LT #23: Ascension

Chapter 1

Neil finished reading Smoke’s chart and closed it with a decisive thump. James had that look in his eyes again. That hopeful, I-can-take-him-home-with-me-now? look.

Suddenly Neil’s entire body relaxed and he smiled. “Yes.”

“Yes? Yes? Yes!” James didn’t care who heard him. He didn’t like hospitals to begin with, and he found that he liked them even less when someone he loved was the patient.

“But you’re going to have to stay with him, take care of him. Can you do that for about, oh, say, a week?”

James blinked. As if taking care of Smoke could ever be a hardship. “Of course,” he said dumbly. He would ask someone to take over his classes at the University. Oh, wait, he was the low man on the totem pole, wasn’t he? Well, it didn’t matter. He would quit before he would leave Smoke alone and unprotected.

He must have muttered the last part out loud. All at once Michael was there, overriding his objections to doing *anything* for him. “You stay with Smoke. I’ll take care of the classes.”

“Christ, Michael! You make it damn near impossible to stay mad at you!”

Michael might have smiled if he hadn’t felt guilty. He didn’t care what anyone told him, including his son, who had unexpectedly developed a streak of altruism a mile wide. *He* knew that he was responsible, albeit indirectly, for what happened to Smoke.

That the family had survived this long was nothing short of a miracle. The truth was, it grew stronger with each and every obstacle it surmounted. The bond between them, the emotional connection, was still there, a heavy golden thread that bound them just as surely as the links in a chain.

“And Michael?”

Michael stopped, his hand poised on the handle of the door.

“Thanks. For sending Neil. I don’t know what would have—“

“Just take good care of him.”

James nodded, then turned back to the man asleep in the bed. Leaning over, he pressed a kiss to Smoke’s temple. “Hey, Pete,” he whispered. “You’re coming home with me tonight.”

Smoke smiled sleepily at his lover. The medical team had been forced to sedate him in order to evaluate all of his injuries, and the medication had yet to wear off. James could have told them that if they had only allowed him to accompany Smoke, there would have been no need for injections.

Of course, that was before Neil got there. Once Neil arrived, residents and not a few attendings as well stepped out of the way. This was *not* his hospital. But it didn’t matter. He rarely, if ever, used his influence with colleagues for favors, but he had no difficulty doing it this time. Smoke was part of the family.

“Love you.”

“Me, too.”

***

“He’s got three broken ribs. Cuts and bruises all over. They were afraid that he might have internal bleeding. That’s why they admitted him. Otherwise, we could have gone home earlier,” Jazz said softly.

Adam nodded, rubbing his nose against the younger man’s nape. “Good thing Neil came.”

“Yeah.” Jazz abruptly swatted at Adam, shaking him off the back of his neck. “Hey, stop that, it tickles.”

Adam smiled. “Feels good, though, huh?”

Jazz stared at the older teenager as though he had lost his mind. “You’re kidding, right?”

One perfectly formed eyebrow arched imperiously. “Moi? I have no sense of humor to speak of.”

“Neither does your father. Must be a genetic thing,” Jazz quipped.

Adam looked aghast, and his moue of outrage was so classically perfect that Jazz wondered if he had gone too far. But only for a moment.

“You *do* like to live dangerously, don’t you, little boy?” Adam purred into his ear.

Adam’s arms were wrapped snugly around Jazz. For someone come so late to the game, he was enjoying the time spent catching up. Jazz twisted around to face Adam, his green eyes glinting mischievously. “I may not be as tall as you, but I dare you to call me “little boy” again.”

Adam wisely refrained from commenting any further. They were at the far end of the hallway, in what passed for a visitors’ lounge, but there was no one there but them. Visiting hours long over, everyone had been forced to leave. With the exception of Smoke’s visitors. Courtesy of Neil.

“We have to go soon,” Adam whispered, surprised at the regret that filled him at that thought.

“Yeah,” Jazz answered, winding his arms around Adam’s neck to hug him. “This was nice. You’re nice.”

Adam jerked his head back at that. “Do you think I won’t be once we get home?”

Not really startled, Jazz studied him with eyes that were strangely wise for his age. “I don’t know. Will you?”

“What does this tell you?” Adam rasped, just before kissing him. Jazz smiled against his mouth. “All kinds of things.”

A light clearing of the throat announced Nikita’s presence. “Guys?”

Jazz chortled as he stepped away from Adam. “Busted.”

Nikita looked weary. It couldn’t have been easy dealing with the various personalities involved in all of this. “Time to go home.”

Jazz began to walk down the hall towards Smoke’s room, looking back over his shoulder at Adam and Nikita. When Adam went to follow, Nikita stopped him with a gentle tap on the shoulder. “Oh, and Adam? Try not to do that kind of thing in front of your father.”

Adam automatically protested, knowing that Nikita was right. “But he said that he understood.”

Nikita nodded. Dark circles of exhaustion, just under her usually vibrant blue eyes, stood out against her pale skin. “And he does. Just…give him some time to get used to the idea, okay?”

Adam glanced at her shyly from beneath thick sable brown eyelashes. “Y’know, I wouldn’t tell anyone else this, but—I could use a little time myself here. Slow things down.”

“You take all the time you need, Adam.”

She peered down the hall to find that Jazz had stopped to look at them. He was probably wondering what they could be discussing. Leaning forward, she said conspiratorially, “I bet if you asked Jazz, he’d say the same thing.”

Adam brightened visibly. “You think so?”

“Yeah, I do.” She ruffled Adam’s shaggy dark brown hair. “You know, it’s times like these, I can see your mother in you. You have her eyes. So dark, and gleaming with intelligence.”

“Really?” The light in Adam’s eyes abruptly faded. “I wonder what she’d think of me and…you know.”

Nikita smoothed her fingers through Adam’s hair, pushing it back from his face. “I think…your mother would be the first one to say…she’d want you to be happy. More than anything else.”

“Yeah. That sounds like her.” Tears suddenly welled up in the handsome teenager’s dark eyes. “Sometimes I miss her so much, I think I can’t stand it. But when I talk about her to someone who knew her, like you, it’s almost as if she’s still alive. Y’know?”

“Yeah, I know,” she replied softly.

His voice nearly inaudible, Adam continued. “I want to talk about her to Dad, but—I think he would get mad.”

With a sharp exhalation of breath, Nikita said, “Oh, Adam, if he got mad, it wouldn’t be at *you*. It’s just that your father feels so—“

“Guilty. That’s the word you’re looking for, isn’t it?”

Shaking her head silently, she agreed. “Yes. But I didn’t expect you to know that.”

Adam gave a bitter laugh. “I recognize it…because I see it in myself.”

“Oh, Adam, no. You’re too young to waste your life blaming yourself for things beyond your control.”

“No. I’m not.” A tear spilled over, tracking down Adam’s cheek, and Nikita caught it on her fingertip.

This time, when Adam began to cry, Nikita held him, absorbing his pain as though it were hers. “Your mother wouldn’t want you to hurt this way. Neither would your father.”

“I’m sorry if I made him feel worse,” he managed to say. “I was just so damn—angry.”

“He knows, Adam, and he understands,” she consoled the sixteen-year old.

“Does he?”

“Yes.” Michael’s sibilant response echoed across the silent solarium.

Now there could be healing.

Chapter 2—NC-17 (language, mild kink)

Michael put down the cell phone and risked a small but heartfelt smile. “Someone is…coming…for you.” That sounded positively ominous.

His dark brown eyes widening to an almost impossible degree, Jason sputtered, “But who? I mean why? When?” amongst other, less intelligible phrases. If he didn’t know better, and he didn’t, he would swear that Michael was enjoying his discomfiture.

“I think you know who.”

Jason grew pale. There could be only two reasons for Mr. Jones to come for him. One, to cancel him. Two, to re-acquire property that belonged to him. He was so flustered that he didn’t know which one to wish for.

“You seem…worried.” Michael looked pensive for a moment. “Didn’t he say that he was reluctant to give you up?”

“Yeah, well, you’re only as good as your last…review.”

Michael seemed unperturbed. “Do you think he might punish you?”

Jason gulped, what little color he had left abruptly vanishing. “He has. Before.”

His mind wandered of its own accord, back to the last time. It was not an easy memory. “Do you want to make things worse for yourself? Admit what you did.” Jason’s color returned all at once. Now the young man looked almost feverish.

“You don’t have to let him hurt you.”

Jason’s eyes flew to Michael’s, as if he were aghast at what he might have revealed. “I don’t—it’s not—that is…”

“You think you deserve it?” Michael asked softly.

“Oh, I—“ Jason closed his eyes on a wave of embarrassment so extreme that he couldn’t speak.

“I’ve been bad. Especially bad this time.”

Michael frowned. He had the strangest urge to hug the younger man, but he knew that he wouldn’t take it kindly. “What did you do?”

Jason’s dark eyes slid away from Michael’s well-meaning but intense scrutiny. “I…didn’t do as I was told.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I didn’t wait here like I was supposed to. I went…out…on my own…initiative.”

“Jason, you know that you don’t have to return to Section, don’t you?”

The Center operative shook his head. “I have to go back.”

“Why? Because you have no place to stay? We’ll find you a place to—“

“You don’t get it, do you? My brother would never stand for me being within a mile of Declan. Staying here is *not* an option.”

“The world is a big place, Jason.”

“Yeah, yeah, and my brother’s a real decent guy, too. But that wouldn’t stop him from knocking my teeth down my throat.”

“Then this is about Birkoff?”

Jason allowed himself a small sigh. “Let’s leave my brother out of it.”

“Then tell me why you feel—“

Inexplicably Jason’s eyes filled with tears. “Cause *he’s* there, okay?”

“Because you’re afraid of him. Afraid of what he’ll do to you.” Michael thought he had it all worked out.

Jason squeezed his eyes shut until a few errant tears made their way down his face. “Yeah,” he said, swallowing hard.

“I understand,” Michael said compassionately, tapping the younger man on the shoulder.

