A wise man once said: Half of attraction is the thrill of being seen. Being noticed. That's why meeting someone's eyes across a crowded room is such a jolt. We want someone to want to uncover our secrets, to see deep down to where our flaws are hidden. To see them as flies trapped in amber, rather than occlusions in a gem.
The spine-tingling, palm-sweating, stomach-churning fear comes from not knowing whether they'll wrinkle their nose at those flies.
That wise man also said: Take off your tie for once in your life, Hotch.
The cursor blinked halfway down the page. Blink. Blink. Blink. Right in the middle of a word: unblinksub. Aaron Hotchner blinked back at it, trying to remember what phrase he'd been searching for. Ventnor's M.O. wasn't nearly as horrific as many of the killers they ran across, leaving his victims dead in an almost peaceful way. Yet as bland as his face and his method were, he was still a repulsive human being. One whose crimes needed to be documented so he wouldn't ever have the chance to do it again.
Aaron let his eyes track down to the bottom right of his screen. The small numbers were unblinking, but they'd changed little more than his cursor had.
4:49.
Eleven minutes to go.
"Hey, Hotch," Jason called.
Aaron hit save and locked his computer. "Hey," he said, spinning around to face Jason Gideon. "Something up?"
Jason shook his head, waving a hand in I'm-not-the-bearer-of-bad-news innocence. He sank down in the visitor's chair like he was ready to camp out for the evening.
Aaron didn't look at his watch.
"How was your lunch with Blackwolf?" Jason asked.
"Good. You were right, their tilapia is great." Herb crusted, moist and tender. Blackwolf had chosen a salad topped with skirt steak. He'd eaten it in large, easy bites, his eyes tracking back to Aaron each time he speared a mound of greens with his fork. Eyes that saw into him like nobody he'd ever met, not even Jason. Not in that way.
"The best in D.C." Jason smiled. He tapped his finger against the arm of the chair: once, twice. "Why is he in town again? I can't see him choosing the capital as an ideal vacation spot."
"Hardly." John Blackwolf was a man who was constantly aware of the weight of history on his back. A history as fresh as his father's death at FBI hands, but he had an open mind and a firm grasp of reality that kept that awareness from becoming pathological. "GW brought him in on a speaking engagement. He's scheduled meetings with a few political action committees, as well."
Jason nodded slowly. "He'll do well with those, I'm sure. Bright guy. Sharp instincts."
"We wouldn't have cracked the Cally cult in time without his help," Aaron said mildly, as if the chill desert air in his lungs was really a year in the past, when they'd hunted those child-murderers together, instead of a breath he'd taken just a few hours ago.
"Possibly." Jason's smile tugged up on the side. "He'd make a good profiler."
Aaron laughed. "I don't think he'll be applying to the FBI any time soon."
"No, no," Jason agreed. "You heading out on time for a change?"
Aaron paused. He'd started going through the motions of leaving without even thinking about it, and Jason, of course, had noticed. He set his gun on top of his desk, re-locked the drawer, and stood to holster his weapon.
"I have some errands to run," he said, glancing up at Jason before he turned his attention back to his belt. No different than any other day. "I want to get home before Haley puts Jack to bed for the night. For once."
All truth.
"Give him a kiss from his Uncle Jason." Jason smiled. A true smile, the one that Jack had found so spellbinding last time Jason had been over. He'd traced the furrows of Jason's face with his little boy fingers, fascinated by the way they changed as Jason laughed and smiled and puffed out his cheeks. "He's growing so fast."
"They do that, I'm told." Aaron swallowed. Every time he saw Jack again, it seemed like he'd grown just a little bit more. Even if he was only gone for the workday. Time flies, life slips away, but he'd discovered no greater measure of that than the changes in his son. "You should come over again soon. Jack'll be ecstatic to see you."
"I'd like that. Maybe this weekend?"
"I'll mention it to Haley." The wool of his coat felt coarse under his fingers. Aaron stared at it for a long second, wondering when he'd gotten so callused to fine things. Behind him, Jason's chair squeaked slightly across the floor as he stood up, and Aaron shook off the thought. He pulled the coat off the tree and shrugged into it, brushing his fingers against the right-hand pocket before turning towards the door. "I'll see you tomorrow."
"Have a good evening."
He'd made it all the way to the threshold of his office when he heard Jason draw a quick breath.
