Rebirth

"You look awfully serious, Cap ... what's up?"

Joshua Bateman and Perry Yamato were seated in Captain Edmund Tiernan's office. The warm Santa Monica sunlight streamed in through the large windows but did little to soften the lines in the CHP commander's face. He shut the door to the office and sat down, facing his two lieutenants.

"Josh, Perry - I'm putting in my retirement papers."

"WHAT? Why?"

"Cap, you can't leave us!"

Tiernan ran a hand through thick, dark sable hair shot thru with a few sparkling strands of silver. His clear grey eyes began to glisten with unshed tears.

"Guys - my last checkup wasn't so good. I've got brain cancer ... its advanced and its inoperable. I've got about four months left - six tops."

He gave the two shocked officers a wan smile. "I thought the headaches and dizzy spells were just from needing new glasses. I guess I was wrong."

He got up and stood looking out his window at the clear blue sky. "Brady didn't take it very well. The poor kid was sobbing his eyes out. We ... we held each other for a long time this morning. I gave him the day off."

Brady Tamayo was one of the youngest officers at SMD and had often volunteered to stay with the captain during the dark period right after the death of his daughters. At some point - no one at the Division quite knew when - the handsome filipino had moved into the over-large and now too-quiet Tiernan home and began to care for the captain himself. It was Brady that cooked and cleaned for him; when the captain would wake screaming in the middle of the night, it was Tamayo that was there to soothe him; it was the young officer that often got him cleaned, shaved and dressed in the morning and drove him to Division headquarters.

The relationship between the two men grew ever closer - Brady was about the same age as Tiernan's daughters - but that final step of intimacy between them was not something Edmund could force himself to commit. The captain saw in Brady the son he had never had; Tamayo had found the strong father-figure that had been missing in his life.

He turned back to them, his voice hard. "I want NO mention of my illness, is that understood?"

The two officers were still in shock from their captain's revelation. They nodded.

"Good." The forceful Captain Edmund Tiernan again stood before them. "Now, with the time I have left, I need to make sure the men - and you - are protected and well-cared for. I refuse to let anyone damage this Division or the officers who make it up."

He pointed to Josh. "You and I are going to have a sit down with your other boss ... Lucio Giambi."

Josh stared at him open-mouthed. Tiernan grinned. "This is the second time you've underestimated me, Lieutenant ... make that call. ASAP."

* * *

The meeting was arranged. Josh and Tiernan drove to the downtown skyscraper and took the private elevator up to the penthouse. Within moments, the two men were ushered through a large atrium and into the office of the crime lord.

Lucio Giambi was a darkly handsome man, with thick wavy brown hair, penetrating deep brown eyes and a small moustache over sensuous lips. A slight 5 o'clock shadow covered his cheeks. He was wearing a half-unbuttoned pale lavender shirt that accented his well-muscled physique and a pair of snug white jeans. With him was another man, equally imposing, with gleaming black hair. A brilliant green eye glittered in a classically sculpted face bisected by a leather eyepatch. He was wearing a yellow MX racing shirt and pale blue jeans that wrapped sinfully around a trim waist and long, muscular legs. Black leather straps buckled around powerful wrists.

The crime lord strode over to the two men. "Captain Tiernan, it's a pleasure to finally meet you. I just wish it was under happier circumstances." They shook hands. "I'd also like to introduce you to one of my associates, Xander Cannon."

The one-eyed man gave Tiernan a warm smile. "The pleasure's all mine, Captain." The combination of his Australian accent and his touch sent a tingle through the the commander. Tiernan was taken aback by both men. He hadn't known what to expect, but he hadn't been expecting this. Heavyset, goombah-types, yes; two strikingly handsome young men, no.

Giambi motioned them to a set table. "Josh mentioned that you wanted to meet me. That in itself was quite a surprise. What can I do for you?"

Tiernan swallowed hard. His mouth was dry. "Mr. Giambi ... this isn't something I decided easily. I'm dying. I can't go to the brass and ask for a replacement that's able to manage and keep together an all-gay police division. Plus, that's none of their goddamn business. But I know that's something you could arrange. Please ... I'll do anything to protect my men ... anything. Will you help?"

The room went silent. But it was Xander's deep-throated chuckle that broke the spell. "You've got damn impressive gaydar, Captain. I'll have to admit that. There's very few people that know that about Lucio. But I'm afraid that you're jumping the gun a bit."

Xander leaned back in his chair. "I've looked at your medical records, and there's nothing there that I can't manage to address and cure. I can get rid of a glioblastoma - even one as damnably advanced as yours - in my sleep."

Tiernan gaped at him.

"In addition to running my Pan-Pacific operations, and being one of my biggest porn stars, Xander is also a brilliant geneticist." Lucio's dark, expressive eyes peered over the coffee cup rim. "You'll have to retire, Captain. But with any luck, you're not going to die any time soon. With that said, the method of the cure is going to pose its own set of considerations. We have a lot of preparation ahead of us."

* * *
Preparation was not the word Tiernan would have used. Agony was more like it. The captain was shocked to learn that 'Edmund Tiernan' would no longer exist - a complete genetic reorganization would be wrought upon him and that he would appear quite different than he did now. Setting up the history of his new persona as well as shunting his assets to the new man was a herculean task, even with the expert assistance of Lucio's organization.

The parties over, the (hopefully temporary) farewells to his men complete, the somewhat dubious legal maneuvering finished, the CHP captain was ready.