That’s what *you* think, Jason muttered to himself inaudibly. *I* don’t even understand. How can you?

***

When Mr. Jones showed up, Michael wasn’t certain that he was doing the right thing. Handing the young man over, as if he were so much Section chattel, seemed unnecessarily cruel, not to mention unfair. That Jason Crawford still harbored a great deal of resentment towards his twin was obvious. But Michael wasn’t convinced that they couldn’t have a more positive relationship. Someday.

As soon as he could, Michael sought out the older man, hoping to shed some light on the mysteries that still eluded him. If only for his own peace of mind. “Mick?” At the head of Center’s querulous look, Michael started again. “I’m sorry. Force of habit. Do you have another name?”

“Mick’s fine,” Mr. Jones replied, not really answering the question.

“Jason seems a bit…unwilling. Isn’t there some way you could let him go?”

“Let him go? Michael—“ His response was cut off by a tremendous bark of laughter. “You do say the funniest things, you know that?”

“Set him free then?”

“Free? He’s free.”

“He is?”

“Free as you and me.”

Michael looked puzzled. Now he really *was* confused. “You’re not *forcing* him to go back?”

“God, no! What would I do that for? I actually like the kid, y’know?”

“Is there something…” Michael was nothing if not circumspect. As someone who needed privacy himself, he was sensitive to what others needed. “…unusual…about your relationship with Jason?”

Mr. Jones’ face closed down like an iron lattice ringing shut in a dungeon. Finality came through loud and clear. “I dunno what you may have heard, Michael, but you can forget it. Right now. I’m here to collect my property. That’s all.”

“That’s all he is to you?”

“There are…things…beyond your ken, Michael. Things you don’t *need* to know. Just…leave it alone. Okay?”

The fact that Mr. Jones didn’t exercise his well-trumpeted prerogatives re Michael’s status made him fairly trustworthy in Michael’s eyes. So he backed off, content for the moment to know only that there *was* a secret agenda, and that that agenda could best be served, at least for now, by letting it go.

***

“Get in the car.”

Jason obeyed without speaking. The voice wasn’t harsh. Just commanding. He was used to that.

Once he was seated in the shiny black Mercedes, he automatically lowered his head, staring a hole into the mat at his feet. Mr. Jones climbed in from the driver’s side and glanced at Jason quickly before starting the engine.

It wasn’t until they were en route to Center that Mr. Jones spoke. “You know you disobeyed me.”

“Yes,” Jason said meekly.

“You were supposed to come right back. What were you thinking?”

That maybe you wouldn’t do this to me. This time.

“I’ve killed people for less.”

That didn’t even require a response. Jason involuntarily shivered, his breath catching in his throat.

Mr. Jones made an exasperated noise. “You are well and truly fucked, my lad.”

***

How he managed to sleep he couldn’t imagine. But when he woke, it was late afternoon, and they were pulling into the drive of a very old, very grand hotel.

Despite himself, he broke the tense silence between them. “We-we’re not going back tonight?”

He couldn’t help it. He kept thinking, The condemned man ate a hearty meal, over and over until he almost said it out loud.

Mr. Jones didn’t answer. He merely opened the passenger side door.

***

He was offered dinner. But he couldn’t eat. The thought of food passing his lips made him vaguely sick at his stomach. Nerves again. The anticipation would kill him.

He started to chuckle to himself, but stopped when he saw the fierce glare that Mr. Jones gave him.

After dinner, Mr. Jones stared at him quite coolly and asked, “What am I supposed to do with you, Jason?”

You don’t really want me to answer that question, do you?

Suddenly Mr. Jones stood. “Take your pants down,” he barked.

Jason dropped to his knees on the floor, his head pressed almost to his chest. “Please—“

Mr. Jones leaned over and said in a low but menacing tone, “Take your pants down before I kick the shit out of you.”

Jason fumbled with his belt, somehow managing to unfasten it, and unzipped his pants, allowing them to fall below his hips. Mr. Jones sat down again, on the edge of his very old, very elegant chair. “Come over here.”

Jason moved slowly, as if to his death, but rough hands reached out and grabbed him, forcing him over Mr. Jones’ knees. With a wrench, his shorts were pulled down as well, exposing his muscular but pale flesh to the relatively cool room temperature.

His hand raised high to deliver maximum impact, Mr. Jones paused to say, “You deserve worse than this, you know.”

Jason nodded as the first blow fell on his buttocks, staining them pink. Slowly but surely, his skin grew flushed until it was hot and red and incredibly sensitive. He never lost consciousness; he felt every blow of Mr. Jones’ hand, certain that if he could but look, there would be a hand-shaped imprint there.

As his skin became more and more heated, he hung his head, letting the tears fall where they may. He couldn’t hope to hide from Mr. Jones. Mr. Jones knew everything.

A sharp yank on his hair pulled his head up, revealing his tears. Mr. Jones shook his head and said softly, “Oh, come here, you wretched boy.”

Mr. Jones held Jason, almost gently, while he cried, his silky head buried against his chest. “Ssh, ssh, ssh. You belong to me. You’ll always belong to me.”

“You w-won’t s-send m-me away ag-again?”

“No, sweeting,” Mr. Jones murmured against Jason’s ear. “I love you.”

“D-Do you?” Jason asked, his voice muffled as he snuggled closer to the older man.

“I left my mark on you, didn’t I?” Mr. Jones smoothed the firm young flesh under his hands.

Jason was unbearably aroused, something he was sure that Mr. Jones would discover any moment. “Mick,” he whispered, the secret name pulled out of its hiding place in his heart, his face turned up, his lips offering, seeking, waiting.

The kiss, when it came, was every bit as possessive as the spanking that claimed his flesh minutes before.

Not all prisons have bars. Some traps are of our own making.

Chapter 3

“It was a dark and stormy night…”

“Mommmmm!”

Moans and groans filled the living room. “It’s not even Halloween! Why are you telling that story? I don’t want *that* story!”

Nikita put down the book she was holding and attempted to give Luc a stern look. “You asked for a scary story, Luc.”

“Like Terminator! Go, Terminator, go, go, go!” Luc cried out, pumping his fist in the air.

Kiarra fell over onto her side, laughing hysterically. Normally a fairly reserved five-year old, she became strangely animated whenever Luc showed off for her. No one knew why. Including Luc. But he *liked* the attention.

“I’m not going to tell you a story about a ruthless robot who wants to systematically wipe out the human population. In alphabetical order.”

“Please?”

“No. Kiarra looks like she’s half-asleep anyway, honey. I think it’s time for her to go home.”

“Can she sleep over, Mom?”

Nikita raked a hand through her pale blonde hair. It was getting far too long. Perhaps it was time to brave the idea of cutting it with Michael. Again. “No, Luc. She’s a girl. Girls don’t sleep over at boys’ houses,” she answered automatically.

“But Teal’s mom lets her!” he protested.

“Luc, you don’t even know Teal!”

“Do, too! She’s in my class at school!”

“Luc, I’m not going to argue with you. Kiarra has to sleep at her house. End of story.”

“You’re meannnn!” Luc pouted, fully aware that thrusting his lower lip out was one of his cuter moves and almost guaranteed to soften up his mother.

“Story time is over,” Nikita said in a tone that brooked no refusal.

“Mommm…read one of Daddy’s stories, then. ‘kay?”

“Those are much too old for you, Luc.”

“I’m bored.”

“I think it’s time you went to bed, too. Say good night to Kiarra.”

“G’nite, Kiarra,” Luc said, shaking his head sadly. It continued to amaze Nikita how Luc could look so much like his father and yet be completely opposite in nature. He was a spirited child, given to impulse and temper, and unlike his father, who valued a certain degree of emotional control, Luc had none. Everything he felt came right out and smacked you in the face. Sooner…or later.

Kiarra returned to her usual somber demeanor, and for a moment, Nikita was positive that she was going to shake Luc’s hand, just like an adult. But she didn’t. Instead she hugged him, as if he were a kid-sized teddy bear. “Nite, Luc.”

Once she made it as far as the doorway, she stopped, pirouetted and waved a tiny hand at him. Kiarra was a delightfully contradictory bundle of femininity and coltish beauty. Not only did she have both parents’ good looks, but she appeared to have inherited her father’s relative calm. Still, there was that adorable giggle that only Luc seemed to provoke.

Nikita suddenly had a vision of a much older Kiarra giving Luc a run for his money. Now *that* might be worth raising a houseful of teenagers.

Maybe.

“I’ll walk you out, Kiarra. Your Dad should be here any minute now.”

“That’s okay, Auntie Nikita. I know the way,” she said in a perfect imitation of a grown-up.

Nikita lounged against the wall and watched the little girl as she walked away. Luc came up silently, reminding her once again of his father, making her wonder again just how much of Michael’s routine behavior was Section-conditioned and how much was his personality.

“She’s a good kid, Mom,” Luc said, all eyes and seriousness.

Nikita tousled his cinnamon-colored hair. “So are you.”

She would be the first one to admit that she occasionally had trouble disciplining Luc, but for all the difficulty he could give her, he was worth it. Sometimes, when she let herself remember, her mind would drift back to a time when Michael lost his memory. That Michael, in all his softness and openness and vulnerability, was part of who Luc was now.

“Bed, huh?” he asked, the slightest of smiles framed on his lips.

“Yeah,” Nikita nodded. “Go on up. I’ll catch up with you.”

***

Luc disrobed in the same haphazard fashion that he got dressed every morning. A pair of pants slung over a chair here, a pair of socks wadded up in a corner over there. He seemed to be in constant motion, stopping for meager moments, to hop on one foot to the closet and back again to the bed.

He was in the process of kneeling to say his prayers when Nikita entered his bedroom. “God Bless me and Mommy and Daddy and Kiarra and…and…” His handsome features scrunched up in deliberation of an apparently important decision, Luc paused.

“And?” Nikita prompted.

Luc gave an exaggerated sigh. “And Fee and Chris and Gran’pa and Mamie and—“

The list seemed endless. It very nearly was. Who knew that a few short years after escaping Section One, Michael and Nikita would be able to claim enough family to make their own small community?