"Aaron."
The use of his first name stopped him as quickly, as surely, as a bullet. Fear fluttered through his gut. He turned slowly, wondering what Jason had pieced together. Aaron had learned to control his face a long, long time ago, but he never knew what Jason could read in his eyes. Sometimes he thought he was hoping for Jason to read all of his secrets.
"Are you okay?" Jason asked.
"Why wouldn't I be?"
Jason shrugged. "You seem a little distant."
Today, it seemed, wasn't the day that Jason would figure him out. Aaron searched for something to say, but Jason waved him off.
"You know, the cases that look the easiest on the surface can be the ones that get to us the most. I just wanted to make sure Ventnor didn't get to you."
Aaron shook his head, but that didn't keep out the image of Jane Park's long red hair artfully arranged across her pillow, her eyelids weighted down with pennies. The unsub took on the role of undertaker. That had been the phrase he was looking for earlier, until the memory of shining brown eyes had replaced polished copper coins.
"I'm fine," he said, and he was--Ventnor went into the mental box with all the rest, and so far, the box had held just fine. Compartmentalizing was one of the things Aaron excelled at. "You worry too much, Jason."
"So do you. Someone has to keep an eye on you here, might as well be me." Jason smiled once again, gently, and coupled it with a gentle slap on Aaron's back. "Go on, get on with your evening. I didn't mean to keep you."
"You never do," Aaron shot back, dryly but with a fond glance. Jason's chuckle followed him down the hall.
Though the winter sun was barely dipping below the horizon as he crossed the Potomac, the city was already twinkling with lights, the Jefferson monument glowing in the dusk. The traffic was heavy--but the drive didn't last long enough. Aaron pulled into the parking garage and shut off his car, wondering how he had gotten to this place.
He'd made up his mind hours earlier, however. He wouldn't gain anything by sitting around while his car cooled, second-guessing himself.
The bank of elevators wasn't far from where the stairs exited the garage into the lobby, somewhat concealed from the airy atrium by a pair of rotund columns. Aaron pushed the up arrow, then stood back to wait, fingering the torn scrap of paper in his pocket. The elevator dinged. Before he stepped inside, Aaron dropped the scrap of paper into the trash without giving it a second look. The number 1019 had been seared into his memory from the moment he'd first glanced at it.
He knocked twice.
Blackwolf stared at Aaron for long seconds after he opened the door. Weighing him. Aaron stared back, returning the once-over. Blackwolf wore the same outfit he had at lunch: tight blue jeans, a maroon cotton shirt over a grey T-shirt--but now his shirt was unbuttoned, his feet were bare, and his long hair was loosed from his usual ponytail. He looked comfortable. And as always, slightly amused, his brown eyes shining with the something that never failed to draw Aaron in.
"I could use that drink now," Aaron said.
Blackwolf grinned, lightning quick and bright, and ushered him inside.
The suite of rooms wasn't the most opulent Aaron had ever seen, not by far, but somebody had wasted a fair amount of money trying to impress John Blackwolf with ostentation. The careful tile squares of the entryway led them on into a spacious sitting area that was full of heavy pieces in black walnut veneer and dark marble. Open French doors marked the bedroom to the left of the room, and a forest green L-shaped couch separated the front of the lounge from a small dining area at the rear.
"I don't actually drink, myself," Blackwolf said as he moved past Aaron to the small refrigerator. He pulled out a quarter-liter bottle of water. "But I think there's some beer in here that's supposed to be good."
"Water's fine." Aaron slipped his outer coat off his shoulders; the room was warm. Warm and dry, but not like the desert. Like a room heated too hot for fighting off the mild winter. He draped his coat over one of the dining chairs before accepting the bottle Blackwolf handed him. "How did your lecture go?"
Blackwolf smiled again, enough that his dimples dipped into furrows. "Good," he said, sounding genuinely pleased that Aaron thought to ask. "If only academic interest in Indian affairs could be translated into more."
"It will. Eventually." Aaron sat down on the section of the couch facing the closed entertainment cabinet. Blackwolf settled into the corner, facing him. "It takes time for the ideas to enter the cultural conscience."
Blackwolf scoffed. "Time for that guilty conscience to forget what it's done, you mean."
Aaron shrugged. "Maybe. Sometimes that's what needs to happen before it's possible to move forward again."
