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Kelvin shot straight up in bed, damp with a chilling sweat. A breath and a half later he turned to see Reid lying peacefully beside him. He reached out with a cautious hand and placed it on the heeler's arm, sighing with relief to feel the telltale warmth of a living body on his palm. Off-white sheets had slumped down to his waist, so Kelvin pulled them back up to the cattle dog's neck and slid out of bed, stretching in the sunlight.

Breakfast was on his mind when the phone began to ring. Reid's phone.

"Reid."

"Mmf."

"Reid, phone."

Kelvin glanced over to the phone, Paul's name and picture displayed on the screen. He picked it up, not wanting to disturb the sleeping dog any further, and answered it with his name.

"Kel, Is Reid there?"

Something sounded urgent. Brow furrowed in concern, the Shiba Inu walked out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, where he began to pour orange juice into a glass.

"Yeah, he's asleep. What's up?"

"I've got some good news and some bad news." Paul began. "You might want to sit down for this."

Seconds later, Kelvin choked on his orange juice, backwashed into the glass and nearly spilled it running back into the bedroom where he leapt onto the bed, the old springs and frame protesting.

"Reid! Reid, wake up!"

He winced into the sun and rubbed his eyes. He was due for his pain medication, and his ruined liver was reminding him with every beat of his heavy heart. Clutching the afflicted area, he sat up, propping himself up on an elbow.

"What's up?"

Kelvin took a breath.

"They found you a donor."

***

Paul had called an emergency meeting in the break room that everyone attended with grave consternation, fearing the worst. When the news was delivered, there had been a standing ovation of clapping, cheering, and hugging, all with an underlying tone of remorse over Aiden's death. Even though none of them were very close. Jeff's had been a death Reid had not taken well, and he was just a friend - they all feared the heeler's reaction upon learning the news of his boyfriend's.

Paul hobbled out to his truck after putting Vance in charge of operations at the shop. It had been a hesitant decision, but neither Kelvin, nor he, nor Reid was there, and with the pit bull being the most senior member, the bear assumed that he would keep the screw-ups to a minimum.

At the hospital, Reid found himself occupied with signing papers, and speaking with the doctor. Surgery was an art form that required pinpoint precision, and as such, procedures did not always go as planned. This fact was stated so many times in so many different dialects of legal jargon that it nearly scared the heeler out of taking his second chance.

"You need to be on immunosuppressants for the rest of your life. They will keep your body from rejecting the new liver." Dr. Hamad explained, going over the details of the procedure with a shaken Reid. "You can expect to stay in recovery for a few days while we monitor your health, and for a week or so afterwards. Budget for about two weeks."

Far away from this conversation, Kelvin and Paul were having one of their own.

"Do you think we should tell him?"

"We're eventually going to have to." Grumbled the old bear.

"I don't know if you're aware, but they split up the other night. When Reid was in the hospital."

"Doesn't make a difference. I don't want to keep anything from him."

"Paul, he's been through so much."

"With this new liver comes a new chance, Kelvin. Reid's got a new lease on life, and I think between Aiden, and you, and Jeff, and everything that's happened to him, he's been through more than we could possibly fathom." He sighed, and watched the cattle dog from across the room while he signed release forms. "This last month has been a bumpy ride, that's for sure. We've got rough roads ahead, but we're going to make it through. We're all going to make it through."

Kelvin just nodded.

"What...happened to Aiden?"

"It was a car wreck." Paul began, looking up to the ceiling. "He was impaled on a piece of rebar, and as if that wasn't enough, whoever was after him shot him in the head. For good measure, you know."

Kelvin's face sank, and he appeared to go slack in his seat.

"Did they catch the guys who did it?"

"I don't think so, not yet."

For a while, they sat together quietly in the waiting room of the hospital, munching on snacks from the vending machine. Naturally, Kelvin didn't want to leave, but Reid's surgery would take no less than four hours, and under Paul's assurance that he would be fine, the Shiba Inu finally conceded to the bear's suggestion they get back to work. Despite this, he wasn't going to leave without first saying goodbye - just in case.

"You nervous?"

"A little bit." Reid replied. "They say that about twenty-five percent of people who receive liver transplants don't live longer than about five years. Part of me feels like I'm just delaying the inevitable."

