Love Thieves #22: Purgatory

Chapter 1

It wasn’t dark anymore. That was the first thing he noticed. The sun was coming up over the horizon, gilding everything it touched with a slightly golden, quasi-pink color. Including Faith’s hair.

That was the second thing that Connor noticed.

The third was…she was still lying in his arms. Her eyes were still closed, her hair glowing like burnished copper now. Connor’s arm ached where her head rested, but the moment that he shifted position, Faith protested, even in her sleep. Her soft grumbling filled his heart to overflowing.

He bent his head, nuzzling her cheek very lightly. Emboldened by the fact that she didn’t immediately wake up and start shouting, Connor kissed her. That did wake her up, but to his surprise, she didn’t look angry at all. She looked almost…confused…and then, the most beatific smile broke out across her face. “Pooh…” she breathed.

“Yeah,” he whispered back. Okay, it wasn’t the most original thing to say, but he was helpless against her beauty so early in the morning.

“You kept me from being eaten by bears last night,” she whispered.

Part of him felt compelled to point out that there were no bears, and that even if there had been, Connor could hardly stand up to a bear, no matter how much he loved the young girl in his embrace.

The other part of him, the one that was struck speechless simply by Faith’s proximity, agreed with her. But then again, he wasn’t sure if being with him right now was really that much safer than facing those bears.

“Um….”

Faith had such an expectant look on her face. Did she think he meant to confess his feelings? Again? Only to have her laugh in his face? Again? He wouldn’t. He would…not…say…a…freaking…word. He would just—

“I love you, Tig.” Oh, damn. Well, apparently, his head had other ideas. And it was obviously in collusion with his mouth.

She stopped smiling. Connor braced himself. This is it. She’s going to remind you of just how much she doesn’t feel the same way about you. What an idiot. Stupid, stupid, stupid….

“Oh, Pooh,” she said, the words leaving her mouth so achingly slowly that he couldn’t breathe.

“I was so afraid you didn’t care anymore.”

She was afraid that he didn’t care anymore? Wow. That was almost more than Connor’s young heart could take. “Then it’s…okay?”

“More than okay. Better than okay. We are so far beyond okay that—“

“I get the idea, Tig. I get the idea. I get…*you*.”

“Yeah, you do.” Faith’s eyelashes swept down to cover her eyes, then rose just as quickly, revealing eyes that were a vibrant green. “Think you can handle me? Some people think I’m…um…difficult.”

Connor’s fingers touched her cheek, and she leaned into his hand. “You’re worth the trouble,” he replied hoarsely.

She smiled tenderly, and suddenly Connor was struck by her resemblance to her mother. Everyone commented on Faith’s resemblance to Michael, but her facial expressions, if not the actual features or coloring, closely paralleled her mother’s.

“What are you doing?” Connor looked over Faith’s head to the source of the voice. That was not a happy voice.

Faith looked up and rolled her eyes comically. “Uh oh, busted. Y’know, Sasha, you’re not cut out for this kind of thing. Now, my brother, Chris, he actually enjoys breaking people up and—“

“Consider me his stand-in,” said Sasha firmly.

“But we’re not doing anything, Sasha,” protested Connor.

“Let’s keep it that way, okay? I sure as hell wouldn’t want to be the one to have to tell her father and your mother what you two are up to.”

Faith chuckled. “You’re scared of Dad?”

“Not scared. I just wouldn’t want to…I dunno…disappoint him. You’re his daughter. Don’t you feel that?”

Faith nodded. “Yeah.”

Sasha reached out a hand to pull Faith to her feet, but Connor beat him to it. Standing at her side like the fierce protector that he wanted to be, Connor met Sasha’s eyes evenly. “I would never hurt Faith. You know that, Sasha.”

Sasha gave Connor a sympathetic look. He leaned over the younger boy, whispering into his ear, “It’s easy for things to get out of control, Con. Trust me, I’ve been there.”

Connor’s eyes widened. “You and Sk--?”

Sasha shook his head. “Not yet. I gave my word, Con, and to me, that means something.”

“It means something to me, too.”

“Good.” Sasha turned and winked at Faith. “Don’t be in such a hurry to grow up. It gets harder as you get older.”

“What does?”

“Life.”

With that, they began to break camp and gather their belongings.

***

“How do you think Mom is doing?” Faith asked Sasha. They kept to the sideroads by day, sometimes threading their way through the forest, but they were able to use main roads once it got dark, making it easier for them to blend in.

That was something that Sasha really didn’t like thinking about. Not just Nikita, but his Dad. “I asked Emmy to check on her, too. I hope you don’t mind,” he offered.

“Not at all.” They walked along in companionable silence for several more minutes.

Jazz was up ahead, on point, and for miles, they had seen nothing but one another’s faces. Suddenly Jazz shouted, “Get back! Get back! There’s a car coming over the hill!”

They were at the bottom of the incline. Sasha shaded his eyes with his hand. He could just make out an indistinct shape that must be the car in question. “Shit! It’s coming fast, too!”

Sasha shoved Faith out of the way, meaning to get her to safety that much quicker. But she fell, landing on her hands and knees. Before Sasha could grab her, he saw Connor running back to the road. “No, I’ve got her! Go back!” Sasha yelled, waving his arms frantically.

The car was bearing down on all of them. Sasha tugged Faith into his arms, trying desperately to help the young girl to her feet. Connor looked stricken, and there was simply no way he could stay put and watch from relative safety.

“Faith!” he screamed as the car hurtled closer.

Connor reached Sasha’s side at the last possible moment, and together, they pulled Faith out of the path of certain danger. As they stood gasping for breath at the side of the road, Jazz raced back to them. “Are you all right?”

With a hideous squealing of brakes, the car that literally flew by stopped. The group turned and stared as the car began to back up. Towards them.

“Oh, man…” Sasha said in a barely audible voice.

“It’s—“

“Yeah.”

“It sure as hell is.”

“Damn.”

“What should we say?”

“Deny everything.” If there was one lesson Jazz had learned, that was it. Rule #1: Don’t get caught. Rule #2: If you get caught, deny everything. Rule #3: Wait, there was no Rule #3.

Rule #1 and Rule #2 pretty much covered everything.

Or they used to.

He had a feeling that their files were going to need major updates.

Chapter 2

“Sasha?” Declan exclaimed incredulously, obviously aghast at the sight of his son standing in the middle of the road. Miles from home.

“Da, I can explain,” Sasha said, nervously winding a long strand of dark brown hair around his finger.

The transformation was nothing short of amazing. To see a boy Sasha’s age go from a self-confident leader to an insecure pup, apprehensively awaiting his father’s imminent explosion.

“You damn well better, boyo,” Declan spat angrily.

He felt rather than saw Michael’s hand on his shoulder. It was a comforting presence as well as a reminder to keep things under control. Declan didn’t even try to smile, however. That would be a lie even he couldn’t stomach.

“Go on.”

Sasha began to explain how he and the others came to be on a deserted road so far away from home, finishing with, “So you see, Da, I had to come. Faith was going to go anyway, and I figured that they needed me to protect them.” He smiled winsomely.

He needn’t have bothered.

Faith stomped on his foot, provoking a loud “Hey!” followed by a sharp “OW!” Sasha glared at the young girl, fervently biting his lip to keep from shouting out something inappropriate.

“You idiot! I don’t need protecting!”

“You do so, you little—“

“I do not. I’m a Samuelle! I don’t need your protection or your help, thank you very much!”

Connor looked askance at the love of his life. “But Tig, you don’t mean you don’t need my help, right?”

Faith’s green eyes fairly glowed with renewed rage. “I don’t need anybody’s help, Connor! What part of that do you not understand?”

Connor sighed. So much for his romantic dream of walking off into the proverbial sunset with Faith. He wondered how many more years he would have to spend convincing her that they were meant to be together. He wondered if he even had the heart for it. Then he looked into those beautiful green eyes, throwing showers of emerald green sparks every which way, and he smiled. He couldn’t give up now. Things were getting…interesting.

Only Jazz stood apart from the others. He was feeling very much like the new kid on the block, and he wasn’t sure where he fit into the scheme of things. Or if he even did. In a way, he was just along for the ride.

Michael took his hand off Declan’s shoulder and focused his compelling grey-green gaze upon his daughter. “Faith!” he said with a little more intensity than he normally used.

“Um…yeah, Dad?” She twisted her face out of its usual shape, as if she were trying desperately to puzzle out something, and Michael wondered if it were an act or the real thing.

“Do you have any idea what could have happened to you out here?”

“I—“

“And your mother? What kind of hell is your mother going through, wondering where you are, whether you’re hurt, or even dead?’

“But Dad—“

Sasha could tell the exact moment when Faith realized the inevitability of Michael winning this particular argument.

“How could you do something so…monumentally stupid?” he hissed.

Suddenly Faith looked hurt. “But Daddy,” she said, her lower lip quivering, “we were coming to find you and Uncle Dec and Uncle Dav.”

“This isn’t something you can play at or squeak by with, Faith. This is real.”

“Daddy, st-stop.” Now Faith was on the verge of tears. “I was scared. We wanted to r-rescue you.”

Connor wanted to wrap his arms around her and hold her while she cried, but he knew that she would never accept such a public display of what she would consider weakness. So he settled for a longing look aimed in her direction, all the while knowing that she was far too preoccupied with disappointing her father to register Connor’s feelings.

All at once Declan put his hand on Michael’s shoulder, the gesture doing much the same thing for him as it did for Declan. Michael stared at his daughter for a long moment before he opened his arms, beckoning her inside his embrace.

Burying his face in Faith’s soft auburn hair, Michael closed his eyes and breathed her scent. His little girl. His little know-it-all. “Oh, God, you could have been killed out here,” he whispered, more to himself than to her.

As if she finally realized the enormity of the mission they had undertaken, Faith began to cry, hiding her face against her father’s broad shoulder. “I’m sorry, Daddy, so sorry,” she kept saying, her voice all but lost in such close contact with his jacket.

“Ssh,” he whispered back, winding his fingers through her hair, as if to reassure himself that she was there, alive and intact.

Declan shook his head slowly, as if he couldn’t quite get his mind to accept that Sasha had followed them. Tracked them. Successfully. Suddenly overcome by emotions that threatened to strangle him, Declan wordlessly begged Sasha to understand his plea.

Sasha’s dark brown eyes ran over Declan’s entire frame, searching for wounds. He breathed a sigh of relief when he found none. “Da…” he squeaked, sounding just like Sey.

He fell into his father’s arms, and Declan held him tighter than he ever had before. “I love you, kiddo,” he murmured against Sasha’s temple, knowing that to say anything louder would merely embarrass the adolescent.

“Me, too,” Sasha echoed, ever cognizant of other eyes and ears.

