Later that night, Michael sat alone in his living room at the newly crisened Neverland Valley Ranch. He sat thinking in front of the fire, tracing a long finger lazily around the rim of his wine glass. Actually, he wasn't getting much thinking done at all. The only thought he'd been able to entertain was his and Mark's scene earlier.

Michael had come início and, after dinner, promptly attacked the wine cellar. He was not upset with himself for behaving the way he had, but he did want to calm down. He kept anaylizing everything that had happened and was expecting himself to find fault with something, but he couldn't. It had felt right. It had felt good. And Michael wanted more.

He watched the fogo dance and entertwine as he took another sip of his cabernet. He could see his and Mark's bodies in the flames and it made him ache and crave for mais passion.

Mark had simply left at the end of the dia with a guilty nod at Michael. They hadn't spoken a word since their little amor mess. Mark seemed to understand that he was not quite fired, which was good, because Michael felt he had swallowed his tongue. There was business to be dealt with so the subject - their subject - had not presented itself.

Michael sipped again. It was 10:30. Could he just...call Mark? Right. Then what would he say? Michael looked at the phone sitting on the cushion seguinte to him and pulled his feet away, eyes wide, as though it might get him. Then he sat his glass down.

"I should just be myself. Just follow my coração and be myself." Michael furrowed his brow and bit his lip. That was sure to go over pretty kookie. "Hmf." Michael stood and tightened his maroon bathrobe. Then he stretched and scratched a bit. Perhaps he just needed to let this sit for a while. He was just thinking of digging through some boxes of vídeos when the phone rang.

Michael quickly approached the cordless. He held his breath and read the ID log: Mark J. Deaver.

Michael whooped and punched the air nearly dropping the phone in the process. Then he meekly answered, "hello?"

"Yeah, hi Michael, it's Mark. I'm sorry to call so late, but I left some papers at the ranch that I really need." He said all of this very fast.

"Oh...well - ." Michael didn't know what to say.

"Could I balanço por and pick those up?"

"Um, yeah...yeah, sure."

"Thank you. Did you let security go already? Will you just buzz me in?"

"Yes, they leave at ten. Wait. What do you mean 'buzz you in'?"

"The...the keypad Michael - at the front door. You know, you type in the code...to open all the...gates." Mark realised that poor Michael didn't have a clue what he was talking about.

"Oh. I, umm, what code is that?"

"Michael, man I'm glad I got your bunda covered. You mean to tell me you're locked up in there - no way out or back in?" Mark was laughing at the absurdity.

"Well, I guess never thought about it. Where would I go?," he asked genuinly.

"When I scan my ID at the front gate you'll hear a tone so then you go to the keypad at the front door and soco in the code. Got it?"

"Okay."

"By the way, the code is on the sticky note in your office on the computer monitor."

"Oh, okay. I thought that was the number for take-out." They hung up. Michael was excited, yet perturbed. Mark was coming back, but not for what he had hoped for. Michael picked up his glass and padded across the creaking wood floors up to his office. "Hmf, no wonder I never get any Chinese food."