"We're all going to die someday." Kelvin shrugged, uncharacteristically mature about the situation. "If you get another five years, hopefully that'll be the best five years of our lives." He smiled. Reid did too. The Shiba Inu stood up on his tiptoes and kissed the heeler on the lips, hugged him, and wished him luck.

He'd succeeded in holding back the tears this time.

"Thanks, Kel. I'll see you when I get out, huh?"

"Promise?"

"Promise."

***

Across Los Angeles, a warrant was issued.

The target was William Kendrick Washington, a known associate of criminal kingpins in the greater Los Angeles area. Two eyewitnesses had seen him fire a single round into a wrecked vehicle the previous night, then take off in his own vehicle, a blue Dodge Challenger, California license plate number HH1 6777.

Across Los Angeles, a knock sounded at the door of a quiet suburban home.

Stacked up outside the door, SWAT officers armed with automatic weapons prepared to enter. A block away, a sniper provided overwatch through a 10x Leupold scope. When no answer came, a breaching round from an officer's shotgun blew the door's lock apart, and delivering a savage kick to the slab of wood, it swung open and granted the officers entry.

Their movements were smooth and calculated. Not one inch of one room in the entire house was left uncovered by a muzzle. Not one sector of fire was left unchecked. Not one person was found. At least not until they found a pit bull attempting to escape out a bathroom window.

Shouting and cursing, the flailing dog was pulled back into the house, where he was subsequently thrown to the ground and handcuffed. Not a single shot had been fired, but the way the pit bull was screaming, one might have thought there was a war raging within the walls of the usually quiet Compton home.

Across Los Angeles, William Kendrick 'Billy' Washington was taken into custody.

***

Reid awoke in the recovery ward nearly half a day later, tired, with blurred vision and to the credit of morphine, little to no pain. Beside him, a nurse was monitoring his vitals.

"How are you feeling, Mr. Travis?"

"Is this recovery?" He mumbled through a muzzle too tired to talk.

"Yep! You're in recovery, your surgery was a success, and we're just waiting on a room to open up so we can get you wheeled in. For now, just go ahead and rest."

For some reason, he started to laugh weakly. Dumbfounded by this, the nurse joined in for a moment, and Reid drifted back off to sleep.

While he was asleep, he dreamt of Aiden. He dreamt long and vividly, not only of their past encounters, but also of future ones that might have happened had they remained together. He dreamt of cooking dinner with him. Going shopping. Riding the bike trail at the park. Adopting a little girl who happened to bear a striking resemblance to the little kit from the waiting room that day. They were dreams that would never come true. Deep down, he knew that, and all of a sudden, they took a turn for the dark.

Aiden was trapped. Trapped in his car, an iron rod piercing his perfect body while the engine sputtered to a halt and belched forth with plumes of white smoke. Blood was running out of his mouth, and every pull on the knurled iron rebar elicited a scream that chilled the heeler's bones to the core. He could see him there. Entrapped in a cage of glass and steel, dying, crying out for him. Horrified, he watched the lab's grip loosen on the rebar and he wheezed with the rattling, hollow breaths of death's approach. His eyes unfocused. His body went limp, and his head drooped forward, blood draining from his muzzle into his lap with his chin on his chest.

Reid gasped when he woke up, looking around tentatively for a second or two while he reminded himself of where he was. A television show was playing on the TV on the wall, featuring a handsome coyote. He was sure he'd seen him before, and he wondered where.

"Bad dream?" Someone asked, and Reid turned to see an old mutt in the bed next to him, looking over with dulled, war-hardened grey eyes.

"Yeah." He responded, rubbing his eyes.

"Whatcha in for?"

What is this, prison? Reid thought. Then, he thought about Aiden.

"Liver transplant."

Those old, grey eyes widened a little bit as the man balked, not expecting such a monumental procedure for someone that was in comparison to him, a young man.

"I've got lymphoma, emphysema, and lung cancer." He explained, turning back to the TV. "Sixty years of smoking and drinking'll do that to ya."

"Believe me, I drank for twenty years. Alcoholic liver disease. Hence, the transplant."

"God almighty, how old are you?"

"Thirty-six."