Davenport watched with a certain element of thank-God-my-kids-are-only-five, but as he well knew, it was only a matter of time. He slung an arm around Connor’s shoulder, telling the young boy without saying anything that he understood their need to protect. He had to. It was even more powerful in him, in Declan, in Michael. It was what brought them here. Away from the relative safety of home.

Jazz smiled, in that detached way of his, and Davenport grabbed the fourteen-year old boy by the scruff of his neck, catching a handful of long dark hair. “Hey, kid, they dragged you into this, too, huh?”

“I considered myself in good company,” came the muffled reply.

“Well, I reckon that’s a fair statement.”

The sound of slow clapping brought them all around. What? Who?

It was Adam.

“I got tired of waiting in the car. *Dad*.”

Faith’s head spun around, her shoulder-length hair whipping into her face. “What did you say?”

Michael closed his eyes and prayed.

“Me, too,” said Jason, spreading his good-ole-boy charm for all it was worth.

Sasha’s fingers tightened on Declan’s arms, the pressure so intense that it hurt. “Who’s he, Da?” he asked in a horrified rasp.

“Apparently, I’m your uncle, kid.”

Chapter 3

“Who are you?” Sasha repeated, sure there was something wrong with his hearing.

“Your uncle.”

Sasha blinked hard, then whispered to his father, “He looks just like Daddy.”

Declan whispered back, “He just looks like him.”

“Is he one of…*them*?”

As horrified as Sasha sounded to count one of his closest relatives amongst the “bad guys”, Declan felt ten times worse. They were using Jason. They were no better than the people they denigrated. How could he explain to Sasha, “He’s your uncle, but we’re just borrowing him, long enough to use him as leverage”?

Then as quickly as he second-guessed himself and the others, Declan heard Sey’s voice in his head, “We’re survivors, that’s what we are. We do what we have to do. To protect the family. Because without it, what do we have?”

The man in question interrupted Declan’s rumination. “What’s the problem, kid? Y’all don’t know me from a hole in the ground, so don’t go judging me on your Daddy’s say-so.”

“Speaking of which, where is my brother?”

“Home,” Declan said tersely, willing himself not to react to the man’s attempt to bait him into doing something he didn’t want to do.

“I can see the boy looks just like me, so obviously he’s my brother’s son. But I distinctly heard him call y’all Da. So who the hell are you?”

“No one important.” Declan felt Sasha’s fingers digging into his arm again, and he knew he would have to explain this to him later. Sasha clearly disapproved of Declan’s seeming disavowal of his relationship with Sey.

“I do believe the kid begs to differ with y’all.” Jason smiled at Sasha, but his attempt to be charming fell flat, as far as the near-teen was concerned.

Sasha knew Declan would disapprove, but he couldn’t help it. He could no more deny Declan was his father than he could Sey. “He’s my father,” Sasha said with a distinct edge to his voice.

“He is? Well, now, that’s mighty interesting, isn’t it?” Jason looked over the former operative and licked his lips. “Well, you do have a certain way with…*leather*,” he said, evidently appreciating the way the black material clung to Declan’s body.

Declan had no desire to get into a discussion of his or Jason’s sexual proclivities in front of the kids, but he had no control over his lover’s twin. Luckily for both of them, Adam got tired of waiting for his turn to wreak havoc.

“Excuse me. Can we cancel the reunion of the Brady Bunch and get this show back on the road?”

“Good idea,” Declan said quickly, thinking that the sooner they arrived home, the sooner they could cut Jason loose.

“Get in the car,” commanded Michael. Faith twisted around in his embrace, straining to see the older boy who claimed her father as his own.

“Sure thing. *Dad*.”

As the teenager walked away, Faith shouted, “He’s my Daddy, not yours!”

That got Adam’s attention. With a sharp pivot, he faced the young girl. Faith was almost ashen, distress written in every expressive feature. “As much as it pains me to admit it, he *is* my father.”

“Liar! Why don’t you go back where you came from?”

Adam’s lip curled in an unpleasant sneer. “I’d love to, little girl, but my mother’s dead.” The venom in Adam’s voice penetrated Michael’s preoccupation.

“Stop it, Adam.”

“I don’t think so, Dad. Especially since you’re the reason she’s no longer with us.”

“You take that back!” Faith wailed.

“Sorry, kid. It’s the truth!”

“I hate you!”

“Hate me all you want, but we’re still related.”

Faith wound her arms more tightly around her father’s neck. “I’m sorry about your mother,” she said shakily. Suddenly her green eyes glowed, their emerald depths the only color left in a face the color of parchment. “But you can’t have my Daddy!”

“I already got him,” Adam uttered with the arrogance of youth.

Connor slipped out of Davenport’s grasp and ran full-tilt at the older boy, knocking him down. He stood over Adam, his chest heaving, his eyes wild, declaring the battle lines to be observed. “Stay away from her,” Connor ground out.

Adam looked up at the eleven-year old with disdain. “Who’s going to make me?”

Almost as one, Michael, Declan and Davenport each took a full step forward. “I will,” they chorused.

Jazz, Sasha and Connor soon joined the older men, menace alive and well and thriving in their glittering eyes. “That goes double for me,” said Sasha, still feeling a compulsion to protect the others.

Adam threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, I’m sooo scared.”

Michael fixed his son with a deadly glare. “You should be.”

***

The trip home was tense and painful. Forced into close proximity with one another, Michael’s family nevertheless pretended that Jason and Adam were not there. Without conversation to distract them, everyone fell into an uneasy silence.

Declan stared out the window. He would never have imagined that Sey had a twin brother. And a thoroughly unlikable one at that. What Jason considered charm, Declan considered smarm. They were truly identical, right down to the puckish grin, and yet, Declan found himself wanting to steer clear of the young Comm op.

For Michael’s sake, Declan was willing to ignore his feelings towards Jason. They needed him. It was that simple. But once his usefulness was at an end, Declan could not wait to let him go.

Preferably as far away as possible.

Chapter 4

As they approached the Samuelle home, Declan’s heart lightened. Any time now, they could send Jason back where he obviously belonged. Adding to his brighter mood was the fact that soon he would see Sey again. It seemed like years since they parted.

When the car finally stopped, Declan’s heart quivered in anticipation. Grabbing Sasha by the arm, he practically dragged his son out of the car. “Let’s go,” he urged.

“You’re glad to be home, huh, Da?” Sasha asked rhetorically, his father’s enthusiasm rapidly becoming contagious.

“Kiddo, you have no idea!” Declan picked up Sasha, no mean feat these days because the boy had matured considerably since the last time he had done this, and literally whirled around in a circle two or three times.

By the time Declan was done, Sasha looked vaguely sick but happy. “Think Dad’s upstairs waiting?”

“I hope so.”

Feeling like a young boy on his first date, Declan stood outside the apartment door, fidgeting nervously. Sasha went inside first, yelling, “Dad! Emmy! Guess who’s here?”

Emmy popped her head out of her bedroom, a relieved smile gracing her beautiful features. “Sasha! You’re back!”

“Yeah! But look who I brought with me!”

That was when she noticed her father lounging uncertainly in the open doorway. “Da? Oh, Da! I missed you! We all did!”

The young girl vaulted across the room and landed in Declan’s waiting arms. He held onto her for several seconds, struck dumb once again by emotion that had him by the throat. “You came back, you came back!” Emmy repeated.

“Of course, sweetie,” Declan said, his voice muffled by her hair. He buried his face even deeper, loving the cool feel of her silky hair against his cheek.

Slowly releasing her, he realized that a few tears had somehow escaped. He swiped at his eyes and cleared his throat. “Ahem…where’s your Dad?”

Suddenly Emmy looked very uncomfortable, a fact that was lost on neither Declan nor Sasha. “What is it, Em?” Sasha asked, knowing that something had to be very wrong for Emmy to be so reluctant to reply.

“He’s…um…resting.”

“Where?” Declan frowned.

“In bed.”

Declan raised an eyebrow at this news. “He isn’t up?”

“Da, Daddy hasn’t been himself since you went missing.”

“I wasn’t missing, Princess. Sey knows where I—“

All at once Sey opened his bedroom door. He often dreamed that he heard Declan’s voice, but it seemed so real this time.

“*Declan*? Oh, God, it’s really you.” Sey paled, wavering on his feet as if he would fall.

“Aye, love. Come here,” Declan exhorted, not caring one bit for the way Sey looked. He looked thin. Frail. Like a strong gust of wind would blow him all the way to Ireland and back.

Sey began shaking. An all-out trembling of his body that looked frightening, as if it were the prelude to a seizure or worse.

“Sey?”

Emmy’s pale grey eyes grew bigger and darker. As if this presaged certain disaster, Sey’s fine tremors abruptly degenerated into a grossly uncoordinated series of muscle jerks. “Jesus, he’s seizing! Em, run next door and get Neil! Sasha, help me lower him to the floor. Gently, gently…” he directed his son, trying not to think about what this meant.

Stay in the moment, Declan, stay in the bloody moment, he told himself, making a determined effort to slow his own breathing.

Within moments, Declan was sitting on the floor. He pulled his lover into his arms, Sey’s back to his chest, and wrapped his arms around him. God, he could feel Sey’s ribs. He’d always been slender. But this….

Declan had to take care that Sey’s head and flailing limbs didn’t inadvertently hit him, but the seizure had faded away to tremors by the time Neil arrived. Emmy pointed at Sey, her mouth working soundlessly at the sight of her father lying prostrate in Declan’s embrace.

Neil opened his medical bag and extracted his stethoscope before crouching down at Sey’s side. “What happened, Declan?”

Emmy looked heartsick. “It’s my fault,” she said, drawing a shaky breath.

“No, Princess Em, this isn’t your fault—“ Declan began, only to be cut off by his very distraught daughter.

“It is! Daddy hasn’t eaten the whole time you were away, Da!”

Declan flinched as if she’d struck him. He couldn’t blame an eleven year old child for something that was more his fault than anyone else’s. He was the one who abandoned Sey to his own devices.

He was the one who knew what it would mean to Sey when Declan didn’t return right away.

God, he’d left him. Just like everyone else in Sey’s wretched past.

Neil finished his examination of the nearly unconscious man in Declan’s arms and sighed. Declan would blame himself, and it was so clearly a no-win situation. “He’s hypoglycemic, hypotensive….”

After instructing Sasha to get a cup of orange juice, Neil reached into his medical bag and ripped open a packet of sugar. When Sasha arrived with the juice, Neil emptied the sugar packet into the cup, sweetening it further. “Not exactly the recommended way to bring up a blood sugar, but it’ll do for now.”

Together, he and Declan poured juice, bit by bit, into Sey’s mouth, careful not to let him aspirate the liquid into his lungs. Shortly after drinking the sugared juice, Sey began to rally. While he still looked weak, he definitely looked more alert.

“This seizure had absolutely nothing to do with you, Declan. It wasn’t triggered by stress. It was brought on by a combination of things. Low blood sugar, low blood pressure. Probably an electrolyte imbalance, too.”

