Falls Chance part 10

It had been more than six weeks by Dale's estimation. The minimum
time period before release that Flynn had mentioned when Dale first
arrived. It was hard to know where six weeks had gone to. When he
looked in the mirror in the morning to shave, Dale was aware that
even he could see the evidence of change, and that the change was
good.

He was tanned instead of office white from spending every day
outside. With Paul's cooking and Flynn's nagging to eat and eat
properly, he had filled out so that his ribs were no longer clearly
visible, and muscles being worked all day, every day, were beginning
to square off and gain definition beneath his shirt. His dark hair
had grown past its usual regimented cut and hung long on his collar
and back from his eyes, and while he rarely had time to stand and
look, he was aware that the face in the mirror looked less old, less
lined and more alive than he was used to. The daily wear of jeans
and boots and even a hat, were familiar and comfortable. Dale was
aware he slept well, he was hungry for meals, and the days went
quickly while he worked with whoever he was partnered with. Most
often Flynn, but regularly Jasper too if the day was spent far out
on the ranch, and Paul or Riley if the work was a short task around
the home pastures.

All in all, it convinced Dale of just how low he had come in New
York. He winced to think of how deeply in denial he had been when he
first arrived at the ranch: not just from obstinacy but from having
lost touch so completely what 'well' and 'calm' and 'rested'
actually felt like. That state was still, to an extent, a novelty
rather than normality. Flynn talked to him not a few times about
accustoming himself to it being normality, and working on sustaining
that normality: protecting it so that if he needed to push himself,
he did not go too far beyond the bounds and could find his way back.
That was a challenge to take back to work when the time came, but
aware that it was still an effort, still new ground, Dale pushed
that to the back of his mind. The idea of living a day at a time, in
the here and now, was something he was coming to understand.

It was therefore like a shock of cold water the day that he helped
Flynn unload the last of the wood planks from the four by four they
had driven very carefully up through the pastures to the east where
one of the cattle shelters stood in need of repair, and Flynn said
calmly, "You'll know where to find this and what to do when you come
up here tomorrow."

Dale looked at him, hit in the stomach by the implications of that.

"I'm going to do it?"

"Yes." Flynn slammed the rear doors of the four by four and waited
for Dale to climb back in the passenger seat. "You've been working
with me for a good while now, you know what to do. I think you're
ready to try a job on your own."

And just like that, all sense of peace evaporated.

It was six weeks: they were at the official finish line. Any time
from here onwards was extra, the equivalent of summer school for a
failing student. Time to be independent, to take the last step alone
and be ready to go back to work. Dale sat in turmoil, answering
Flynn mechanically as they drove slowly down over the rough ground
towards the ranch. How long from here? A week? Before Flynn sat him
down and explained that yes, he was ready to leave and it was time.
Automatically Dale's mind switched gears, moving back to work mode.
From Cheyenne airport to New York - a flurry of meetings to pick up
the dropped threads, then no doubt a rapid series of visits to
central projects in Europe and the states to check on how things had
changed in his absence. there were a lot of things to think about.

He was quiet in thought while they washed up and ate dinner,
although he found it hard to eat much, and when Flynn sent him up to
bed, for the first time in some weeks, he lay awake, mind churning.

Downstairs, Riley gave Flynn an extremely meaningful look. Flynn
sighed and dropped down in an armchair, snagging Riley's belt to
pull him onto the arm of the chair beside him.

"He is still a client, Ri, and he wants to go back to his field of
work. We've talked about it; this has always been the next step of
the programme. Especially for a client with the kind of problems
Dale's got. He's ready to move on to the next stage, you've said so
yourself."

"This is not going to work." Riley said grimly, looking from Paul to
Jasper and back to Flynn. "You can all keep that in mind, because I
will be saying I told you so."

"Maybe we've got more trust in him than you have?" Paul said
gently. "Ri, you can't take this personally, you're getting involved
with him-"

"And you're not?" Riley demanded.

Paul shook his head. "Of course I am, we all are. But you're
identifying with Dale to the point where you're thinking he'll react
as you would. We're not about to do anything to hurt him, you know
that, and yes, Dale isn't the standard customer. But this is the
programme, it's carefully planned, and you've seen this work for a
long time for a lot of people. He's a CEO and he's here to do the
programme."

"Dale isn't 'people'." Riley said flatly. "And this is not going to
work. You know it and you're still doing it, and I think it sucks."

He slid off Flynn's lap and walked away towards the kitchen and
Flynn looked at Jasper, who met his eyes and said nothing, and Paul,
who winced.

"I know. Can I think it sucks too, even if I still think we need to
do it?"

*

If it hadn't been for Flynn's insistence, Dale would have gone up to
work on the shelter as soon as he was awake the following morning.
Eating breakfast was almost impossible. He was not further reassured
that Flynn let that go instead of insisting that Dale ate as he
usually did. As soon as he did leave the house - with food that Paul
had packed for him and with clear instructions he was to be back no
later than three pm- he saddled Hammer and rode directly out to the
shelter.