"Hm. You looked younger. I'm going to be seventy-seven tomorrow."

"Are you, now?" Reid closed his eyes and tried to go to sleep.

"All right Mr. Beard, time for your CT scan." Someone said, and Reid cracked an eyelid to see a male nurse walk in pushing a wheelchair, pick up Mr. Beard, and set him gently in the seat. It was at that point that the heeler noticed the old mutt was missing both of his legs just above the knees.

"Take care of that new liver, huh?" Mr. Beard said as he was being wheeled out. Reid pretended to have fallen asleep, but inside, he was embarrassed. To have ruined his own liver, but also to have thought his own life was so difficult when he had two working legs, a great job, a nice car - it made him sick to his stomach.

So he pressed the nurse call button.

***

Paul paid for the funeral out of his own pocket.

He didn't like Aiden much. Not that it mattered now. Reid had loved him, and for the lab to have a decent funeral in lieu of an indecent life was the least he deserved. Reid certainly deserved to say a proper goodbye.

Aiden had left no specific instructions other than what he had typed into his phone prior to dying alone in that car. No funeral arrangements, no preference to burial over cremation or vice versa, and he certainly hadn't specified what sort of flowers he wanted to grace his casket. Paul scoffed. Wasn't that sort of their thing, gay fellers?

So he picked out a casket. It was a lovely walnut number with polished brass fittings and a finish in which mourners could see their morose expressions. It was more expensive than some of the other ones were, but the darker wood really made the lab's golden fur pop.

Paul wasn't spurned by the idea of covering the costs, especially since the owners of the law firm where Aiden worked were pitching in. They didn't have to; they could have just as soon left the lab's body unclaimed, as his mother had. Donna O'Flynn was the only next of kin her son had listed. When contacted, she'd asserted that she did not have a son. It broke the old bear's heart.

Soon, everything was in place for Aiden. That was the easy part. Now, it was time to break the news to Reid, who hadn't even fully healed from his surgery and wouldn't for months. Paul felt the weight of the news on his shoulders. If anyone was going to deliver it, it had to be him.

"Mr. Owen?"

Paul turned around.

"Yes?"

"We're ready for you."

Paul sat in the mortuary director's office, blushing slightly as he fought to fit his large frame in the seat. The director, a white-haired old dog named Joe Paschall who smelled faintly of cigarettes and looked as though he may soon be in need of his own services took a seat at the desk and opened up a file on his computer.

"So, we're here for Mister...O'Flynn, yes? The Labrador gentleman?"

"Correct."

"I see. Such a shame, he was so young."

"Yes."

"Is there anything in particular that you feel needs to be said during the service? Was Mr. O'Flynn religious at all, or was he involved in any charitable organizations?"

"Not that I'm aware, no. I didn't know him. I'm not the bereaved, you see, he was...close to someone that I'm close to, let's just leave it at that."

Mr. Paschall mouthed a silent 'ah' and made a few keystrokes on his computer.

"Perhaps it would be best if you left the eulogies up to us." Paul smirked. It was the most he'd smiled that whole day. A contentious event loomed on the horizon ahead, and the bear was not looking forward to the devastated reaction Reid would undoubtedly have upon learning of Aiden's death. The wake was tomorrow, though. He had no choice.

"Could I see him?"

Mr. Paschall paused for a second, nodded, and got up from his seat beckoning the bear to follow. It was a bit of a trek, with the elderly director's amble and Paul's limp, giving the latter time to think about what he might see on the other side of the business.

Paschall stopped at the door.

"Normally, I don't do this. Especially when it comes to victims of gunshot wounds, given the often...graphic nature of the trauma. Though I think you'll find our handiwork worthy of an open casket."

They entered, and the walnut-wood paneling, ornate carpeted floor, and goldenrod paint were replaced by tile, whitewashed walls, bright lights, and stainless steel. In the middle of the room was the only thing with any color, a focal point for the eye.

Aiden.

Paschall waited by the door, and watched the bear hobble slowly over to the table. Once there, Paul stared somberly down at the eternally resting dog, his eyes closed gently, his chest still, covered up to his neck with a white sheet. He reached out, and gently ran his hand over the lab's hair. He had to wonder why it had happened.

