctor paused, looking unhappy and thoughtful. "As to your partner, I just don't know. You were the only officer brought here. But, not everyone has been brought to this hospital, there are a lot of people who were injured or at least, like you, sick from the smoke."
By now Levon wuz remembering and worry wuz digging deep inside. Oh, god. Joe. Evidently his feelings were showin' because the doctor spoke again. "As I said, not everyone was brought here. He may be at another hospital."

Levon tried to sit up, get up. A firm hand on his chest resettled him on the gurney. "You need to rest, Detective. I can have someone call in for you if you like?"

Waves of dark were already swirling from his sudden attempt to sit up. Before he was engulfed, he nodded. "Yeah, call Reisner, Major Crimes. Tell Lieutenant Beaumont." Levon was gasping for breath by now and an oxygen mask was coming down over his face as he panted.

"I'll see that it's done, Detective."

*******************

The fire raged now as the several units of firefighters struggled to contain it to that one block of tenements. Police were working the crowds, keeping the despairing tenants, now apparently homeless, away from the buildings.

One of the officers in a blue and white saw the jeep and recognized the plainwrap from a bust he and his partner had made several days before. He walked over and looked in. A police issue CB. 92-14 was scrawled on the handset. He knew that call sign, Lundy and LaFiamma of MCU. After a look around and no sign of them, he decided to call it in.

The tenement, where the fire had begun, now began to sway slightly, hardly noticeable but the experienced firefighters knew the signs. "IT"S GONNA BLOW! EVERYONE DOWN NOW!" came the shout from the captain's megaphone. Before many people could do that, it was suddenly raining bricks, wood, and cement, not to mention furniture, furnishings...

Slumping down on itself, it whiffed out the flames as it collapsed. Contained on two sides by now slower burning twins to it, the building slid forward into the street and back into a rear alley, leaving a smoldering pile of rubble and the reverberations of its demise.

*******************

Vultures don't wait. Young men, still in their teens, swarmed at the back of the ruins, looking for easy pickings. They found a man and dog, both unconscious but breathing. Uninterested in an animal, they dragged the man, still clinging to the young dog, free of the stench and smoke. There they searched him for valuables. Found guns, knife, badge, wallet, watch. Took them, and fled, laughing at their temporary triumph over the law. One of them now sported an almost new looking silk jacket, only slightly singed.

Behind they left the man sprawled on the edge of the collapsed building, dressed only in a tee shirt, and fancy jeans. The young dog was a furry yellowish heap nearby.

******************

"Have they called in yet, Joe Bill?" Joanne Beaumont sounded worried as she re-entered the bullpen from her meeting with the other section chiefs.

"No, ma'am. We have a report in though that their vehicle's been found in front, where the first building burned."

Carol O'Brien strode over, "And now we know that Levon is alright. Mercy General just called in, asking for you Joanne. Said they had Levon in Emergency."

As all the cops in the Major Crimes Unit bullpen stopped and turned, Carol continued, "He's ok, just smoke inhalation, but he's unconscious at the moment." She hesitated, then added, "He woke once, asking for his partner."

"Joey!" Beaumont tensed. "Any word on LaFiamma?"

The silence was an answer. "Alright, they belong to us. Start looking. Carol, you go see Levon. Everyone else, as soon as you can safely drop your current cases, get out there and find LaFiamma."

Several men and women stood immediately, shouldering into holster harness and jackets, heading out the door as they seated their weapons and finished buckling on the straps.

One of theirs was missing.

"Annie," Beaumont turned to the red-head sitting forward in a small wheelchair, "put out an APB on Joe but word it carefully, I don't want some rookie shooting him, we just want to find him."

Annie Hartung nodded, then said, "Joanne, if Levon was hurt in the fire, then Joey..."

Beaumont looked at the ground, her shoulders lifting defensively for a moment. "Annie, he probably didn't make it out, we all know that, but we owe it to Joe - and to Levon - to hope for the best. And to look until we find a body."

*****************

LaFiamma struggled awake. Hurt, he hurt everywhere, like he'd been beaten up. A young dog was licking his face. Pushing the dog away gently, Joe sat up and grabbed at some of the heavy, broken bricks around him as the world winked in and out.

"Hey! You! Need any help?" The call, in Spanish, made Joe blink up at a chunky looking Mexican-American, dressed like Joe in jeans and a tee shirt.

"I'm not sure." Joe's Spanish made the man look closer, dark eyes squinting.

"Cuban?" Understanding flashed. "Amigo, we gotta get you away from here pronto. They find you here, the feds'll deport you for sure!" With that, the man bent down and helped drag Joe to his feet.

Cuban? Was that what he was? He couldn't seem to think.

"Call me Jose', what's your name?"

As the man put Joe's arm over his shoulder, the confused cop tried to think, to answer. He searched his memory but found only darkness. A void. "I - I don't know." His head was hurting, bad, with flashes of light before his eyes.

"Ok, I can call you 'Pedro' for now - gotta call you somethin' and I had a cousin o' that name back in Charro. Come on, we gotta get you away from here before someone shows up asking for ID." The man was patient as he guided the stumbling stranger, dubbed Pedro now, away from the smoldering ruins and authorities, into safe hiding, into the big Hispanic community that was the Barrio. A dirty yellow dog, a gangly almost-puppy really, followed closely.

****************
By the time O'Brien made it to Mercy General, Levon was awake again and fighting off a nurse. His grim expression and alert eyes were enough for Carol. "Miss, you best let him be," she advised the harried nurse, "I'm a fellow detective, Carol O'Brien," she showed her badge, "and I'll take him from here."

