“Their flight may have been delayed,” the cook replied.  “They may have been held up in Customs.  There
              could be any number of things which would delay them.”  She knew what the problem was, but couldn’t tell
              him they’d left early to go shopping for him.  “And Mr. Waverly is one of Mr. Quinn’s oldest friends.”  She
              went to give him a motherly hug and noticed an odd expression on his face.  “What is it, child?  Something
              wrong?”

              “The name – Waverly – it’s . . . familiar, somehow.  Is English, da?  I mean, yes.”  He was having trouble
              with his words again; it happened when he was distressed.

              “He’s very English, yes, and very proper,” she told him with a smile.  “I was here the last time he visited; it
              must’ve been oh, 15 or 20 years ago.” She finished giving him the hug.  “It will be all right.  He won’t let
              anyone hurt you, of that I’m certain.”

              He hugged her back.  Her mothering touched a place inside him he hadn’t realized he needed touched.  “I
              know.”  The sound of a car approaching distracted him, and he turned to see if it was John.

              It was, and he started toward the car.  He pulled up short, however, when the younger of the two strangers
              looked straight at him and smiled.  He knew the man, and the man knew him . . .

              He turned and fled to his room, locking the door behind him.  Something was pounding on the inside of his
              head, trying to get his attention.  Something terrible, which he couldn’t bear to face yet.  He curled into a
              ball on the floor and wept silently, willing the something back to its hiding place.  It retreated for now, but
              he knew he had to face it eventually.

              Napoleon started to go after his partner, but was pulled up short by a hand firmly grasping his arm.  “Let me
              go,” he softly snarled.

              “You can’t help him right now,” John advised.  “Did you see his face?  He was utterly terrified, and of
              you.  Seeing you may have triggered a memory he’s not strong enough to face yet.  To force the issue now
              may do more harm than good.”  He turned to his foreman, who’d been standing nearby.  “Where’s the
              doctor?”

              “At her clinic in town.”

              “Damn,” he muttered, releasing Napoleon as the man had ceased to fight him. “Alex, I hate to be a poor
              host, but someone should check on him.  Will it be all right if my foreman shows you to your rooms and
              helps you with the luggage?”

              “Quite all right,” Waverly agreed, making a shooing motion with one hand. “Go.”  John smiled his thanks
              and was off like a shot.

              While Napoleon and Waverly were getting settled, John tapped on the door of Ivan’s room.  Getting no
              response, he Force-unlocked the door and slipped inside, locking it again behind him.  He still wasn’t sure
              where Napoleon stood on homosexuality, and now wouldn’t be a good time to discover he was hosting a
              homophobe.  Especially over something misconstrued, like Ivan curled up in his lap being comforted.

              The young man was curled into a ball on the floor and weeping silently. Pulling him up into an embrace,
              John whispered against his hair, “Shh, shh, you’re safe now, you’re safe and I won’t let anyone hurt
              you.”  He repeated it until Ivan relaxed, then asked,  “Can you talk about it?”

              “He knows me, and I know him.  What if we met in Hong Kong?  How well does your friend know
              him?”  Ivan shuddered.  “What if he’s . . . the one?

              “The one who held you?  I’m assured that’s not possible; my friend knows that man's name and has his
              description, and has a lot of people looking for him right now.  And if he’d found you in Hong Kong before I
              did, you’d be in New York right now, probably with all your memories and we’d never have
              met.”

              “I should know your friend, too, shouldn’t I?”  He couldn’t bring himself to say the man’s name; it made him
              ill to think of it.

              “Yes, you should know him.  You used to work for him.”  He watched carefully for signs of distress, and
              finding none pressed on.  “They thought you were dead; the one who held you –“ he went no further as the
              body in his arms suddenly stiffened.  “Never mind right now.  Do you want to try meeting them, or stay in
              your room for now?  I can have a tray sent in at dinnertime.  There’s no hurry for you to do anything.”  He
              kissed his forehead, and was kissed in return on the lips.  He sighed regretfully and said, “I have to look in
              on our guests.”  He stood, pulling  Ivan up with him.

              “Please,” his snowflake whispered, “let me stay with you tonight.  I – don’t want to be alone.  I’ll even try
              to meet them at dinner, if I can slip into your room later.”  His arms were wrapped tightly around John’s
              waist and his head was pressed to his shoulder.

              “My sweet little snowflake,” he softly murmured so only one set of ears could hear it, “how I wish it could
              be so, but we discussed this before. The fact of the matter is we must be absolutely discreet, particularly
              now as it is your future in jeopardy.  I’ll have the cook stay with you tonight, after she brings you
              dinner.  That will rouse less suspicion.”

              “All right; I’ll let her coddle me like a sick child.  But I’m going to make you pay for it after they leave.”

              John left him there without saying anything.  'Let him keep the illusion a little longer.'  Tomorrow would be
              soon enough to tell him he was going to New York with them.

              As he heard the door lock click behind him, he heard Napoleon softly ask, “How is he?”

              “Better now,” he replied, moving down the breezeway toward the kitchen. Napoleon was forced to
              follow.  “He wasn’t as bad off as I feared, but he won’t be joining us for dinner, I’m afraid.  He knows he
              knows you, and Alex, but he can’t remember where or how you met.”  He looked behind him as if to see
              Ivan hadn’t stuck his head out the door to listen.  “He was afraid you might have been Phillips.  I assured
              him you weren’t without mentioning any names; he seems to have problems with them.”

              “How soon do you think it will be before he can meet us without being harmed?” he asked.

              “I don’t know; I’ll have to check with the doctor, who won’t give me an opinion until she speaks to
              him.”  He spoke to the cook, arranging for a tray and asking her to stay with Ivan that night.  “He’s prone to
              nightmares, especially after something upsets him,” he explained.