“Jesus,” Declan gasped. “Shouldn’t you take him to the hospital?”

“No need. He’ll be fine. Once you feed him something. Oh, and try to get him to drink plenty of fluids. That’ll bring up his blood pressure.”

Sey irritably brushed Declan’s hands away from his face. “Stop it!” he muttered.

“What’s the matter?”

Sey tried in vain to get away from Declan, but he was overcome by a wave of dizziness. Feeling as if his own body was betraying him, Sey could have broken down and cried.

Declan quickly intervened. “I’ll help you back to bed, love. Then I’ll fix you some soup. Okay?”

“Just leave me alone!”

Declan cast wounded eyes in Neil’s direction. Neil shrugged. He wished he had been aware of Sey’s deterioration, but the plain fact of the matter was, he was too preoccupied with his own family. When Connor disappeared, Neil found it hard to notice anything but his own misery.

Now was his chance to make restitution. He reached out to steady the younger man, eventually helping Sey to his feet. “Let Declan put you to bed, Birkoff.”

“Don’t want him to,” Sey managed to say, his lips curiously incoordinate as well.

“Look,” Neil said firmly, “you have a death wish you want to indulge, do it on someone else’s time. No one dies on my watch, understand?”

“Yeah.”

“Let Declan put you to bed.” Sey started to protest again, but Neil put a finger to his lips, effectively silencing the younger man. “Ssh…then you eat something. Even if it’s something as mundane as soup. Trust me, your stomach will thank you.”

“But—“

“Get yourself better first, Birkoff. Then you can get as angry as you like with Declan. Okay?”

“Well—“

“I’m telling you, you don’t have the energy right now.”

Sey reluctantly nodded. His head still felt like it was filled with marshmallows. All soft and gushy and completely impenetrable to thought. “Okay.”

Declan was close to tears, but he refused to show it. He would give Sey whatever he needed, even if it meant hurting himself. He put an arm around Sey’s shoulder, only to have him shake it off. “Don’t touch—“

Declan moved away as if stung. “I just want to make sure that you don’t fall…okay?”

Sey’s hair fell forward in a silken curtain, not unlike his son’s, hiding his expressive dark eyes. “Okay,” he whispered.

Once they entered the bedroom, Sey’s tension was palpable. Did he think that Declan would overpower him? Did he think that sex was all that their relationship was about?

“Let me help you,” Declan said, indicating that Sey should get undressed. Sey’s eyes flashed like hot neon for a moment, so brief that Declan almost thought he had imagined it.

“I don’t need…help.”

Somehow Declan was sure that wasn’t what Sey meant to say at all. I don’t need…you?

Oh, God, Declan prayed, let me be wrong about this.

Chapter 5

Once Sey lay on his side in bed, he found the urge to sleep overwhelming. Right after a seizure, right after a hypoglycemic episode this intense, most people would give in to that urge. Without even having to think about it. But not Sey. Sey fought the urge as hard as he could.

He felt completely defenseless. Like his skin had been torn from him in long strips, exposing his nerve endings to God-knows-what.

Part of the problem was Declan.

Normally Sey found his partner’s presence comforting, even soothing. But right now, he felt conflicted. He wanted to blame Declan for leaving him, but his head was at war with his heart. Always supremely logical, except when in the throes of an emotional crisis, Sey knew that Declan left for a very good reason. Intellectually, he accepted that. Hell, he even applauded it.

But emotionally…he could find no other way to describe how he felt but abandoned.

So he could not sleep. Even in the face of utter exhaustion.

***

It would take someone far more powerful than Sey to resist the lure of Morpheus any longer. He finally fell into a deep sleep. A sleep that nothing and no one could interrupt.

Except Declan.

Unable to come to terms with whatever was going on, Declan paced silently back and forth until Sey went to sleep. The moment that he was certain that Sey was really and truly asleep, Declan leaned over the bed, his shadow looming like some dark, otherworldly creature over his lover.

Something like this went right to Declan’s heart. He was, first and foremost, a protector. That those he loved should be placed in any kind of jeopardy both angered and frightened him. Angered because he felt compelled to defend them. To the death, if need be. Frightened because he felt his hold on his family was a tenuous one, one that could be severed by Fate at any time She chose.

He could never have disobeyed the clarion call to Michael’s side to protect the family. And yet, here he was, being punished, and yes, that was what it felt like, for keeping his family safe.

“I needed you to live,” he whispered to the sleeping man. “But I come to find out…you would have let yourself slip away. What about Sasha? Or Emmy? They would have had…no one.”

Sey never stirred as Declan lay beside him. He needed to touch him, reassure himself that Sey was still all right. But he was afraid of waking him, of having that terrible anger unleashed upon him again. Why did he feel as if Sey had somehow betrayed him? By not believing in the strength of their bond, their love?

Sey rolled over in his sleep, coming to rest facing Declan, taking that decision out of Declan’s hands. In his sleep, he reached out for his lover, and that brought tears to Declan’s eyes. All at once Declan took his life in his hands, pulling Sey into a snug embrace. Sey sleepily protested, but half-heartedly at best. Tucking Sey’s head under his chin, Declan rested. At last.

***

He was warm. Too warm. And he couldn’t move. He was trapped. Trapped! He struck out at the walls of his prison, only to wake and discover that it was all a dream.

There were no prison walls, only Declan’s arms holding him.

There was no overpowering heat, only Declan’s body up against his.

Gingerly trying to move his head away from where it nestled, quite contentedly, against Declan’s chest, Sey felt something hot and wet on his cheek. When he eventually managed to look up, Sey’s heart turned over.

Declan was crying. Silently. In his sleep.

Sey listened to the ragged breathing for a moment before reaching out to push Declan’s hair back from where it had fallen into his face. He frowned when he heard the breathing turn into muttering, the words too low to make out. Until suddenly they grew louder.

“…whathefuckcanIdowhatthefuckcanIdo…” All of a sudden, it was quite clear what Declan was lamenting, and Sey’s heart ached as Declan began to whimper.

But he almost screamed when Declan’s eyes abruptly opened, all wet and bright and silvery like liquid starlight. “Sey!”

“I’m right here, Declan,” Sey replied softly.

“Are you okay?” Declan sounded breathless, like he had been running a long race.

“Are you?” Sey countered.

Declan groaned and rolled over onto his back. He stared at the ceiling, wondering if he had any choices left that wouldn’t totally destroy him.

Folding his arms behind his head, Declan lay there, unmoving, while Sey studied him. “You were crying.”

Declan gave Sey a startled glance. “Did I say anything?”

Sey shook his head slowly. “Not really.”

“Oh.” Declan risked another brief look at his lover. “Did I wake you?”

“Not exactly.”

Could their attempts at conversation get any more complicated?

Declan reluctantly sat up. “Well, I’d better get you something to eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Sey, please don’t argue with me about this. I don’t want to tell you what to do, but—“

“Then don’t.”

Declan worried that Sey was still in a self-destructive frame of mind. “But—“

Sey covered Declan’s mouth with two fingers, staying his protest. “Ssh. All either one of us has to know right now is that we’re here. Together.”

“Are we? Together, I mean?” Declan seemed to be holding his breath.

“Why wouldn’t we be?” Sey stroked the side of Declan’s face, marveling at the change of expression on that much-loved face.

“All I know is how much I love you. What that means to you now…I dunno. But I do.”

Declan looked as if he would cry again. His splendid eyes welled up with tears as he realized that there was no way he could survive the rest of his life without Sey.

Sey traced the outline of Declan’s lower lip with one finger. “I love you, too.”

“Maybe we should wait till morning to talk about what happened. I just want to hold you. Would that be okay?” Declan asked, aware that he was still afraid of losing him.

Sey chuckled softly.

“What’s so funny?”

“Well….”

Declan waited expectantly.

“Now that we’re both awake…could you fix me some of your homemade chicken soup?”

Declan nodded. “You promise to eat a whole bowl?”

An insouciant grin transformed Sey’s painfully thin face. “Okay, but only if you promise to put noodles in it.”

“What kind?” Declan asked as he leaned over his lover, aching to claim his mouth. All this time, all this wasted time, and not one single kiss.

“There are different kinds?” Sey squeaked, mesmerized by the sight of his lover’s mouth to close to his.

“Aye.”

Their mouths met in a soul-stirring kiss, a kiss that came from the depths of pain to reclaim territory charted by Declan’s heart.

“Wow.”

“That’s all you can say? Wow?” Declan almost smiled.

“God, I missed you.”

“And my chicken soup.”

“And your chicken soup.”

There are so many ways to say “I love you.” Making chicken soup is only one.

Chapter 6

“Michael!”

Clearly Birkoff was not the only one who had trouble adjusting to the sudden emotional imbalance in his life. Nikita was proof. Though she had tried, desperately at times, to keep her family on course, she slept poorly, if at all, during Michael’s absence. As for her appetite, never very good to begin with, Nikita would sit at the kitchen table and stare into space for several minutes at a time, her fork poised to bring food to her mouth, but never quite reaching its destination.

She was a wraith. Her weight loss so noticeable as to make her look ethereal, Nikita was paler than Birkoff. Dressed in one of Michael’s black sweatshirts and jeans, Nikita stood unsteadily in the doorway, unable to believe that Michael was really home.

Her breath catching in her throat, Nikita peered intently through her overly long blonde bangs at her husband. “Michael?” It was as if she wasn’t sure that Michael was, well, Michael.

“It’s me, Kita.”

“Really?” Her face brightened markedly, the animation bringing much-needed life into her face.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her. His bright angel looked decidedly worse for wear. If there had been any way to spare her this, he would have found it. For now, all he could be happy for was the fact that they were both alive and well and looking forward to spending the next thirty years growing old together.

He inclined his head ever so slightly, and within seconds, Nikita was in his arms. She didn’t want to cry. God knows, she didn’t have the energy to cry. With a heartfelt sigh, she settled into his embrace, pulling his arms around her waist. “Hold onto me. I feel like I might fly away,” she confessed with a gentle sob.

While Michael regarded his wife in total silence, Nikita kept up a running commentary, as if she were building a wall around them with words. “I missed you so much, but you’d be proud of me, Michael. I’ve been keeping everyone going.”

But who’s keeping you going? “My poor brave Kita,” he finally murmured aloud, burying his face in the space between her neck and her shoulder.

She worried her bottom lip, her hands clenching and unclenching on the back of his neck. “D-Did you miss me?”

He closed his eyes and said, “Yes.” His fingers wound through her pale blonde hair, anchoring her to him. He never wanted to let her go again. But he didn’t dare promise such a thing. Who could say what the future might bring?

Painfully aware that they were being observed by nearly everyone, Michael reluctantly drew back, looking curiously unsure of how to proceed. On the one hand, he wanted to be with his wife, renew their bond. Whether or not that involved sex didn’t matter. He knew only that he existed in that moment to hold her, touch her, claim her.