"He should rest longer, he's barely breathing on his own!" The nurse complained. She was frustrated, anxiously glancing at other patients to be tended in the crowded ER.

"I'll see that he gets it," Carol nodded to the woman, willing her on her way and relieved when she hesitated, then shrugged and turned to others who needed her attention more.

Lundy slid off the table and on to his feet where Carol had to grab him and steady him as he swayed. "'m ahright!" Levon's first words were hoarse and sharp.

"Sure." O'Brien stood and waited for Lundy to steady, one hand holding his arm tightly.

He straightened away from her now. "Any word on Joey?" The clear worry in his voice made O'Brien's lips tighten. She hated to be the one to tell him but it was better that he know immediately.

"No," she watched him closely, as she continued, "no word. Beaumont's turned the whole unit loose to go look for him. He hasn't shown up in any of the hospitals and he hasn't reported in."

Lundy wiped his face roughly with one sooty hand, leaving smear marks behind. He swallowed hard. "Legs, he wuz inside that building. I couldn't find him afore the firefighters come. Too much smoke, I musta passed out. I tole them he wuz in there..."

"Then we'll start by going over there and asking the firemen." O'Brien's no-nonsense attitude helped Levon brace up against the fear that was closing his throat. Oh, Joey, where are you?

************************

"Mamacita, this man was hurt in the fire." Jose' led LaFiamma into the grungy room, one of several in a row that formed the small apartment. Somehow the layout seemed familiar to Joe. He guessed he must have lived in one like it. Both glanced down at the dog that barked softly. Jose' added, "The dog seems to be his too, but he does not remember anything. His head... I thought you might be able to help him?"

The woman, old and wrinkled, standing by the stove in the barren kitchen, came forward, hobbling slightly. She stood close to Joe and squinted up into his face. "What do you remember, child?"

He half-smiled, half-frowned as he shook his head helplessly. "Nothin', sorry, lady."

Her eyes widened at the Cuban accent, dialect. Understandable but uncommon. This was a fugitive no doubt, no wonder Jose' Garcia had brought him here. Ortenzia Sanchez reached out and lightly took a shoulder, guiding the tall man to a seat. He cooperatively sat and waited silently. His dark blue eyes were unusual but not impossible - many Cuban's, of a certain class, were closer to pure-blood Spaniards than one might think. His coloring and dark hair fit. That accent - he must have fled Castro's Cuba and had somehow made it to Texas. Here he would have joined the multitudes that had swarmed over the borders to the south, heading for better lives, they hoped, in the United States. Most, though not all, came from Mexico.

Right now those dark blue eyes were impossibly changing to a smokey hue, filled with pain and confusion. "Rest, son, I will see what I can do." Relief showed in the talking eyes.

The dog came to sit beside the Cuban, resting his head upon the man's knee. Automatically, the stranger put a gentle hand on the dog's head. Good, this was not a violent man at least, anyone who acted so with an animal would not be one to be feared.

She came close and began to probe his head, pushing aside the thick dark hair as Jose' commented, "I call him Pedro, after one of my cousins. I thought it better than no name at all."

Nodding, she continued to carefully trace the surface of the skull with her fingers. There, a big knot near the back, top of the skull. Not good, it was obviously sensitive too, the man winced for a moment before stilling. He made no sound, though she could see him clench his fist at the pain. A brave man. But this, she thought, as she brought blood away on her fingertips, was very bad, beyond her powers to cure. Heal, yes, but cure - if his memories were gone, he was lucky that that was all he had lost. And the memories were probably gone for good.

****************

"I'm the only partner you'll ever need." Lundy sat in Carol's car, staring ahead sightlessly, his mind in the past. Hearing again Joey speak those words, the way he'd said them after the Lorenzo case* almost a year ago now, when their love had been new and fragile and Levon thought he'd lost Joe to a bullet. Had he lost him now? To a fire? To a mindless catastrophe? He swallowed, his throat still tight with unshed tears, as he beat down the terror that wanted to overwhelm him.

To lose Joey would be his own death, of that he had no doubt. Their love had grown, flourished, overcoming personal troubles and conflicts, back to back against a hostile world sometimes and making their joined lives closer and dearer with time passing. He remembered their early tensions as they learned how to live together as mates, more than simple lovers, mates for life.

He remembered how Joe looked when they found him in the Houston catacombs, a kidnap victim, tortured. Oh please god, not again. I don't know if I ken do it agin. He'd had help then to find LaFiamma. Their friends on Rawlings Street, new then, had pitched in, found the most likely spot that the serial killer Emmett Schiezer might be holding Joe, had even gone in with Lundy as back up, helped him rescue his partner.** Joe wuz only jest really healed now, mentally and emotionally from the cases on Rawlings Street. His physical hurts had healed over five months ago, but the rest...well, he had seemed better. And now...

Levon thought of Joe as his husband now, though they had never made it official, never spoken the words. Fear darkened his thoughts. Ah don't want to be a widower again. He looked up as Carol pulled her vehicle to a stop near the squad cars and fire trucks still parked helter-skelter in front of the smoldering ruins of the disaster. Joe was alive, he knew it, didn't know how, but he did. They had grown so close this past year or so that Levon knew he would feel it if Joey was dead.

Joey...where are you?