"You have an answer for everything, don't you?" Blackwolf's words seemed harsh on the surface, but his tone was light, his face open. His eyes stayed on Aaron as took a quick sip of his water and then licked the drops off of his wet, shiny lips.
"Hardly." Aaron cracked the cap on his own bottle, but the cold water only added to the tightness in his throat. "But I've had a lot of training in bull shitting."
That shocked a laugh out of Blackwolf. Aaron smiled, his own tension easing a bit. He took another sip of water, then moved to set the bottle on the glass coffee table next to the sofa.
"You know," Blackwolf said quietly, "if you're going to stay awhile, you could at least take off your jacket. Get comfortable."
His bottle tipped, but Aaron righted it before it could spill. He took a deep breath, and then leaned back and reached up to unknot his tie. The tie always drew comments--from Jason, from Morgan, from all of the team. Wearing a tie was more than an adherence to formality, though. It was a symbol of power, a separation from the everyday, an expectation placed on those around him.
Whatever his team thought, however, it wasn't his security blanket.
Aaron let the ends of the tie dangle as he unbuttoned the shirt at his throat. He stood up and took off his suit jacket, draping it across the back of the couch.
Blackwolf stared at the gun at Aaron's hip. He didn't say anything, but the cant of his eyebrows was enough.
"It's procedure to carry portal to portal," Aaron explained.
"Procedure," Blackwolf said flatly. "So when do they come off?"
"At the office. At home, where I can lock them up." He unsnapped the straps of the holster. "When I'm with someone I trust."
Blackwolf's eyes followed the gun to the coffee table, then snapped back up to Aaron's face.
They stared at each other. Aaron felt frozen in place. He'd made the decision to come here, but now his mental compartments were leaking: Haley's bright hair shining in the sun, Jack giggling as she tickled his belly. Blackwolf staring back at him in the darkened school, telling Aaron he could be more. Jason's smile, encouraging him to let go of the rules when they held him back. Bright pennies on dead girls who never got to live their dreams.
Voices echoed and faded away again in the hallway while Aaron tried to choose between leaving or moving forward.
Blackwolf flowed to his feet, taking the decision from Aaron with each graceful step. By the time Blackwolf was so far into Aaron's personal space he could hardly breathe, he knew that forward was the only choice he could make. The only choice he wanted to make.
"You enjoy surprising me, don't you?" Blackwolf asked. His smile had long faded away, but there was still a hint of amusement in his eyes. Amusement, and anticipation.
Aaron couldn't help reacting to that look. "I thought you had me all figured out."
"Not hardly." Blackwolf's eyes flicked down and back up again. "Reading you is a little more complicated than profiling the dirt, Special Agent Hotchner."
"Hotch," Aaron offered. "And I'll take that as a compliment."
"It is." The amusement in Blackwolf's eyes had burned away. That same heat dried Aaron's mouth to dust. "Oh, it is."
Then Blackwolf sank to his knees.
He slid his hands under the hem of Aaron's pants leg, lifting the material away from the gun holstered at his ankle. Blackwolf's hands were strong and sure as they unstrapped the holster, his fingers barely brushing across the bare skin of Aaron's calf before withdrawing again. He rested back on his heels, staring up at Aaron with Aaron's own backup piece in his hand.
After a moment, Blackwolf set it on the coffee table. He stood once again, leaving them almost chest to chest.
Aaron broke first. A day of anticipation, a year of longing, a lifetime of wondering, it was all an unstoppable flood pushing him over the dam of his fears. Blackwolf met him without hesitation, their mouths coming together in something that was less of a kiss than a duel. Aaron didn't even have time to take in the feel of it before Blackwolf's teeth were nipping at his lips, opening his mouth, deepening the kiss. He felt it then: hot, heavy passion that surged through his body and left him feeling like the floor was spinning out from under his feet.
Blackwolf pulled back. Aaron opened his eyes. He had one hand fisted in Blackwolf's shirt, the other clenched around Blackwolf's right wrist.
You didn't ask me here to talk politics, he'd goaded at lunch, and Blackwolf had smiled at him with such open desire in his eyes that Aaron hadn't been able to say anything else. That look paled next to the way Blackwolf looked at him now, brown eyes blackened with arousal, his lips slightly reddened by Aaron's own mouth.