"He was a donor, you know."

He looked up at the old dog, who shuffled over to them.

"Yep. Heart. Kidneys. Lungs. All on their way to new homes. I hear his liver's already been given to someone right here in LA, shipped over to Cedars Sinai this morning."

Paul's mouth opened slightly, and he stared at the man's eyes behind the coke-bottle glasses he wore. Then, he looked back down to Aiden, and clapped a large brown paw over his muzzle. He didn't want the funeral director to see him grinning.

"The bullet entered here," Paschall began, pointing to a spot on Aiden's head, just in front of his left ear. "...but it didn't exit, which makes things easy. When they exit, they take a lot of the head with them and it's just hell trying to put it back together. Not this one. Just plug the hole, take a fur graft from the leg and cover it right up. Easy peasy."

"Do you know who his liver was given to?"

The old dog just shrugged sheepishly and stuffed his hands into his pockets.

"Can't say. They don't tell us that. Oddly enough, they said he left specific instructions as to whom it was supposed to go to. I'll tell you what, I've seen just about everything get willed to people in all my years in this business, but never an organ."

He chuckled dryly.

"Well. I'll give you a moment."

Joe Paschall turned and walked out of the room, and when he did, the bear turned to the lab. After several seconds, he pulled back the portion of the sheet covering his right arm, and took the cold, limp hand in his own.

"Thanks buddy. Someone out there's going to get one hell of a good heart." Paul whispered, shook Aiden's hand gently, and placed it back where it was before covering it with the sheet and heading for the door, a spring in his imperfect step.

***

Paul and Kelvin watched with heart rending empathy as Reid receded into a sort of twilight zone, seemingly unable to process the news he'd just been delivered. He didn't cry. He didn't ask any questions, in fact, he made no noise at all. For a fleeting, frightening moment, it looked as though the heeler had died with the news out of heartbreak alone.

He couldn't even bring himself to blink.

"Reid?" Kelvin finally asked, quietly. After nearly two minutes' time, Reid's mouth closed. He blinked a few times in recognizance, and swallowed.

"I-I need to be alone."

Kelvin glanced down to the floor. Paul nudged him and gave him a little nod, and they stood up and headed for the door. Reid seemed beyond shocked and appalled, wholly unable to process the information he'd just been given, and that reaction alone made the bear glad he hadn't revealed to him the origin of his life-saving transplant.

"Is he going to be okay?" Kelvin asked the moment the two were outside.

"He'll be fine, don't worry. He's in a safe place, and he'll be under their care for long enough to grieve without having any negative influences."

"That's just not what I expected."

"No? I can't say I'm surprised. He's dealt with one death already just over a month ago. And now this, now Aiden? I don't think it registered. I don't think he consciously believes that he's gone."

"Maybe."

"Just don't expect him to be the same person you knew after all's said and done." Paul mentioned quietly, crossing his legs at the tree trunk-like ankles and leaning back in the seat.

"I just hope that it'll be for the better." The Shiba Inu said, and sighed.

Aiden's wake was held the day after, in the evening. Reid's attendance was not sanctioned by the hospital staff for health reasons, though Paul and Kelvin stopped by to pay their last respects, which were overshadowed by the eulogies delivered by the people Aiden worked with - stuffy-looking businessmen and women in suits who got up and gave pontificating speeches that made Paul wonder if they really knew the lab at all. Somehow, their egregious sendoffs made the bear feel somewhat fond of the departed, if not close.

A young buck in a three-piece black suit stepped down from the podium at front and laid a gentle hand on Aiden's casket for a moment before returning to his seat in the pew. A moment of silence preceded Paul's stuttered march to the front of the funeral hall. Of the less than twenty people that were there, no one really knew him, and he could feel some strange looks on his back. Nevertheless, he ambled up to the podium and placed his reading glasses on the bridge of his muzzle.

"I don't believe many of you know me, but if you've ever seen a car rolling around the greater Los Angeles area with pipes loud enough to wake the dead..." He glanced in the direction of the casket, "...wishful thinking...you've likely seen a car that was tuned at Doghouse Performance Engineering. My name is Paul Owen. I first met Aiden when he came to my shop to have his Mustang tuned. To me, he was just another client. But to my son, Reid, he was much, much more."