On the other hand, there was the situation with Adam. He couldn’t ignore him. There were too many things that needed to be dealt with, and the sooner the better. But he was loath to stir those things up right now, especially since Nikita looked barely able to handle his homecoming, never mind that of a son that he thought he would never see again.

“Ki-ta,” he began, feeling himself falter for the first time. He had no idea what to say to her. He owed her the truth. Just as he’d said to Declan. But telling her about his feelings for Elena would serve no purpose. Elena was dead. Besides, it wasn’t as if he loved Elena the same way that he loved Nikita.

He would never love anyone the way that he loved Nikita.

Not even his son.

He supposed that should make him feel ashamed. But it didn’t. Guilt was something he was well-acquainted with. But astonishing as it might seem, this was one thing that he could not feel guilty about. She was the one true light shining in his darkness. No one had ever made him feel that way. No one.

“We found Elena and Adam.” There. He said it.

“You did?” She stunned Michael by peering around him. “So where are you hiding them?”

“I…there’s no easy way to say this.”

“What’s wrong?” Nikita was sensitive to all of her husband’s moods. She could tell that he was upset, even though there was little emotion showing on his face.

“Elena is dead.”

Nikita gasped. “How? Why?”

“Cause he killed her, that’s why!” Adam made his presence known in a very vocal way. “She died of a broken heart!”

Nikita winced. It couldn’t have been a happy meeting. Actually, that was a major understatement.

Without turning to address his son, Michael continued as if Adam weren’t there. “She died…” Michael took a deep breath and held it.

“Michael, it couldn’t have been your fault. You haven’t seen her in a very long time. She—“

He interrupted her quickly. “She had…cancer. Terminal, inoperable cancer. Nothing, not even Section and its technology, light years ahead of any and all competition, could change that. It’s nobody’s fault, doucette. No one predicted this. No one could have changed what happened.”

Michael looked pointedly at Adam. “No one,” he repeated.

“As you must have guessed by now, this is Adam.”

Suddenly Michael had the most absurd urge to laugh out loud. Here he was, pretending a normalcy that he certainly didn’t feel, and laughter was bubbling up inside of him. It was so…inappropriate…for lack of a better word.

As for Adam…*he* didn’t have enough strength to fight them anymore. He would gladly go down trying if he honestly thought he would never see that look on his father’s face again.

Truth to tell, Adam would have stayed in the background forever if he could have. Maybe then they’d forget about him. He was all of 16, but a boy his age didn’t always have good control of his most basic impulses. But more than that, he’d just lost his mother to a lengthy and debilitating illness, and he’d discovered that the father he’d once thought long-dead was quite impossibly alive.

Adam had been a happy child. He remembered laughter. He remembered how it felt to play soccer for the first time with the “big boys”. He remembered the man he called “Daddy”. When his father was “killed”, he missed him. He looked to his mother for answers, and she reassured him that his father would always love him.

But the acute grief passed, and life went on, and soon enough, Adam found himself coping with the fact that he had only one parent. He loved his mother, perhaps too much. He idealized her, even before her death. But the ideal was not that far from the reality, for Elena had indeed been a very special person.

Now she was gone. And Adam faced the difficulty of fitting into a family that he never dreamed existed. Was it his choice? No. But he was not ready to be on his own, and he knew it.

Because deep in his heart, he was scared. Scared that his father, whom he admittedly idolized once, now had no real place for him in his life. Scared that his father had brought him here out of duty, because Elena asked him to take care of him, and his father was nothing if not an honorable man. He would keep his promise to Elena, regardless of his personal feelings towards Adam.

What if the other kids formed a united front against him? He hadn’t done much to make them like him. If anything, he had gone out of his way to be obnoxious. Driving them away. Or was he merely keeping them at a safe distance?

What if his new mother…no, he refused to call her that…his step-mother, then. What if she chose her own kids over him? Could he expect her to do anything else? Adam was a great believer in logic, and he honestly could not see her accepting another woman’s child as her own. Even if her own husband was his father.

But Adam didn’t know Nikita. Nikita had always thought of Elena with considerable respect. She understood that the marriage was one of convenience, for Section and for Michael, but she wasn’t foolish enough to assume that Michael’s feelings were never engaged on any level. He made a child with Elena, and she refused to believe that Michael did not love that child’s mother.

She could never have married Michael if she weren’t convinced that he were capable of that kind of love—for Elena, for Adam. Her heart went out to Adam during those days and nights she spent in the home that Elena shared with Michael. Regardless of her very natural feelings of jealousy, she developed a fondness for both Elena and Adam.

At the time, Nikita had felt torn apart because part of her, the very needy little girl part, the part who wished that her mother hadn’t waited until she thought she was dead to tell her how much she really cared…*that* part felt as if Michael had given Elena something that belonged to Nikita.

But now she stood here, facing Michael and Elena’s son, a son who no longer had a mother, and she realized something. She didn’t feel triumphant. Only sad. Because Michael never loved Elena the way that she loved him. And in the end, Michael chose her.

Could he have found a way to be with Elena? Perhaps, but in all probability, it would have jeopardized all of their lives. Including Adam’s. Michael had made way too many sacrifices in his life for him to be unwilling to make one more.

So he did.

“Hello, Adam,” she said softly.

Adam felt truly conflicted. Torn between what he considered loyalty to his mother’s memory and remnants of the powerful love he once had for the man who was his father.

His father demanded nothing of him. Yet. But wouldn’t he expect loyalty to Nikita? The rival? The usurper of Michael’s affections?

Could he do that?

Should he?

All of these feelings and more played across Adam’s expressive face. Overwhelmed by emotion, Adam dreaded making the wrong decision.

But did he have to decide right now?

Nikita smiled, and Michael’s face lit up, the love they shared visible to everyone, including Adam.

“H-Hello.”

Chapter 7

“I’m sorry to hear about your mother, Adam.”

Adam shifted uncomfortably under Nikita’s forthright blue gaze. She was a beautiful woman. She was a kind person. He wanted to like her. For his father’s sake, if not for his own. Otherwise, he could see nothing but heartache and bloodshed ahead.

But he wasn’t sure that he was ready to talk about his mother with her. It was too new, too fresh. All at once, he realized that his angry attempts to push the others away were a defense mechanism. Perhaps it was not a constructive way of coping with his feelings, but it served its purpose, to keep people at a distance.

In a way, he was very much his father’s son. Though he had clearly been an open and enthusiastic young boy once, over the years he learned to hide his real feelings. Having someone know too much about him was painful. It revealed his weaknesses. It took away his admittedly false sense of being in control.

For now he knew…he was not.

“Yeah.”

“If you ever need to talk….” Nikita was offering more than an olive branch. She was giving him a place in her and Michael’s lives.

Could he be part of their family? Could he try? What if he failed? What would he do then?

“Thanks,” Adam replied huskily, unable to keep the emotion out of his voice. He stared at the floor as if he would wear a hole through it. It took every ounce of his being not to cry. He would never forgive himself if he cried in front of her. In front of them.

Nikita bent her head, hoping to catch a glimpse of the emotion that Adam was struggling so desperately to hide. “We’re not your enemies, you know,” she said kindly.

Adam almost choked on the lump in his throat. God knew, he didn’t need any more enemies. He needed someone to talk to. It couldn’t be just anyone. But he couldn’t be sure that it was Nikita.

“Yeah,” he repeated.

Shooting Michael a sharp glance, Nikita continued, “Would you like to go to your room?”

That brought Adam’s head up. Fast. “My what?”

“Your room. You didn’t think we were going to make you sleep out in the car, did you?” She grinned.

“But you didn’t even know about me till a few minutes ago. How could you--?”

“We have plenty of room, Adam. It’s not a big deal to throw some sheets on a bed.”

“But you would let me? Sleep in your house, I mean? After some of the things that I--?”

“What? Some of the things you said? Or did?” Nikita grew serious. “Or thought?” Adam looked vaguely frightened when she said that, but she hastened to reassure him.

“No, no, Adam, I don’t have psychic powers. Let’s just say, I’ve been where you are.”

Michael cocked his head interestedly, encouraging her to go on. Nikita smiled briefly. “When your father and I first met, I didn’t trust him at all,” she said conspiratorially.

Adam found himself spellbound by the charismatic older woman. Despite his natural misgivings about befriending anyone in this family, but especially her, he was so startled, he blurted out “You didn’t?”

“No,” she said, a winsome smile on her lips. “Remind me to tell you about it some time.”

He nodded. Life kept getting more and more interesting.

***

True to her word, Nikita made up a bed in one of the guest rooms downstairs, and Adam found himself sitting on the edge of that bed moments after she left.

He didn’t know what to make out of these people. They seemed to have each other’s best interests at heart, and when one of their own was threatened, they circled the wagons to protect them. Yet here they were, taking in a virtual stranger. One who was hostile to boot.

He shook his head. Maybe he would never understand.

Nikita had left the door open a crack. Adam felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise, and suddenly he knew that someone else was there.

“Who is it?” he called. “And what do you want?” He almost laughed at that. Nikita had given him his own piece of territory, and he was ready and willing to claim it.

“It’s me,” called Sasha, standing in the doorway. “Just thought I should check on how you were doing.”

“What are you, the freaking police here?”

Sasha shrugged. “Look, we all gotta live together, and it would be a whole lot easier if we get along. That’s all.”

“Is that really why you came? Or did you want to find out what I’m up to?”

“Up to? What the hell could you be up to? You just got here, for God’s sake.” Sasha sounded exasperated. “I was trying to be nice, you asshole.”

“You came into my room and I’m the asshole? Jeez.”

Suddenly Sasha couldn’t wait to get away from him. In fact, he was in the middle of turning around to go when it hit him. Shit, he doesn’t want anyone to see how much he’s hurting. I can’t believe it took me so long to figure that out.

Sasha stopped in the doorway, his body half in silhouette. “Well, listen, if you change your mind—“

“I won’t,” Adam said emphatically.

“They’ll prolly give you a couple of days off to get used to your new life.”

“What am I, in witness protection?”

Sasha gave the older teenager a considering look. “Actually? Yes.”

Adam’s eyes widened. “What is this place?” he said, more to himself than to Sasha.

“It’s where we’re all lucky enough to live. So try not to screw it up, okay?”

With that, Sasha left. Adam pondered that last exchange. It kept him from sleeping for hours.

Chapter 8—NC-17

“Mi-chael…we have company,” Nikita whined, but it was apparent that her husband’s mouth on the nape of her neck was exactly where she wanted it to be.

His mouth felt warm and wet, his tongue flicking out between straight white teeth to caress her willing flesh. “Mmm…don’t stop.”

He chuckled, the sound low and deep in his throat. “Oh, I have no intention of stopping.”

She twisted around in his embrace, aligning her body with his. Her arms wrapped around his neck, she looked into his changeable grey-green eyes and saw the mischievous glint there. “You’re teasing me.”