Blackwolf turned his wrist inside Aaron's grasp, and Aaron let him go.
"The bed's behind you," he said quietly. They were still standing between the couch and the coffee table, Blackwolf unable to move forward unless he went through Aaron.
Aaron took a step back. He took one more, and then turned and walked through the French doors. The bed took up most of the room. It was just as ostentatious as the rest of the suite, king-sized and raised on a short platform, and covered in about a million pillows.
"You need a ladder to get onto that thing?" he joked.
"I get a running start. Like an antelope." Blackwolf smiled as he shrugged out of his overshirt. "Indian magic."
"Not a wolf?" he asked absently, watching as Blackwolf pulled off his T-shirt. He was a well-muscled man, but nobody was immune to middle age. The thickness at his waist, not even enough to be called a love handle, suited his build, however. Aaron reached out, drawn to touch Blackwolf's faded appendix scar.
"Maybe a wolf," Blackwolf agreed, his voice so deep it was almost subvocal. His breath hitched as Aaron slid his hands upward, gliding them softly over Blackwolf's belly and chest. Soaking up his heat.
"You like that," Aaron murmured, not really a question but full of wondering all the same.
"What did you think, that I'd only like it hard and fast?" Blackwolf caught Aaron's right hand and held it in place. "Like some anonymous fuck in an alley?"
Aaron's cock twitched at hearing the rough words, but he shook his head and smiled wryly. "Honestly? I have no idea what to expect."
Blackwolf's eyes widened. Aaron shrugged with one shoulder. His free thumb moved of its own accord to rub circles, over and over, into the space under Blackwolf's ribs.
"I just... There's always been Haley," he tried to explain. Haley, with her smile that reached down inside him and lightened the black spots in his soul. The black spots never truly faded, yet Blackwolf was looking at him like they were only a deeper shade of grey. "I just wanted..."
"Do you know why I hate guns?"
Aaron blinked at the non sequitur. "Because your father was shot to death."
Blackwolf inclined his head, a half-nod for a half-correct answer. "The FBI weren't the only ones carrying that day. Guns are too easy, too fast. There's no time to take back an impulsive decision."
Aaron raised an eyebrow, taking his pointing but needing to press anyway. "And you have that time with a knife?"
Blackwolf let go of Aaron's hand. "Enough."
"I'm not afraid to live with my choices." Aaron stepped around him and sat down on the edge of the bed. He took off his shoes, then began unbuttoning his cuffs. "I want to be here."
"Good." Blackwolf unbuckled his belt, unzipped, and slowly lowered his jeans, not making a show of it, but matter-of-factly letting Aaron see. He was uncircumcised and half-hard, cock and balls resting against a sparse thatch of jet-black hair. He walked to the head of the bed to turn down the sheets, leaving Aaron staring at his full ass.
"I had thought--" Aaron cleared his throat and concentrated on unbuttoning his shirt for a few seconds. He hated sounding so unsure, but he couldn't force more breath through his vocal cords. "I've spent a lot of time thinking about what I wanted, if I ever had the chance. The one and only chance for this."
Blackwolf quit fussing with the bed and looked back at him. "Yeah?"
Aaron had to smile. "You sound like a Valley girl when you say that, you know."
Blackwolf snorted. "Too much television." He walked back to the foot of the bed, stopping in front of Aaron. "Tell me what you want."
Aaron licked his lips. Blackwolf's cock was filling as he stared at it. Aaron reached out, took it into his hand. It was silky smooth against his palm, and touching it sent a shock straight to his own cock.
He looked up. Blackwolf was watching Aaron with half-lidded eyes, his breath soft through parted lips. He looked utterly masculine, even with his hair streaming over his shoulders. Masculine, and magnificent. Aaron let go of his cock and stood up.
"I want you," Aaron said as he slid leather free from brass, "to fuck me."
Blackwolf's eyes widened again. He took a heavy breath, let it out again in a gust. "Oh, that I can definitely do."
Aaron finished opening his pants and shoved them to the floor. Then they were kissing again. It was better this time, with skin on skin. With give and take, and a sense of exploration in addition to their earlier ferocity. His hands found Blackwolf's ass this time.
Blackwolf's found Aaron's cock.
"Oh, god." Aaron gasped, unprepared for the jolt that shot through him.
"You can call me that if you want," Blackwolf said, his hand never stilling. Aaron could feel the smile against his cheek.