Paul cleared his throat. He wondered if any of these people knew that Aiden was gay. He wondered if anyone held him responsible for the vehicular nature of the lab's death.

"I'll be as brief as possible...Reid, he was a wreck. He was addicted to prescription drugs and alcohol. I always wanted him to get help, but he wouldn't seek it out of his own accord. He preferred killing himself slowly, bit by bit while eking his way through life. Then, one day, this young man entered his life, and I watched everything change. He was happier. But I wasn't sure about Aiden. As I'm sure you know, he liked to live fast and loose. His cavalier attitude towards life was off-putting to me, and frankly...I'm ashamed to say it...I didn't care for him one bit."

Everyone waited in silence for him to continue. In the back, Kelvin smiled and motioned for him to continue.

"Knowing his background, I thought he was going to drag my son further down a path of regret and poor decisions, until the day came that he finally decided to face his problems head on. It wasn't until then that we found out that he was dying of alcoholic liver disease."

Paul felt the lump rise in his throat, and the tears well up in his eyes.

"When Aiden died, I found out after the fact that he was an organ donor. I also learned that he donated his liver to Reid, which I am pleased to announce was a successful procedure."

Some people in the scant audience smiled at this.

"Regardless of how I felt about Aiden O'Flynn to begin with - it was merely my own inhibitions that kept me from seeing the good in him - beneath that cocky, careless exterior of racing, gambling, and fighting, he was a wonderful individual. Looking back on the few times I was blessed enough to see how happy he and Reid were together, I believe that were he still alive today, the world may very well be a better place because of it. I think that we can carry on his spirit in ourselves by showing selflessness to others - let's not start giving away organs we're still using, of course..." There was a titter of laughter, "...but I think there would be no better way to honor our dearly departed friend. It's my belief that the better a soul someone has, the less time it takes others to see it. This old bear has learned a thing or two. I think we all could. It not about what you take with you when you leave this world for what lies beyond - it's about the legacy you leave."

A few quiet amen's were heard, and Paul turned to look at the lab, resting peacefully in his satin repose.

"Thank you, Aiden. Thank you and Godspeed."

***

"He hasn't said a word since yesterday." A nurse mentioned the next day, her voice carrying with it a tone of concern, tinged with annoyance at the heeler's insistence on making her job even more difficult than it already was. Post-transplant care was not always easy, but Reid was doing little to help with his refusal.

"Hey, son. How're you feeling?" Paul said, unbuttoning his 52 regular suit jacket and sitting down in a chair at the bedside.

"All right I suppose, for a guy that's got a plastic tube shoved up his penis." The heeler finally muttered. Paul laughed. Reid did not.

Paul had had an idea of what Reid might look like before he entered the room, and it was a whimsical image. He'd imagined the heeler as a grumpy old man, frustrated and impatient with the nurses, upset to be there, and wishing like hell that he were back home, bloodying his knuckles on engine parts and getting his fur full of grease and grime. It was a fleeting picture, for when the old bear entered the room, he saw not a comically frustrated old codger, but a still-young canine, aged beyond his years, broken, defeated, and unable to grasp the beauty of the chances that lay in front of him. He couldn't say he blamed him.

"All right Mr. Travis; let's get you up and at it!" A nurse said, putting on a happy face for the scowling dog as she helped him out of the bed and into a wheelchair. He was not permitted to wear a suit for the funeral, but was instead dressed in a pair of grey sweatpants, some tennis shoes and a plain, white T-shirt. He consoled himself by wondering if this would have been attire that was more appropriate for their first date at Waffle House.

Jeff's funeral had been blessed with fair weather, partly cloudy and seventy five all day, allowing for plenty of time for his loved ones to say goodbye. Aiden was not so lucky. It showered the entire way to the funeral, and the cemetery was awash with sheets of rain coming down, pelting numerous black umbrellas.

Canopies were set up to keep mourner and mournee alike dry, but with the wind outside, they did little to prevent everyone from being misted with warm, California rain. Reid sat on one of the ends of the seat rows, directly in the path of the wind. Kelvin, who had met them there, experimented with holding an umbrella in awkward positions to keep the bereaved canine dry.

