NOTICE: the next chapter is the epilogue, and then Best Lane Plans will be complete. Just so ya'll know.

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Supporting someone else in their time of need, comforting them when they're upset, was easy. It was a lot harder for me to reach out when I needed help, I was discovering. So I just left it alone, more often than not, tucking it away like emergency money into a hidden pocket of a wallet.

This, might I add, is nigh impossible when you're alone with someone who knows you as well as Lane knows me.

"So can I ask what's wrong now, or should I wait until the morning?"

His words were a sleepy mumble against my bare shoulder, but they made my stomach roil and my fingers twitch anyway. I should have known better.

I let out a bleary sort of chuckle, rubbing my nose against the damp hair next to his temple and ghosting my hand over his nude backside. We hadn't done a very good job of drying each other off after the shower, but right now I was too lethargic and apprehensive to care. "Christ, you can still think right now? I don't know whether to be impressed or offended."

Lane laughed softly and patted my scarred side. "Metahuman stamina, remember? You did give me a run for my money, though; I will admit that."

I should fucking hope so. I knew I couldn't handle three orgasms in bed and one in the shower without at least taking a nap afterwards. Hell, I was still tired, and I had only finished once.

"God damnit," I muttered under my breath. "Do you think five would have done you, you greedy bastard?"

"Probably not." He smirked at me as he yawned and stretched luxuriously, rubbing in the fact that, while the sex had been wonderful, it was still nowhere close to what it would take to render him too exhausted to think. "I know something's wrong when you start giving way more than you take. The more you do, the more obvious it is."

"No shit," I murmured, a little bit awed by the neat little trap I had pushed myself into. "And here I was, thinking you just liked the attention."

"You didn't hear me complaining, did you?" he retorted. It was a joke, sort of. Even that semblance of humor left him as he looked at me, becoming markedly more somber. "But you're crazy if you think I can't tell the difference between you wholeheartedly enjoying yourself and you burying yourself in me to avoid something else. It's not like you're not enjoying it, it's more like… there's something else there, too."

"Ah, well." I shifted my casted wrist so that it was flopped casually over his well defined abdomen. Then I let out a sigh and scrubbed my good hand through my wet and disorderly hair before resting my cheek against the bare, muscular junction of his shoulder.

" 'Ah, well' what?" he asked, curling the arm I was laying on over my shoulders.

"I should have known better than to try," I replied, closing my eyes and allowing myself to relish his warmth. "But I do it more to hide things from me than you, so try not to take it personally."

"Hide what?"

It took me a minute to order my thoughts. Lane waited it out with patience instead of judgment, lightly stroking my shoulder with the tips of his fingers. Finally I opened my eyes and said, "Don't get me wrong, I know he's a total douchebag, and I'm definitely aware that he would have killed me if I had given him the chance, but because of me a man is going to be spending fifteen years in a penitentiary. You don't recover from shit like that, Lane; after spending time like that you can't just move on like those fifteen years never existed. It turns you into a hardened criminal. The environment that exists in prisons these days…" I paused, licked my lips. "I'm not sure he deserves something that bad. That I'm the reason he's doomed for that is—I…" I paused, stumbling. The parts of my fingers that were free from my cast wriggled against Lane's warm, partially dry skin. "I don't think I'm okay with that. Up until Mother and Phillip showed up, I was egging him on. If anything, I hold more responsibility because I'm more self-possessed than he is, and I did all of that shit anyway. But I'm getting off scot-free."

Lane hummed deep in his chest. "I thought you'd say something like that."

"Do you have a convenient and appropriate response for it?" I asked, half-hopefully, raising my head to see his face.

His smile was small, understanding and apologetic all at once. "Kasey asked to talk to me, after the trial," he confessed.

"So the coffee was just an afterthought." I propped myself up on my good elbow, preparing to listen for a while. "What did he want?"

"He told me how it all happened—the real story. He said someone might as well know, because it sure as hell wasn't going to matter where he was going. Phillip was nice enough to take the brunt of the fall for the team, but in doing so he also singlehandedly swiped all of the glory that came with pulling off as much as they did. Kasey and your mother are nothing more than supporting thugs, as far as anyone else is concerned."

"So everyone had an equal share of input in the plan?" I was willing to buy that—from my mother, at least. She had a lot of flaws, but stupidity sure as hell wasn't one of them.