“I’m trying to,” he agreed, sliding both hands down the sides of her body to her hips. He held her, loosely enough to permit some movement, but snugly enough to provide a certain level of friction.

“Mmm…” she moaned again, her eyes falling shut of their own accord. “The kids aren’t in bed yet, Michael.”

“I can’t wait that long, doucette,” he whispered against her ear.

“But what if Adam needs something?” she asked, instinctively realizing that she had ruined the mood by mentioning Adam’s name.

Michael pulled away, his hands reluctantly giving up the prize they had claimed. “I don’t want to talk about this now,” he eventually said, unable to make eye contact.

“Michael, we have to talk about this sooner or later.”

“Fine. We can talk about it later.” Michael shook his head, his mouth poised as if to say something else, but he thought better of it.

“Okay,” she said softly, reaching out a finger to stroke his cheek. He grabbed her finger and held it away from him, as if her touch would somehow be painful. “Please. Don’t.”

“Michael, you’re letting your feelings for Elena and Adam color the way you feel about **us**. “

For a moment, Michael’s eyes met hers, and the look they held was tense, almost apprehensive. “What are you afraid of?”

“I don’t want—“

“You don’t want what? Michael, talk to me,” she urged. It could be strangely satisfying figuring out what Michael was thinking, but then, there were those times when it was simply too frustrating for words.

“I don’t want things to change!” he shouted helplessly. He felt so vulnerable. He hated when circumstances were beyond his control, and this situation more than qualified. On nearly every level.

“Oh, Michael. Everything changes. It has to.”

He allowed her to touch him, then, submitting to the tender caresses she lavished on him: his temple, his cheek, his jawline. “But I **love** you, I don’t want this to change **us**.”

Her eyes were impossibly blue and sharp enough to pick up the slightest nuance in Michael’s expression. “Nothing can ever touch that, Michael. We’ve survived all this time because we finally learned to trust each other. Don’t give up on us now.”

She kissed him with all the love and compassion and hope that lived inside her. “You’ve been my strength all these years, Michael. Now let me be **yours**.”

He shivered and tried to pull away from her, but Nikita was nothing if not steadfast. She maintained her grip on her husband, refusing to let him go. Not entirely surprised to see the flash of unguarded emotion in his eyes, she said firmly, “Adam will come around. In time.”

Michael automatically began to shake his head again, more vehemently this time. “No. He’s already halfway to accepting you, Kita, but me…” He sighed, the despairing sound almost a groan. “Me he hates. Me he can never forgive,” he whispered.

“Hate is such a terrible word, Michael. He doesn’t understand. He’s reacting emotionally. He **will** forgive you. But it’s going to take time.”

Michael wanted to believe that. With every fiber of his being, he wanted to believe that. But it was harder than he ever expected it to be. “But—“

Nikita leaned into Michael’s body, inadvertently losing her balance, and Michael intuitively caught her, his back now against the wall of their bedroom. “Let it go for now, Michael,” she exhorted. “Make love to me.”

She kissed him, her movements suddenly wild and improbably fervent. “Fill me up,” she begged plaintively. “I’ve been so empty…without you.”

He couldn’t help but respond to that tone. Need. Now there was something he was well-acquainted with. He bent her head back, grasping her hair between his fingers, exposing the pale expanse of skin that was her throat for him to suckle.

She gasped. But not with pain. Nikita couldn’t be sure how it would be with them this time. Given his present mood, she assumed, wrongly, it seemed, that Michael would make love to her with tantalizing slowness, feeling his way over her body with tender, caring hands.

Instead there was this urgency in him. In both of them. This need, for there truly was no other word, that existed only to bridge the physical gap between their two bodies. As hard and as deep and as fast as humanly possible.

Never breaking away from the kiss that sealed them together, Nikita slid her hands down to Michael’s belt, unfastening the leather constraint that prevented her from reaching her primary objective.

At the first touch of her lips on his ardent flesh, he rocked his head back, hitting the wall with an audible thud. Unconsciously spreading his legs further apart, he rested his hands on her shoulders, their presence for balance, not pressure.

“Ki-ta,” he hissed, her name the only word he was capable of forming.

She knelt between his legs like a willing acolyte at the feet of her chosen god. Yes, she did worship him that way, for he gave her everything, denied her nothing. They came together like the elements of a storm combining to unleash a thunderstorm.

With a noise that was almost a lamentation, Michael climaxed, his life essence pouring down the throat of his most significant other. She smiled as she drank, as his hands untangled themselves from her hair.

Standing again, this time on unsteady feet, Nikita brushed Michael’s mouth with hers, letting his taste himself. Now there could be tenderness. Now there would be sweet, slow lovemaking through the night and into the morning.

“Doucette,” he whispered, as always amazed at her intuitive grasp of what he needed. But then, had it not always been this way between them?

Even when he himself didn’t know what he needed, Nikita knew. She sighed happily, her own satisfaction the farthest thing from her mind. Now she would gladly lie in his arms, as chaste as a maiden, just to feel the safety there.

“I love you.”

Chapter 9—NC-17 for language

He meant to tell him. First thing in the morning. Before he could accidentally discover the biggest secret that Declan had ever kept from him.

But Declan was nothing if not emotionally wrung out. He slept through each of Sey’s impatient attempts to wake him, never realizing the conflagration that was about to occur.

With a careless shrug, Sey gave up on trying to communicate with Declan, his feet finding their way down the stairway at the back of the Samuelle home. It was Saturday. No school. Sasha had taken off for parts unknown with his best friend, Jazz, and Emmy was undoubtedly commiserating with Chris, who had been taken sick just before the valiant adolescents decided to rescue their parents.

“Hey, Nik!” Sey called out as he rounded the corner to the kitchen. But it wasn’t Nikita who was sitting at the kitchen table, looking like he belonged there.

No, it was…**him**.

Well, not exactly him, but close enough. More like an alternate reality version of Sey, this Sey had close-cropped hair, similar in color to Sey’s own dark brown. He wore no glasses, and his clothing looked impossibly trendy. Not to mention expensive. They were the same height, and Sey guessed, they would have been the same weight, if he hadn’t decided to forego eating in a desire to hasten death. No, that was too strong. It wasn’t so much that Sey wanted to die as that he didn’t want to live without Declan.

“Um, who are you?” Sey asked curiously.

A suspicious gleam entered Jason Crawford’s eyes, eyes that reminded one of melted bittersweet chocolate, eyes that were astonishingly like the ones that stared owlishly at him now. “You don’t know?”

An irritable look flickered across Sey’s face. “Would I ask you if I knew?”

“Why don’t you take a guess?”

“Look, I don’t have time for games, okay? So why don’t we skip this part and go right to what the hell you’re doing in our kitchen?” Sey folded his arms in front of him, a mulish look taking the place of his previous good humor.

“I’m your brother.”

“Yeah, right,” Sey snorted derisively. “What are you, freaking delusional?”

“No, are you?” Jason countered.

Sey began to tremble. “Are you r-really my brother?” Not some Section clone that somebody whipped up in a lab, but my real brother?

“Yeah,” Jason stated flatly.

“But how? My parents never told me I had a brother.” My parents never told me anything. But how could they keep something like this a secret?

“They weren’t your parents.”

“What?”

Sey faltered on the way to the other side of the table, and Jason reached out instinctively to steady him. “Hey, you okay? You don’t look so hot.”

“I’ve been…sick.”

“Maybe we should talk later. When you’re feeling better.” Hell, it wouldn’t be nearly as much fun to enlighten his twin brother if he was nearly unconscious. This discussion could wait.

“No!” At Jason’s startled glance, Sey continued, albeit in a much softer tone, “I mean, no, I want to find out what you know. Now.”

I’ll just bet you do, Jason mused.

“Have a seat, then, it’s a long story.”

***

When he woke up, Declan had an immediate sense that something was very wrong. He couldn’t put his finger on what it was, but he knew he was right. His sixth sense was unerring.

By the time he showered and dressed, it was perhaps a half hour later. Long enough for Jason to “cry havoc and let loose the dogs of war.” Long enough to come dangerously close to destroying the already-battered trust between Declan and Sey.

Declan followed the smell of food cooking and it quickly led him directly to the kitchen. Astonished to find Jason Crawford blithely making himself breakfast in the Samuelle kitchen, Declan blurted out, “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing? Y’all aren’t that swift on the uptake now, are you?”

That might have worked on someone as vulnerable as Sey. But it didn’t have a hope of succeeding on someone like Declan. “Looks like you’ve forgotten your bloody manners, boyo,” Declan said, casually wrapping his fingers around Jason’s neck.

His air momentarily cut off, Jason struggled to get free. Declan wasn’t proud of reacting this way, but what could he say? As much as Jason looked like Sey, he was his very antithesis. In short, he couldn’t stand the Comm op.

“What are you doing here?”

“Here? As in, in the kitchen? Or here? As in the existential sense?” Jason quipped despite the fact that he could barely breathe. “Why don’t you a-ask him?” He pointed to someone behind Declan.

Declan turned and caught sight of his lover, standing in the doorway. Declan gasped. He looked like he’d been run over by a truck. “Sey!”

“When were you going to tell me, Declan?” Sey’s voice, so cold, so chilling, sent shivers up and down Declan’s spine.

“Tell you what? That you had a brother? I just—“

“Don’t lie to me! I can’t stand it when you fucking lie to me!” Sey put his hands over his ears, as if to shut out the sound of Declan’s voice, and Declan grabbed them, struggling to pull Sey’s hands away without hurting him.

“I didn’t know, acushla! I wasn’t keeping this a secret from you!” Declan protested.

Jason met Sey’s eyes, and an unmistakable look of denial passed from one man to the other.

“That’s what you say.”

Declan released Sey’s hands, and his lover didn’t even pause to chafe the reddened areas that Declan left on his wrists. Within seconds, he was gone.

Whirling around like a man in shock, Declan screamed in anguish. How could someone look so much like the angel he claimed as his own when he was really the devil?

“What the fuck did you tell him?” Declan shouted, his own emotions frayed badly at the edges, his control slipping its leash.

Jason smiled. “He wanted to know about his parents. I told him.”

“What did you say to him?” Declan repeated. If he survived the next few moments, he might kill Jason. He had a feeling that Sey might not mind.

“That the people he thinks were his parents weren’t.”

Declan frowned. “Then who the hell were they?”

“Foster parents.”

“What happened to his real parents?”

“Ah, now wouldn’t y’all just love to know?”

“His parents abused him. Did terrible things to him. Made him afraid of life,” Declan spat angrily.

“Yeah, well, Section didn’t do such a great job of finding a nice family for him. Fact is, they were more interested in their experiment.”

“What experiment?”

“The one where they split up us twins. Kept one to be raised in Section. The other…well, the other got the dubious honor of being raised by Mr. and Mrs. Norman Bates there.”

“Who did this?”

“Who do y’all think?”