He didn't speak a single word during the service, nor did he shed a single tear. He simply sat in his wheelchair, catatonic, staring at the casket as though he expected the lab to wake up at any moment and climb out of it. Suddenly, he pined for the Pacific Northwest.

Cemetery employees appeared with the conclusion of the service, and began to fiddle with the system of straps and pulleys that would lower the deceased into the ground. Kelvin wept silently while Aiden was lowered mournfully into his final resting place. Paul folded his hands in front of him and bowed his head in prayer. Reid set his jaw, and fought valiantly against the tears that were begging for their cathartic release. He didn't want to cry. He didn't want to let go. He didn't want to get over the lab's death - the pain reminded him that he was still a part of his life.

Much more so than he knew.

Reid paid his last respects at the edge of the lab's grave, unaware of the parting gift he'd received. Kelvin and Paul kept their distance, allowing the heeler a private moment to grieve. They retrieved him after several minutes, leaving only when Reid nodded his head. Down the sidewalk, they strode with umbrellas in hand until they'd reached the edge of the parking lot.

"I'm going to pull my truck around, stay here with Reid."

Kelvin nodded, watching the bear amble off into the rain towards his pickup. It was all too much for Reid only seconds later.

"Aiden!" He choked out with a heaving sob. Using his arms to propel him, he launched himself up from the wheelchair into a standing position, and broke into an abbreviated run back in the direction of the grave.

"Reid!" Kelvin shouted, and took off after him, his leather shoes squishing in the soggy grass.

He made it about halfway to the grave before he collapsed, falling forward into the grass and sobbing uncontrollably. The Shiba Inu nearly hit the ground like a ball player sliding into home, attempting to get the older dog back up onto his feet, or at least off of his front.

"Paul! Paaauullll!" Kelvin shouted in the direction of the parking lot. "Reid...come on, we can't be out in the rain like this!"

"Get the fuck off me!" He shrieked with such ferocity that it caused Kelvin to raise his hands with palms out in surrender. "Just leave me here!" The younger canine watched with appall while Reid tried to crawl towards the canopy that covered Aiden's grave, some twenty-five yards away.

"What are you, crazy? I'm not going to leave you here, Reid! I love you!" Kelvin shouted over the rain, his eyes going wide as the last sentence left his lips. Slowly, the heeler turned to look at him.

"You_love_ me?"

Kelvin worked his jaw, his shifting eyes saying plenty in the absence of words.

"How can you say that? Here, now? What the hell would you know about love? You think we're going to be boyfriends now because we made out? No! You can't replace him! You can't, no one can!" The heeler spat through his tears, resuming his snail's trek to Aiden's grave.

Kelvin sank slowly back from his knees onto his haunches, the umbrella lying useless on the ground next to him while the rain plastered his hair, clothing, and fur to his skin. He called on every source of reasoning to convince him that Reid's sudden discourse was merely a by-product of his grief, and that he didn't mean it, but it was of little help to the heartbroken Shiba Inu.

"I know a hell of a lot more about it than you do!" He shouted back, clambering to his feet and closing the gap between them, "You don't know a good thing when you see it, that's your problem! All I've ever done is try to help you and support you and be your friend, and this is what I get in return? You kiss me and then tell me I'm worthless to you?"

Reid winced in pain, ignoring the Shiba Inu as he too, made it to his feet and shuffled along in the grass towards the grave. Kelvin stood rooted to the spot.

"You could take a lesson in selflessness from him, you know! Where do you think that liver you got came from, huh?"

The heeler froze.

"What?"

"Who in the hell would have given you a new liver other than Aiden anyway? That liver should have gone to a little kid with his whole life ahead of him! Yeah, didn't think it could be a possibility, did you? It's a good thing you two had the same blood type! I bet you're going to fall right back into your old ways! You're going to fuck his liver up even worse than you did yours, in fact, I hope you do, you worthless fucking drunk!"

Kelvin locked eyes with Reid, his glare menacing and spiteful. He turned; soaking wet, and headed for his car.

Reid found himself short of breath. His heart began to race, and he turned towards the grave, wide eyed and shaking. He never made it to the shelter of the canopy. Kelvin was already halfway to his car by the time the heeler collapsed.

He never looked back.