And when Luc was nearly done, he paused, as if for effect. “And—“

His half-brother suddenly appeared in the doorway next to Nikita. “Hey, brat!” he called affectionately.

“Adam!” Luc’s face lit up. At first dismayed at having to share his father’s attention with a new brother, Luc was coming around to the idea that there might be an advantage or two. For one thing, his oldest brother spoiled him. Often.

“I heard there might be a storm later.”

Luc shivered. He didn’t like thunderstorms. Biting his lip, he asked wistfully, “If the thunder comes, can I come sleep wit’ you?”

“Sure, munchkin.”

Nikita raised an eyebrow at that, but it was too late to say anything. She didn’t want Luc to think that he could split family without paying the consequences. On the other hand, however, she did *not* want to see Luc grow up without knowing his brother. Though he had clearly settled down a great deal, Adam was far from stable yet, and Nikita could easily see him taking off impulsively.

She knelt down to kiss Luc good night, surprised that he seemed to be even taller than last week. Giving him a quick kiss, long enough to satisfy her, not long enough to embarrass him in front of his new big brother, Nikita said “Good night, Luc. I love you.”

Showing none of the reticence of his father, he burst out, “I love you, too, Mommy! G’nite!”, the presence of Adam seemingly having no effect on his natural spontaneity. In fact, he wrapped his arms around his mother’s neck and clung to her for a few more seconds.

His whisper took Nikita by surprise. What he said revealed an insight far beyond his years. “I’m hugging you extra long, Mommy, cause I’m glad I still got a Mom, and…and…I’m giving you a hug for Adam, on accounta cause he doesn’t no more.”

Luc protested mildly when Nikita unconsciously squeezed him a bit too tightly. As she released him, she addressed Adam softly. “You be good to my son. He thinks the world of you.”

Bestowing one of his rare smiles on the young boy, Adam replied, “I think he’s pretty special, too.”

Wagging a finger at Luc, she added, “Please don’t stay up more than a few minutes, and I *will* be back to check.” With that, she was gone.

But as it happened, she didn’t go far. She sagged against the wall, wiping at the helpless tears that suddenly welled up. Whether it was magic or sheer luck or just serendipitous timing all around, Michael appeared. “Kita? Are you all right?”

She opened her eyes, knowing just what to expect to see reflected in his eyes. “Better than all right, Michael. I’ve got you.” Her voice broke on the last word, and he caught her in his arms, kissing her sweetly, as if she were the most fragile thing in the world.

“I love you just as much as the first day I saw you,” Michael whispered. For him, it was a veritable speech, but it came from the heart.

Love lent him the words.

Chapter 4

“Hey, you guys, wait up!” Sasha careened down the hallway, the soles of his athletic shoes making almost no sound as he approached the others.

Jazz turned to greet his best friend. “How come you’re so late?”

Out of breath, Sasha leaned forward, his hands on his knees. “I…overslept.”

Jazz blinked curiously, the effect making his green eyes flash vividly, like a verdant flame sprung to life. “*You* overslept? Mr. I-have-so-much-energy-I-don’t-know-what-to-do-with-it-all?”

Sasha nodded, but he didn’t elaborate further. Instead he reached over Jazz to grab a cookie from Adam’s hand. “Thanks.”

Adam’s expression never changed. For a moment, he considered complaining about Sasha’s obvious lack of boundaries, but then he realized something important had happened when he wasn’t looking. He had been accepted. He was one of *them* now.

Suddenly Adam grinned, and it transformed him from an overly serious young man with too many things on his mind into a distinctly boyish teenager. “Want to play soccer?”

Sasha almost dropped his cookie, but recovering quickly, he popped the last morsel into his mouth, wiping the crumbs on his jeans. “Sure. But we’ve gotta get to class.”

“I have a study hall first period. What about you?”

Sasha rolled his eyes dramatically. “I have the Dragon Lady for English. I can’t miss that.”

“Sure you can,” Adam replied, amazed that he, of all people, studious to a fault, was advocating that Sasha cut class.

“No, I can’t,” Sasha maintained. “Da would *kill* me if he knew.”

“So don’t tell him.”

Jazz stared at Adam. “Are you serious?” he exclaimed incredulously, unable to believe that Sasha had been *that* much of a good influence on him. Once he would have gleefully taken up Adam’s challenge without thinking twice. But now…Sasha’s earnest desire to accomplish something with his life had firmly taken root in Jazz as well.

“Well, if you boys are too scared—“

Sasha made a derisive noise. “I don’t go to school to please Da. I go to school because I want to *be* something, *do* something, relatively important.” His hands cut restlessly through the air.

Adam shook his head. “It’s just one class.”

“That’s how it starts,” Sasha said impatiently. “Next thing you know, you’re maybe living on the streets like Jazz here. Where do you think *he* was headed?” Sasha knew that Jazz wouldn’t mind being used as an example. The older boy had come so far in the past year. In fact, during that time, he came to discover almost as much about himself as about the people he had come to live with.

Adam was suitably chastened. Although Adam never took his education lightly, he abruptly realized that he *had* taken it for granted. As a God-given right. Instead of the privilege it so clearly was to Sasha. And now, by extension, Jazz.

Slinging an arm around Jazz, Adam said, “How about we all meet after school then?”

A relieved smile broke out on Jazz’ face as Sasha accepted the offer. “Cool. I’ll be there.”

Sasha gently cuffed Jazz on the arm before taking his leave. “See you guys later.” When he was a few steps away, he half-turned, calling back over his shoulder, “Oh, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

His impish grin was met with an equally mischievous look from Jazz, who stuck out his tongue at his best friend. “You think that’s going to stop me?”

Sasha laughed. “It’d better.”

***

“I have to go,” Jazz whispered forlornly to Adam. Unlike the older teenager, Jazz did not have a free period. In many ways, he was still playing catch-up because of all the time he had spent out of school. But he no longer regretted having to attend school and he had Sasha to thank for that. Sasha truly loved to learn, and his enthusiasm was contagious.

Adam nodded absently, but the truth was, he would give anything to be able to show Jazz one of those public displays of affection that were forbidden within the school’s confines.

Words seemed somehow inadequate. Adam couldn’t even begin to describe how he felt. A lump of unexpressed emotion tightened his throat alarmingly. “I’ll see you later then.”

“Yeah.”

“Be good.”

“I’m *always* good,” Jazz quipped dryly, finding refuge in humor.

Adam chuckled softly, trailing a hand along Jazz’ arm. Though it was not a romantic gesture, it nevertheless conveyed a certain depth of feeling. Feeling that made Adam shiver inwardly. “Well, don’t be good with anyone else but me.”

Jazz’ hair fell forward, obscuring his expressive eyes for a second, and Adam felt cut off in a way that he couldn’t explain. Peering under the curtain of silky hair, Adam said quickly, “You’d better go. I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

Jazz looked up then, his eyes glowing bright green, and Adam felt as though he had taken a fair-sized punch to the chest. So this was love. Sure felt like the real thing.

“Thanks,” Jazz said huskily.

“Jazz?”

“What?”

“Just…Jazz.” I like saying your name. How dumb is that? And what would you think if I just blurted that out?

A shy smile crossed Jazz’ lips. “No one calls me by my real name, but—“ he began hesitantly.

Adam knew he must be grinning. He could feel the skin at the corners of his mouth tugging. How did God decide that he deserved a gift like this in his life?

Jazz unconsciously touched the back of Adam’s hand, and Adam sucked in his breath. “It’s Nicolas,” he whispered.

Their eyes met for the briefest of moments, but there was such intensity there that if anyone had been around, they would have felt compelled to look away.

Adam’s smile faded as he knew that he must let Jazz go. For now. But this moment felt so important. There had to be some way to mark it.

Reaching out so that only their fingertips barely touched, Adam whispered, “Can I call you Nicky?”

Jazz bit his lip, his eyes flickering wildly with some untold emotion. “My mother used to call me that. When I was real little.”

“Sorry,” Adam muttered, his face beginning to color.

“It’s okay.” Jazz moved closer, but it still felt like he was too far away. “You’re not my mother,” he said bemusedly.

“No, I’m not,” Adam echoed, mesmerized by the look in the younger teenager’s eyes.

“And I’m not your little boy.”

“No, you’re not,” Adam repeated dutifully, his lips starting to twitch with laughter.

“So…you can call me Nicky.”

Adam brightened.

“On two conditions.”

Adam looked dubious.

“One, you only use it when we’re alone.”

Adam nodded.

“And two…” Jazz paused significantly. “When you scream out my name, you better not confuse me with anyone else.”

“I never scream,” Adam said dryly.

“You haven’t been with me yet,” Jazz said flirtatiously.

Adam swallowed hard. There could be nothing sexual between them until they both reached the age of consent. He promised Nikita and, though he had never directly spoken of it to him, Michael.

It was going to be a long, dry spell.

How would he ever survive the next few years?

Chapter 5

Faith turned over a card and placed it carefully on the table in front of her. “Just so there’s no arguments, *I’m* the Princess this time.” She cast a sharp glance at Emmy, who placidly ignored her and concentrated on plotting her next move.

They were heavily embroiled in a pen-and-paper role-playing game called Wizards and Warriors. “It was just a suggestion, Fee,” Emmy finally said with a sigh.

“Just cause you’re Irish doesn’t mean you automatically get to be Princess, Em. It’s time someone else had a turn.”

Emmy scowled into the cards she held. “I don’t see you offering one of the boys a turn.”

“Now that would be silly. Boys can’t be Princess.”

“Why not?”

Faith all but rolled her eyes, quite dramatically, as if to emphasize just how clueless she found Emmy. “Why do you think?”

“I know what *I* think, Fee. I’m still trying to figure out what *you* think.” Not to mention why.

“Besides,” Emmy continued, rather cleverly, if she did say so herself, “I would have expected you to want to be Warrior. It’s what you’re good at.”