Lane made a half shrug and wagged his hand in a so-so gesture. "Phillip and your mom—" he winced uncomfortably, and I patted his chest with my casted hand to let him know I agreed, now please keep going "—met a while back, for reasons unrelated to potential world domination. Kasey didn't care to know any of the details, but he said that when he met Phillip that dynamic was pretty solidly established. They had already refined their philosophy as to why world domination was a good idea when Kasey came into the picture. It's anyone's guess which parts came from who, because at that point they functioned as two parts of the same unit. Kasey said he met Phillip's wife only once, and at that by accident—she's a bona fide trophy wife, and dumb as a rock; she had no earthly idea what was going on right under her nose. The part about the shopping addiction was a serious understatement, apparently. Phillip was already into some shady stuff, and had been for a while, desperately trying to pay off the credit cards and stave off bankruptcy."

"Well," I couldn't resist remarking. "Mother is a lot of things, but a leech isn't one of them. She actually loves to brag about how it's her money instead of someone else's that purchases all of her nice things. I bet that was a breath of fresh air to good ol' Phillip."

"It probably was," Lane agreed. "Anyway, Kasey says he ran into Phillip about a year ago, on an online chat room. He didn't say so explicitly, but I got the feeling it was one of those one night stand websites."

I couldn't help laughing. One night stand websites? Oh, god, he was precious. "You mean online dating? Or the Grindr app?"

Lane gave me an indignant look that very clearly claimed, "I'm not that ignorant, okay asshole?"

I merely smiled and rubbed his firm belly affectionately. If I wasn't so morbidly curious about where this story was going, I would have distracted him with a kiss, but as it was I just waited for him to get back on track.

Verbally, he said, "Shadier than online dating. At least, that was the impression I got. He sort of glossed over those details—thank god," he added under his breath. "But that's not the point. Once Kasey and Phillip met up for whatever it was—I didn't ask, he didn't say; we were both fine with that—they started talking, and then Phillip started trying out his world-domination philosophy on him. Now, Kasey's a mechanic, okay? He doesn't do intellectualism very well. He didn't say this to me, but he basically admitted that Phillip went straight over his head with the argument itself. However, Phillip is apparently a marvelously charming sonofabitch when he feels like it. Ergo, Kasey was wrapped around his finger, and he had enough of a grasp of the situation to half-accidentally provide a solution to Phillip's problem, which was where to start implementing his plan for world domination."

"And the fact that you lived in this city was just the cherry on top, I'm assuming?"

"Not just me, but you too," Lane said. "You and I had already been together about six months, at that point. God knows why, but Kasey felt like this was a personal fuck you, in spite of the fact that we hadn't spoken in—almost a year, I think? He was still pissed about it; that part of the story had a lot of fresh resentment and fuck-you-Lane-I-blame-you-for-how-I-turned-outs in it."

I nodded. "Sounds like the kind of logic KT likes."

"You're telling me." Lane rolled his eyes at the entire concept. Somehow, that one little expression made me think he had a difficult time listening to this part of the story without groaning in exasperation or bursting out in laughter. "Anyway, since his vendetta was personal he didn't pay too much attention to the bigger picture Phillip and your mom were so crazy about. However, it was his idea to invite all of the shitty minor villains to the city—specifically to make my life a living hell, he informed me with this smug little smirk."

I wasn't surprised, but I still couldn't help asking, "Lane, what the hell did you ever see in that guy?"

"Honestly, at this point I couldn't even tell you—oh, but it gets better. His plan was for me to be so stressed out that any and everything you did irritated the living hell out of me, and eventually it all went to shit and you and I broke up. Anything it might have done to help Phillip's plan was just happy coincidence—at least, until Kasey found himself doing things that helped Phillip and Christa's plan instead of his own. He had genuinely become their thug, without even knowing it."

"Still, this explains a lot about the rant I got outside of the hospital," I remarked thoughtfully. "I thought he was being a little non sequitur, but he was actually aiming to compound any insecurity that might have been taking root, due to your stressed-out-and-ornery demeanor and my lack of metahuman abilities that would make everything better. Well, at least that makes some sense."

"Yeah," said Lane. He still sounded miffed, and no wonder.

"What did you do in response to this confession, anyway?" I asked with interest.

"I didn't say anything—if I tried, it would have just devolved into…" He shook his head, clearly unwilling to think too far into it. "I just walked away."

"And got coffee."

"Well." He looked a little sheepish. "I needed a reason for why I wasn't with you the moment the trial ended, didn't I? I wasn't planning on telling you any of this, honestly, but seeing you so guilty over someone who actually thought doing all of that was okay just makes me so mad! He doesn't deserve it, Kyle. After all of the fucked up shit Kasey's done, he doesn't deserve your guilt, or your empathy, or even your pity—" Lane's rant broke when he noticed how I was smiling at him. He gazed at me with bewilderment when I brushed my good hand through his short brunette hair, still darkened with moisture. "What's wrong with you? I tell you exactly how screwed up these last several months have been, and who's responsible, and you're looking at me like I'm spouting romantic poetry? Really?"