As a mathematical problem it was easy: Dale had a clear eye for
angles and details, and he had helped enough with the many other
shelters scattered over the ranch to know exactly what to do. He
was already planning it as he rode, and he had an uncomfortable but
certain knowledge that his sense of being on autopilot - that odd
sensation of detachment that came with speed, efficiency and
dissociation - was firmly switched on and had been on since he first
woke that morning. He spent some time fighting it on the way up to
the shelter, and the ride helped, but within an hour of starting
work on the shelter, Dale had lost the battle and was past noticing.

It was a little after noon when he paused, attention called by an
odd sensation that penetrated his concentration. He straightened up,
wondering what it was, and then doubled over as he threw up into the
grass. His stomach clenched for some minutes, he retched until he
had nothing left to bring up and his eyes streamed, and it took time
to bring himself back under control. He was left shaking, a foul
taste in his mouth, shirt splashed, stomach wrenched, and with a
bitter sense of shock and realisation as he looked up at the
shelter. It was almost complete. It was immaculate work. And he had
failed utterly.

The first time they had allowed him off the leash, taken away the
scaffolding they had put around him in preparation for him to
graduate, he had proved he had learned nothing at all. The sense of
sheer failure was appalling. Dale took a few steps away into the
grass and dropped down on to it. Six weeks for nothing. The thought
of how much money Jerry Banks had spent to send him here - of Paul's
disappointment. Riley's. Returning to tell Jasper how utterly
useless he was.. and Flynn. Dale shut his eyes.

There was the natural and awful little urge to cover it up. To try
to undo the mess. Dale knew perfectly well that had Flynn come to
work on this shelter with him, it would have been the best part of a
day's work for both of them. There was another, much darker urge, to
simply ride over towards the tops where the high drops were, and
where the grey rocky cliffs grew up out of the hills. Turn the horse
free and then finish this entire mess that was years old, this
walking disaster and bitter incapability that was Dale Aden. Dale
wrestled with himself for several long minutes, aware that both
urges were cowardice in its worst form. Then he got up and finished
the shelter, neither slowing himself nor caring that his stomach was
starting to burn with acid in a way that used to scare him into
remembering the past ulcer. It was barely half past twelve when he
re mounted Hammer and turned him down towards the ranch house.

It took half an hour to reach the home pastures, and Dale could see
Flynn's distant figure working with one of the two year olds in the
training pen. He untacked Hammer, rubbed him down and turned him
loose in the corral before he walked into the yard, going straight
to Flynn. Flynn looked around and Dale saw Flynn's eyes take him in,
from the vomit splashes on his jeans that couldn't be hidden, to the
awful, obvious fact of the time the task had taken.

"I'm done." He said flatly. "It's finished. The shelter's good but I
made a complete pig's ear of the whole thing."

Flynn said nothing and his face didn't change. Then he went to
unbridle the colt he had been working, let him loose and vaulted
over the fence, taking Dale by the shoulder and walking him towards
the house. He dropped the bridle on the porch and leaned against the
kitchen doorway to pull his boots off, waiting until Dale did the
same. The kitchen was shaded, Paul was sitting and scribbling in one
of his notebooks at the table, and got up at the sight of them.

"Oh dear. Dale, sit down-"

Dale drew back from Paul's outstretched hands and Flynn gripped his
shoulder too hard to pull away from, steering him past Paul and
putting him down in a kitchen chair. Dale heard a tap run, and a
moment later a glass of water landed on the table in front of him
and a cold, wet towel was run over the back of his neck, making him
jump.

"Wipe your face." Flynn ordered.

He disappeared into the family room and Paul took the chair next to
Dale, looking at him in silence for a moment and then turning Dale
towards him to unbutton his shirt.

"Come here honey. I'm guessing the repair job didn't go well."

Paul was awfully hard to fend off, no matter how much you didn't
want him to do whatever he was doing. Peeled out of the shirt, the
towel used to wipe a face Dale realised was stiffening with sunburn,
and an equally overheated torso, Dale found himself answering
mechanically and bitterly.

"The shelter's done."

"Done?" Paul asked. "You mean finished?"

Dale didn't answer him. Paul put a hand around the back of his neck
and Dale put his head down on the table on his folded arms. After a
minute Paul leaned down and hugged him, kissed the top of his head
and let him go, getting to his feet.

"It's all right. This happens, we all make mistakes, this is not a
disaster."

No, it was total failure. Pure and simple.

There were a few minutes of quiet, while Paul moved around in the
kitchen, then Flynn pulled out the chair beside Dale and Dale
responded to Flynn's hand on his shoulder, drawing him back. He sat
up and shut his eyes while Flynn smoothed some kind of cold lotion
over his face and then over his neck and arms, a firm but not a
painful touch. Paul put a bowl of soup down on the table in front of
him and took the other chair.

"You need something in your stomach to settle it."

Why? What was the point? Dale mechanically picked up the spoon.

"I'd like the lift to Cheyenne airport please." he said mostly to
the table. "I've done six weeks here. I'll negotiate with Jeremy
Banks-"

Flynn interrupted him with a growl that made Dale jump. "Eat."