****************

Pedro? Not really his name, he thought, but then his thinking wasn't too good. If only he could remember. Joey looked down at his dog. You know me, don't ya? He scratched the blonde fur and froze. Stared at the golden locks trapped between his fingers. Levon? No, not Levon. Who was Levon? Somehow, Joey knew this was important, but the name didn't sound Spanish, Cuban or otherwise.

The dog twisted around and looked up with melting brown eyes. Eyes like Levon's. Joey closed his eyes in frustration and hit his head with the heel of his hand. Pain shot through it. Oh, god. What's happened?

Jose' came back in, an open beer bottle in his hand. He went first to Ortenzia who was back at the stove, stirring something. With a jerk of his head toward the seated man who played with a dog, "Pedro doin' ok?"

Ortenzia Sanchez nodded slightly. "Si. I can fix the skin, the bone. But inside?" She shrugged expressively and shook her head.

Jose' nodded wisely and wandered over to his charge. "Hey, Pedro? Feelin' any better?"

Joey looked up at the man who had rescued him. "Jose'. Yeah, guess so. Still can't remember nothin'. Man, I can't even remember the name of my dog."

The short, chunky man squatted down by the dog, almost grown, cleaner now that someone had given him a bath. He glanced back at Mamacita. She quirked her lips and turned away. "Nice dog. I think it is a Lab, a retriever. We got to call it somethin'. I named you, how about I name the dog?"

Joey looked up at Jose' from under his shaggy hair, "Yeah, sure. Whatever."

The other stared at the dog, then smiled broadly. "Fidel. We'll call him Fidel. Name means loyal, that's what this dog is - loyal to you, compadre. He can share the name of your old leader, Castro." At that, Jose' grinned and stood. "Hey, Fidel!" He patted his knee and called towards the dog.

The lab looked away from Joey and wagged his tail, then put his head back on Joey's knee.

"There, see? He knows his name - he's a smart one." Patting the dog lightly on its head, Jose' pulled up another kitchen chair. "Pedro, you can't stay here with Mamacita. If you are in any trouble, it might follow you here. I'll take you to some friends of mine, they help illegals."

"Illegals?"

"Yeah, in Texas without a green card or nothing. I figure that's you. You got no papers, nothin' and you speak Cuban Spanish. That makes you an illegal, I think. Not a wetback, maybe, but not a US citizen, neither."

"You think I come from Cuba?"

"Sounds it."

Joey nodded reluctantly. It didn't feel right, but so far, all his memory had produced was the name Levon in association with blonde hair. Not much, not enough. He doubted very much that there were very many blonde Cubans, or blonde Hispanics for that matter, but, then, what did he know? Nothing. He stood slowly, careful of this body that he didn't even know. "You want to go now?"

Jose' stood, putting down the empty bottle on the small kitchen table. "Si, now is best, before anyone finds you." He started back out the door. "Come on."

******************

"No, sir, we weren't able to complete the search of the top floor," the regret was clear in the fire chief's tone, "there were several bursts, kinda like incendiary bombs, only really just one of the quirks in a fire like this. Stopped my men cold. They had to fight their way back out, one almost didn't make it."

Levon closed his eyes. More from faith and hope than any signs, he thought firmly to himself, Joe is alive. He survived this. He IS alive. Lundy opened his eyes and stared hard at the fire chief, "Chief Walley, there's no way to know if he got out then?"

Walley shook his head, "No way to know. But, Sergeant, I wouldn't be fair if I gave you any hope. Nothing still in there survived. I've seen too many fires, too many years. I know fires and what they do. This one left no survivors."

Carol stepped in now, "Thanks Chief. If anything does turn up, please give us a call." She handed him a card.

Walley nodded and shrugged, turning away, back to his men and the remains of the fire that they were still putting out. It was mostly flares of flame, that licked out as final charred building bits crashed down with billows of glowing cinders tossed skyward. Doused by Walley's waiting teams.

Carol turned to look at Levon Lundy. The man was white as a sheet under the streaks of soot and ash. She knew how close he and his partner were, they'd been a private couple for nearly a year now. It was an open secret within the MCU and even after all this time, IA still hadn't a clue.

O'Brien reached out a hand and touched Lundy's shoulder. "Levon, we haven't given up. There's an APB out on Joey and every cop in Houston is on the alert, looking for him."

Lundy stared at the building. "They won't be able to look fer bodies fer some time yet, will they?"

"No," Carol answered grimly. "Levon, maybe we should go back to Reisner." She started to tug at his sleeve, to turn him away from the scene, still all red and grey.

"Ah ain't leavin' here yet!" Lundy tore his sleeve free with a jerk of his arm. He made to pull down his Stetson only to remember it was missing, left somewhere's innat fire...

"Levon?"

"Help me, Legs! Let's go 'round back see if there's any sign o' him there."

Carol nodded. "Sure, Levon. Let's go."

**************

"Tony! I don't like this! A gun? We'll get in trouble for sure!" Marti flicked his glance around nervously as the group of three young men strode down the sidewalk in the battered business district of one of Houston's Mexican-American neighborhoods.

"No! The beauty of it is that this is a COP's gun! We dump his badge at the scene, they blame it on him! No one looks for us!" The slightly taller, thinner one, Tony, grinned wolfishly at his friends.

"Yeah," cautioned Dom, "it is foolproof only IF we are not seenÖthey SEE us - they know it is no cop."

"So, we're careful," Tony warmed to his growing plan, "and we wait for tonight."

*****************

Joe followed Jose' Garcia back out of the narrow apartment building. They left behind his temporary haven with Ortenzia Sanchez. Fidel, looking bright-eyed from some of Ortenzia's stew and a good brushing, trotted at Joe's heels.