* * *

The first step in his rebirth began with Ariane Zutrovna. The raven-haired Slavic beauty wore a white doctor's coat over a pale blue silk blouse and a black pencil skirt. Long, beautiful legs were complimented by the black leather Louboutin stilettos on her feet.

"Keptain, ve hav to make sure zat you react and respond to your new identity vith no slipups. It vould be dangerous to everyone involved if zhat happened."

Tiernan nodded. The psychologist removed a hypodermic from the coat pocket.

"Zis is a very strong hypnotic. It is my own version of the NKVD's favorite cocktail." She smiled. "I vill put you under and zen enforce your new identity. Are you ready?"

The CHP commander nodded. Zutrovna swapped the inside of his elbow and inserted the needle. In a matter of moments, Tiernan grew dizzy and darkness swallowed him whole.

* * *

The captain woke with a start to find Xander bending over him. He smiled and helped the CHP commander into a sitting position.

"Feeling okay? Ariane's potions can pack a wallop. What's the name on your driver's license?"

"Constantine Michaelides." Tiernan stopped. "Damn! That came right out!"

"I see she did a thorough job. She always does. Is your name Edmund Tiernan? Say 'yes'."

The commander opened his mouth and after a moment spoke. "Yes. God, I could barely say that."

"It'll get harder. Try it and you'd fail a polygraph miserably."

* * *

It was with some trepidation that the CHP captain looked at the scintillating ruby fluid enflasked in Xander's hand. He sat on the edge of the hospital bed and bit his lip.

"That's it?"

Xander nodded. "There's still a risk in taking this. I've been able to improve the odds a bit, but there's still a 1 in 5 chance that you won't survive."

"As opposed to the 100 percent chance of being dead in less than three months? Still sounds like a winning proposition to me. Let's get this over with."

"You're a plucky bastard, Captain. If all goes well, you'll be seeing me again in a few days. I'll be staying right here until you wake up. Get yourself comfortable, all right?"

After Edmund settled himself, Xander hooked up several monitoring devices to the CHP commander. He sat on the bed, supporting Tiernan against his shoulder. He opened the flask and put it to the dying man's lips.

"Drink."

The captain swallowed the contents and within a few moments, the machinery began to detect the first signs of his physical distress. Tiernan's breathing became labored and he reached out to grasp the other's hand. His eyes grew wild as he felt his body react to the substance now within it and arched in pain once before he slipped into blackness. Xander gently lowered the body onto the bed.

* * *

Hazy and half-formed memories paraded across the stage of Tiernan's unconscious as the Elixir worked itself further and further into the core of his being. Dreams of his men - and Brady in particular - flitted through his head. Xander watched with satisfaction as the substance healed and transformed the man in front of him. With a light knock on the door, Cannon turned to see Josh and Lucio enter the room.

Josh looked anxious. "How's he doing?"

"Quite well. There were some initial reactions to the Elixir I didn't anticipate, but it appears he's past the major hurdles. The glioblastoma is gone and the physiological changes are just beginning. His hormone levels are going to be at a higher water mark, and I reprofiled his neuromuscular structures. I also slightly modified that pre-frontal overdevelopment of his."

Lucio and Josh looked askance at each other. Lucio raised an eyebrow. "In English, please??"

Xander grinned. He brushed a stray lock of black hair back from his forehead. "Sorry. The cancer's been eliminated, and he's going to be enjoying himself a good deal more now. He'll also stop second-guessing himself. Plus, he's going to be as strong as a Mallee bull and have lightning-fast reflexes."

"How much longer do you anticipate?"

"Probably around another 72 hours. He's going to need some intense physical therapy to get used to his new abilities. Lucio, why don't we put him through the full Training regimen?" Xander gave Lucio a sly glance.  "He's going to be a very valuable asset."

A look passed between them. Lucio nodded. "Good idea."

While the two men were talking, Josh stood at the bedside to look at his CO. He could see the beginning of changes in Tiernan's face and body. He gently brushed a lock of damp, dark hair back from the comatose man's forehead. "Good luck, Cap ... I'll see you soon..." he thought.

Xander returned to monitoring his patient. After the two men left the room, the crime lord turned to the CHP lieutenant.

"Okay, what's the matter, Josh? Something's been bothering you ... I see it in your face."

Bateman paused. "Lucio, what would have happened if Cap hadn't ask to see you?"

The mob boss raised an eyebrow. "I haven't gotten to where I am without making contingency plans. When I decided your CO should retire, I had arrangements for Ariane to make sure whomever came in would be ... biddable. Plan B was to get you promoted. I agree with Tiernan one hundred percent that SMD needed to be protected. Just for different reasons. I'm glad it worked out the way it did - I really do like the man. And I respect him. But that wouldn't have stopped me from getting rid of him at the proper time."

Josh looked at his cousin. There were times that Lucio scared the hell out of him.

* * *
The man on the bed was 6'4" tall, with a deeply bronzed skin and a slight dusting of fine dark hair on his legs and arms. Even soft, the bulge in the pair of briefs (his only clothing) was impressive to say the very least. Well-developed muscles pulled the skin taut and made him look like a sleeping god. Silky, black hair framed a lean, angular face with a strong jaw and high cheekbones. A slight dark stubble trailed across his chiseled features and the slabbed pecs rose and fell in a steady rhythm. A fine sheen of sweat covered his body. Eyes surrounded by thick, black lashes and surmounted by straight ebon brows fluttered and then opened. Sapphire-dark eyes looked blearily around the room and finally focused on Xander Cannon, dozing in the chair next to his bed.