There was something about that tone that it was not possible to
argue with. Dale found himself hastily shutting up and eating soup,
and Paul said nothing but sat with one hand slowly and steadily
rubbing over Dale's back.

The soup killed the gnawing in his stomach and stopped the nausea.
Cooling down, starting to shiver a little, Dale put the spoon back
when he had finished and looked rather tentatively at Flynn who
handed him a t shirt.

"Put that on and come with me."

Dale pulled the t shirt over his head and got up, following Flynn
into the family room. He expected to head towards the study. Flynn
stopped at the nearest leather sofa, clicking his fingers towards
it.

"There."

Dale slowly took a seat, watching Flynn take the armchair opposite.

"What did you not get right today?" he asked bluntly. Dale gave him
a bitter look.

"Absolutely bloody everything."

Flynn shook his head, still with the crisp tone that was one step
from a bark.

"That won't do, Dale."

It was a very warning tone and Dale felt his stomach crunch in
response and the answers fall out of his mouth without conscious
thought.

"Obsessing... Too much, too fast, too exact."

"Why did that happen?"

Because I'm useless, and we know this!

"Insufficient self control." Dale said flatly.

There was a sense of tension; he was suddenly aware that he was
pushing, and that Flynn knew, and that they were moving as if they
were involved in a familiar game or a dance where the steps were
known to them both. He had no idea why. His eyes abruptly stung and
his throat closed on a sudden, powerful urge to blurt out
everything - the sense of autopilot he couldn't fight, the knowledge
he had failed to learn, that awful moment of trying to decide what
to do - but that too was cowardice. He swallowed hard, forcing it
down, breathed calmly and compelled his hands and his body to relax
and to obey him, meeting Flynn's eyes.

"Sufficiency of carpentry though. I suppose that's a plus."

Verbal right hook. Flynn didn't even blink.

"Corner. That one over there, hands on your head."

Dale looked back at him for a moment, then slowly got up and went to
the appointed corner, standing about a foot from the wall and
lifting his hands to clasp them on top of his head. Flynn had made
him stand like this a few times. It took a little more
concentration, a little more effort, and for some bizarre reason
even taking up the position was calming. The house was silent apart
from the steady ticking of the clock. Vision limited to the blank
wall in front of him, Dale found his chest slowly opening, his
breathing easing in a way that made him realise how fast it had
been, his shoulders relaxing down from a clench. It was mad that
this should help so much, but it did. Every time.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Flynn moved a little in the armchair behind him. His presence was
equally calming. Dale took a few more deep breaths and let go,
abruptly feeling far, far better. It was a few minutes more before
he heard Flynn's voice.

"Can you talk civilly now?"

"Yes sir."

The sir came unconsciously and quite automatically. Flynn, watching
the slim figure standing against the wall, as quiet and still as a
Rodin statue, didn't think Dale had even heard it slip out.

"Come here." he said quietly. Dale lowered his arms and came to
stand beside his chair. Less rigid, eyes less wild than ten minutes
ago. Riley was right: they'd spooked him thoroughly. Flynn took
Dale's nearest hand and drew him down on the arm of his chair as he
did with Riley, wrapping an arm around his waist. Dale was getting
better at this; he didn't flinch away although he went stiff. Not
rejection, not even necessarily discomfort: they were learning that
about him: simply not knowing how to respond.

"Tell me about what went wrong?"

There was no blame in his voice, but Flynn still saw Dale flush and
look down. Otherwise he was as calm as if he was at a board meeting,
and that wasn't good either.

"I messed up completely. I couldn't control myself, I didn't even
realise it had gone wrong until I was sick. I was on autopilot all
day and I knew I was, but I couldn't make myself stop."

"What set it off?" Flynn asked just as quietly. Dale shook his head.

"I don't know. I couldn't do it."

Ok. That wasn't a great starting place, but Dale didn't get the
concept of failure and how to deal with it. That had been Flynn's
biggest reservation for trying this experiment with him after six
weeks of ensuring he couldn't fail and didn't face that pressure.
But Jasper had felt strongly about this, and Paul had agreed with
him: this was one of the biggest problems Dale had, and they had to
open his eyes to it; and eventually, Flynn had voted with them
against Riley, who had other reservations about this particular
exercise.

"Dale, we do this with every client we have." he said gently. "When
they're settled in, when they're coping well with support,
especially if they're clients like you who have problems managing
their own time, we ask them to go and do a task on their own. We
don't structure it for them or talk it through unless they ask us
to, and you, like most of our clients, didn't even think to ask.
You're an independent guy with a heck of a lot of skills, very used
to thinking for yourself. Can you see why we do it?"

"To see how close they are to being ready to leave." Dale said
quietly.

Flynn looked up at him, startled, light dawning. Then he put a hand
up to turn Dale's chin very firmly towards him.

"No. No, not at all. I told you clearly from the start, I will tell
you when we're getting close to you being ready to leave; you won't
have to guess. We'll talk then and only then about the exit
criteria. And when I do tell you, you'll still have a good couple of
weeks work ahead of you to prove me right before you do go anywhere.
You're nowhere near that point yet, mate. This is just the next step
forward, not the end of the road."