Garcia looked back at the dog and shook his head. Such a dog would be noticed and a man with such a dog was not invisible. But 'Pedro' had refused to leave the dog, claiming it might be his only link to his past.

What Joe didn't tell Garcia was that he'd had two flashes of memory and both were tied to the dog somehow. The first brought him the name 'Levon' and the memory of blonde hair, spurred by the sight of his hand in Fidel's long golden coat. The second was more of a feeling, just that it was so right to be holding the blonde head in his arms. Fidel had jumped up against the tall man, and licked at his face and neck, Joe had hugged the animal to him, pressing the wide-eyed head against his shoulder. At that moment, he had an intense feeling of de'ja' vu - but the blonde head had not been a dog's and the feeling was of deep contentment, love. To find that feeling again, to find that blonde, maybe named 'Levon', Joe was going to keep Fidel close to him regardless of the dangers that Garcia had warned.

Using back streets, alleys, and shortcuts through cafes, bars, and tenements, Jose' Garcia led Joe and Fidel away from the woman he called 'Mamacita.'

The 'people' as Jose' called his fellow Hispanics, depended upon one another. They did not go to the streets like some homeless; they went into adoptive families. Family life was very important and fugitives from the federales found safe houses throughout the community, becoming new family members and often anonymous but productive members of that community. Some remained, others traveled further into the huge country, away from its borders. Garcia was taking Joe to such a safe house.

**************

"Levon!" Carol 'Legs' O'Brien crouched at the edge of the fall of brick and building ruin in the back alley, now largely choked with debris from the collapsed shell of the tenement building that had been consumed in the fire. She'd been poking around, watching Lundy clamber over piles of rubble, searching for signs of his missing partner, Joe LaFiamma.

When Lundy reached her side, she held up a bullet, police issue. "This would fit Joe's guns, wouldn't it?"

Levon squatted beside her and took it, held it close to his eyes. "Yes." He stood and clenched his hand into a fist around it. Still holding it, he looked wildly around at the littered ground where they stood. "There anythin' else?"

Carol shook her head. "No. That's all I've seen so far. I'm really sorry, Levon." She pushed her bangs back from her forehead as she looked up at him.

As she brushed back her hair, Levon blinked and for a moment he was looking at Joe, raking back his unruly wing of dark hair, the one that always fell over his eyes. Like a spike of pain in his chest, he found breathing difficult for a moment and turned away from Legs. Swallowing hard, his face settling into grim lines, he scanned the area again.

O'Brien stood up and went over to stand by Lundy. "We can call in - Joanne will have a crime scene team out here in a heartbeat, they'll do a much better job searching than we can - and she'll do it now that we found something."

Lundy nodded. "Yeah, go call her. I'm gonna check the ends of this alley, see if enyone saw enythin' - enyone come out." He didn't say, anyone who looked like Joe, but they both heard that. Legs gripped his arm for a moment, silently consoling him, then she walked off down the alley toward their vehicle. She'd call in. He had work to do. Had to do, er he'd sink to the ground in tears and thet wouldn't help enyone, not Joe, not him.

*****************

Joey obediently followed Jose' through the maze of streets and buildings. Gradually, the height of the buildings decreased until they were walking among single story homes, little better than shacks. Dirt and stones formed the weedy yards, broken wood slats from shipping pallets were the fences. Dark-eyed, dark-haired children ran and played, the occasional wiry dog chasing them. Fidel ignored it all, staying quietly at Joe's heels.

When they stopped in front of one more of these small houses, so like the others, Joe stood beside Garcia, swaying slightly. His head injury had gone largely untreated except for the few hours with Senora Sanchez, and that had been earlier in the day, superficial treatment that did not go to the internal trauma. It was now nearly dusk.

"Si?" The low-voiced query came from inside in answer to Garcia's knock.

"It's me, Garcia. I brought the man, Pedro, the one I called about?"

The door opened wider and Garcia took hold of Joe's arm and pulled him in. "This is him."

Joe looked up woozily into a circle of faces, all male, all middle-aged and expressionless. "Hey, what's happenin'?" he murmured, smiling hazily before crashing face down into the circle. Fidel ran forward, whining and licking at the back of Joe's neck, but the man didn't move.

********************

Levon stood with Joanne and Carol, watching the stretcher pass. It held a black body bag, like the others before it. Paramedics were able to get into the ruins finally, and together with firemen and several rescue squads, had been pulling bodies from the fallen masonry for the past hour. So far, no one left inside had been found alive.

At a short distance, anxious families stood waiting to see if missing family members would be found. None of those found so far could be identified. All were too completely burnt. The coroner's office would have a difficult job ahead.

Two of the bodies found were Joe's height, but that's all that could be said. Neither his guns nor his badge had been found. Levon held on to hope. The metal would have remained, even if partly melted, it would have told them that one of those folks was Joe. No guns, no shield. Levon clung to hope.

*****************

The second shot killed the storekeeper. The first had shattered the security camera. The scared teens were jumping with terror now, but still managed to rifle the cash register. Then one of them tossed the HPD badge on the floor near the dead clerk and the gun a short ways away.

They ran as the sound of sirens drawing closer filled the night air.

***************.

"No, ma'am! Not for one gawd-damned minute em Ah gonna believe that Joe LaFiamma had enythin' to do with that robbery!" Levon was torn. He was thrilled to discover that one of Joe's guns and his shield had turned up, blocks away from the fire. He wuz outraged that enyone would think that Joe, his Joe, had been involved with the deadly robbery. There wuz an explanation fur all this, he knew it. He just didn't know what.