"X-Xander ...?" He coughed.

The emerald-green eye snapped open and a wide grin split the handsome face. He gave the man in front of him a critical and lascivious once-over. "Damn, I do good work ... how do you feel, Connie?"

Connie ... the CHP commander felt that name open up several doors in his mind that he hadn't known existed.

"I feel ... great." He levered himself to a sitting position on the bed and looked down at the sculpted, athletic body that now belonged to him. He stared a long moment at his powerful arms and strong hands and then reached up to touch his face.

"Dear Lord in Heaven ..."

Xander handed him a mirror. He reached for it, but missed. He was surprised at the speed of his movements. Cannon gently grasped the other's hand and placed the mirror in his grip. He slowly guided the mirror up to Michaelides' face.

"You're going to need some time and effort to get used to your new body, mate. You're far more capable than you ever were before. We want to make sure you know everything there is to know about your abilities and how use them properly."

Constantine stared at himself in the mirror. "I can't believe this is me." He turned his head from side to side. "The cancer's gone?" His voice was a sexy, low tenor. Xander could feel it wrap around the core of his being like thick satin and stroke his innermost desires. Even better than Bobby's ... he mused.

My God, he's incredible. He nodded. "Among other things, you're completely resistant now. You'll never have to be concerned about that again." Xander trailed a hand down the deep cleft between the commander's pecs and stroked the canyons and plateaus of his 6-pack abs.

Constantine felt his pulse quicken an electric tingle spread throughout his body. He could feel himself grow and twitch.

Cannon gave Michaelides a small, wicked grin and licked his lips. His face drew closer until their lips were a breath apart. They met. A golden arm moved up and pulled the geneticist onto the bed.

* * *

(Four months later ...)

"I'll be right out!"

Joshua entered the room. It was as spartan as he remembered it. Two beds, two footlockers and wardrobe.

"Josh!" Michaelides left the bathroom with a tape measure thrown around his neck. He was in nothing but a pair of tight red workout shorts - his torso gleamed with a fine sheen of oil and his deep blue eyes sparkled with pleasure. He had put on about ten pounds of well-developed muscle atop an already impressive physique and now moved with a confident and deadly grace. He wrapped his lieutenant in a strong bear hug. Josh could feel that massive tool thicken as the two embraced.

"This is a surprise! Just got back from my weigh-in. What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see how you were doing - Quite well it appears ... and feels ..." he grinned.

Constantine laughed. He slid his hands down past the waistband of Bateman's jeans and cupped the tight mounds of his ass.

"How's everyone doing? How's Brady?"

"As well as can be expected, sir. I think they'll be happy with their new CO ... Brady misses you something awful. By now, he's sure you've died. He inconsolable."

The commander frowned. "Goddammit ... What am I going to do with him?? That poor kid..."

Bateman paused. "When are you coming back to SMD, Cap?"

"I've just finished the basic training regimen. This morning, I'm doing some one-on-one practice with unarmed killing techniques and this afternoon, some lock-picking work and cyber-crime counter-measures. Jeez, Lucio teaches stuff here that I never learned in the Academy..."

The commander sat on the edge of the bunk and began to apply a thin coat of lube to the rest of his body. Joshua's pulse quickened. He hungrily watched the other man as the tropical scent of the oil filled the air.

"I believe we've got a new recruit going through with me ..."

Bateman nodded. "Peter Rechner. Sharp kid."

Constantine nodded. "His CLEAT score is 198. I think you should pair him up with Donny - at least for the first few weeks. He's a little over-cocky and needs a good firm hand ..."

Michaelides flashed his lieutenant a bright smile. "... or fist - as the case may be."

Bateman's jaw dropped.

The commander arched an eyebrow. "With tailors like Bino and Chance, why else would Donny Brouillet have a red button on the left pocket of his breeches, hmmm?" Michaelides was grinning as he finished oiling himself and stood up.

Joshua gave him a rueful chuckle. "It's gonna take a bit getting used to the new you, Cap - you don't miss a trick, do you?"

Constantine held Bateman's face in his hands and gave him a gentle kiss.

"Nope. See you in about 2 months."

He patted his lieutenant on the ass as he swaggered out.

* * *
(Two months pass ...)

"OK, Josh - spit it out. What gives?"

The Saturday was clear and sunny; the smells of barbecued meat drifted through the air in and around Rob and Joe's spacious yard. Several of the men had started a touch football game; the relaxed atmosphere combined with their unrestrained behavior provided a glimpse of other, more intimate activities yet to come.

Joshua Bateman was surrounded by several of his men and TJ had taken point in confronting the CHP lieutenant. A gentle breeze ruffled his raven-black hair and the small septum crescent he wore glittered in the sunshine. The patrolman's slate-blue eyes were narrowed and his mouth was set in a small, lopsided grin.

"You're up to something. All of the first and second watches are here, and almost all of the third."

He gave the officer an innocent look. "Why do you say that? I can't give you guys a party after the hell you've been through this year?"

Phil shook his head. "Nah. You look guilty as sin. But you look like you're bursting to say something. What's up?"

"Well ..."

Ted crept up behind Joshua and put him into a loose sleeper hold. He kissed his ear. "Spill it, lieutenant ..."