He saw the tidal wave of relief in Dale's face and kept hold of his
chin, starting to make sense of the day from Dale's ever complicated
perspective.

"What have you been thinking about all day? And don't even think of
bullshitting me."

"Work projects." Dale admitted almost under his breath. "Where I
needed to go. What threads I had to pick up."

"And you couldn't have asked me if you were right that this was the
final test?" Flynn demanded, curtly enough for Dale to be clear what
he meant. "Since when do you not talk to me about things that are
stressing you?"

He saw Dale start to flush, with an increasing sense of satisfaction
that Dale had pulled his mind up and off the flashing red sign
of 'failure'.

"It's been six weeks," Dale said eventually and awkwardly. "Any time
from here onwards is..."

"Because you've failed?" Flynn asked crisply. Dale gave him an
unwilling shrug.

"I shouldn't be finding this harder than other clients of yours,
I've got the basic intelligence- "

"You should be working harder, you should be trying harder, you
should be succeeding." Flynn said for him when he trailed
off. "Where do those thoughts come from, Dale?"

"Obsessing." Dale admitted, letting his breath go in a rush. "That
was all I did, all day. I went straight back to all the things I
know I shouldn't do and I know why I shouldn't do them!"

"Why do we do this to clients?" Flynn said firmly, not letting go of
Dale. He could almost see Dale struggling to compute. "Come on Dale.
You're as perceptive as all get out. Why would you do this with
someone you were working with? If you're teaching project managers,
do you spoon feed or empower?"

"People learn better for themselves." Dale caught that line thrown
to him and reeled it straight in. "And without me there to walk them
through something, they realise what's involved."

"And that they have to make a change for themselves." Flynn said
succinctly. "Yes, exactly. When we structure you, you're managing
perfectly. You're calm, you're used now to taking care of yourself
when we keep you in a routine, you're clear on how relaxed and calm
feel, you're physically fit again. If that support's taken away?"

"I revert straight back to what I was doing before." Dale said at
once, less bleakly. Flynn nodded.

"Yes. EVERY client we've ever done this with has to some extent
reverted on this exercise. Some less, some even more than you have.
This was to prove to you that you have to consciously learn to
internalise and use the framework we've been teaching you. And for
you to see exactly what happens when you don't. One of the things we
want from every client before we even start thinking about them
being ready to go back to work, is that they prove they can work
alone, consistently over a good period of time, without whatever
their particular problems are. That's the next step."

The failure part was deliberate, and they set each client up for it.
It was a shock tactic, aimed to convince the client of the need to
make the effort, and to remind them of the reality of what their
previous problems were like. This was a rough exercise for most
clients, and it was harsh- to all intents and purposes handing over
sufficient rope and tempting the client to hang themselves to get
the lesson needed - but that shock was very effective. And at this
stage, when they were feeling better and forgetting just how bad
things had been, they often needed that shock to motivate the effort
not just to recover but to start making permanent lifestyle changes.

"We won't do that to you again." Flynn said firmly, keeping his arm
around Dale. "The next task we ask you to do won't be completely
alone. We'll plan it together, I'll check in on you, we'll take it
step by step and it's going to take time for you to learn how to do
it, just like getting this far has taken time. You'll get it, just
like you've got this far, and you'll succeed in your time, when
you're ready. You are not in any trouble for what happened today,
you did nothing wrong, you have nothing to blame yourself for. We
put you into a situation you weren't ready to cope with because we
needed you to see for yourself that you weren't ready. That's all.
No blame, no failure. You just are not ready for this yet. Do you
understand that?"

Dale nodded slowly. Flynn squeezed his waist and got up, pulling
Dale with him.

"You can come with me then. I need to ride out and have a look at
the mares and check the creeks down there."

A couple of hours riding, and on flat enough ground that they could
give the horses and Dale both a thorough gallop and a work out, and
he would be calm enough and tired enough to eat and to sleep
tonight, and the day would be over and successfully done. Paul
caught Flynn's eye in the kitchen as he put his boots on, mouthing
over Dale's head.

Did we get away with it?

Flynn quietly raised a hand with two fingers crossed.

I hope so.

*

Flynn went out for a walk late that evening when the house was quiet
and the others were asleep. It was something they all did at times:
they were all four of them lone wolves, although he and Jasper liked
to wander by night where Paul and Riley craved being alone in the
day in their favourite places on the ranch to think and to relax. On
this night, he walked past the corral where the horses looked up at
him in curiosity, still like grey statues in the moonlight, and made
his way on down the drive and up the gradually sloping pastures to
the southwest where in the basin of the hills that led up to the
valley, the airstrip lay in the green plateau.

Bandit had the brood mares not far from here tonight: there was not
a breath of wind tonight and sound was carrying for miles, Flynn
could hear the far off whicker and occasional snort of the mares
although he could not see them. He and Dale had ridden over the land
further south that afternoon, where the creeks cut the grass and
where Bandit kept a fierce eye out over his new offspring. He was
obviously moving the herd to higher ground at night, picking his
shelter and his watch point carefully. Flynn walked up the far side
of the basin, climbing when the hill grew steep, and took one of his
favourite seats on the ranch. Half way up the hill in the deep,
night fragrant grass with the roll of the pastures spread out to the
north ahead of him, and the mountains at his back. Moonlight was
strong overhead but the sky was grey blue, too lit to show stars and
turning everything on the ground below to shades of silver and grey.