Joanne Beaumont had to agree. This just made no sense. That meant someone had planted the gun and shield there. But it also meant that they'd gotten them away from LaFiamma. Unlikely that they'd been in the fire, the leather wallet of the shield was unmarked. So that meant Joe was probably alive somewhere and someone had his things. Knowing Joe LaFiamma, that meant there was something badly wrong because LaFiamma would not willingly give up either guns or shield to anyone.

"I don't believe it either, Levon, but we have to face the fact that Joe is probably out there somewhere and either willingly or unwillingly let his gun be used. And Levon, Joe always carries a lot of firepower."

Levon sighed. Joanne had it right. Joe woulda been wearing his twin guns, plus the one he'd keep in his back waistband, and then there wuz his hideaway, the one strapped to his ankle. Finally, he always had a switchblade in his cuff, on a special retractable mount. Joe had always been a tank, but since the Schiezer kidnapping, he never went out 'half-dressed' as he called going unarmed.

Esteban came over to them now, holding several flimsies. "Man, I'm sorry about all this, Lundy." He continued, "I do not think this was LaFiamma, though. The gun was wiped clean." He held up the ballistics report. "The gun was the weapon that killed, but Joe knows it is registered, he wouldn't wipe it and leave it for us, along with his badge. This is a set up and not a very good one."

Joe Bill stalked into the bullpen and joined them. "We got a witness." The satisfaction in his voice had them all listening. "A senorita of the night, she saw three kids run out a few minutes after the shots were fired. She just come in to report it."

"Why not then?" Beaumont asked.

"She was with a trick, said she had to finish up first." Joe Bill cracked a wicked smile that faded as he saw the look of anger on Levon's face. "Look, Levon, this means it ain't LaFiamma who done this."

"So, where is he?" Lundy was practically vibrating. He turned back to Joanne. "Jo', iffn eny of those kids are picked up, I want to talk to 'em."

Beaumont nodded. "Sure, Levon, but you'll do it with Esteban present." When Lundy gave her a speaking look, she stared him down. "You're too close to this one, Levon. Looks like Joe may be out there somewhere and we ARE gonna find him."

Levon didn't answer, just spun on his heels and put an arm over Gutierrez's shoulders. "Esteban, let's go visit down in that neighborhood, amigo."

Gutierrez looked back over his shoulder at the Lieutenant. Beaumont gave him a nod of permission as he was moved back out of the bullpen by Lundy.

****************

"Pedro?" A faraway voice. Joey felt leaden, tired and confused. "Pedro! Man, wake up!"

Me. He's talkin' to me, Joe decided. I'm 'Pedro?' Slowly the events of the last few hours returned. Unfortunately nothing before Jose' Garcia had found him and 'named' him. He opened his eyes. Garcia was kneeling beside him on the floor. Beyond Garcia, Joe could make out a lot of faces, all men, all silent.

"What happened?" He tried to sit up and the room spun so he sagged back to the floor.

Garcia looked around anxiously, then back at LaFiamma. "You passed out. Must be that head injury. Mamacita said it was bad. Maybe this was too soon, but Pedro, we are here now and we gotta deal."

"Deal?"

"Yeah, you know, talk to people. I told some folks about you, about you being Cuban and all. We figure, if you ain't an illegal, then you a spy." Garcia sat back away from LaFiamma. "My friends called in some markers. We gotta check you, man. Can't risk our own for you if you bring bad stuff with you."

Joey closed his eyes for a moment. None of this made any sense. He wasn't a spy, he wasn't an illegal. At least, he didn't think he was. Why couldn't he remember anything? Ah, god, Levon, whoever you are, come get me, help me out here.

One of the men behind Garcia leaned forward and put a hand on Garcia's shoulder. "Amigo, you leave now. We will take him from here."

"He seems like a good guy," Jose' Garcia spoke hesitantly, even as he stood, brushing off his hands. "I don't want no trouble."

"You'll get none. Now go."

Joe's vision was still blurring in and out of focus. He saw the shape of Garcia move away and heard him leave, the door close. Felt the warm body of Fidel against his side where the dog now lay beside him.

"Ok, 'Pedro' or whatever your name is, get up." No one offered to help him.

Joe struggled to sit up, finally turning over and raising to his hands and knees to push off the floor. He staggered erect, swaying slightly.

The men around him stood back a bit and looked him over. In several bursts of staccato Mexican Spanish, they discussed him as if he was not here. Didn't they realize he understood them? Or didn't they care? "Hey, I'm sorry I can't answer any questions, I got hit on the head and I just don't remember nothing before that." He felt protective of the name Levon, didn't mention it.

One stepped forward and reached out. Joe ducked back and found himself against another behind him. The first stepped closer and carefully, slowly reached out to take Joe's hands in his. Raised them up and looked them over closely, turning them over as well. Dropped them and stood back, looking around. "He's not a laborer, wrong callouses. Right callouses for using guns - in BOTH hands."

Another came close while Joe absorbed the shock of that information, looking down at his own hands, the hands of a stranger. The new 'inspector' came up to LaFiamma's face and looked right into his eyes, then raised a hand and ran it through Joe's hair. Joey jerked his head back and shifted the weight on his feet. The other narrowed eyes, then suddenly brought up a fist. Joe easily blocked the swinging fist and started to retaliate when hands came up around him from behind, catching and holding both his arms tightly. "Easy, 'Pedro,' just checking your reflexes."