An image of Paul Wolfe’s face, his pale blue eyes glittering with demonic pleasure, ran through Declan’s turbulent thoughts. I’m glad he’s dead. Now I won’t have to kill him.

At Jason’s sharp bark of laughter, Declan abruptly realized that he must have spoken aloud. “But Sey lived at home until he was 8 or 9, I think. What happened to the arrangement?”

“It fell apart.” Jason gave Declan a half-smile of invitation. “You sure y’all want to hear all this now? We could—“

“Take your hand off my arm,” Declan growled. Jason’s dark eyes danced playfully, as if he were quite enjoying this.

Nevertheless, he removed his hand.

“How did it fall apart?”

Jason shrugged. “I don’t think the foster parents told Section about the abuse. It would have gotten them cancelled straight off. Instead,” he paused thoughtfully, “they blamed it all on my brother’s emotional disturbance.”

“In a manner of speaking, Seymour failed. The experiment. Being outside. Being part of a family.”

Declan closed his eyes on tears he could never shed in front of this man. How dare he gloat over his own brother’s pain?

“What happened next?” Declan rasped.

“They sent him back.”

“Just like that?” Like a piece of returned mail? Like a defective piece of merchandise?

“Y’all know that Section doesn’t waste time cutting its losses.” Jason sighed. “They brought him back. Made him functional again. I mean, Section gave him a reason to be, didn’t they? When he didn’t have one anymore?”

It was all he could do not to strangle the smug smile off of Jason’s face. “How dare you—“

Jason fairly snarled back in the older man’s face. “I’ll tell you how I dare! I dare because that fucking grub you think you love is the reason I’m here now! I should have been the one who got a chance to live a normal life! Me! Not him!”

His dark eyes almost black with rage, Jason said, “If they’d chosen me first, none of this would have happened! And if he hadn’t screwed up, they wouldn’t have yanked me out of my well-ordered life at Section and given me a taste of what I was missing!”

Jason continued to breathe hard, his obvious resentment of his brother going much deeper than even Declan might have suspected. “Instead, here I am, each and every day, thinking about the life they took away! The life they fucking wasted! I could’ve been somebody! If they’d only let me stay! But no, the geek fucked that up, too! He escaped! And guess who fucking replaced him?”

“Sey never belonged in Section. But you…you seem to be right at home there.”

“And who do y’all think I blame for that?”

For a long moment, neither man spoke. Declan was too busy cataloguing the information Jason had given him, while Jason was lost in contemplation of a life that would never be.

“You said they should have chosen you. Who chose Sey? Operations?” Declan’s voice was deceptively soft, his tone dark and dangerous.

“No!” replied Jason, a bit startled.

“Then who?”

“Our father made that decision.”

“Are you saying that your father was in Section?”

Jason nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

“Is he still there?”

Jason shook his head. “No.”

“Dead? Cancelled?”

Jason looked bemused. “No. Still alive.”

“Who…is…it?”

A full-blown smile erupted on Jason’s face, its presence somehow more menacing than a grimace.

“I believe…it’s the gentleman…y’all know…as…Walter.”

Chapter 10—NC-17 for language

Everyone heard Declan scream. Michael was the first one to arrive at the scene. In time to see Declan backhand Jason across the face. The younger man staggered for a moment, then smiled, a wicked grin made all the more macabre for the split lip that Declan had given him.

In the meantime, Declan was doubled over, apparently in pain, but whether or not he was physically hurt was hard to tell. Michael wondered if the pain had more to do with assaulting someone who looked too much like his lover than with anything else.

Michael grabbed Declan from behind, effectively trapping his arms at his sides, but Declan was not resisting. “Don’t,” Michael whispered to the man he called brother of his heart. “He’s not worth it.”

Jason taunted Declan, blood trickling down his chin, blood that he made no effort to wipe away. “I’m not the one you’re angry with. Am I, Declan?”

Michael felt Declan tense in his arms, but a second later, Declan willed himself to relax. Then a voice came from behind him. “No, that’d be me.”

Declan turned his head so sharply, he felt vaguely dizzy. “Walter!”

Jason smeared blood across his face with his fingers, making himself look like a warrior in full paint. “You must be Daddy,” mocked Jason.

“As if anyone would want to acknowledge fathering you,” returned Walter.

“I find it significant that the one who started all this has nothing particular to say.”

“You don’t know how it was!” said Walter. Declan couldn’t recall ever having seen Walter look so fierce.

“Oh, but I do,” chided the Center op.

“You couldn’t,” Walter protested. “Even I don’t know everything. I’ll admit, there was a chance that I could be Seymour’s father, but it was never confirmed. The only one who could tell us is dead.”

“And who would that be?”

“The mother. Lisa,” Walter’s voice broke on the syllables that made up her name.

“Now that’s real touching. You actually gave a shit about Mom, huh?”

“You son-of-a-bitch! For two cents, I’d pound your head right into that wall there!”

Declan’s pale eyes glimmered with something feral. “Not if I get him first.”

“Don’t y’all find it interesting that the man you’re all so busy defending isn’t here?”

There was an audible gasp from Declan as he spotted his lover, slowly making his way through the family gathered. “Sey!”

“I’m here.” His dark eyes lit on Declan’s face, and Declan could swear he felt that gaze as if it were physically touching him. Warmth pervaded his entire being. Sey was looking at him with such utter reverence and devotion that there could be no question that he still cared. He understood that Declan hadn’t lied to him, that Declan had no prior knowledge of Jason’s many secrets.

Thank God.

Sey laid a hand on Jason’s shoulder. “You need to stop.”

“Who the hell are you to tell me what to do?”

“I’m your brother,” Sey said.

“Yeah, well, that doesn’t mean a whole helluva lot to me, y’know.”

“I know.” Sey looked sad, but in control. “I always wanted to belong somewhere, have a family. I used to think that I was cheated. Cause of the way I grew up. And then the way Section took over where my parents left off.” Sey looked directly into his brother’s eyes.

“But now I met you.” Anyone waiting for Sey to make some heartwarming declaration of love and affection was sadly mistaken. “And I realize just how lucky I am.”

Jason had the grace to look away at that.

“As you pointed out, I’ve got people willing to defend me. What’ve you got?”

“I-I….” Jason wasn’t just speechless, he was overcome by his own pain. “I have someone. Or I did,” he said in a low voice.

“You lost them?”

Jason nodded. “I think so.”

“You mean, you don’t even know? How close could you be to this person if you don’t—“

“You don’t know anything! He was good to me! He said he loved me! But then he sent me away!” Jason was aghast at having confessed such deeply concealed feelings in front of everyone.

“And now you feel what?” Sey prompted.

“He’s punishing me. That’s why he sent me here. He doesn’t want me anymore.”

Even Michael opened his eyes a bit wider at that. “You have a personal relationship with Mr. Jones?”

Jason’s eyes grew damp. He tangled his fingers together anxiously, suddenly looking more like Sey than Sey. “I’m in love with him.”

Walter burst out, “Jesus, you’re in love with Mick?” Miranda immediately smacked him in the ribs with her elbow.

“Ow!” he cried, glaring at his wife.

Jason stepped forward, holding his brother’s intense gaze. “I was wrong, y’know. About you. I thought you were the weaker of us. But now I’m not so sure.”

“I shouldn’t have told you the way I did. I wanted to hurt you.” Sey nodded in apparent agreement. “But everything I told you is the truth.”

Sey blinked. “Then Walter…is our father?” he asked, carefully avoiding looking at Walter.

Jason gave his brother a watery smile. “Yeah. Isn’t that a kick?”

“I told you, kid. It was never confirmed. And now we’ll never know. Cause Lisa’s…dead.”

Jason shook his head at Walter. “You don’t understand. I have access to files you didn’t have. Not Section files. But Oversight and Center files.”

“What are you saying?” Walter couldn’t take his eyes off Jason now.

“DNA testing wasn’t available to the general public back in those days.”

Walter gestured impatiently. “Yeah, yeah, so?”

“But Section had it.” He waited while Walter processed that information, noting the exact moment that Walter came to the right conclusion.

“You’re kidding.”

“No. You are, for better or worse, our father. Dad.”

“Shit.”

“Fuck.”

Another elbow hit another set of ribs. Another glare. Another exclamation.

“So…” Jason said, “…you finally got what you wanted. A family.” Jason wasn’t jealous of what Sey had. He wasn’t in the market for a father at this stage of his life. But he wished, with quiet desperation, that things could be different for him and Mick.

Sey looked at the man who was really and truly his father and smiled. “Walter’s always been my father. We didn’t need a secret file to tell us that.”

“Seymour,” said the older man, quite overcome with emotion.

Sey frowned, but his words were kindness itself. “I told you. Don’t call me that. Dad. I’ll sic my blessed protector on you.”

Declan cupped the nape of Sey’s neck with one hand, threading his fingers affectionately through the long dark hair there.

“You’re taking this almost too well, son. Aren’t you upset because I never told you about any of this?”

Sey regarded his father with utter calm. “You weren’t responsible for what happened to me out there. Neither was I. It’s funny, but this is the first time that I’ve said that and honestly believed it.”

A few moments passed. “I would like to know about my mother, though. Anything you can remember.”

Sey turned his face into Declan’s chest and sighed with relief. He had come through this, somehow, and though there was undoubtedly more to deal with in the upcoming days, he felt stronger than he had before. Declan wrapped his arms around Sey, feeling his lover relax against him, all at once, like a breath that had been held for far too long.

Jason glanced at his brother furtively, knowing that all things considered, Sey was far better off where he was. Now if only his dreams could come true….

Chapter 11

Luc peered through shaggy brown bangs at his older sister. “We got a new brother?”

Faith nodded, her long auburn hair bouncing about her shoulders, the sun-dappled curls dancing with fiery red highlights.

Luc’s handsome face creased in a frown. “How come? Mommy didn’t have a baby.”

“It’s kinda hard to explain.” Faith thought once more that it wasn’t easy having Luc for a baby brother. He was so smart, so intuitive, that his perceptions often surprised her.

“Try,” Luc challenged.

“Well…Daddy used to be married to someone else and—“

“Noooo!” Luc wailed.

“Luc! What on Earth’s the matter?”

“My Daddy! Mine!” As usual, Luc’s overactive brain and vivid imagination conspired to leap ahead before he was genuinely prepared for the conclusion.

Luc had real difficulty dealing with the concept that Chris was not the Samuelles’ firstborn son. But not as much as Chris himself.

While Faith tried in vain to comfort Luc, Chris lay in bed, wondering how he’d been deposed as the Samuelle heir. Confined to bed for the past week with a cold that intermittently threatened to become bronchitis, Chris was distinctly out of sorts.

Emmy laid her head on Chris’ pajama-clad chest and the male half of the Samuelle twins gently stroked her long red curls. This was like a moment out of time for both of them. Bitterly disappointed that he was unable to accompany the rest of his handpicked team to rescue their parents, Chris lamented this new piece of news.