Which included, a while later, a figure in silver and grey jogging
efficiently and fast along the far edge of the plateau.

Flynn, sitting with his mind wandering while he chewed on a strand
of grass, saw the flicker of movement and his eyes sharpened with
disbelief and then a rush of shocked, exasperated concern. He raised
his voice, using the carrying stillness of the night and the
acoustics of the hills behind him, and it echoed, amplified and
irate.

"DALE EDWARD ADEN..."

Dale's crisp, rhythmic stride was interrupted by a disorganised leap
directly into the air of shock and alarm.

Flynn stood up on the hillside, seeing Dale spin around, searching
what was apparently an empty valley. When he moved, Dale's eyes
picked him out and recognition came into his face as Flynn came down
towards him, changing from a moving shadow to a recognisable form.
It took him several minutes to walk down, and eventually Dale came
towards him, slowly, hands on his hips in a way that said he was
struggling to catch his breath. They met in the middle of the
plateau, and while Dale was trying to keep his head up, Flynn could
see sheer embarrassment mixed with the alarm.

"What do you think you're doing?" he demanded.

It's called running?

Dale swallowed, aware this was not a diplomatic response.

"I wasn't sleeping too well."

Or at all.

Damn, Flynn thought silently.

"Did you come to find me?" he said aloud, shortly. Dale shook his
head, apologetically but honestly.

"I thought you were asleep."

"So you snuck out?"

"Yes."

Riley would have fudged and argued and complained. Dale said it so
frankly; no reserves, no attempts to excuse himself.

"Home." Flynn said shortly, indicating the direction of the ranch.

Dale turned without question, automatically starting to jog, and was
jolted into nearly losing his footing again in response to the bark
behind him.

"Walk."

It was not a pleasant walk down the mile back to the ranch. By the
time he was halfway there, Dale's attention was completely on the
man walking a few feet behind him, and the burn in his stomach that
came from furtive guilt had given place entirely to an
overwhelmingly robust anxiety about what Flynn was going to do.

As if you don't know, his conscience said bluntly. He warned you
clearly.

"I didn't know what else to do." he said out loud after a while.

Flynn heard the tone, and while with Riley he would have kept up the
very strong act of displeasure, Dale opening up at any time was not
something he was prepared to discourage. He lengthened his stride,
coming to walk beside Dale instead of behind him.

"What were you thinking about?"

Dale shut his mouth, thinking that over. "This morning." he said
eventually. "Which was stupid, and the more I thought about it the
more stupid it got."

"Why stupid?"

Dale took a breath, trying to find the words. It helped, being
outside, not having to look at Flynn as they walked over the grass.

"Because you explained and I understood. You said I had nothing to
feel guilty about. I ought to be able to accept that for myself, put
it away and move on. I can't make myself do it, I've tried
practicing it for years, but."

It just went round and round and round, the guilt, the worry, the
knowledge that adults had to just deal with things like this and
hide it if they couldn't.

"I distract myself." he said in the end. "Try to run away from it."

And the self disgust in his voice was painful.

Oh Riley was going to thoroughly enjoy saying 'I told you so'. Flynn
walked with Dale across the yard, past the corral and up the steps
to the silent house, putting a hand on Dale's shoulder as they
reached the kitchen.

"How is your stomach?"

Dale hesitated, not wanting to admit to it, then caught Flynn's eye.

"Sore." he said unwillingly. "The acid's pretty bad."

Flynn opened the fridge and poured a glass of milk, handing it to
him.

"Go and sit in the study and wait for me. Take that with you."

The house was dark and Dale didn't put lights on, finding his way
through the family room to the study door. The scent of leather and
books in there was becoming familiar. He hesitated for a moment once
inside. There was no doubt whatever in his mind as to what would
happen, and he actually felt better about the fact that it would.
Sitting felt wrong, disrespectful under the circumstances, but Flynn
had not told him to do anything more. Dale perched uneasily on the
edge of the sofa and sipped milk. Flynn came in a moment later,
closed the door and held out two pills to Dale.

"Antacids. Swallow those."

Dale took them without comment, watching Flynn light the old
fashioned lamp on the desk.

"You and Riley were both paddled for leaving the house at night, not
long ago." He said when it was lit, coming to sit on the sofa beside
Dale. "And we've talked before about you going out of the house at
night to run. I wasn't here, but that doesn't excuse you. And just
so we're clear I don't have some weird anti jogging fetish, why
don't I want you to run at night?"

Dale swallowed, finding the reasons without effort. "Reinforcing bad
sleeping habits. Bad exercise habits. Using over exercising to blot
out problems instead of talking about them or dealing with them."

"Right." Flynn agreed quietly. "And what rules did you break?"