This second man now told the others, "He's done fight work, see how he set himself up - balls of the feet, weight shifted, shoulders, hand positions? Did you see how he blocked my punch?" He nodded to himself."This one, he's fought. And then, there's his eyes. Blue. I don't think wetback is what he is."

"Some Cubans got blue eyes," someone said.

"Don't know. If he's a spy, he's a little late. Wall fell down more than two years ago, in Berlin. Detente and all that. Even Castro's backed off some. Think maybe it's something else. He may be a local bandito, strong arm man for Checo Rodriguez, the 'pull' from Havana."

Still another nodded. "Fits."

A new man came forward slightly now. Instantly the others stood back, deferential quality to their poses. "I think, Roberto, that this one could be valuable. If he works for Rodriguez, we may be able to get a way in there, if he doesn't, why he may be of use to us as is."

"Juan, what about INS?"

"No, Clemente, I do not think he would be of interest to the Immigration people." Juan folded his arms and stared hard at Joe who stood defiant if a trifle wobbly in the grasp of two men. "You, my friend, will be better soon. Then we will talk, perhaps you will remember something by then." Turning to the side he said, "Roberto, take him to our blue house, keep him there, and, Roberto, keep him safe."

"I don't know, Juan. Me, I think he IS a spy for Castro. Come to see the soldier's places and the planes and stuff. Like Che', Castro is a true revolutionary - he would want information, it is power."

"Perhaps," Juan conceded, both talking as if Joe was not standing there, swaying in the grasp of two of their friends, "but if he is, he would not tell us. This memory thing - it may be a cover, or it may be true. We will have a doctor visit him at the safe house, we will see."

**************

Levon looked up from his desk. He felt gloomy and scared, his frown revealing his pain to all his friends in the bullpen. No one wanted to be the one to find Joe LaFiamma dead and have to tell Levon Lundy. There had been no news at all for over 36 hours since the shooting where Joe's badge had been found.

Joann Beaumont came striding into the bullpen from the hall. "Levon, in my office, now." Her words were clipped, tense.

Before it had been quiet in the room, now it was deadly silent as all eyes followed the blonde cowboy's slow walk in the wake of his lieutenant and former partner.

Once in Beaumont's office, Lundy automatically closed the glass door behind him, wanting this moment to be private. He had a very bad feeling about this. "Ok, Joann, tell me." He sank down onto a chair in front of her desk.

She rounded the desk and stood behind it, leaning on it with both hands. "There is a rumor starting to make the rounds. It hit the intelligence networks about six hours or so ago. They are only now deeming it necessary to include us in the loop." She sounded bitter, but then any time she had to deal with federal agents, she got that angry attitude. Most of the time, with good reason.

"Ah doan unnerstand." Confused brown eyes stared back at her.

"The chief called me in to brief me himself. It seems that he's had private word from some friends that there is a sudden high-level interest in Houston. That there may be a spy here. A Cuban spy! With a trained killer dog!" She looked at him with a flat stare. "A spy and a dog."

"Ah doan get it," Levon was relieved that they didn't seem to be talking about Joe at least.

"Levon! The CIA, the NSA, the FBI, and at least two branches of military intelligence are all hot on the trail of a rumor of a Cuban spy hiding in the Barrio here in Houston. In the Barrio, Levon." She looked hard at her friend. "The rumors are sudden. Seems he just appeared. Some say he is here for no good, others that he is here, like Che', to lead the poverty-stricken Hispanics in revolt."

"Revolt?"

"That's what the rumors say." She looked away, out the window, twisting her head, then turned back to Lundy. "Levon, one time you and Esteban were teasing Joe in the bullpen. I remember Esteban saying that Joe could never get far here with his Spanish - that it sounded too Cuban."

Lundy bolted to his feet. "JOANN!" His heart was beating hard in his chest, throat dry, and he was filled with elation. "JOEY!"

Beaumont slowly sat down, a slight smile on her face as she waited for Levon to sit again. After a moment, he took a deep breath and lowered himself back into the chair, now facing Beaumont with great attention. She commented, seemingly at random, "I had all the information coded and Annie is already on the computers, putting out some smoke. No one is going to find any Cuban 'spy' anytime soon." The smirk in her voice matched the expression on her face. "The Fibbees will have to go sing somewhere else for their supper. This one is ours!"

Levon gripped the arms of hiz chair. "Ah want it."

"You have it." Joann pushed forward a file. "In here is a duplicate of what Annie is putting out cover smoke for. Now, Levon, take Esteban and go find LaFiamma. It's got to be him! He's out there somewhere, with a dog, though why I don't know. Since he hasn't contacted us, assume he's either restrained or hurt, maybe confused. He may have been injured in that fire before escaping."

Levon grabbed the file and was already at the door as he answered over his shoulder, "Ah'm on mah way!"

***************

Joe sat in the corner of the shelter formed by a lower bunk bed and the wall it was against. Fidel lay on the floor beside the bed. The brunette still could not remember his name or past, except for the name Levon, a blonde Levon - whatever or whoever that was. Important, that's all he was certain of, important to him.

Roberto and Manuel sat playing a card game at a wobbly-looking table in the center of the dingy room. Each sat on a folding chair. There was nothing else in the room. The bunk beds and the table, chairs. Joe was beginning to feel sick to his stomach, not hungry really, just sick. His head pounded interminably, he wanted to go home, wherever that might be. It must be somewhere. Maybe with Levon.

There was a knock at the door. Manuel went to check and returned with Juan and another man, this one with a doctor's bag, the old-fashioned kind.