“I’ve been replaced, Em.”

“No, you haven’t. You’re too special for that.”

He stopped stroking her hair long enough to press a kiss to the top of her head. “Thanks, but I doubt that Dad thinks so.”

“You don’t know what he thinks, Chris. Why don’t you ask him?”

“I can’t,” said Chris bleakly. “What if he loves **him** more? He came first. It’s his right.”

The voice came out of nowhere, startling both children. “That’s not true, Chris.”

Chris dropped his gaze to the bedspread, avoiding his father’s surprisingly direct look. Michael gestured at Emmy, and without a word, she moved over to make room for him on the bed. The bed squeaked slightly under Michael’s additional weight. He reached out and grasped his son’s hand in his, studying it intently, as if it were an ancient artifact that held the key to life.

Michael paused, uncertain of what to say next. What should he tell his children about Elena and Adam? That it wasn’t a **real** marriage, but a marriage borne out of expedience? That it was, in a sense, **work**? They might not understand. Hell, he wasn’t sure that he understood himself. Now. Looking back was always a dangerous thing to do.

But then again, he did love Elena, and there would be no harm in letting them think that he married for love. What difference could that possibly make? It would certainly legitimize Adam’s position.

“Chris…I love all of you. Because of who you are.” Michael spoke slowly and thoughtfully, and in a way, he was telling himself, too. Perhaps for the first time.

“All of you are different. Faith is impulsive, even reckless. But I don’t love her any less than Skye.”

“Adam is my son.” Pause. “But I don’t really know him. He grew up without me.” Michael’s voice became slightly ragged, the only sign that there was deep and abiding emotion underlying his words.

“I can never get that time back,” said Michael bleakly.

Chris’ light blue eyes, so like his mother’s, filled with compassion, both for his father and for Adam. “He wasn’t as lucky as me, then, Dad.”

Michael’s heart turned over in his chest, but for the life of him, he couldn’t speak another word. Their roles seemingly reversed, Chris held out his arms and Michael gratefully accepted his embrace. Chris’ arms wound tightly around his father’s neck as Michael buried his face in Chris’ pale blond hair.

I’m the lucky one, Chris. There is so much truth in what I said just now, and yet…. You and Faith were the first children of my heart. The first borne out of the love barely acknowledged but never to be shared with anyone else. The first to survive my darkness, buoyed by my bright angel’s light. Oh, God, **we** made you. Together.

And no one could ever replace you.

Chapter 12

The slap took him completely by surprise. One minute, Adam was standing outside the back door, thinking about nothing in particular, or making a valiant effort; the next minute, a tiny whirlwind flew by, smacking him on the butt.

Adam spun around in time to catch the small boy by the hem of the red sweater he wore. “Hey! Hey! Let go! Let me go!”

“What’s your problem, kid?”

Luc may have been only five years old, but the scowl on his face would have served his father well. “I’m not a kid! My name’s Luc!”

Adam would have laughed, but the intensity in the child’s expression was nothing to be trifled with. Sobering instantly, Adam asked, “So…*Luc*, why did you hit me?”

“I *hate* you.”

The vehemence in Luc’s tone was almost frightening. “You don’t even know me, k—I mean, Luc. How can you hate me?”

“It’s easy,” retorted Luc, his five-year old mind grasping only that this was the boy who threatened the family in general, his father specifically.

“I don’t hate *you*.”

Luc all but rolled his expressive grey-green eyes. “’Course not, I didn’t do nothin’ to you!”

Adam started to nod slowly, as though comprehension, which had eluded him before, was beginning to wander into his grasp. “But *I* did something to you?”

Luc shook his head solemnly, and once more, Adam was struck by the young boy’s composure, way beyond his years. “Well…what did I do?” He held up a hand, warding off the boy’s immediate reaction, which was to curse him out and slap him again.

“If you don’t tell me, what can I do to fix it?” Adam’s tone sounded so reasonable, Luc was nearly convinced.

“You wanna fix it?” Luc intoned, his eyes big and dark as his pupils widened in response to Adam’s unexpected question.

“Sure, I do. I’m new here, and I don’t have any friends yet. But you look like someone worth knowing around here.”

Luc felt conflicted. An older boy wanting to befriend him was as special as it was scary. It made him feel like one of the big kids. But this was *Adam*, his father’s first son. He was a half. He didn’t know if he wanted a half.

“What’s the matter?” Jeez, the kid looked scared to death. Did he think he was the bogeyman? Hell, he didn’t eat little kids for breakfast.

Luc frowned, the deep crease still unable to mar the good-looking Samuelle features he had inherited. “You’re a half. An’, an’, Faith said I’m a half, too, now, an’ I don’t wanna! You can’t make me!” Luc acted as though he was going to have a temper tantrum, admittedly a rare occurrence these days, but not totally unheard of.

“A half? Faith? Is that your sister?”

That’s when Luc slapped Adam again. “’Course she’s my sister! She’s *your* sister, too, even if she is only a half now! Why’d you have to come and make us all half’s? I don’t wanna be a half! It’s not as good!”

Adam couldn’t believe his ears. “As good? As good as what?”

Luc looked exasperated. “You think we’re not as good as you are, so dat’s why you came here and made us all into half’s!”

“Ohh, no, no, no, Luc,” Adam murmured, wondering how he had made such a mess of things that little kids who didn’t understand hated him. “I’m not better than you are. Or Faith. Or Chris. Or anybody.”

And right now, I’m not very proud of myself. I brought all the chaos and dissension in my life into their lives. No wonder they don’t want me anywhere near them.

“I’m sorry, kid,” Adam choked out, afraid that he was going to embarrass himself in front of a five-year old. He backed up, and Luc’s belligerent look told him that he had made the right decision.

***

For several minutes, he walked. Into the woods at the back of the house. Not far enough to get lost. But far enough to temporarily disappear. He needed to disappear. He needed to disappear so badly that it hurt.

Tears blinding him, he sank down on a flattened tree stump, burying his face in his hands. When the voice came, seemingly out of nowhere, it startled him. “It won’t work, y’know.”

“What?” Adam looked up, swiping at his wet face. He never cried. At least, not if he could help it.

“Trying to hide. Never works. I’ve tried. But you can’t get away from *you*.”

Jazz came out from behind a tree and abruptly sat down next to Adam. Adam wasn’t sure if he remembered who Jazz was, but he shrugged. It didn’t matter. He probably wasn’t interested in knowing him either.

“What do you know about it?” Adam said, his chin jutting out pugnaciously.

“More than you’d think.” More than I’d like.

“They think I came here on purpose. To break up their happy little family.”

“Well, didn’t you?”

Adam stared at the fourteen-year old boy who was no more relation to them than he was. “No.”

“Sorry,” Jazz said with an unrepentant grin. His bright green eyes danced, indicating that he had not yet gotten over his love of a good controversy. As long as it didn’t involve physical aggression. Self-defense was one thing, but Jazz didn’t believe in fighting anymore. Sasha had taught him that.

“But you *are* making waves, man. You’ve gotta see that.”

“They hate me,” Adam whispered.

“Nah, they don’t hate you, man. Um, but they don’t exactly love you either, man. They can’t figure you out.” Jazz laughed, and the sound was like bright sunlight in the middle of the burgeoning darkness.

Adam took another look at Jazz. He was a handsome boy. No, that was the wrong word. He was beautiful. And yet, he wasn’t feminine. He was just made perfectly. His fingers long and slender and well-shaped. His features well-defined and refined. His hair fell straight past his shoulders, the color golden brown, as if kissed by the sun.

“They can’t figure me out?” he echoed.

“Yeah,” Jazz said cheerfully. “You’re a lot like your old man that way.”

“I am?” This was the first time anyone else had compared Michael to Adam. As much as he might pretend to ignore Michael, this was a good excuse to indulge his curiosity about the man who fathered him.

“Hell, yeah. He’s a regular mystery man.” Jazz drew up his knees to his chest and rested his chin on his knees.

“So are you,” he said to Adam, his green eyes flickering over the older boy.

“I’m not that hard to understand,” Adam offered, possibly hoping that Jazz would not only agree with him, but give him some much-needed insight into the man he knew all those years ago as Daddy.

“I doubt that.” Jazz laughed again, and this time, Adam recognized the feeling it created within him. It made him feel…happy. Accepted. Jazz was oddly noncommittal for someone in the family, but he honestly believed that Jazz was *not* judging him.

It was as if Jazz read his mind. Suddenly growing serious, Jazz leaned closer, his hair falling forward till it nearly touched Adam’s shoulder. “He’s a good man.”

Jazz’ improbably green eyes met Adam’s. For a second, Adam felt the younger boy’s breath caress his cheek. “You’re a lot like him.”

“So what are you telling me?”

Jazz’ slanted eyes crinkled up at the corners as he chuckled. “Don’t hate him. Get to know him. Give him a chance. But most of all…give *yourself* a chance.”

“I dunno why, but…you’re prolly worth the trouble it’s gonna be to get to know you.”

Adam didn’t know why that last statement gave him hope, but it did. It most assuredly did.

Chapter 13

“Come on, I’ll take you back.”

Adam shook his head. “I can find my own way. I just want to sit here and think for a while. It’s so peaceful here.”

“Not for long. There are bears in these woods.”

“No way.”

“Yep. That was one of the first things Sasha showed me when we came out here.”

Adam looked pensive. His handsome brow furrowed with thought, he asked tentatively, “That’s the kid who came to my room yesterday. The two of you good friends?”

Jazz nodded, his eyes lighting up at the mention of his best friend. “Sasha’s cool.”

Adam’s deep brown eyes wandered over Jazz’ slender frame, then back up to his face. “Are the two of you…together?”

Jazz blinked in response, unsure what Adam meant. “Together?”

“Yeah, you know, like a couple.”

Damn, somehow he’d hoped that things would be…sigh…different. “Can’t we be friends without dating?”

“It’s just that both of you look kinda…I dunno…pretty.”

“So only fags are good-looking?” Jazz bit off.

“No, I just meant—“

Jazz advanced on the older boy, his slight build dwarfed by Adam’s solid, more muscular body. “What do you mean? They say—I’ve got a problem relating to people sometimes. They say—I see people in terms of what they can do for me, instead of seeing them for who…or *what* they really are.”

All at once Jazz sank to his knees at Adam’s feet. Keeping his head low, he whispered, “And sometimes I see myself as this thing who has to perform for people…just to get them to like me.” Flicking his tongue out to moisten his lips, Jazz suddenly looked up, his eyes awash in tears.

“Is that what you want from me?” Jazz scooted closer, his knees between Adam’s legs. “Is that what I have to do to get you to like me?”

Adam stared at the younger boy, stunned beyond comprehension. When he could finally speak, it was to sputter, “N-no! Get up! Get off your knees! You don’t have to do that!”