It was that simple, and that simplicity in itself was deeply,
peculiarly calming. No matter what the circumstances, no matter how
crazy things appeared, the rules stood like icebergs in the sea,
unmoved. It had seemed insane at first: now Dale found it stripped
away the uncertainty and the stress and brought things back to a
level he had a clear grip on. Like someone saying out loud: Put that
down; it's my problem now.

"Not running without asking first." he said, aware his voice had
stabilised. "Not getting out of bed unless to the bathroom. Talking
you to if you I can't sleep or I'm worrying - Paul if you're not
there."

"Yes. Paul's told you before now to wake him if I'm not there,"
Flynn confirmed, watching him. "You did know what to do; you didn't
want to do it. And you know there are consequences for breaking
those rules. Put the glass on the desk and take your jeans off."

This part never got any more comfortable, even when it was fully
expected. Taking a breath, Dale got up and put the still full glass
of milk on the big Admiral's desk, standing it on one of the cup
mats. Then he unbuttoned his jeans, slid them down and stepped out
of them, folding them all too neatly as a means of filling a few
very awkward seconds. Flynn hadn't got up from the couch, nor made
any attempt to retrieve either of the two paddles in the desk
drawer. Dale wondered for a second if he would be asked to fetch
one, then Flynn held out a hand to him and drew him over to his
right hand side, patting his knee.

"Come on then."

Palms prickling, stomach tight, Dale somehow bent across Flynn's lap
and folded his arms on the seat of the couch, feeling Flynn's hands
take his waist and lift him further over as simply and easily as if
he weighed nothing at all, until he lay with his legs trailing down,
toes braced against the floor, butt raised and extremely accessible
on Flynn's lap. One hand rested heavily on the small of his back and
the other pushed up the trailing hem of his t shirt, slipped fingers
under the waistband of his shorts and drew them down, pulling them
as far as his knees.

Bare was awful. Dale swallowed on a mew of acute embarrassment, with
an effort controlling all urges to protest or to resist. He had to
hand it to Flynn though: there was no more acutely focusing position
in the world than this one. And it was made abruptly still more
acute by Flynn's palm resting across both bare buttocks, a gentle
and heavy weight that made Dale struggle not to clench from neck to
ankles.

His hand? That seemed appallingly childish. Dale found himself close
to squirming in sheer mortification. To be simply spanked, bare like
a disobedient child - for a start this would be symbolic more than
painful, and in a way that made it worse than the paddles which
seriously did sting. Not even a real punishment. Then Flynn's palm
raised and fell across his left buttock in a loud, sharp crack, and
Dale felt his eyes involuntarily open up like saucers.

THAT's his hand?!

Slow, steady and extremely hard smacks continued to fall in a rhythm
that didn't allow Dale to catch his breath, covering both sides and
every available inch. Within seven or eight Dale's backside was
blazing, he was aware that he was involuntarily flinching, his hips
twitching and jumping over Flynn's lap, his legs becoming restless
where his toes braced against the floor. Flynn didn't appear to have
noticed. In another ten, Dale was actively jumping at each swat and
crossing his ankles to try and cope with the increasing smart,
beginning to pant and hold his breath to swallow back yelps. Each
swat added to the smart left by the previous ones, it was getting
harder and harder not to wriggle or to reach back, and it just went
on, and on and on. Dale found himself squirming against the heavy
hand on the small of his back and Flynn's hand slid across his
waist, taking a firmer grasp on his hip to hold him still, and then
his right hand moved lower and the hard swats began to address the
lower slopes of Dale's backside and the tops of his thighs.

Riley would have been in tears by the time it was half over. Flynn,
aware with Dale of the reserve that meant a slight kick and jerk was
the equivalent of wild squirming from Riley, walked the line of not
being tipped into being heavy handed through Dale's apparent lack of
response and knowing Dale needed this to be enough. Riley, who was
open hearted and had strong emotions, would at times react to a
dozen mild swats as a sound spanking, and find that fully
sufficient. Dale needed to be pushed further and Flynn knew if he
stopped too soon that Dale would dismiss it as inadequate and let
nothing of his emotions or guilt go at all. And that was what this
was mostly about.

There were no tears: Flynn didn't expect them and didn't push to the
point of them as he would have done with Riley. He knew the tipping
point came for Dale when some of the tension went out of his body
and his breathing became longer and deeper, and that was when he
delivered the last few, hard swats and stopped, letting Dale lay
where he was for a minute while he rested his smarting hand on
Dale's back, above his very red and hot buttocks.

"You keep the house rules, in particular about staying in bed at
night." He said quietly and firmly. "If we need to talk about that
one again, you'll be paddled. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir."

Voice uneven but quiet. Flynn put an arm under Dale's shoulders and
Dale came unsteadily to his feet with Flynn, putting both hands
behind him. That was the most expressive gesture he'd made yet, and
Flynn put both arms around him, not deceived by the stillness of his
face. Dale didn't hold on to him, but he turned his head and Flynn
felt the weight of it rest on his shoulder. He ducked his own head
impulsively and kissed the top of the dark hair, hugging the younger
man tightly, and after a moment more Dale's arms awkwardly came
around him and held on.