I laughed a little, stroking his hair some more. Before I could respond, though, he sat up fast and I startled, my hand falling and my mouth working soundlessly as I dumbly followed after. Where was this behavior coming from?

"The woman with that horrible face? You remember her?" His voice cracked in either fury or grief, it was impossible to tell the difference. "Of course you do—how the hell could you forget? You don't admit it, you don't talk to me about anything, but I know you get nightmares about her. I can feel you jump when you wake up, and I feel you trembling next to me for hours as you try and go back to sleep. You try so hard not to disturb me or worry me, but I notice, Kyle, and it kills me that you clearly don't feel safe talking to me. Don't you think I can relate? Don't you think I'll listen? God, it kills me that you have to experience any of this! It's my fault this is happening at all, because I brought you into my world where shit like that is more than just a page on a comic book. But you know what's worse? My goddamn ex-boyfriend led that woman straight to you!"

Lane probably should have, but he didn't stop there. I wasn't sure he could, at this point. The dam on all of the things he had resolved to keep me safe from was now officially broken, and all I could do was watch, horrified, as it all spilled out.

"He broke her out of the goddamn mental hospital and left so many anonymous notes and clues linking your resemblance to her lost fiancé that she couldn't tell the difference between you anymore—that was all him! He wanted you to die by her hand—or, if he couldn't get that, he wanted you to be so damaged that no one could want you anymore. He wasn't picky.

"Whose idea do you think it was, to use one of your classmates as the first experiment with those genetic mutations? Who came up with the concept of setting it on you during the nature hike, do you think? Kasey! Who made the suggestion to create Philippe and distract Cedric? Kasey! It was all—fucking—Kasey's—fault!" He flung out a fist, stopping it the instant before it smashed through the wall behind his head. I could see his muscles quivering from the strain.

Lane got very quiet, but I knew better than to mistake this as the finale. I knew better than to touch him, too. No, I just sat there, my hands in my lap, and let him go.

"When I heard all of that," he said very softly. His arm was still straight out, the muscles jumping about beneath his skin as if fighting with him for dominance, but ever so slowly he folded it back up. "It was all I could do not to kill him. It would have been so easy—Kasey doesn't have my strength, and even if he shocked me I still could have barreled on through it. He was in handcuffs, utterly defenseless. It would have been so easy." He paused and let out a very shaky breath, eyes down and his big hands clenching and unclenching in a manner that was nearly experimental. After a minute or so, he looked up, straight into me, hazel eyes piercing through the protective numbness that had closed over me. "Two and a half years ago, I would have done it."

I frowned, my eyebrows sinking towards each other. "Lane—" I risked reaching for him, but he pushed my hand away. The movement was gentle, but firm, brooking no argument.

"Two and a half years ago, I think my response would have been immediate," he said, still looking right at me. "Maybe I wouldn't have killed him—but even if I had managed to stop, he still would have been more dead than alive. A confession like that would have been ample justification to me: a request, even, to beat the living daylights out of a man who was already in handcuffs. But today…" He looked away briefly, only for his gaze to return, stronger than ever. "Today, I couldn't help thinking of all the fallacies you used to go on about, how heroes so often use violence to prove that violence is wrong, about the principles they hollowed with their actions. If I had given in to any of the impulses that seemed so reasonable in my anger, I knew I wouldn't have been able to stand you hearing about it. Somehow, that made me stop. If I wanted to hide my actions from you, then was I really considering doing the right thing? Did I really want to become that sort of a hero? Even if nobody else knew what I had done, I still would; would I be okay living with myself for doing it? Two and a half years ago, before I met you, I wouldn't have thought about any of that."

"Lane…" I whispered. This time he let me touch him, gather his trembling body in my arms and hold on tight, for my sake as well as his own. For the first time, skin on skin didn't feel close enough, no matter how strongly I squeezed.

"You're the only reason I was able to walk away," he murmured brokenly into the curve of my neck. "God, Kyle, I wouldn't have been able to live with myself after, if I had actually done it. You saved me. You've saved me so many times, and all I've ever done is bring you trouble. I can't even avenge you."

And why was that? Because that would destroy the very way of thinking that had saved him to begin with.