Josh laughed. "Okay, okay ... the brass made their decision about Cap's replacement ..."

There was a rushed intake of breath from the group.

"... and I asked him to come by today and meet the men in an informal setting."

"Damn!"

"You sneaky bastard!" TJ cried out, laughing.

"When did you find out?" Phil grabbed the lieutenant and began tickling him.

"Hahahahahahaha ... stop ... hahahahoohoohoo ... STOP!" He panted as he caught his breath.

"Six months ago. He's been going through our Training regimen. The full regimen. Lucio insisted."

Phil's eyes widened. He always saw the big picture first. "So that means he's ..."

"... going to fit in here just fine! ..." Josh grinned. He looked over to his left. "... and there he is!"

Five heads swiveled in unison.

Coming from the stables, a tall man in a white cowboy hat pulled low over his face approached the group. Save for a leather thong around his neck, he was naked from the waist up. A light sheen of sweat turned his well-muscled torso into molten bronze in the California sunshine.

Muscles rippled beneath the taut skin of his arms and chest as he balanced a saddle over one shoulder and held a coiled rope lariat in the other hand. Low-cut, faded blue jeans - well-whiskered and worn almost white in front - wrapped obscenely tight around long, powerful legs. Part of a neon pink waistband peeked out below his 6-pack abs.

As he drew closer, the men could see the slight stubble on his squared jaw and the bright white smile that made his deep blue eyes look like sparkling sapphires.

Peter and Donny joined the group. As Michaelides predicted, Donny had made sure the rookie was initiated quickly into the "SMD way of things" and the two men soon became partners - on and off duty.

"Hey, that's Connie! What's he doing here?" Peter exclaimed.

"Connie?" Donny snaked a muscled arm around the rookie patrolman and pulled him close. Peter nestled into the embrace as Brouillet kissed his neck.

"Connie Michaelides - we went through Training together four months ago."

"He's our new CO." Josh grinned.

"WHAT???"

The new commander reached the group. He laid the saddle and rope on the ground. "Josh, that ride really hit the spot! I've got to thank Rob and Joe for letting me take Magnum out for a good gallop!"

He looked at the other men and grinned. He started to point. "Ted. Phil. TJ. Jaz. Pete I know ... Donny? How'd I do?"

Josh grinned back. "Right on the money, Sir."

He shook hands with the group. "Constantine Michaelides. It's a real pleasure and privilege to be here with you all at SMD."

"Same here, sir!"

"Welcome to SMD, captain!"

"Glad to have you with us, Sir!"

Josh continued. "Cap was with the Wyoming Highway Patrol for five years. We were really lucky to lure him away."

The group found themselves growing uncomfortably rigid just looking at their new commander and it did not fail to make an impression on Michaelides. He chuckled as the men reddened at his observation of their reactions.

"If you don't mind, fellas - let me stow this tack in the stable and get the trail dust off me. I want to meet the rest of the Division ..."

Constantine winked. He rubbed his crotch and adjusted the growing bulge in his own jeans. "... but after seeing just a few of you, I definitely need a cold shower!"

* * *

The commander went into the house to clean up and emerged in nothing but a pair of tight red trunks and sandals. He had shaved the stubble off of his face with the exception of a small soul patch just beneath his lower lip. Joshua brought him around and introduced him to the rest of the men - who were both surprised and pleased with their new CO. He had something personal to say to each of the officers, which combined with his stunning good looks immediately put them at ease with the new head of SMD.

Thoughts of lying on his back and having the commander thrust into him were running guiltily through Bateman's mind.

Phil nodded appreciatively. "He's getting along great with the guys - I'll bet you and Perry gave his the lowdown on everyone, didn't you, Josh?"

Bateman didn't answer. "Josh?"

The lieutenant blushed. "Sorry, I was thinking about something ..."

"Uh-huh ... I can just imagine ... want a paper towel to wipe the drool off your chin?" Phil laughed.

Bateman shook his head. "We went over personnel files, but what you're seeing is all him. He's just got a magic touch with people." As well as knowing each and every one of you for as long as you've been with SMD...

TJ chuckled as he watched Constantine trail an arm across and down one of the officer's muscled back. The man shivered as the captain pulled him close and whispered something. Both laughed and hugged.

"Well, he's going to take a bit getting used to - he's no Cap Tiernan when it comes to PDA's with his men ... seems to me he's going to be taking a much more active role in running SMD."

Michaelides walked over to the group of officers and gave them a big grin. He was balancing a plate of food in one hand and consuming a hamburger in the other.

"You guys mind if I borrow Josh for a while?" He gestured with his head for the lieutenant to follow him.

"How am I doing?" he asked quietly.

"Great, Sir. Absolutely great. You can see yourself that you're quite a surprise ... in an extremely good way. Did you pick up your uniforms?"

Michaelides smiled. "Yep. Got them from Bino on Thursday. They feel amazing. You and Lucio are going to spoil me rotten, you know that?"

"We try, Sir. We try."

He grew serious. "I haven't seen Brady ... did he come to the party?"

Josh nodded. "I brought him personally. But I haven't seen him around for a while, either."

Constantine handed Bateman his plate. "I'll be back in a bit."

* * *
The commander found Tamayo in the extended kitchen. He was staring out at the party through the large french doors and nursing a Red Stripe beer. He was wearing a pale yellow tank that accented his golden skin and a pair of grey compression shorts highlighting the muscular curves of his legs. Constantine saw two empty bottles on the table. The CO's mind was working furiously as how to proceed.