"Go upstairs," Flynn said into Dale's ear when he felt Dale's
breathing ease out. "Take that milk with you, get ready for bed and
wait in my room. I'll be up in a minute."

He saw Dale's initial moment of 'why your room?' and then light dawn
as Dale remembered his threat from last time. And winced, visibly,
although he had too much pride to argue. He moved slowly and Flynn
heard the creak as he started upstairs.

The fold away cot had been used maybe once or twice in the last
year, and was stiff when Flynn pulled it out of the store room off
the stable. It got used for a variety of things: mostly nightwatch
over a foaling mare, but there had been one other client of Flynn's
he'd tried this with, with good success. He collected Dale's pillow
and quilt from his room as he passed it and set the cot up on the
other side of his own bed under the window, making it rapidly.

"In." he said bluntly when he was done. Riley would have argued and
pleaded. Dale silently came to him and lay down, settling on his
stomach and letting Flynn pull the quilt over him. Flynn was aware
of his dark eyes still open as he got ready for bed himself, not
bothering to put a lamp on. When he was in sleep wear and unbuckling
his watch, he came quietly to sit on the side of the cot by Dale.

"How much of this was about feeling bad over yesterday?"

Riley probably couldn't have answered that question, no matter how
willing he was to try. Dale wasn't Riley. Flynn saw him processing
and knew Dale was ahead of him.

"A lot. That was why I couldn't sleep."

Yeah, well we won't go into the question of 'and what's a sure way
you know to get a spanking around here when you feel you need one?'

Flynn put his watch on the cabinet, still watching Dale.

"This isn't a one way street, Dale. You say the discipline helps you
feel calmer, handle guilt, feel more together. I get that, we all
do. You don't need to manipulate me or anyone else if you feel you
want it or need it, and you don't have to set out to do something
wrong in order to justify it. It's ok just to ask. I won't promise
I'll agree every time, but I do promise to help."

Riley would have had an apoplectic fit at the idea, and it wasn't
something he would have suggested to Riley. Dale absorbed that in
silence, still watching him. And then nodded, slowly.

"Have you ever done that?"

Flynn gave him a faint nod. "Maybe once or twice. I won't say I
personally ever found it easy but Philip understood and I knew I
could always go to him if something was bothering me. It's different
for everyone. You just have to find out what's right for you."

Flynn put a hand out, pushing his hair back from his forehead. A
brief, heavy and very comforting touch.

"Don't chew on yourself. Let it go for tonight, get some sleep,
nothing awful has happened. It's going to be all right."

There was so much certainty in his voice, it was convincing. Dale
lay where he was, watching the outline of Flynn across the room as
he settled on his own bed a few feet away.

Philip understood and I knew I could always go to him if something
was bothering me.

Flynn must have been in his late teens or early twenties when Philip
was living here in this house, and it was easily apparent from
Flynn's voice that he'd loved Philip. How, Dale wasn't sure. It was
hard to imagine how things had been with the elder man left alone
with a houseful of young men, some of whom stayed and some of whom
moved on. Some of whom, from what Riley said, had partnered up. He'd
mentioned that Philip was a match maker. It was hard to know what
had made Flynn, Riley, Jasper and Paul stay together as they had.
And it seemed inconceivably rude to ask.

Dale didn't sleep too well that night, and it was only close
to dawn when he finally dozed off. Flynn was bare chested and in
jeans when he shook Dale's shoulder to wake him, what seemed like
only minutes later.

"Breakfast. Leave your pillow and quilt here for tonight, you'll be
needing them."

Which meant he wasn't being allowed back to his own room. Dale
dressed quickly, somewhat embarrassed by that. Riley was coming down
the landing when Dale emerged from Flynn's room, looking past him at
the cot and gave a long, low whistle.

"You didn't?"

Dale grimaced and walked past him towards the stairs.

"Where did you go?" Riley asked, following.

"The airstrip," Dale said briefly. "Jogging. Flynn was sitting up on
the hill and I ran right by him."

"You what?" Riley demanded, starting to laugh. "You're kidding!"

"I'm not." Dale said dryly, "I was half way down the valley thinking
there was no one else for miles, and this voice just echoed off the
hills out of nowhere, Dale Edward Aden.. "

"Divine intervention. " Riley said, still laughing. "I'm not
surprised he made you sleep in his room, he'd have murdered me. Did
he say how long for?"

Dale shook his head. Riley hit his shoulder gently and with
sympathy.

"At least he doesn't snore. Are you ok?"

It was a serious question, and Dale paused, turning to look at Riley
who had abruptly lost most of the smile.

"Are you? I know how I would have been after yesterday. If you felt
bad enough to jog-"

"I got walloped for it." Dale admitted. "And we talked. I felt
better about it by the time we went to bed - I'll be ok. I'll get
over it, it's a learning curve."

It was difficult to read Riley's face, but for a moment he looked
thoroughly upset which sent an answering bolt of unease through
Dale. Then Riley gave him a half shrug and a much less real smile
and walked ahead of him into the kitchen.