“Hmm…” Faith mulled that over. It was true. She made a very good Warrior. But there was a part of her that longed to be Princess. To be accorded the respect that post commanded.

Emmy’s silver-grey eyes scrutinized Faith. “Why don’t we make a new category? You could be Warrior Queen.”

“Oh, sure. Let’s just do away with the rules.”

“You don’t like rules anyway, Fee.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

“Ha! Spoken like a true Princess, Em.” Faith finished dealing the cards that would determine what major events would occur during this particular game.

Emmy wrinkled her nose and contemplated her opponent. “You can bully Connor that way, Fee, but it won’t work on me. I don’t know why you even try.”

“God, you are so much like Uncle Declan sometimes.”

Emmy broke into a brilliant smile that illuminated her entire being. “Thanks, Fee! That’s the nicest thing you ever said to me.”

***

Skye crept into the bedroom as quietly as possible. Her long blonde hair was tied back in a ponytail that easily reached her waist. Her blue eyes held none of their usual sparkle. Truth to tell, Skye was beginning to feel lonely. She missed Sasha. Sasha went to a different school now. He spent most of his time with Jazz and Adam. His interests, well…they weren’t the same as when they first met.

Oh, he was still a kind, caring boy. Scratch that, teenager. Since he turned 13, he avoided being alone with her. She missed his awkward gestures, his touching smiles, but most of all, she just plain missed *him*. She told herself that it was only natural that Sasha spend time with people closer to his age.

But she felt left behind. In a way that she had not before.

She was only ten. Where he went, she could not follow. But maybe someday…things would be different. They had to be. They belonged together.

She knew it in her heart.

Skye found what she was looking for. Sasha was out. Hanging out with his friends. Playing soccer, from what she heard. He would never know she had been here.

She knelt down next to the bed. This was *his* room. Where he slept. Where he dreamed. Pulling the pillow off the bed, she clutched it like a lifeline. Burying her face in the pillow, she imagined that she could smell him. His young boy-into-man scent that so clearly identified him as Sasha.

She meant only to hold it. Truly she did. But she couldn’t help it. The feelings, when they came, were so overwhelming, they couldn’t be held in check. Tears came unbidden, flowing smoothly and silently down her cheeks as she wept.

When she heard a noise, she jumped. Rapidly replacing the pillow, she fluffed it, certain that no one would know that she was here.

Bolting through the door, she flew down the stairway as though the Gates of Hell had opened behind her.

***

Sasha came home early. Limping. He, Jazz, and Adam met on the field at school to play soccer, and Sasha, largely because of his superior speed and agility, was winning.

Until he fell.

After he twisted his ankle, he continued to play through the pain, but eventually, even his stoic demeanor couldn’t hide the fact that his ankle would no longer support his weight.

Bowing out of the game, he insisted that they keep playing without him. By the time he walked all the way home, he was more than tired. His ankle was swollen and aching. Unable to bear the thought of climbing three flights of stairs, Sasha ventured into the Samuelle kitchen, seeking ice.

Awkwardly lowering himself into a chair, he realized that he should have looked in the freezer first. Now he would have a devil of a time trying to stand up again. His ankle throbbed in time with his heartbeat, the pounding growing worse with each passing moment. Damn, it must be a bad sprain. He was counting on it being just a mild strain, but it was beginning to feel as if he’d torn a ligament.

Luckily for him, there was no one around. He hated the thought of anyone seeing him feeling this way. Woozy, light-headed, almost nauseated from the pain.

“Shit, this hurts.”

“What did you do?”

Sasha was so preoccupied that he didn’t hear her come up on him. That scared him more than anything. “Skye!”

“Did you hurt yourself?” She bit her lip anxiously. She couldn’t prevent her stomach churning at the thought of Sasha being injured.

“Sorta. Twisted my ankle. I think it’s sprained.”

“Oh, no,” Skye exclaimed, her blue eyes filling with tears.

“Hey, it’s not *that* bad. Honest.” He reached out to reassure her, and his balance abruptly shifted, dumping him onto the floor. “Ow!”

“Holy shit! I take it back. Maybe it *is* that bad. Now.” He doubled over, holding his ankle in a vain attempt to make it stop throbbing.

Immediately regaining control of her runaway emotions, Skye opened the freezer and withdrew a bag of frozen peas. Whisking the dish towel from its place by the kitchen sink, Skye dropped to her knees beside Sasha. After wrapping the towel around the icy package, she carefully applied it to Sasha’s now discolored ankle.

“Ouch! That hurts!” he yelled, wincing at both the pain and the horrified expression on Skye’s face.

“It’ll help,” she said, unable to raise her voice above a whisper. She was a very strong little girl, perhaps stronger than she had any earthly right to be, but she was definitely Michael and Nikita’s daughter. Still, seeing Sasha as vulnerable as he was right now, made her insides ache in a way she had never experienced before.

“Skye…please don’t cry.”

She hadn’t realized that she was. Swiping at her face with both hands, she scrubbed almost furiously, leaving both cheeks reddened. “You…called me Skye.”

Sasha nodded. “Yeah.” Then it hit him. “I didn’t forget, I swear. You’ll always be Ange. You know that.”

“People shouldn’t make promises that they can’t keep,” she said sadly.

She was too young for Sasha. She had always known that. But she was too old for Luc and the younger children. She didn’t fit in anywhere. Where was *her* place?

She sniffled.

Maybe she didn’t have a place.

Chapter 6

“I’ll go tell Mom that you hurt your ankle.”

“No!” Sasha yelled. Skye turned on her heel, startled by the vehemence of his tone. “I mean, please don’t go.”

He reached out to her from where he sat on the floor, both legs outstretched, the right one pretty much useless. “Please?” he added softly.

When she didn’t move, Sasha sighed, his heart twisting inside him, his feelings so scattered as to be almost unrecognizable. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” he apologized. “There are—things—you just don’t understand.”

He looked down at his swollen ankle, the makeshift cold pack making the pain a distant memory. Suddenly Skye crouched down and took his hand. Bringing it to her cheek, she closed her eyes and pressed a kiss to his fingertips.

Jerking his hand away with a speed that stunned even him, he could do nothing but stare at her. “Don’t!”

She gasped and dropped her head. He was pushing her away. She stood up slowly, almost painfully, and this time, he let her walk away without another word. How could she doubt that he loved her? Didn’t she know what he was going through right now, just from the slightest touch of her?

He shook his head. No, she had no idea of the depth of the sacrifice he made everyday. It was better that she misread his feelings. It might be too dangerous any other way.

***

By the time he managed to pull himself into a chair, he was almost exhausted. The acute pain had faded to a dull ache now. Leaning heavily on the chair, he eventually stood up, albeit unsteadily.

Slowly but surely, step by step, he climbed to the top of the stairway. Drenched in a cold sweat, Sasha grimaced as he struggled to maneuver the door open without putting any weight on his right ankle. Unsnapping his jacket, he let the leather slide off his shoulders and onto the floor.

Sparing a quick glance at the black puddle, he decided to leave it where it lay. Belatedly realizing that he had made the entire trip without his boots, he muttered to himself, “I am *not* going all the way back down those stairs.”

Throwing himself onto his bed, he felt the resulting bounce of the mattress jar his ankle and moaned. “That was *not* a good idea,” he told himself. Splaying his body across the twin-sized bed without removing the comforter, he willed himself to relax. Unfortunately, his mind had other ideas.

He kept replaying the scene in the kitchen with Skye, wondering if he could have handled things differently. Wondering if there were any way to keep her away from him that would *not* hurt her. He doubted it. He knew how she felt.

Rolling onto his side, Sasha rubbed his cheek against his pillow, abruptly registering that it was wet. That’s weird, he thought, before a thought slammed into his head with such force that it actually hurt. He groaned. She was here. His pillow was wet with *her* tears.

He inhaled painstakingly, her delicate scent filling his nostrils. Shit, he should have known. He should have felt her presence right away.

He held the pillow gently, lovingly, as if it were her. Long ago Sasha accepted that the difference in their ages made anything but a platonic relationship inappropriate. He resigned himself to having certain urges that were beyond his control at this point in his life, and he lived with the guilt that being attracted to older girls brought with it.

His hand crept down towards his belt, unsnapping his jeans. Here in his room he could be alone with his thoughts. Here in his room he could have feelings that had no outlet anywhere else.

He could still feel his heart beating way too fast. Pounding in his ears. And someplace else.

But just as he reached for—

Faith burst through the door without warning. Sasha pushed the pillow down, covering the fact that his jeans were wide open. Resisting the desire to hurl the pillow at Faith’s head, he snarled, “Don’t you ever knock?”

Planting herself firmly on the bed, she noted the wild color flushing Sasha’s cheeks. “Why? You sick or something?”

“Something,” he mumbled.

“What do you want, anyway?”

“I came to tell you to lay off my baby sister.”

Sasha stared at Faith. She couldn’t be serious. “What?”

“You heard me.” Faith looked distinctly uncomfortable. “You made her cry. I—hate it when she—cries.”

Sasha sat up in bed, so angry suddenly that he forgot to hold onto the pillow. “*You* hate it? I didn’t do anything—I would never—Shit!”

The pillow fell away, and all at once Faith noticed his state of deshabille. “You son-of-a-bitch! What did you do to her?”

He grabbed the pillow and covered himself. “Dammit, I told you, Fee! I didn’t *do* anything! Not with *her* anyway!”

Faith was not impulsive for nothing. Her hand connected with Sasha’s cheek before she could stop it. “Oh, oh, God, Sasha! I’m sorry!”

Sasha’s cheek blazed bright red with the imprint of Faith’s hand. He touched his cheek gingerly as though in a daze. “I would never touch her like that, Fee. I gave my word to your father and Da.”

His dark brown eyes filled with unshed tears. “That’s why—she’s upset, Fee. Because I won’t have—anything to do—with her.”

“Why didn’t you say so?”

“Why didn’t you *ask* me?”