"Brady?"

He turned around. "Who are you?"

"My name's Connie. Connie Michaelides. I'm the new guy at SMD."

"Well, whoop-de-fucking-doo ... Congratulations ..." His speech was slightly slurred. Michaelides could see the anguish written on the other man's face as well as hear the pain in his voice.

"Son ... I'm the new CO at SMD ..."

If anything, that seemed to upset the young man even more. He threw back his head and downed more of the beer.

"... I ... I spent a good deal of time with Captain Tiernan before he ... died. What the hell am I saying? ... He ... you ..."

The patrolman stared - his eyes began to glisten with unshed tears.

"You meant the world to him ... he ... he ... loved you till his last breath. He wanted me to make sure you knew that ... oh, Christ ...."

Michaelides strode over to Tamayo and gathered him into his arms. His hand reached up and began to stroke the silky black hair. Brady tensed, then great, wracking sobs shook him as he tightened his grip on the commander. Constantine felt warm tears run down his pecs as the other man bawled out his misery and sorrow of so many months. He rocked Tamayo in his arms and gently kissed him. "Oh, Pogi ... it's okay. It's okay ... just cry it out ..."

At that moment, Joshua entered the kitchen. "Hey, Cap did you fi-..."

"Not now..." The commander mouthed. Joshua backed quietly out of the room as Brady continued to weep.

* * *

Routine at SMD headquarters changed little, if at all. Michaelides' management style was a bit more eglatarian than Tiernan's had been - there was always a good deal of discussion among the captain and his lieutenants about running the Division. It also helped a good deal that he was fully aware of Lucio's involvement in SMD operations - that point had always been a small, but persistent worry of both Joshua and Perry. They had been concerned that being the "straight arrow" Tiernan had been, there would have been complications - or even investigations of the Division's activities - all of it unsupported, but disastrous nonetheless - if the commander got wind of the crime lord's patronage.

"Guys, we've got a bulletin from the local FBI office to be on the watch for suspicious activity in any local Wells Fargo branches. A number of them have been robbed over the past three months. The perps have been unusually violent - there's been at least five deaths of people in the holdups. MO of the escape is some type of flash-bang smoke grenade -- during the ruckus of people running to get out, they disappear into thin air."

"Any leads, Cap?" TJ asked?

Constantine shook his head. "We've got some grainy surveillance video of what appears to be the gang leader - big, muscled black guy with a shaved head. With sunglasses. Lucio and Dash are also stirring the pot on their end - so far ... nada."

The commander paused. "If you see anything, call it in - don't take these guys on by yourselves. OK? I don't want any dead heroes..." His blue eyes hardened and drilled into the men in the room.

"Everyone crystal on this?" They nodded.

"Okay - stay safe out there. Dismissed."

* * *

A few days later, the commander was poring over the weekly utilization reports. He stopped for a moment and tiredly rubbed his eyes. "God, I hate these..." he muttered to himself.

The phone rang. He saw from the display that the call was from Brady's cellphone. He grinned. After their embrace in the kitchen, the two men were growing closer and more intimate. He wanted ... no, needed ... to consummate the relationship with the younger man, but that level of intimacy had to proceed at its own pace.

"Hey stud, what's ..."

Constantine heard screams and semi-automatic fire in the background.

A guttural voice yelled. "OK people, this is a holdup! Asses on the ground, face-down or you won't live to see tomorrow! YOU! Open the vault door!"

Oh my God ... Michaelides pressed the series of function buttons on the phone to initiate a trace.

"Hurry up, damnit! Hurry!" He stood up and strapped on his duty belt as the computers did their work. With a beep, the location was displayed.

"Pete! PETE!" he shouted. His assistant ran into the room.

"We've got a bank robbery in progress ... 13400 Washington Boulevard in Marina Del Rey. Call the FBI and the locals in Marina and tell them to get their asses out there!"

Constantine ran out of his office, his booted feet thumping down the hallway.

* * *

As soon as Brady entered the bank branch, he felt a vague and strange sense of unease. It was Thursday - his day off - and he went down to the Wells-Fargo branch to withdraw the money for his mortgage payment. He had gone over to one of the managers to get the slip initialed when a burst of gunfire made everyone in the branch flinch and cry out.

"Shit!" He was wearing a pair of grey shorts with soccer shoes and a maroon Ajaxx63 t-shirt that read "Top or Bottom? It's your call." The weather had been swelteringly humid when he left home for the quick run to the bank and he had decided against wearing long pants and his backup pistol - the one he normally carried in an ankle holster.

He saw the gang leader - the bald black man - fire several more rounds from the rifle into the ceiling. Several people fell to the floor and covered their ears. Another robber took aim at the security guard and fired. The older man crumpled to the floor - a crimson stain blossoming on his chest. A woman began to scream.

He pressed the speed dial button on his cellphone for his CO and dropped the phone on the carpeted floor. He kicked it under the desk.

"OK, people, this is a holdup!"

* * *
Constantine rode like a madman. By the time he got to the bank, there was already a cordon of police around the building. Curious onlookers were herded back from the perimeter line. A TV news truck was coming around the corner.

He was waved through and approached Paul Easterman, the local FBI liason. He was speaking to a burly, older man in LASD green.