"Bastard," he muttered, and Blackwolf chuckled. In response, Aaron tumbled them both down to the bed. They rolled, and Aaron wound up mostly on top. He ground down against Blackwolf's hip, enjoying the simultaneous brush of Blackwolf's cock against his skin.
"We can do it this way if you want," Blackwolf offered. "It's good, too."
"I'm sure it is," Aaron said, caught up in marveling at the strength beneath him. Blackwolf's thighs were like iron, his arms no less powerful. He'd seen the results of that strength, of his skill with a knife, and it wasn't a nice thing. But now that power paired with gentleness turned Aaron on like crazy. "I haven't changed my mind."
"Okay." Blackwolf surged against him, rolling Aaron onto his back. Aaron pushed against the cuff of Blackwolf's hands on his wrists, but not hard enough to break free. Blackwolf kissed him again, breath whistling through his nose as he dragged his cock over Aaron's. "Are you ready?"
"Yes." He didn't need to equivocate. He was nervous, yes, but he knew how to deal with nerves. What was harder to deal with was the intimacy of Blackwolf's lingering kiss, of the smile he gave Aaron before he left the bed. Aaron turned away, moving to the top of the bed so he could get between the sheets.
Blackwolf fished through a worn leather backpack sitting on the suitcase stand. He returned to the bed with a bottle of lube and a condom in hand, and slid in beside Aaron.
"Turn over, onto your side," he instructed. Aaron did, stuffing one of the pillows into the crook of his elbow to prop up his head. Blackwolf spooned up behind him. He ran his hand down Aaron's side, hard enough not to tickle, on down to Aaron's hip before caressing his butt cheek, then sliding farther down. Brushing over his crack. "Has she touched you this way?"
"Some," Aaron said, but his attention was all on Blackwolf's fingers working their way over his balls and moving northward. His cock was heavy against the mattress below him, getting heavier the closer those fingers got. He drew up his left leg, spreading himself open. Inviting Blackwolf in.
Blackwolf's hands left him for a few seconds, but then his fingers were back, slick and right where Aaron wanted them. He let the pillow take his groan when Blackwolf finally pushed in, the tiny bit of burn nowhere near enough to take away the sharp spike of pleasure.
"But not enough," Blackwolf said, going back to a conversation Aaron could barely remember. "You want this so bad, don't you?"
Aaron closed his eyes. He clenched his jaw, wondering how far Blackwolf would push him--but Blackwolf didn't force an answer out of him. He lightly bit at Aaron's shoulder and pushed another finger in. Aaron sighed, but his tension didn't drain away, only transformed into stronger need.
"Just a little more," Blackwolf murmured. He turned his fingers, pushing a little farther. Aaron jerked, which only intensified the pleasure. "Just like that."
He pulled his fingers out. Aaron panted into the pillow, listening to the sound of foil ripping behind him. Before he could come down, Blackwolf was back, snugged close to Aaron's back, his cock already lined up with Aaron's ass.
"Breathe," Blackwolf crooned into his ear, and then he was pushing in.
Aaron breathed.
Aaron breathed, and then Blackwolf was inside of him. His mind couldn't keep up with his body, the sensations changing from odd to ache to pleasure in a slow, unsorted mix. He breathed again, and then it was only good.
"Okay?" Blackwolf asked, his voice husky and tight.
Aaron opened his mouth to say yes--and laughed instead.
"What?"
Aaron shook his head, trying to control his chuckles, but he was too open. Too loose to hang on. "I was just thinking about how many people have told me I have a stick up my ass."
Blackwolf snorted, tickling the little hairs on the back of Aaron's neck. "What they don't know," he said, and then rolled his hips. "Big stick, hmm?"
Aaron laughed until his breath clenched in his chest, until his laughs were panted out in time with Blackwolf's slow, easy thrusts. Finally he just groaned.
"I wanted to hate you," Blackwolf whispered. He reached around for Aaron's cock, gripping it lightly and letting their hips do the work. "I wanted to hate you so bad."
"You're not the first," Aaron said, but it wasn't the truth. Not exactly. Not the way Blackwolf had looked at him. Aaron shoved back, forcing Blackwolf deeper, and got a groan in return.
"Couldn't," Blackwolf gasped out, and then he picked up speed, tightening his grip on Aaron's cock.