Faith reached out to pat his shoulder, and Sasha shrugged off her hand. Her gaze fell to his swollen ankle. “Jeez! What did you do to your ankle?”

“I twisted it playing soccer.”

“Wow. Looks bad.”

Sasha’s lip curled with disdain. “No kidding.”

“So,” she regarded him avidly, “you were trying to take your mind off the pain?” Her voice was patently amused, as she took in the pillow he clutched to his lower body.

Sasha’s eyes narrowed. He had no privacy. None. Whatsoever. “Don’t you have someplace to go?”

“Okay, okay, I can take a hint,” she chuckled as she backed off.

“No, you can’t,” Sasha snapped. “If you could, you’d be gone.”

Faith knew when Sasha had been pushed too far. She waved nonchalantly and disappeared through the open doorway.

“And you could have closed the freaking door!” he yelled after her.

A few moments later, Sey popped his head through the doorway. “What are you doing in bed at this hour?”

Sasha sighed and showed off his discolored ankle.

“I’ll see if Neil can come over. You’re in no shape to walk on that.”

“Tell me about it. Oh, and Dad?” he beckoned as Sey was about to leave.

“Yeah, kiddo?”

He looked intently into his father’s eyes. “I need a lock for my door.”

Chapter 7

“No, Luc, you can’t play.”

“Why?”

“You’re too young.”

“Why?”

“Because—“

“Why?’

“You just are, okay?”

Luc closed the door to Faith’s bedroom and walked down the hall. “That’s okay,” he muttered under his breath. “It’s a stupid game anyway.”

Chris passed his little brother and gave him a curious glance. “Luc, who are you talking to?”

Luc’s eyes flashed, not unlike his father’s when he found himself in an admittedly rare temper. “To *myself*. Is that okay?”

“Okay,” Chris agreed, wondering what was bothering him.

He reached Faith’s door and knocked twice. “Who is it?”

“Chris.”

“How do I know you’re Chris?”

Chris frowned. What new phase was Faith going through now? “Excusez-moi?”

The door opened, seemingly of its own accord. “Come on in.”

“Now you need a password to get in here?” Chris asked.

“Uh-huh. You passed. But only cause you spoke French. No one but me and you do that.”

Chris raked a hand through his light blond hair. It hadn’t darkened all that much with age, certainly not as much as Nikita expected. Rattling off several things in French, Chris abruptly concluded with, “You’re crazy, Fee. You’re my twin sister, and I love you, but you’re absolutely crazy.”

“Fine, I’m crazy,” she said dismissively with a wave of her hand. “Now where’s Connor?” She peered behind Chris as if she expected to see Connor there.

“Music Club, I think. Mamie’s making him learn to play the piano.”

Faith looked out of sorts. “Well, that sucks.”

“Fee!” Chris reproached her.

“Well, it does,” Faith said, her mouth set mutinously. “He’s sposed to be here.”

“Connor doesn’t come when you call anymore, Fee, didn’t you notice?” Chris sat down on Faith’s bed. He found it ironic how often Faith and her would-be soulmate, Connor, were out of synch with each other. When Faith and Connor were small, they were clearly meant to be together. Once they began to grow up, however, they began to clash and eventually, grow apart.

Suddenly Faith seemed preoccupied with counting out the game cards. “He still loves me more than anybody else, though,” she eventually said, her voice softer and lower than before.

Chris gave her a tight smile. He loved Faith, but he didn’t like to see *anyone*, but especially someone as vulnerable as Connor, hurt by her. He started to say something, but he couldn’t make the words come out of his mouth. For all her surface bravado, Faith was strangely sensitive underneath.

And he really believed that she loved Connor.

“Maybe he’ll join us later,” he offered by way of assuaging her disappointment.

“Maybe,” she echoed.

This was odd. Faith was never down. Well, rarely. “Is something wrong?” he asked, concerned.

“Nah, I just made a jerk of myself a little while ago, that’s all.”

“You did? How?”

She blushed, remembering how she barged into Sasha’s room without any warning at all. She shouldn’t have been surprised at his anger. Of course, he loved Skye. He wouldn’t harm a tiny blonde hair on her tiny blonde head, she thought meanly, automatically begging forgiveness for feeling jealous of her own sister.

It wasn’t as if she wanted Sasha’s attention. Not *that* way. She didn’t. She loved Connor. Even though their relationship grew rockier day by day.

But sometimes her sister was so freaking *perfect*. Skye got better grades. Skye was polite. Skye was—er, wonderful.

Then she came downstairs, crying silently, and she even looked perfect doing that. Her eyes weren’t red. Her mouth wasn’t swollen. Her nose wasn’t dripping. Dammit.

But she was upset. And in some patently misguided attempt to make up for envying her younger sister, Faith took off. A Warrior seeking only to defend. A Warrior hell-bent on extracting vengeance.

She told Chris everything. Like many twins, they were intuitive about each other. They had few secrets. He looked at her thoughtfully, his blue eyes somber.

“You meant well, Fee.”

She nodded.

Chris crossed his arms in front of him, and Faith waited expectantly. Chris would tell her the truth. He always told the truth. Like any good knight-in-training. He still believed in archaic things like valor and honor. She almost smiled. So did she.

Their ends were the same. Their means were very different.

“But you don’t know Sasha as well as I thought you did.”

She lowered her head accordingly. “I know. Like I said, I acted like a jerk.”

“Yup.”

Faith scowled, but the grimace did nothing to detract from her increasingly attractive features. “You’re sposed to know when to disagree with me, Tosh.”

“How could I disagree with a statement like that?” Chris snorted.

“You’re my brother! You’re sposed to take my side!” she whined.

Chris put his arms around his sister, drawing her into a snug bear hug. “Anyone can *say* they’re on your side, Fee. But I really *am*. That’s why I don’t always tell you what you *want* to hear. Just what you *need* to hear.”

“I know,” she murmured, laying her head on Chris’ shoulder.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. Faith raised her head and called, “Who is it?”

“Let me in, Tig!” said an impatient voice.

Chris smiled as Faith bolted from his arms, smoothing her hair behind her ears.

She opened the door. “Pooh!”

“The one and only.”

Faith restrained herself from leaping into Connor’s embrace. He hadn’t offered, and she didn’t want him to know how much she missed him. “You look good,” she said inanely.

Connor’s face lit up. For someone who genuinely looked like the boy next door, he was beginning to show a depth and a maturity beyond his years. “Heard you missed me. I’m back,” he quipped with a coy smile.

Behind Faith’s back, Chris rolled his eyes. Connor met his gaze evenly and then winked.

Oh, my, Chris thought, Connor was tearing a page out of Faith’s book. And it was working.

Chapter 8

“Get down off the roof! What do you think, you can fly?”

“I’m testing somethin’!”

“Well, for Heaven’s sake, test it down here!” Nikita was beginning to sound completely exasperated with her youngest son.

In truth she was frightened to death. She knew Luc was impulsive, but she had never seen him so reckless. It would be so easy for him to take a step and fall—No! She refused to think that way.

If only Michael were home. He would have Luc down and grounded for the rest of his life faster than he could spell danger.

Luc was perceptive enough, even at his young age, to know that his mother, who could be inexhaustibly patient, was genuinely worried. Although Luc could easily be equal parts rebellious and defiant when he wanted, he decided to cooperate and come down right away.

That was when it happened.

He reached for the model airplane, which, interestingly enough, did not belong to him, but to Chris. It didn’t occur to Luc that taking Chris’ model airplane, which he had labored long and hard to put together, was tantamount to stealing. Luc’s philosophy was simple. He came, he saw, he conquered. Just like Caesar. Albeit on a markedly smaller scale.

The reason Luc took it up to the roof was just as simple. He wanted to see if the plane would fly.

Nikita realized that she might have to climb up on the roof and bring Luc back herself. She couldn’t stand there, on the ground, for very much longer, hopelessly wringing her hands. It wasn’t *her*.

But what if Luc fell off while she was on her way? Who would catch him? No, she needed someone else. Quickly.

Keep him talking, Nikita. Think.

A tug on the long pale blonde braid that cascaded down her back brought her to attention. “Wha--? Who?”

Suddenly she was staring into the familiar dark brown eyes of Michael’s oldest son. “Adam!” No, she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. What a position that would put both of them into. It would look like she was sacrificing Adam to save Luc.

He took the decision out of her hands. “I’ll get him,” he said cheerfully, as if the alternative never occurred to him.

“Adam! Don’t!”

He gave her a smile that reminded her curiously of Michael. He was supremely confident in his own abilities. Not because he was the most amazing human being who ever lived. No, he had the insouciance of youth on his side. Invulnerable. Inviolate. “I can do this. Don’t worry, Nikita.”

It briefly ran through her mind that Adam shouldn’t be addressing her by her first name, but a moment later, she realized that if Adam didn’t make it back down from the roof, it wouldn’t matter. Nothing would matter.

“Luc! Stay where you are, honey!” she called.

Luc turned to see where his mother was, and the sheer height of being three stories up made him dizzy. He never should have looked down. “M-mommy?” he stammered, dropping the plane.

He was too afraid to look. He should have. The plane glided back and forth in zigzag fashion, gradually approaching the ground. It would have landed safely except for a random gust of wind that sent it spiraling out of control. It went into a steep dive and abruptly crashed, its nose buried deep in the dirt. It was the only piece of the plane left intact.

All at once she was aware that someone else was standing next to her. She might have guessed. Chris. “He broke my plane, Mom,” he protested, interrupting himself when he saw the distress in his mother’s light blue eyes.

He didn’t even think; he automatically wrapped his arms around Nikita, holding onto her as tightly as he could. “I’m sorry, Mom.”

Sasha joined them a moment later, his eyes mesmerized by the sight of Adam crawling inch by inch along the roof towards Luc. “How did Luc get up there?”

Chris felt his mother shiver. “The important thing is, how is he going to get down from there?” Without killing either of them, Nikita finished non-verbally.

To Nikita’s surprise, Chris replied, without a trace of jealousy, “Adam can do it. He’ll get him down, Mom.”