"... -erfucking hostage situation. We've got the bastards cornered, but how many lives are gonna be lost? We can already see one body..."

Constantine's heart climbed into his throat. "Paul, what's the situation, here?"

Easterman turned. "Connie. Thanks to you, we trapped the fuckers. Two dead so far. Security guard and manager. How did you get the info?"

"One of my men is in there. He called in on his cellphone and we were able to trace it."

"We're waiting for a hostage negotiator to show up. So far, we haven't heard any demands from them. We already gave the number to call over a bullhorn."

* * *

The next person to die had been the manager. One of the other thugs gunned the man down without provocation. He was about to turn the gun on Brady when the black man stopped him.

"We've made the impression we need. Leave the slant alone. We gotta concentrate on getting the fuck out of here ... YOU!"

The black man pointed the gun at Brady. "Get the FUCK down!" He rammed the butt into the patrolman's solar plexus. Tamayo doubled up and was kicked backwards onto the floor.

Brady was vibrating with fury. Of course, he knew he could kill the man with his bare hands, but he wasn't fast enough to kill all three. Not fast enough to prevent someone else from being murdered.

* * *
I've got to save Brady. Constantine thought. God only knows what those sons-of-bitches will do to him if they find out he's a police officer.

In the meanwhile, two more SMD patrolmen had joined their captain. He gestured them to follow him.

"Brady's in there ... I'm going in."

"Fuck! What do you need us to do, Cap?" He was grateful for their unquestioning loyalty.

"Keep the FBI and the local guys away from the back." Michaelides walked over to his cycle and removed a package from one of the storage compartments.

The two officers made their way around the perimeter as the commander approached the back door of the bank. This wasn't the rear entrance for customers, which had an FBI sniper trained on it, but the utility exit for waste and for the cleaning crews that serviced the complex.

"Sheriff March wants to see you." He said to a LASD deputy guarding the door. "I'll keep this exit covered. Go ahead." The deputy saw the captain's bars on Constantine's uniform. He nodded and left.

The commander withdrew a lockpicking set from his pack and within moments opened the door and slipped in.

Michaelides closed the door softly behind him. The hallway was dim and already had several large bags of shredded paper tossed about.

Remember, if you're unsure of the surface, bare feet are best ...

The words of Lucio's hand-to-hand combat instructor echoed in his head. He sat down and quietly removed his duty belt and pulled off his boots and socks.

He then opened the pack and pulled out the leather straps. He stretched his hands and began to wrap them around his knuckles, wrists and forearms. When he was done, he stretched his fingers. The cestus romana and sphairai were ready.

A cestus (plural cesti) is an ancient battle glove, sometimes used in pankration. In effect, it is the classical world's equivalent to brass knuckles. The first version (developed by the Greeks) of a battle cestus was a series of leather thongs that were tied over the hand. Romans modified the construction by adding metal parts, including spikes, studs, and iron plates. Variants of this weapon include the myrmex or "limb-piercer", and the originally Greek sphairai, thin leather thongs with cutting blades. Sphairai means "spheres" and derives from the thick rings of leather that were wrapped around the fist.

Constantine padded stealthily down the corridor. He opened the door and squeezed through to find himself in a small utility room. From there, he could see the bank proper, with the thieves being the only ones moving about. He took several deep breaths as he had been taught, centered himself and moved.

Time appeared to congeal as he sprang into action. He saw one of the robbers turn towards him in slow motion. The commander drove a powerful punch into the man's chest and could hear the ribs and breastbone splinter and break; he raked the sphairai across his throat and nearly decapitated him. The body fell to the floor, gushing blood from the neck - the head barely connected to the body by only a flap of skin.

Michaelides wrapped an arm around a pillar and swung about; momentum carried him in the opposite direction. He approached the black man from the rear; he drove the cestus into the other's back and felt the spine and hips shatter beneath his blow; he kicked the gun that fell to the ground from nerveless hands across the floor.

The commander then sped towards the final man. He saw the machine gun lower towards him. With a flying kick, he knocked it out of the robber's grip and tore the sphairai diagonally across his chest. Fabric and flesh shredded beneath the onslaught; blood spewed from a number of severed arteries. He backflipped and turned. A blow to the side of the head staved in the skull.

It was over.

Less than a minute had passed.

Brady had looked up when he had heard a strangled gasp and saw one of the men spout blood and drop to the floor. He saw a tan blur streak around the facility and the other two thieves fall. The silence was deafening as time resumed it's normal flow. Brady looked up to see Constantine standing in the center of the bank, panting heavily. He was barefoot and his arms were scarlet with blood. His hands and forearms were covered by heavy leather straps and his left hand sported a set of gleaming steel blades that dripped a thick, dark fluid onto the floor. Crimson spatters were all over his face and his uniform. He gave the patrolman an exhausted, but wide grin.

"You okay, tiger?"

* * *

"Bloody Well Done" - Hero CHP Cop Saves Lives
Marina Del Rey Observer
July 12, 2009

The people of Santa Monica and Marina Del Rey have been terrorized in the recent past by a string of violent bank robberies. It ended today with a scene torn out of the most gruesome of gang-related killings. Severed limbs, pools of blood, carnage and death everywhere.

Only this time, the good guys won.

Captain Constantine Michaelides of the CHP Santa Monica Division was instrumental in providing information on an ongoing robbery that was able to catch the thieves in the act.