*****************

Esteban Gutierrez and Levon Lundy were only halfway through their district, heading deeper into the Barrio, when they got a call from Beaumont on the radio. "Lundy here," the cowboy was letting Esteban drive, he was too nervous, anxious.

"Lundy, this is Beaumont. You better get down to Caldiera Street right away. I just got word that several federal agents are closing in on a house called 'the blue house.' Hurry."

"Will do, Lundy out." He looked over at his Mexican companion. "Well, Estaben, you know where that is?"

"Si," swinging the wheel over, Esteban gunned the engine on his dark sedan while Lundy slapped the blue-flashing bubble-light on top of the roof. Siren screaming, they headed deeper into a narrow road part of town.

Levon hunched forward in the passenger seat, willing Guiterrez's vehicle to greater speeds. He gripped the edges of the seat and prayed. We have to get there in time, we jest have to. Please, God, keep LaFiamma safe, help us get to him in time. The litany kept circling in his mind as the street scenes flashed by. Esteban was driving with authority and daring, his brow furrowed in concentration. Lundy glanced over at the ex-Matamoros cop and was grateful all over again that he and Joe had become good friends to the man. He looked back at the road, watching for signs of the 'blue house' that was their destination. He bit his lip, panic beginning to scratch at his nerves, unable to do anything yet, he was scared that they might already be too late. Fear was a physical pain in his chest, squeezing at his heart. His soul.

************

"Hello in the house. This is the FBI. You are surrounded. Throw down any weapons and come out now." The Anglo voice spoke in stilted Spanish. The tinny sounding megaphone seemed to be coming from all around them as all the men inside the safe house froze.

Juan was the first to move. "Quick! Out the back!" The others followed him, running swiftly from the room, leaving Joe and the dog behind. There was a sharp sound as a door slammed somewhere, then the sound of gunfire.
By now, Joe was on his feet, the dog standing alertly beside him, facing the direction the men had run off. "No, Fidel, not that way. You heard the shots?" Joe petted the intelligent blonde head for a moment then turned toward the front door.

"The rest of you in the house. Don't be foolish, like your friends. Surrender. Come out with your hands up. We are only interested in the Cuban."

Cuban? That's me. Merde. Joe stopped halfway to the front door. Now what? Fidel had been right at his heels, and now sat down to gaze up at the confused man. Guess I get to decide what we do, Joe thought. Well, no weapons, no escape. I guess I'll surrender and have to hope for the best.

A siren, which had been sounding like a mosquito in the distance, suddenly burst out into the street in front of the blue house, screaming defiance for a moment before fading away as it stopped. Joe went to a window and peered out. Two men were getting out of the car, the driver looked like all the other men he'd met since he woke up in a strange world. The other, thoughÖ tall, thin, cowboy in a Stetson and the tightest jeans he'd ever seen. Like they was painted on. Jeez, I always tell Levon he's flaunting it, dammit and it's not available any more now that he's my private property!

Joe stood stock-still. Levon. Levon! "LEVON!" he was shouting in an ecstasy of flooding memories, rushing to the door, tearing it open, the dog right beside him, barking wildly with excitement. The two dashed out the front door, heading for the blonde cowboy who'd swung around to face the odd blue-colored house at the sound of his name.

At that instant, all around them, guns opened fire.

"NO!" Lundy's scream was directed equally at Joey and at the federal agents shooting at his partner. There he was and they were shootin' at him! "God-damn it, NO! Stop shooting!" His scream had become a bellow. He ran forward, knocking aside gun arms. Not soon enough. He watched helplessly as Joey tumbled, dropped to the ground in a sprawl.

The frozen moment ended. Silence replaced the crashing sound of the gunfire.

Levon ducked past the armed men around him and ran flat out to his pardner. Oh dear lord, no, not now, not when Ah jest found him. His prayers ran endlessly through his head as he reached Joe's collapsed body.

"Joe! Joey!" Skidding to a halt, dropping to his knees, he braced his hands on either side of LaFiamma's dark head where it rested on the cracked sidewalk. He saw with some confusion, that Joe was tangled up with a rangy looking yellow lab, a young dog, all legs and bones.

Levon gently turned Joe over, holding his shoulders. No blood. Anywhere. Impossibly, it looked like Joe hadn't been hit. He'd simply fallen over the damn dog. Beautiful, wonderful dog! That dog was beneath LaFiamma, whining softly but not moving. "Easy dog. Easy." Levon lifted Joe's legs free of the dog who squirmed up and turned to start lavishing licks on the pale Italian's face.

Stunned from the fall, eyes still closed, Joe wearily pushed Fidel back from his face, wiped at his now wet eyes. Hands were on him, holding him gently, reaching to support him up to a sitting position. "Joey?" said so softly, with such worry. Levon!

"Levon?" Joe opened his eyes and looked up into brown frightened ones, framed in golden brown curly hair. Levon Lundy. Memories returned in such a deluge that he simply stared at his lover, incapable of making sensible speech beyond hysterically repeating his name. "Levon!"

"Oh, Joe. Oh, thank god. Joe, are you alright?" Worry colored Levon's voice, his fingers busy sliding through dark waves of hair, ignoring the approaching officers behind him.

Numbly, LaFiamma nodded up at his partner. Then his eyes slid to the side as he saw a veritable forest of dark trousered legs coming to stop, surrounding them. Levon followed the look and cricked his neck to glare up at the circle of FBI men. And then, there was Esteban Gutierrez shouldering his way through the crowd, holding out his badge and demanding to speak with the senior agent, drawing him and the other agents away from the men on the ground.