Wrapping his arms around Adam’s knees, Jazz clung tightly to the older boy. “But I want you to like me.”

“I do! Now get up!”

“You do?” Jazz looked so young and hopeful, it almost broke Adam’s heart to look at him.

“Yeah, I do,” Adam admitted. He reached out a hand, tugging on Jazz’ arm until he reluctantly stood.

Jazz smiled, albeit shyly, and Adam was momentarily dazzled by the radiant light that burst forth. “You don’t mind that I’m gay?”

Adam didn’t even hesitate. “I like you just fine the way you are. Honest.”

“Can I kiss you?” Jazz asked eagerly.

“What?”

“I’m attracted to you. Can I kiss you?”

Adam looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Well, um, I don’t—I mean, I’m not—“

“Oh.” Jazz shrugged. “Madeline says that I’m, like, conditioned to come on to people I like. Something about confusing sex with affection.”

Adam nodded, as if this were an everyday topic of conversation for him. “She’s, um, straightening you out then?” He winced at his accidental choice of words, briefly sparing a moment to ponder what Freud might have made of his reaction.

To his utter amazement, Jazz threw back his head and laughed. “She’s trying, but I think I’m too twisted, even for her.”

“I’m sure you don’t mean that.”

“Well, yeah, I do. In a way. I mean, I know I’m gay, and that’s not gonna change, not even with therapy. I mean, I don’t want it to. Really. I *like* guys.”

He cocked a hip to one side, pushing his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. Jeans that were entirely too tight. Or maybe that was just the way it seemed now. Adam’s eyes were drawn to the artless yet graceful stance Jazz had.

Giving his new friend a fond look, Jazz confessed, “I like *you*, Adam.”

His mouth inexplicably dry, Adam said, “I’m not, um, I mean, I like you, but—“

You’re just about the most sensual creature I’ve ever met. I’m not sure I know why I’m able to appreciate that. Maybe I *am* like you, and I’m just too fucking repressed to know it. Except that I’m *not* a virgin and I *do* like girls. I—

The sweetest, most tender of caresses interrupted Adam’s rumination. It was just a gentle brush of the lips upon his.

Truly.

But it changed everything Adam ever thought he knew about himself. His life was getting way too…interesting.

Fuck.

Chapter 14—NC-17 for language and adult content

“I can find my own way back,” Adam ground out between clenched teeth. Things were complicated enough right now without venturing into that potential minefield.

Jazz wasn’t offended. “Sure. Knock yourself out, man.” He leaned over, and Adam backed up, afraid that the younger boy intended to touch him again. Jazz laughed even as he admired Adam, his bright green eyes playfully glinting in what remained of the afternoon light. “Just don’t let those bears take a bite out of you. You’d be a mighty tasty morsel.”

Adam looked vaguely horrified. Those were his choices? The bears or…what? What was Jazz offering anyway?

“I like girls,” Adam said, a propos of nothing.

Jazz shrugged. “I like dogs. Good thing, too. Cause my folks live on the kennel side of the Davenports’ place.”

“I won’t come visit you.”

“Who asked you? You need to lose a little of the attitude, man. People might mistake you for someone who doesn’t give a shit. And I know you do.” Jazz shook his head sadly. “Just like your Dad. Like I said.”

“Why don’t you leave me alone?”

“You can’t be scared of me, man. I don’t bite. Well, hardly ever,” Jazz drawled flirtatiously.

“Stop that!”

“Stop what?” Jazz asked, the perfect picture of innocence.

“Flirting with me! You’re not a girl!”

“I know.” Jazz looked thoughtful. “But do you?” he asked, dropping his gaze meaningfully to Adam’s rather obvious state of arousal.

“Hormones, that’s all. I get excited five, six times a day. So what?” Adam said belligerently, daring the younger boy to make something out of that.

“So I’m impressed. Jeez, do you get off that many times, too? Or is that the problem? You keep getting excited cause there’s no one to…take care of business.”

“Shut up. You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“You’d be surprised. I made a brief but stunning career out of it on the streets.”

“Why don’t you go back there?” Adam snapped angrily, directing his anger at Jazz because he was the safer target. He’d already had enough of beating himself up.

A dark look flickered across Jazz’ beautiful face and was gone. The smile that replaced it was every bit as brittle as it was bright. “Sorry. I forgot not everyone thinks I’m charming.”

“Why do you do that?”

“What?”

“Set yourself up for someone to knock you down. It’s like you do it…I don’t know…on purpose or something.”

Jazz blinked and bit his lip. “We all do what we’re used to.”

“But why are you used to it? Where did you come from that you would get used to something like that?”

“Look,” Jazz said, tossing his head, “I didn’t ask you about where you came from. So you don’t have any right to ask me anything.”

“You fucking kissed me, you queer! I think that gives me the right to ask you anything I fucking want to!”

Jazz’ vibrant green eyes went dead, now the chilly color of leaves after a hard summer rain. “Guess we’re not going to be friends, after all,” Jazz quipped, the humor never reaching those bleak eyes. Jazz wrapped his arms around himself as tightly as he could, and Adam could see him retreating somewhere deep inside himself.

Adam took a step forward, but this time, Jazz was the one to back up. “Hey, I don’t need a ton of bricks to fall on me, man. I’m leaving.”

“Look, I’m sorry about calling you—“ Jazz winced. “—that name.” Adam looked genuinely apologetic. “Why don’t you sit down again and we can talk?”

“We don’t have anything to talk about.”

“Please?” Adam reached out a hand, palm up. “Come on.”

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll hit on you again?”

“Don’t be dumb.”

“I’m not.”

“Are you saying you can’t keep your hands off me? I’m not that—that—terrific.”

“That’s sad.”

“What?”

“That no one’s ever told you how special you are.”

“I didn’t say that.” Adam sat down again, his butt landing on the stump unexpectedly hard. He grimaced, and it was all Jazz could do not to laugh out loud.

“But it was my Mom, you know? She always thought I was something special.” Adam laughed derisively at himself. “You know how Moms are.”

Jazz bit his lip again, this time hard enough to draw blood. “I wish I did. At least your Mom loved you. Mine didn’t want me.”

He stood there on shaky legs while Adam digested this new information about Jazz. Adam looked up suddenly, his dark eyes full of contrition. “Is that how you ended up on the streets?”

Jazz nodded silently. He wouldn’t cry. All that was in the past. It had no power to hurt him anymore. His folks loved him. That made all the difference.

“Please sit down,” Adam entreated, patting the spot next to him.

Reluctantly Jazz complied. But his body was in league with his heart right now, and neither one could take much more proximity to Adam.

“What was your Mom like?” Jazz asked.

For the first time in days, Adam felt like he could talk about his mother. He didn’t question the wisdom of confiding in someone he had barely met. He felt safe, and that was all he needed.

They talked for a couple of hours. Till the light faded completely. Till the wonderful folks that saw something worth salvaging in Jazz came for him. Worried.

Ironically, it was Smoke who saw the couple first. “Jamie! Look!”

James cursed under his breath. “I see him, Pete. He’s going to be sitting on pillows for a week by the time I get done with him.”

“Jamie,” Smoke admonished his lover in a whisper. “He’s got a crush on the boy,” he said with a faint smile.

James’ deep blue eyes grew round. “He’s Michael’s son, for God’s sake. Pete, do you have a sudden death wish?”

“Are you worried about us…or about him?”

“If Jazz seduces Michael’s son, I’m afraid there won’t be enough left of any of us to worry about, Pete.”

Chapter 15

“Jesus, Walter. I thought you were okay with this.”

“I am, I am,” the older man replied quickly, but he was visibly trembling.

“It’s okay, you know.”

“What’s okay?”

“I’m glad it was you.”

“Dammit, Seymour, stop talking in riddles!”

Sey heaved a great sigh. “About you being my father. I didn’t mean to bring back a lot of bad memories.”

“Shit, Seymour, you never cease to amaze me. You find out that you have a long lost twin brother. You find out that I’m your father…and you’re worried about me.”

Sey shifted uncomfortably under Walter’s renewed scrutiny. That tough old man hadn’t lost any of the intensity in those I-can-see-everything-right-clear-down-to-your-soul blue eyes. “I meant what I said, Walter. You’ve always been there for me. And now, to find out that you’re my father…” Sey’s voice almost broke, but he managed to hang onto what was left of his control at the last moment.

Walter held out his arms in welcome. “Come over here and hug me, already!”

Wrapping his arms around the younger man, Walter made short work of letting him know just how he felt about Birkoff being his son. “I always hoped that you were mine,” he whispered.

“Me, too,” Sey choked out.

“Don’t you go crying on me now, Seymour,” Walter warned.

“I told you not to call me that…*Dad*.”

Walter ruffled Sey’s long brown hair. It seemed to have developed a wave where it curled almost lovingly around his face. Suddenly Walter threw back his head and laughed whole-heartedly.

“What? What’s so funny?” Sey asked in a perplexed tone.

“It was the computer’s idea to call you Seymour.”

“What?” Sey exclaimed incredulously.

“Yeah, well… When Lisa’s time came, she was so sick, she couldn’t name you two.”

“What about you?”

“Me? I was away on a mission. So that left—“

“The computer? How?”

“We had a random name generation program we used to fabricate aliases back then. Unfortunately, the op who programmed the list didn’t have much of an imagination. Obviously, Section wasn’t set up to name babies. So they relied on the computer to select the next two names.”

Sey began to laugh, too, finally seeing something funny in a name he had always hated. “That explains how we ended up Seymour and Jason.”

“I wonder what she would have named me, if she’d been given the chance,” Sey mused out loud, unaware that a certain wistfulness had crept into his expression.

“I imagine,” Walter began huskily, “that she would have taken one good look at you and thought of something…just plain terrific.”

“Did she know?”

Walter frowned. “Know what?”

“That it was you.”

Walter’s face softened as his memory captured her image, blurred by time, but nonetheless recognizable. His gravelly voice caught as he replied, “I sure like to think so.”

“How come you two didn’t get married?”

Walter shook his head, a dark shadow crossing his weathered face. “What makes you think we didn’t?”

Sey gave the older man a skeptical look. “You wanted to, though.” With his natural intuitive grasp of the situation, Sey knew that it was true.

“She said no.” Walter’s voice was so low as to be almost inaudible.

“You couldn’t talk her into it?”

Walter’s eyes looked faraway. “I guess it wasn’t meant to be.”

“Tell me about her.”

“You’ve got her eyes. Her coloring. God knows you don’t take after me. This,” he indicated his thinning gray hair, carefully camouflaged under yet another colorful bandanna, “used to be black.”

“Was she pretty?” Sey was beginning to believe that he could see her, through his newly discovered father’s eyes.

“Breathtaking,” Walter whispered. He could see her. As perfect as she had been before—the trouble started.

But nothing beautiful stayed that way for long inside Section. Section killed beautiful things.

Section killed her.

Purgatory Part 2