To date, the alleged perpetrators had robbed five banks and were responsible for the deaths of four citizens. Two of the three men were killed in the act of resisting arrest; the third man, considered to be the ringleader, died soon afterward of massive internal injuries. Descriptions of the man indicated that he was a heavily muscled African-American, but this was later disproved. The "brains" of the outfit - one Vladimir Ostrovsky - made use of a "Hollywood quality" silicone mask to disguise himself. He would strip the mask off in the confusion following the release of a smoke grenade and escape with the money along with the other bank patrons.

The CHP commander was responsible for single-handedly taking down the criminals, who had killed two people during their latest attempted heist. "I was glad to do my part to bring these people to justice." Michaelides said. "I grieve for the families of the victims, but I'm glad that these animals will no longer be a threat to the community."

* * *

Lucio had read the article with interest. He stretched out on the couch.

"Connie's abilities are quite impressive."

Xander smiled. "I thought so. Plus with that first blood, Ariane's OTHER conditioning will start kicking in. We've got ourselves an extremely capable assassin. And one completely above reproach. He'll find that he enjoys doing that sort of work in the future. Offering Constantine some 'paid vacations' now and then will seem like a terrific deal to him - a way to relax and unwind ... and eliminate any of your obstacles that just happen to be in the vicinity ..."

Lucio laughed. "Jesus Christ, Xander, you're one conniving sonofabitch ..."

Xander winked at him over the rim of his coffee mug.

* * *
The commander was in the kitchen when the doorbell rang. He quickly turned off the burners and padded to the door. His slabbed chest was only partially hidden by the material of the thin cotton shirt he wore and a pair of faded blue jeans wrapped obscenely around his lower body; he was barefoot. Constantine opened the door to a smiling Brady, who held up a bottle of wine.

"Hey stud, c'mon in ... dinner's just about ready." Tamayo put the bottle on the dining room table and turned to embrace Michaelides. Damn, he feels so good in my arms... he thought.

"Connie, don't ever leave me again ..."

He gave the patrolman a quizzical look.

"Constantine. Edmund. I don't care what name you use. I prayed for a miracle like I never prayed before and I got it. I got you. I got us."

Michaelides' blood roared in his ears. He held the Filipino's face softly in his hands.

"How did you know?" he whispered.

"That day in the kitchen. No one ever called me 'Pogi' except you. No one ever held me and stroked my hair the way you did. I saw it in your face that day in the bank. I knew. You've made me the happiest man in the world."

Suddenly the captain's jeans were way too tight. "Fuck, I should know better then to get this close to you."

Soft laughter floated between them. Brady's fingers grasped the thin material and tugged the shirt from his jeans.

"Mmmm, I seem to have the same problem."

Fingers found skin and Tamayo ran a light touch up Constantine's spine. The commander shuddered as chills followed fingers. He rubbed himself against Brady. Two hard cocks trapped in two pairs of jeans, Michaelides didn't know if he could stand waiting for what he wanted ... what he needed... from the other man.

Desperate for a taste, he drove his mouth onto Brady's. The patrolman's hard kiss answered him. It was wonderful - somehow the commander knew it would always be wonderful. A need and an execution matched to his own. They could kiss this way forever and it would be enough. He nibbled along the other man's jawline, finishing by licking the delicate earlobe.

"Oh, God in Heaven, Connie ... I love you." he breathed.

Michaelides didn't need to hear that more than once. He cupped both of Brady's muscled cheeks in his hands and pulled the patrolman against him. If the words didn't break down his resolve, the kisses did. They were both so hard. It was amazing how Tamayo could get him from mildly interested to a state of got-to-have-it-now in a matter of seconds.

Brady was still lighting fires under his skin with bold caresses. Already, the patrolman had found most of the commander's sensitive spots. He sought them out and responded to the tiniest cues. The lust between them was spiraling out of control.

"I want you, Brady ... I need you now." he said huskily. Michaelides unbuttoned his jeans and kicked out of them. He was commando. He pulled the shirt off his body and threw it into a corner. Brady followed suit.

One hand braced on the wall, the other gripping the table, Constantine bent over. Brady's fingers dug into his hips, taking control of them both. He could feel that hot, pulsing head at the entrance to his body. It felt so big. It was going to impale him. Anticipation thrummed in his veins. A hot tongue ran behind the commander's ear as Tamayo's cock slid between his tight cheeks. Fire and chills warred within his body.

"Oh God ..." The commander took it slow, enjoying the ride as he pushed back onto that thick prick, letting it go deep. He could feel the velvet of the patrolman's cock as it slid in and out of him. A warm, strong hand enveloped his dick and stroked. Brady angled himself to rub right against that spot. Michaelides bucked and moaned. Constantine rolled his hips, riding the cock deep inside him.

"Deeper, Brady, deeper! Oh ... fuck ... like that!" he growled.

Brady's hands soothed like magic. Inside and outside, Michaelides was in heaven. Sure and confident in his thrusts, Brady picked up the pace. The touching burned in between Connie's legs, spreading out in waves through balls and cock. The commander gave up and let the patrolman control them both.

Tamayo pounded him relentlessly. Constantine dropped his head on his arm and just let himself fall into pleasure.

"Ito ay ito," Brady's whispers shredded any last resistance, "Ang aking puso..."

("The best" ... "My love" ed.)