"I'm going down to the falls today," he announced to Flynn and
Jasper, sitting at the table. "Want to flush the last of the sheep
out of the woods, so I'll take the dogs. I'll check the rockslides
while I'm down there."

"Do not swim." Paul said very firmly, putting plates down on the
table. "When I was up there the other day the falls were gushing
down, there's been a lot of rain up in the mountains. Good morning
you, I heard where you got to last night."

Dale, flushing as he edged past Paul to get to his seat, jumped at
the mild and well placed swat on a still tender place and hurriedly
sat down. Paul took his own seat, passing Dale a plate of toast.

"Jas is driving up into town this morning if anyone needs anything."

"Antibiotics. " Flynn said promptly. Jasper nodded.

"Sheep and horse. Yes. I'm going to put out the word for the
shearers too, we'll be needing them in the next few weeks.
Groceries. Dale, anything you need?"

Dale shook his head. "I'm fine thanks."

"I'll do the east ride this morning then," Flynn said
crisply, "Bandit had the mares right out on the south west range
last night, so none of them are about to foal, they'll be all right
until tomorrow. Dale, after yesterday and last night, you stay in
the house with Paul today."

Dale's jaw opened and Riley caught his eye, giving him a brief look
that Dale couldn't read.

Flynn put a note pad and pen on the table when they finished
clearing the table and Jasper and Riley disappeared out of the
kitchen door. Dale, who had not got up from the table, gave him a
look that he hoped wasn't nearly as pathetic as he felt.

"I'd like a statement," Flynn said bluntly, "About exactly what you
need to do at night if you're struggling, and why, and when it's a
version Paul's happy with, you can copy it out fifty times. You do
not leave the house today. If you're in any doubt about what you may
or may not do then speak to Paul."

"Yes sir."

There was very little else to say. Dale was still more thrown by the
arm that wrapped around him from behind and the rough kiss dropped
on the top of his head as Flynn left.

Riley was waiting at the foot of the porch steps when Flynn came
down them, and Flynn took his arm, signalling to him to be quiet.
Riley let himself be led well out of earshot of the house,
controlling himself with an effort until Flynn let him go. Then he
spun around and exploded.

"Isn't it bad enough that you pushed him into going off and running
last night without punishing him for it again today? It was your
fault he did that, not his!"

"Yes, so I told him." Flynn said gently. "The writing will take him
maybe an hour at the most. He didn't get a lot of sleep, he upset
his stomach yesterday with the stress, he needs a quiet day not
doing very much. That's all. You think Paul won't look after him?"

"I think he'll eat at himself for days now," Riley said
bluntly. "And I don't think you realise how much, or how yesterday
felt to him. I know how it would have felt to me."

"I know Dale too." Flynn said gently. "Yes, he's smarting and it's
shaken him but I don't think this is something he can't handle. I
think we can help him through, and I think like other clients he'll
learn from it-"

"Why are we even doing this to him?" Riley interrupted
sharply. "It's cruel! He can't go back to what he did before! You
know it, I know it!"

"That's not our decision to make," Flynn began. Riley shook his
head, cutting him off.

"That has nothing to do with it! He's a brat for goodness sakes, we
know it and he knows it. There is no WAY he can go back to doing
what he did before! How is that ever going to happen? It's like
saying ok, we know you're a giraffe but go back and keep on trying
to be a dolphin, and do your best not to drown!"

"Giraffe.." Flynn repeated, thrown off track. Riley glared at him.

"You know what I mean! Do you think Dale is really going to survive
with the kind of mentoring we've set up for other clients? A nightly
email or a phone call?"

"We might be able to clue in someone close to him." Flynn said
quietly. "We've done that before. Banks would be a good candidate."

"And Dale will be elusive and polite to him and then go off and chew
himself to bits out of sight." Riley said flatly. "You know he will.
He doesn't need a mentor, he needs a Top. He doesn't need someone to
check in with, or someone to talk to, or someone to check on goals
with, our other clients aren't brats. He NEEDS a Top. Someone who
can handle him the way that you do when he starts to come apart.
That's what's helping him and that's what's made the difference to
him. You're never going to teach Banks how to do that! And that's
still missing the major point. No Top worth the name would let a
brat go back into that lifestyle anyway."

"Riley..." Flynn began heavily. Riley shrugged off his hands.

"You wouldn't let me. There isn't a ring on my hand, and you still
wouldn't let me. Not you, not Paul, not Jas."

"Dale isn't you."

Riley shook his head. "Dale is never going to be ok going back to
that job no matter how well you teach him. You've said he was in it
for all the wrong reasons, he doesn't really even want to be there.
If he goes back I give it three months tops before you have to go
out to wherever he is - Japan, London, New York, wherever, and bring
him back here and pick up the pieces all over again."

Flynn shook his head, not unsympathetic. "We can't make that
decision for him, half-pint."

"No, we can't," Riley agreed, "But we can talk to him about it and
help him see the whole picture. If it was me - or Gerry, or Tom, or
Roger, or David, or any other brat who's lived here, you wouldn't
handle it like this. Philip wouldn't handle it like this."

"Ri!" Flynn said in protest. Riley shrugged and walked away, heading
towards the corral.