"Oh, Lane, honey." I touched his cheeks and guided him to look at me. He was shaking—or was that actually me? I couldn't tell right now. It took all of my concentration just to see him clearly, this man I could not have loved more if I tried. "You did the right thing, honey, I promise. You did the right thing. I am so proud of you, baby, you have no idea. I don't need to be avenged." When he opened his mouth, ready to protest, I shook my head. Stroking his cheeks with my thumbs, I pressed a tender kiss to his lower lip and stayed close in the aftermath, my eyes hot. "Don't avenge me, Lane, just be with me. That's all I need."

The next thing I knew, I was shattered. I felt pieces of myself slip through my fingers as I collapsed inwards, trying in futility to stay self-contained. I didn't know if it was because of the culmination of all the fear, trauma and betrayal I had told myself I couldn't feel; or the fact Lane had known about my own private hell of nightmares all along, and I had hurt him by neglecting to ask for comfort; or the simple truth that someone in this world had hated me so much that they went above and beyond themselves just to destroy me; or maybe it was simply a reaction to Lane himself, that my loving him so completely meant his breaking necessitated my own. Regardless of the cause, the effect was the same.

The last time I truly cried had been in adolescence, and early adolescence at that. I had been alone then, I recalled, hugging a pillow and using it to muffle the noise. If Mother heard, there would have been hell to pay.

Instincts like that do not disappear, even in the presence of someone you trust. The fact that I had wholly and utterly lost control of myself made me want to crumple up like an unwanted receipt and disappear into the backdrop until I had regained my proper faculties. I even tried for it, but as soon as I started choking out humiliated apologies and pulling away Lane just hugged me tighter, keeping me so close that I could feel his heartbeat drumming a rapid-fire tattoo against my bare chest. I could struggle all I wanted against his metahuman strength, but I would never win.

"Let it out," he whispered to me, over and over, in a voice that somehow wove its way to my eardrums in between the awful sobs I was still feebly trying to choke back. "I don't mind; this doesn't change anything for me. I don't mind."

I don't actually know how many repetitions it took, but it didn't feel like long before I was pushing my face into his chest to cry in earnest, clinging to him like the pillow from so long ago. Unlike the pillow, he was warm, and he clung back.

Lane had broken down in front of me before, more than once. It hadn't ever changed my opinion of him—in fact, I respected him for having the courage to fully express himself. I, however, did not hold myself to the same standards. I couldn't be an indisputably powerful metahuman, as Lane could. Even when I comforted him, the fact that he could still lift my car over his head without breaking a sweat was never far from my mind. His strength, therefore, had never come into question. Since I obviously didn't have anything like that to fall back on, I had to prove myself in other ways. All things considered, being more or less unflappable in the emotional sphere was a decent alternative. I wasn't actually sure when I had chosen for that to be my power, so to speak, but it had been so long ago that for me to abandon it now, even temporarily, felt a bit like betraying myself. Who could I be, if not the guy who laughed and made snarky quips in the face of trauma, and never broke down? That was the only person I had ever been. If I wasn't that guy, then I must not be anyone.

I didn't feel like nobody, though, being cradled next to the heart of someone whose power I could never question. I was lost and raw and broken, but I hadn't lost my personhood. What could that mean?

"I don't mind, Ky," he promised once again, stroking my spine and pushing his nose into my hair. "Let me take care of you, for once. I don't mind."

It's amazing, what we can hear when we want to. I didn't miss a single syllable he whispered to me, in spite of the horrible volume of my own sobbing. Hearing someone saying those things to me—not only saying them, but meaning them—was probably the only thing keeping me from hating myself right now.

It was ironic, I thought as the small sprigs of chest hair rubbed at my shifting cheek, that I had actually been comforting him when this breakdown caught up with me.

"I'm so proud. I know how hard this is for you," he told me in a voice I wasn't even sure I was meant to hear at this point, talking just for the sake of allowing me to hear something and know I wasn't alone. "I love you so much, Ky. Don't worry about what I think; it hasn't changed, I promise. It's okay, sweetheart, just let it out."

He had never called me sweetheart before. Lane's repertoire of pet names was limited to my name and the shortened version of it. I was the one who had a never-ending variety of endearments, so I always assumed that he was either uncreative or unwilling to beat the dead horse. When simply saying my name was endearment enough, it had never occurred to me that he might have thought of referring to me as anything else.

I couldn't have said why, but I needed to hear that. Oh, I wasn't done breaking down—not by a long shot—but suddenly it wasn't quite so demeaning anymore.

His cell phone started ringing on the bedside table, loudly enough to startle me. Lane reached for it—and ignored the call. Then he gathered me up with new verve, holding me like I was the only person in the world who existed. "They can deal without me for another day," I heard him mutter, more to himself than to me. "Being here is more important."

It was that little gesture, more than anything else, that allowed me to truly let go, knowing without a doubt that I would be okay.