Michaelides rocked back, feeling himself open up and take everything Brady had to offer. Things were tightening and tingling. His cock throbbed in Tamayo's grip. Brady chanted, "Oh, papi, papi," as he shuddered and squeezed the captain hard. Constantine roared as he erupted onto the table.

"Perpekto..." the patrolman sighed, resting his head on his commander's back.

* * *

Constantine drifted into the bathroom and swept aside the shower curtain. Water beaded on warm golden skin and ran in little rivers down Brady's spine. Flecks of lather dotted his arms and shoulders. And, damn, his ass was toned. Michaelides stepped in behind and grabbed one hard cheek. Tamayo jumped and knocked the captain in the ribs with his elbow.

"Stop it, Connie!"

"Never," he kissed behind Brady's ear, "ever," and drifted down to where his neck met muscled shoulder, "gonna stop."

With a moan, "I don't think I can cum again so soon." Still, he leaned back against the commander's chest letting the spray caress them both.

"Neither can I." Fingers playing lightly over Brady's chest, Constantine laughed. "But that doesn't mean I can't touch you."

"True." Both sighed, content. "But why don't you touch me with soap?"

Michaelides followed the path of the water down Brady's arm with the back of his hand. "Soap?" He teased him with another kiss, "I can do soap."

Grabbing the bar, Constantine lathered up his palms and ran them between Tamayo's legs. The patrolmen's prick was soft and heavy in the commander's hand, his balls thick weights. A whole body made for Michaelides to explore.

As he cupped Brady's sac, a heady, "Mmm," matched his own. He kept one hand stroking, while the other scrubbed a muscled chest with the scented bar. Slippery foam added such a wonderful sensation as he rubbed. Brady's skin slid like silk between his fingers. Damp, black hair tickled where Tamayo's head dropped against Constantine's shoulder.

It gave the commander perfect access to suck on the patrolman's neck. He never let up on the caresses. Running that gorgeous cock in his hand sent fire up his arm. His other hand teased sensitive nipples. As he stroked, Brady's body responded. Each twist, each pull, got him harder and thicker.

Thumb rubbing the tip and fingers tracing the veins, Michaelides made Brady moan. Heat thick in his hand, Constantine chuckled, "And I thought you said you couldn't get it up again?" the captain squeezed and the other man's prick throbbed.

"You are so bad for me." Tamayo groaned.

"No." Dragging his tongue along the line of the policeman's jaw, Constantine whispered, "I'm so good for you."

Brady shook as he fucked Michaelides' tight fist. Breath hitching, the Filipino's cock grew thick, pulsed. His face went tight.

Tamayo moaned as he shot between his captain's fingers.

God, Brady was beautiful like that; all tense and overcome. Just to see him twitch, Michaelides kept stroking and touching. Finally, he let Tamayo help him scrub both of them. It took twice as long to get clean that way, but it certainly was more fun. Toweling off ended up as just another excuse for touching each other. Brady's body was heaven. It was almost a shame to cover it with a T-shirt and jeans. The patrolman seemed to have a similar opinion of his CO since Brady's hands kept getting in the way while he dressed. Attention like that kept him more than half-hard the whole time.

Life was good. Brady was amazing.

* * *

This story tied up a couple of loose ends. Of all the characters I've developed, I've felt the most pity for Edward Tiernan. After losing his entire family, he found a new one with the officers at SMD, but there was still that final gap between himself and his men that could not be bridged. I wanted him to cross that frontier. I also felt the need to get a little more "blood and guts" back into my stories since I've been a bit angsty in the recent past.

Lucio's patronage (and I am specifically using that term) of SMD was something else I wanted to highlight. Despite his overall gentle demeanor, Giambi is a man who can make hard decisions and carry them out without remorse. After all, he was ready to kill TJ had he not confessed to his past duplicities, he vivisected a Chechen mobster bent on nuclear terror and he would have eliminated Captain Tiernan had Fate not stepped in and intervened. A feudal lord in the truest sense of the word - a ruthless man who can and will execute high and low justice within his ever-growing borders.

Xander is another character I see changing and growing more complex. From his initial transformation, we see the geneticist/porn star/underboss taking a more darkly deliberative role as head of Lucio's Pan-Pacific operations - what I like to think of as a much improved version of Sir Francis Bryan . Giambi's role here seems diabolically twofold - he can not only create a vice, but he can distort a virtue. It was Xander's idea to turn the overly ambitious DA Ethan Aguirre into a groveling, sex-addicted plaything as well as turning Edward Tiernan into a genetically superior assassin while curing him of a deadly disease. Xander, like Sir Francis, is truly becoming a "Vicar of Hell."

Ryan Barry was the inspiration for Constantine. Damn, just looking at that man makes my heart race ... just imagine him in (or half out of!) a well-tailored CHP uniform! Ryan is a fitness model and trainer, and was also selected as the Armani Exchange underwear model in 2007.

The bank robbery scene is based on real-life events. A white bank robber is alleged to have attempted to fool police by wearing a Hollywood special effects mask and gloves that disguised him as a black man. The mask and gloves ("sleeves") were made by Rusty Slusser at SPFX. The mask - for those perceptive, long-time readers - is the "Player". There's no such thing as "bad" publicity, right??

Lucio made his appearance again using Greyland's "Meser" mask, and Xander appeared courtesy of Greyland's "Artist". Jeans were from American Eagle Outfitters. Lavender shirt and belt from Express. Wrist straps from Mr S. in San Francisco. Gold watch from Fossil.