“Honey, I know I never discussed this with—“

Suddenly Chris looked very serious. And very mature. “It’s okay, Mom.” He smiled, and his entire face softened. “It’s…um…kinda cool having an older brother for a change.”

Nikita felt close to tears. How did she and Michael get so lucky? Biting her lip, she looked intently into her son’s eyes, so like her own, and whispered, “Oh, sweetie, no one could ever replace you, you know that?”

He nodded. “I know.”

***

Luc lay on his stomach, clinging to the solid texture of the roof beneath him. Squeezing his eyes shut, he wished that he had never gotten the bright idea of trying to make Chris’ plane fly in the first place. He was so scared. He had never been so scared in his whole life.

At last Adam reached Luc. “Hey, munchkin. What are you doing up so high?”

Luc opened his eyes and smiled tearfully. Sniffling, he wiped his nose on the sleeve of his jacket. “I dunno.”

“Did you come to rescue me?”

“I dunno.” Adam smiled kindly at the five-year old. “Do you need rescuing?”

Luc nodded, so slightly that Adam could have missed it if he hadn’t been looking so closely. “Maybe jus-just a l-little.”

“Okay then.”

Adam wrapped his arms around the small boy, and Luc wound himself around the teenager’s body. “Think you can hang on while I climb back down?”

Luc nodded again, this time more vehemently. “Do I hafta look?”

“Nope. You can just pretend you’re part of *me*, okay?”

Luc obediently buried his head under Adam’s chin. “’kay.”

***

Adam was just starting to climb down when Luc began to sob. “What if you f-f-fall?”

“I won’t.”

“But what if? What if?” Luc wailed.

Adam stroked Luc’s hair, feeling the fine tremors racing through the child’s body. “Do you believe your Mom can do just about anything?” he whispered.

Luc nodded solemnly. “Y-yes. She’s the b-best.”

Adam felt Luc’s belief in his mother bolster both their spirits. “Well, so do I. So if *I* fall? She’ll just have to catch us, won’t she?”

“She won’t let us fall.”

Adam could hear the clarity in the careful way Luc pronounced those words. “No, she won’t let us fall,” Adam echoed.

As he felt the boy relax against him, Adam sighed with relief, thinking, There are damn few people I would trust to catch me. Thank God she’s down there.

Chapter 9

“Jamie!”

“Yeah, Pete?” James surreptitiously wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead. He couldn’t be perspiring. What was he doing that was so labor-intensive? Just…just…waiting on his significant other. Hand and foot.

“Could you get me a glass of water?”

“Another one?” James couldn’t keep from saying.

“Please?”

That did it. James couldn’t turn down an entreaty like that one. When Smoke uttered anything in that low growl, James melted like butter. “Okay, mate,” he replied in his familiar Aussie drawl.

“I like that,” Smoke whispered, his light blue-gray eyes catching fire like so much kindling.

“Like what?”

Smoke blushed intensely, and for a moment, James wondered just how far down that blush went. “When you call me your mate.”

James looked puzzled, then startled as he suddenly realized that this would not be a good time to explain to Smoke that the word had more than one meaning. He sat down on the bed, gazing affectionately at his lover. “That’s what you are, Pete. My mate.”

Restlessly running his thumb over Smoke’s lips, which were healing nicely in the aftermath of the assault, James contemplated kissing him. Unfortunately, there were very few places on Smoke’s slender frame that were *not* covered in bruises or abrasions of varying colors. Changing the subject to distract himself from making love to him right then and there, James asked, “How do your ribs feel?”

Smoke shifted, an involuntary wince escaping his control. “Umm…a bit better, I think.”

All at once James brightened. “Hey, how would you like to take a walk later? Get some exercise? It’d be good for you.”

Smoke shivered. “Do you think I should, Jamie? It’s so cold out today.” As if just the thought made him cold, Smoke pulled the covers up to his neck, his fingers peeking over the top.

“Pete?” James frowned. Lightly stroking Smoke’s cheek with his fingertip, James pondered the change in his lover. “Are you afraid to go outside?”

Smoke shook his head. He wasn’t *afraid*. He had been through much, much worse. Alone. When he was much younger and completely unprepared.

“But you haven’t been out since…y’know, since that night.”

“It’s not that, Jamie.” Smoke averted his face, all too expressive and all too readable by his partner.

“But it *is* something, right?”

Smoke closed his eyes. How could he admit that he loved being spoiled by James? That he loved spending his days in bed, a la Camille, just so that James could cosset and comfort him? Mind you, he *wanted* to get better. He wanted to return to school. He wanted to return to his job taking care of the kennels. But most of all, he wanted, no, *longed* for the day when he and James could make love again.

That was the tradeoff of all this tea and sympathy. The more fragile Smoke appeared, the more affectionate James became. Up to a very important point. Smoke was certain that James was convinced that they shouldn’t make love until Smoke’s ribs were totally healed.

It might be months. Smoke was damned if he would wait that long.

“Jamie…” Smoke whispered, his eyes suddenly bright and seeking. “You know what I need…” he purred.

James shook his head. Not because the unspoken question tried his intellect. He knew that they both needed to reaffirm their love in the physical sense. But he would never willingly hurt Smoke, and hurting him seemed all too likely, given the nature of his injuries.

Maybe. Oh, hell, maybe *he* was the one who had issues. With his own powerlessness to prevent Smoke’s assault. With the multi-colored bruises a constant in-his-face reminder of what happened.

“Jamie?” Smoke sat up with great difficulty, clutching at James’ hand for balance. Nearly exhausted by the effort, he studied his lover. “Jamie, we need to talk.”

James lowered his head with a sigh. Plucking anxiously at the comforter that covered his partner, James whispered almost inaudibly, “I should’ve been there, Pete. I should’ve kept you safe.”

Smoke’s improbably light eyes widened in astonishment. “*You* should’ve kept *me*? I was a street fighter way back, Jamie. You—you’re a—a—teacher!”

James swung around to stare at Smoke. “You don’t think I could have?”

“That’s not what I said. Jamie…” Smoke reached out and caressed the back of James’ hand.

James’ deep blue eyes glistened with unshed tears. “You came so close to—“ He swallowed hard. “To—to d-dying. I—I don’t want to lose you, Pete.”

“I don’t want to lose you either, Jamie. I love you.”

“Oh, Pete.”

Smoke placed his hands on James’ shoulders and pulled himself closer, even though it hurt. Kissing James’ ear, he whispered, “I need you. Please.”

James started to shake his head, but Smoke caught his face between his hands. Fear was evident in James’ eyes now. “But what if I hurt y--?”

“What if you do, Jamie?” Smoke kissed him tenderly, feeling the tiny gasp of breath that marked James’ surprise.

“Then we’ll both know I’m still alive,” Smoke whispered against his mouth. “Alive…and well…and loved.”

“Always, Pete.”

“Show me.”

And he did.

Chapter 10

It was a good thing that Adam was able to rescue Luc successfully. The look on Michael’s face gave away nothing. But if they could have looked inside, they would have seen the emotional turmoil swirling around his gut. Christ, he hadn’t been this afraid since…they first escaped Section. And that wasn’t because they faced almost certain death at every turn. It was because he feared losing the only thing that still mattered to him. Nikita.

He listened to the entire story, start to finish, his expression never changing. For a moment, he thought, I should have been here. But he dismissed that as so much fleeting guilt.

Michael thrust a hand through Nikita’s long pale hair, anchoring her body to his. He glanced at her, wondering if she could feel the fine tremors racing through him. Not from excitement, but from fear. How would she feel about that? Her dark knight trembling? Her most ardent protector shivering where he stood?

Her gaze caught and held him. She knew. She always knew. Emotional, intuitive…she kept his heart safely in her grasp. His hand tightened almost convulsively on her hair, but she didn’t flinch. Her light blue eyes softened as they took in his face. So familiar. So beloved.

“Michael, they’re both okay.”

He nodded absently.

“Luc thinks he had an adventure,” she said with a chuckle. “Adam stayed calm through the whole thing. You would have been proud of him, Michael. Really.”

She squeezed Michael’s hand lightly, and he felt warmth begin to flood back into his body, which had gone strangely cold minutes before, almost as though he were in shock. “I know how you feel,” she whispered conspiratorially.

His now-dark grey eyes flickered across her face. His other hand came up to cup her cheek, and she leaned into it, savoring the gentle caresses that came afterwards. “Michael?” she said softly.

“Your son saved our son.”

His hands released her, only to pull her closer, as he buried his face against the side of her neck. “They’re both ours now, doucette.”

She closed her eyes and held him, pushing aside several clinging tendrils of silky brown hair to splay her fingers across the nape of his neck. “Yes, they are.”

It was as if the world had been righted somehow. This was the way things were meant to be.

***

When dinnertime came, everyone held their collective breath as Michael sat down at the table. As usual, Luc enthusiastically broke the silence. “Daddy! Daddy! I got stuck up on the roof today! But Adam res-res-ummm--?” He glanced at his half-brother, and Adam smiled.

“Rescued?” Adam supplied.

“That’s it!” Luc beamed at the teenager. “He rescued me!”

Adam’s dark brown eyes slid carefully over his father’s face, taking note of his calm demeanor. He had been so sure that Michael would react predictably and angrily. Instead Michael picked up a spoon and helped himself to the mashed potatoes.

Frowning, Adam asked, “Don’t you want to know how he got up there?”

Michael met his oldest son’s gaze evenly. “I assume he climbed.”

Adam shrugged. “Then wouldn’t you like to know why he climbed up there?”

Michael smiled at Luc before turning back to face Adam again. “I imagine he thought he could make the plane fly.”

“Aren’t you going to forbid him to go up there again?” Adam asked, completely perplexed at Michael’s non-reaction.

“Luc, would you get me a glass of water please?” Michael asked his youngest son, effectively banishing him from the table for a moment or two.

Once Luc was in the kitchen, Michael addressed Adam, “I’m sure nearly falling off the roof of a three-story house was more than enough to convince Luc not to do it again. There would be no point in me scaring him half to death at this point, would there?”