With Esteban confronting the Fibbies, Levon dismissed them from his attention without further thought, turning back to Joey, there safely in hiz arms agin. "Joe, kin you stand?"

"Yeah, think so." With Levon's help, he managed to stagger to his feet and cling to Levon's shoulder. Lundy put a supporting arm around his waist and turned him toward the waiting car. He walked them through the now shuffling men who were listening to Gutierrez explain about LaFiamma.

It wasn't until they reached Esteban's car that either noticed the well-mannered yellow dog at their heels. "Levon, this is Fidel. I was trying to rescue him from that burning apartment house when I got trapped inside."

"Fidel, huh?" Lundy eased LaFiamma into the back seat and watched with bemusement as the young dog politely picked his way up into the car, under Levon's arm, over Joe's lap, to settle on the seat next to LaFiamma, and put his muzzle down on his paws. Large brown eyes looked up from under blonde eyebrows, black nose twitching, mouth almost smiling, tail making a gentle wag. "Guess he stays?"

Joe smiled down at the dog. Put a hand on the sensitive head, ran his fingers through hair so like Levon's. "He helped me to remember you." Joe turned his smile up to Levon's face. "I got hit on the head somehow, lost my memory. I still don't know how I got out of that firetrap. But when I woke, he was there and he's been with me ever since. Seeing his fur reminded me of you, your hair." Joe reached up a hand to touch the curling locks of blonde hair at the nape of Levon's neck.

Levon caught and held the questing hand to his neck. Gently stroked it with his fingers, leaned down and kissed Joe. Don't care none who sees, jest glad to have you back, boy. "Joey, I wuz so scared. Thought we'd lost you, boy."

"Yeah. Thought I was lost." Joe closed his eyes, savoring his lover's gentle caresses. Opened them again, the blue so clear that it was almost gemlike. "I was found by a Hispanic, talked Spanish at me. I couldn't remember anything, so I answered in Spanish. You know what that's like. He figured I was Cuban."

"Yep. Evidently so did a lot of other folks, Joe. Rumors got out they wuz some Cuban spy here in the Barrio - what these feds wuz here huntin' - ony they wuz huntin' you without knowin' it."

Joe shook his head. "When I saw you, everything came back in a flash."

Levon smiled. Touched Joe's cheek with a fingertip. Simply looked hiz fill for a moment, then stood tall beside the car, squinting, he searched for sighting of Gutierrez. There he wuz, comin' their way. And a discouraged bunch of Fibbies wuz headin' back to their cars. Good.

Esteban came to a stop beside Lundy. "How is LaFiamma?" He looked down into the car where Joe had sunk back and closed his eyes.

"He'll be okay. Thanks, Esteban. Iffn I had to talk with them old boys, I woulda gotten in some serious shit."

"De nada. Now I think we go home, si?"

From within the car came Joe's baritone, "Si!" with a clipped Cuban accent.

Levon and Esteban looked at each other and grinned, then both laughed out loud, grateful that they could. It was gonna be alright.

**************

That night, Joey snuggled deep into Levon's protective embrace where they sat close together in the large leather sofa of their Rawlings Street apartment. Their cat, Carson, a Maine Coon, sat on the coffee table in front of them, looking down his nose superciliously at their new addition, Fidel, the yellow Labrador Retriever. Fidel, still a young dog, and with a sensitive, intelligent nature, had already decided that Carson was in charge of the house and in charge of Joe, so he was doing his best to ingratiate himself with the pack leader by crawling on his belly with wagging tail up to the huge cat. Carson flicked his whiskers, yawned as if bored and finally deigned to crouch down and touch noses with the ecstatic young dog. With a yip of triumph, Fidel was off, dashing through the house with happy little barks and to the surprise of both Lundy and LaFiamma, Carson ran after him with a grumbling, squeaking sound that was somehow playful.

Levon grinned down into Joe's eyes where the brunette was burrowed now against his chest. "Looks like they's gonna git along after all."

"Yeah, kinda like us, huh, Levon? Cats and dogs, but friends too."

Levon didn't answer aloud, though he had to agree with Joey, instead he preferred to simply bend down and cover the smiling mouth with his own, his deep kiss conveying all his love and relief to have Joey back safe with him again. Oh, Joey, I love you so much. I wuz so scared.

As if he had spoken, Levon's feelings were clear to Joe who tenderly returned Levon's kiss and slid his hands inside the cowboy's shirt to warm his palms on the smooth surface of Lundy's chest, feeling the heartbeat so reassuring and treasured. I love you too, Levon, 'n I was scared too, just glad we're together again.

The two men somehow found a way to move even closer together. Pressed so closely, they renewed their love, their vows, and restored each other's balance with the gentle flow of the deep affection that moved between them. Outside darkness fell, inside in the dimming light of the room, their foreheads came to rest together as they eased into sleep. Nearby on the rug that fronted the fireplace, a rangy yellow dog settled down and a thickly furred tabby colored cat curled up against his belly. The soft sound of the dog's sleeping breath was given counterpoint by the deep purr of his new companion.

Outside, on Rawlings Street and this nearby side-street, the street lights came on. -----finis-----

*see Houston Knights slash fanfic novella, "The Italian Stallion" by GLO, posted at Starwinder's.

**Rawlings Street cases: see Houston Knights slash fanfic novella, "Buttons and Bows" by GLO, (sequel to "The Italian Stallion") posted at Starwinder's.