Aaron grunted and tried to grab onto the headboard, but his fingers could only find the edge of the mattress. He had no control. Blackwolf's hand was flying over his cock, Blackwolf's cock was pounding into his ass, and he couldn't think at all. It was good. So very, very good, and then he was coming. He came all over Blackwolf's hand and the expensive cotton sheets while the pillow muffled his shout.
Blackwolf pressed his face into the back of Aaron's neck. He muttered a word Aaron didn't understand, and then he let go of Aaron's cock and clutched his hip tight. One thrust, two, and then he strained forward, shoving himself deep. Aaron could feel Blackwolf's cock pulsing inside of him while Blackwolf let out a low groan against his neck.
They panted together for a long minute. Then Blackwolf eased out and rolled away. Aaron turned onto his back, trying to regain his equilibrium.
Blackwolf returned to the bed after throwing the condom in the trash. He laid on his back a few inches from Aaron, forearm covering his eyes. "Why did you come here tonight?" he asked. "Why risk it?"
The question caught Aaron off guard. It was a question he'd expected earlier, instead of Blackwolf's oblique offer to let him off easy. But he understood why Blackwolf hadn't asked then; doing so drew his thoughts right back to Haley and Jack.
He wiped at the sweat on his throat, considering his answer. "I wanted to," he said again, and that was the truth.
Blackwolf lowered his arm. "That's all?"
Aaron sighed. "I don't really know," he admitted. "Haley and Jack are my world, and I know it's stupid to risk that. I've seen enough horror to not go looking for cheap thrills. But." He paused, trying to find a way to say it that didn't sound completely self-absorbed or more than it was. "I didn't come here for a cheap thrill."
Blackwolf nodded slowly. Aaron sat up, glancing over at the clock on the nightstand. 7:53. Haley would be putting Jack to bed before he made it home.
"Can I use your shower?"
Blackwolf raised his eyebrows. "Is that a good idea?"
"Haley's learned not to ask." He hadn't had to shower before going home often since joining the BAU, but the times he had, it had been bad. Horrific, usually. He didn't like the idea of letting her think he'd had another awful day, but it was better than the truth.
"Be my guest," Blackwolf said with a small smile. Aaron moved towards the edge of the bed, but Blackwolf caught his forearm. "You could stay, if you wanted."
What's one more lie? went unsaid. One too many, he knew, no matter how tempting the offer. Aaron shook his head.
Blackwolf gave a half-nod, and then he looked away, his jaw set tight.
Aaron swallowed. He'd wanted so badly to be seen that he'd missed seeing things that were right in front of his eyes. He started to reach out, but stopped. With Haley, he'd cup her cheek, rub his thumb over her lips, press a kiss to her forehead. None of those things suited John Blackwolf.
And those were things Aaron couldn't give him.
He left the bed and showered quickly, keeping his hair dry the best that he could, not taking time to enjoy the pounding water pressure on his sore muscles. He toweled off and searched out his clothes. Blackwolf never stirred from the bed, not until Aaron sat down to tie his shoes. Then he stood and went out to the front room.
He returned with Aaron's guns.
"Don't read anything into this," he said, and handed over the backup in its holster.
"I wouldn't dream of it." Aaron hid his smile by bending forward. He settled the familiar weight against his ankle and then stood up.
Blackwolf's eyes still had a trace of amusement, but it was thin, almost worn-through. He held out the other gun, but he didn't release it immediately into Aaron's hand.
"Be safe, Mr. FBI-man," he said like a prayer, and then he let go.
Aaron situated his holster against his hip by feel alone. He didn't know what to say, and Blackwolf's gaze kept him from moving forward for one last touch.
"Good luck," he said at last, knowing the words fell far short. He almost offered his legal counsel, but it was a gesture that they'd both see through. Blackwolf smiled softly, then stepped aside, leaving Aaron a clear path to the outer room.
He picked up his coat, but didn't put it on. He looked back to where Blackwolf stood framed by the French doors, still naked, his hair wild about his face.
Aaron let himself out the door.
Michael Ventnor always left a printed calling card next to his victims: I am death; you cannot stop me. You rage, you scream, but you cannot deny the truth. I am in you all.
But Jason Gideon summed it up more truly: Love, whatever form it takes, is the thing that makes us alive.



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