“But…” Adam almost looked hurt. “How will he know that you care what happens to him?”

They were interrupted by Luc’s return, a full glass of water teetering precariously in his hands. “Here, Daddy. Didn’t spill any.”

“Thank you, Luc.” Michael accepted the glass of water and put it down firmly on the table before continuing. “Luc?”

Luc looked up into his father’s face expectantly. “Yes, Daddy?”

Michael reached out to grasp both of Luc’s shoulders. “I’m glad you didn’t get hurt today.”

“Me, too.” Luc scooted closer to his father, pulling his head down for a sloppy kiss. “I was scared, Daddy. Till Adam came,” he admitted, albeit in a whisper no one but Michael could hear. “I’m glad you didn’t yell at me. I won’t ever do it again,” he said with a slight shudder.

“I know,” Michael agreed, emotion choking him despite his considerable control. “I love you, Luc.”

Luc wound his arms around Michael’s neck so tightly, it was almost a stranglehold. “Me, too, Daddy.”

Adam felt tears spring into his eyes at the sight of Michael’s obvious devotion to Luc. He wished—he wished that things could have been different for him and Michael. He wished that *he* could have had that kind of relationship with him. He—Jeez, he was too old to cry like a little kid.

Michael looked up, his own eyes wet, and reached out a hand to Adam. “Come.”

Adam started to refuse. He felt completely self-conscious, not to mention embarrassed, that he even betrayed such a meager show of emotion. But there was something about Michael’s expression that drew him in. He was allowing Adam to see something that few people could.

He *did* care. And he was letting him in. Close enough to hurt.

“Please,” Michael beckoned.

“D-Dad,” Adam’s voice broke. As soon as he reached Michael, Michael pulled him into an embrace just as snug as the one that enveloped Luc.

“Thank you for saving Luc,” Michael whispered, his breath ruffling Adam’s hair.

Adam closed his eyes and willed himself not to cry.

“I’m so proud of what you did,” Michael admitted, every word feeling as if it were pulled from the depths he never let anyone see.

Adam couldn’t help it. A single tear trickled down his cheek, surely the prelude to more. “Daddy,” he choked out.

“Maybe I didn’t tell you when you first came, but…I love you, Adam. More than I can tell you.”

The words might be softly spoken, but the emotion behind them was so intense, no one else dared speak, for fear of disturbing them.

Adam summoned a strength he rarely used to acknowledge feelings that had been left hanging in the balance all those years ago. “I love you, too, Daddy.”

And Michael wept. The years might be lost to him forever, but his son was not.

Chapter 11—NC-17

“I’m telling!”

“No, you’re not!”

“Am, too!”

“Are not!”

A high-pitched squeal rent the early morning air. Madeline stalked briskly to the front door and threw it open. The resounding crash that followed could be heard quite clearly next door at the Samuelle house.

Nikita looked out her kitchen window and smiled. Michael stood behind her, his arms wrapped snugly around her waist, his grasp at once possessive and loving. “Sounds like someone got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.”

Michael rested his chin on her shoulder, gazing in the direction of the Hunter house. “Madeline sounds like that every morning, Kita.”

She half-turned in his arms to face him, a questioning look in her light blue eyes. “Do *we* sound like that, Michael?”

“No,” he replied tersely, his lips curving slightly at the corners, as if he were suppressing a full-blown smile.

“Ever?” she prodded.

“Well….” His pause was too long for comfort. Nikita gave her husband an impatient shove, but he refused to budge, using her momentum to pull her even more tightly against him. His hands slid down her back, and he could feel her shiver. The fact that he could still provoke such a reaction after so many years of marriage exhilarated him.

His eyelids slowly drifting shut, he nudged her lips apart with his own, sudden desire seizing him by the throat. He kissed her rapaciously and so thoroughly that her mouth, rubbed free of lipstick, looked deliciously pink and swollen in the aftermath. “Mmm…” she murmured when they broke apart for a much-needed breath. “What was that for?”

His tongue darted out to moisten his lips, and for a moment, she was totally disconcerted, so much so that she forgot what she had asked. Until he spoke.

He did smile then, as he bent his head to nuzzle the side of her face. “I was thanking you for not being Madeline.”

Nikita chuckled, her pale eyes darkening with renewed passion. “Well,” she quipped flirtatiously, “did I mention how glad I am that you’re not Neil?”

He claimed her mouth again, leaving no doubt in her mind that there could never be anyone like Michael. With a heavy sigh, he reluctantly stepped back, his arms releasing their grip on her. “This,” he said, indicating the relative proximity of their bodies, “could lead to something if we don’t watch out.”

She deliberately slid her hands under his sweater, wishing that the weather were warmer, just so she could touch his bare skin. “Do you have to go to the University today?”

“I could—“ Nikita caressed his chest through the thin shirt he wore beneath his sweater. She heard his sharp intake of breath and she knew that she had him. Right where she wanted him.

“—go in later,” Michael finished in a choked voice.

She bit her lip provocatively. “How much later?”

He smiled enigmatically.

***

Madeline counted to ten. Then she started over. Holding her temper had never been this difficult in Section One. In fact, some thought she had ice running through her veins.

“Neil!”

Connor looked curiously at his mother. “Dad’s got office hours, Mom.”

Madeline glared at her son. “I know,” she said glacially.

She screamed again. “Neil!”

Neil appeared on the second-floor landing, his lab coat unbuttoned, his hair askew. He looked like he was in complete and utter disarray. “Maddy?”

Madeline’s eyes narrowed. Connor shrank back. He knew that look. That was the look that said Mom was going to hack Dad to pieces. Just once, just once he wished that Dad would love her a little less and—and—tell her to knock it off.

“Neil, come down here right now!”

Neil smiled. It was a lazy, amused smile that belied the inner tension he felt. He had had enough. They had drawn a line in the sand a long, long time ago.

And Maddy just crossed it.

“Why don’t you come up here, Madeline?” he asked politely, intentionally using her full name.

“There are patients up there,” she hissed, hinting at the lack of privacy.

“That didn’t seem to bother you before,” he reminded her, a curious glint in his blue eyes.

Oh, so it was going to be like that, eh? Madeline shrugged her shoulders back and determinedly marched up the stairs, ignoring the incredulous looks of her children.

Connor quickly made peace with Kady. “Hey, if I were you, kid, I’d get the heck outta Dodge! There might even be a nuclear explosion!”

***

Not exactly.

Madeline eyed her husband the way a predator examines its next potential meal. “How dare you speak to me that way,” she said in a low-pitched voice.

“How dare *you*! Everything bugs you! The house bugs you! The kids bug you! Even *I* bug you! Well, guess what, Maddy? Get over it!”

“Get over what, Neil?” she growled.

“Whatever it is that’s making you this way!”

“What if it’s *you* that’s making me this way?”

Neil started to nod, a fierce look in his eye that marked him as someone to be reckoned with. “You know what you need?”

“No, why don’t you tell me, Neil?” she sneered.

“This!” With that, he grabbed her and slammed her against the wall, so hard that she gasped for breath. “Neil!”

Breathing harshly, Neil covered her mouth with his, grinding his hips against her lower body. When he tore himself away finally, she covered her mouth with the back of her hand. “Neil!”

“Oh, quit acting like an outraged maiden, Maddy! You wanted to be treated like fine china. I treated you that way. And where did it get us? It got us here! Fighting over nothing! Do you know why, Maddy? Goddammit, do you know why?”

Madeline flattened herself against the wall, as if she could make herself invisible to that penetrating glare. “Wh-why?”

“Cause you really need something else. Do you know what it is, Maddy?” His voice was growing calmer, lower, more hypnotic.

Without waiting for an answer, he buried his face in her long dark hair, his teeth tugging at her unadorned earlobe. His hand slid under her skirt, seeking the vee of her legs.

She was hot, wet, tensed to go off like a firecracker. He was harder than he’d ever been in his life.

Her dark eyes flew open and met his. Her chest gently heaved as he palmed her.

“What are you going to do?” she whispered.

He licked her lips before he took her mouth in a punishing kiss. “Something I should have done a long time ago. Fuck you senseless.”

Chapter 12—NC-17

Nikita twined her hands in Michael’s hair, holding him fast when he would have moved away. He blinked at her curiously, his mutable green-grey eyes seeming vaguely out of focus. “What?”

“I want you.”

Nikita kissed him. No gentle meeting of the mouths was this, but a defiant claiming of the dark knight’s heart and soul. “I—I want you, too, doucette. Let’s go upstairs.”

“I can’t wait that long.”

With a sweep of her arm, Nikita cleared the kitchen table. Luckily, there was little breakable on it. Not that she would have cared. She hoisted herself up onto the table, pulling Michael after her, their mouths joined once again. Her legs spread wide, she continued to kiss him, even as she shrugged out of her jacket, leaving her clad only in a long-tailed shirt and faded jeans.

She unbuttoned her jeans, and Michael thrust his hands down the sides, skimming them off her long legs almost in one movement. Michael gazed at her in wide-eyed wonder as he realized that she wore nothing else. His nimble fingers made short work of unbuttoning her shirt, and the long tails hung open, exposing her breasts even as they covered her hips.

He pushed her knees apart and settled her heels on either side of his shoulders. She lay back, her long hair swinging from side to side, as she rested on her arms. On his knees, he was at exactly the right height to pleasure her and he lost no time in doing so. “Ohh,” she whimpered.

A moment later, she protested, “But Michael, you’re still dressed. That’s not fair.”

When his tongue enthusiastically lapped at the silken flesh between her legs, she forgot her complaint. Now there was nothing between them but the fire burning out of control. He nibbled and licked and stroked, finding the taste of her on his lips a natural aphrodisiac. “I don’t want to come without you,” she managed to say, finding herself increasingly breathless.

“You won’t,” he assured her. Pausing in his ministrations, he stood only long enough to unzip his pants, his hardened length already beading up with nature’s lubrication. In one smooth movement, he entered her. He shifted her bottom as close to the edge of the table as he dared, making his entry deeper and harder.

His lips latching onto her breast, he suckled hard, feeling the fine tremors that signaled release making their way through her body. “Now,” he whispered, thrusting faster than before. For a long moment, it felt as though they hung there, right over the precipice, feeling their breath catch in their respective throats. Nikita arched her back and crossed her ankles behind Michael’s head, pulling him into her one last time. With a soft groan, he spilled his seed within her snug, warm confines, savoring the quivering aftermath of such a turbulent coming together.

They kissed repeatedly, as though they couldn’t get enough of each other. Such kissing made them strangely preoccupied. It was as if no one else existed.

All at once that illusion was shattered.

Michael heard someone approaching, but he had no idea who it was. Withdrawing quickly, he managed to clean himself up before whoever it was came into the kitchen. He was just adjusting himself when his daughter entered. Of course, it was her. Who else would it be but—

“Faith!” Michael exclaimed guiltily, certain that his cheeks were flushing bright red.

He turned to face her, unconsciously shielding Nikita from view. “Faith! What are you doing up so early on a Saturday?”

While Michael was talking, Nikita was able to button her shirt, but she could not reach her jeans nor could she put them on unobtrusively enough to escape her sharp-eyed daughter’s notice. Deciding that the tails would cover enough of her body, Nikita crossed her legs casually, concealing the fact that she wore no underwear.

“I dunno, Dad,” Faith said, selecting an apple from the refrigerator. Biting into the apple with a loud crunch, she said innocently, “What are *you two* doing in the kitchen?”

“What do you mean?” Nikita responded curtly, hoping that would be enough to deflect her all-too-observant daughter.

Faith giggled, a charming effect ruined by the next words out of her mouth. “I mean, come on, Mom, aren’t you guys getting a little old to be doing it on the kitchen table?”

Nikita crossed her arms in front of her chest, knowing that there was no possible way that Faith could know what they were doing. Nevertheless, she felt the sting of being discovered.

Jiggling her leg restlessly over her knee, Nikita replied crossly, “I don’t feel old. Do you feel old, Michael?”

Michael gave his wife an amused look before putting on a sterner face for his eldest daughter. Kicking her jeans surreptitiously further under the kitchen table, he said, “No, I don’t. Why do you ask, Faith?”

Faith snorted, a sound that only teenagers seem capable of making in response to their parents. “You guys are so funny.” At her father’s continued stare, she backed off. A little. “Cool.” She giggled despite herself. “But funny.”

Michael put his arm around Nikita, and she pulled his head down for a kiss. His hand slid unconsciously up her thigh and within moments, Faith had something else to say.

Clearing her throat, she said, “Sheesh, you guys could at least wait till I leave.”

Nikita smiled at Faith even as her fingers stroked her husband’s clean-shaven cheek. Faith waved blithely on her way out, muttering to herself about parents and sex.

Michael raised an eyebrow at Nikita, questioning the kiss, and she said, “What? It was the only way to get her to leave. If there’s anything Faith hates, it’s watching somebody *else* making out.”

Michael laughed. Softly running his finger under her chin, tipping her face up to look intently into her eyes, he asked, “Was that the only reason you kissed me?”

Nikita snorted. Just like her daughter. “What do *you* think?”

He lowered his head to nip at her neck, sighing, “I want you again.”

“Ooh, you *are* going to be late, Michael. What will the University think?” she chided him.

He looked at her quite blankly and said, “What University?”

Chapter 13—NC-17

Neil escorted his wife into his office, treating her in much the same way as any other patient. The waiting room was a bit on the crowded side. It was Saturday, and the office was only open until noon. But suddenly all those complaints that hadn’t seemed serious enough to warrant a visit to the doctor earlier in the week couldn’t wait until Monday.

Miranda was manning the desk. Once she started working with Neil, she managed to cut costs and streamline the overall organization of the office. She was a godsend. But Walter refused to let her work full-time. “Gotta have my woman with me, in case I need a jumpstart for my heart,” he said. Still, Neil got custody of the miracle worker for a half day on Saturdays in addition to whatever time she could spare during the week.

“Hey, boss,” she began as Neil strode past her. But she never got the opportunity to finish that sentence because Neil was a man in a hurry. Oh, well, she decided, if anything comes up, I can always call him on the intercom.

A moment after Neil and Madeline entered his office, the door slammed shut with an uncharacteristically loud thud. Another equally loud thump followed. Jeez, what were they doing in there? It sounded like they were moving furniture.

Miranda gave the door a quizzical look, but returned to studying the appointment calendar. There was another sound now. Like sliding. Like cloth rasping against—

Now what? Miranda pressed a finger to the intercom and queried, “Everything all right in there?”

Neil sounded out of breath, but otherwise fine. “Yes. Just—uh—knocked a few charts off the desk.”

She nodded absently. She had gotten used to Neil’s casual way of running things, and his personal life was his own. Hey, what was she saying? The man didn’t have much of a personal life, married to Ms. Unapproachable. Although…now that she thought of it, Madeline had a distinctly warm glow about her this morning.

She snorted under her breath. Maybe the damn witch got herself knocked up again. She paused in her perusal of the page in front of her. Nahhh. Neil wouldn’t touch her with a ten-foot pole.

***

Maybe not. But then again, it was hardly a ten-foot pole.

Madeline. His immaculate Madeline, whose tongue was sharp enough to etch glass, was half-naked in his arms, her back against the door. Neil had removed his pants but nothing else, leaving him clad in an oversized white scrub top and paisley boxer shorts. To his surprise, Madeline had come inside and undressed, folding her skirt neatly over one of his office chairs. As nice as you please. As nice as a lady of noble birth inviting the Queen to tea.

They hadn’t spoken more than two words since they left the second-floor landing. Madeline’s blouse, a lace concoction that owed more to shrewd construction than fabric, lay open. Her front-clasp bra was unhooked; her breasts, still firm and round, were clasped none too gently by her husband.

But more to the point would be the observation that contrary to popular expectations, Madeline was thoroughly enjoying the manhandling she was receiving. Neil expertly parted her thighs, inserting himself with a powerful thrust that briefly lifted Madeline off her feet. Her head fell back, connecting with the door with a dull sound that resonated through the room.

“Oh, my God!,” Madeline moaned.

Neil stopped moving at once. “Ssh, we have to be quiet,” he whispered, putting a finger to her lips. Her dark eyes gleamed with uncharacteristic mischief. “We do?”

“Yes, you little troublemaker, we do,” he said, kissing her longingly.

“Suppose someone comes?” she asked, a wicked glint in her eye.

“Only one allowed to come is you,” he breathed into her open mouth.

“And you,” she insisted with a chuckle.

“Oh, yesss,” he hissed. “The doctor is in.”

***

It didn’t take long. But it was a wild ride while it lasted. Neil’s hands clutched at the creamy skin he claimed with such rapacious fervor, his fingers leaving imprints there, as he tried to achieve a closeness that was physically impossible. He was on her and inside her and all around her. All at the same time.

He wasn’t sure who was more stunned. Himself at taking her this way. Or Maddy for accepting the outrageous pounding of his flesh against hers.

It wasn’t making love. It was pure, unadulterated passion. The likes of which they had not shared in a long time. But wait—

“Neil, we’re backing up out here. Will you be ready soon?”

“Yes!” Neil shouted, loudly enough to be heard through the door.

If Miranda found it strange that Neil wasn’t using the intercom, she wisely didn’t say anything. There were any number of strange things to be found in the Samuelle family et environs. It didn’t pay to get worked up over most of them.

Madeline’s delicate little noises became out and out groans and whimpers. In an effort to prevent discovery, Neil clamped his hand over her mouth. Madeline’s eyes grew wide, and he could see his own excitement reflected in those dark depths. At the moment of maximum impact, her entire body trembled as she fell out into space. She bit his hand, and he would never be sure whether it was by design or accident. All he knew was it was the hottest thing that she had ever done to him. The second that her teeth touched his skin, he was gone.

They came together with a massive shudder that shook the door frame. Miranda looked up briefly, then shook her head. She hoped that Neil knew what he was doing. There were other women, less complicated women who would be more than willing to share his bed.

She hated to interrupt, but she was getting really tired of staring into the eyes of the exasperated woman opposite her desk. Pressing the intercom button one more time, she asked, “Would you like me to reschedule your appointments?”

The answer was a long time coming, but it was an emphatic “no”. Neil slumped against the door, his hands braced on either side of Madeline, and when he looked at her, he had to wonder what was holding her up. Towards the end, she had gone completely boneless in his arms, to the point where he was afraid that she would slide right down to the floor if he released her.

Spent and breathless, he contemplated the enigmatic woman he married. “Maddy? Are you okay with this?”

Suddenly a wild grin broke out across her previously impassive face. “More ‘n okay, Neil,” she murmured, half to herself.

“You are?” he asked, somewhat incredulous at the transformation in his wife.

“Damn straight. When can we do this again?”

He slid his hand down her body, caressing her gently between her legs. She was still hot and wet and sticky, but instead of rushing off to shower, she plainly invited further exploration by raising her knee. Finding the nub hidden deep within the dark brown curls, he lightly ran a fingertip over it, feeling it throb with renewed interest.

“How about now?”

She pulled his hand to her lips and licked his fingers, one by one, like a dainty cat. But Neil’s mouth dropped open when she took one finger into her mouth and suckled, the resulting desire arrowing directly to his groin. “Okay,” she drawled.

She began taking off the rest of her clothing, leaving a trail across the floor of his office as she did a slow walk to his desk. Peeking coyly over her shoulder at him, she whispered, “But don’t think you can run me just because I let you take over this time.”

In that moment, Neil knew that he had never felt so powerful in his life. He held the key now, and he’d be damned if he would give it back. Depressing the button on the intercom, he directed Miranda, “Hold all my calls. Oh, and—cancel all my appointments, too. I’ve got a long hard day ahead of me.”

He smiled.

Ascension Part 2