Love Thieves #22:  Purgatory

 

 

Chapter 16

 

*Note:  This is not a flashback in the usual sense of the word. Normally, a person would be *thinking* or *remembering* something. However, in this case, I didn’t want to rely on Walter’s memory, which, by now, may or may not be accurate, and which might be incomplete, even if he *did* remember. There were too many other interesting bits and pieces worth exploring. So bear with me while I attempt to play ‘fill in the blanks’. Given the actual inconsistencies in canon LFN, there is no way to make everything fit together the way it should. But I’ll try….

 

Flashback

 

Section One

 

January 1975

 

The tall, lean field operative dressed completely in black stopped as he came abreast of a similarly dressed man. Animosity was written in every line of his handsome face. The two men were clearly not equals, and yet….

 

“You fucking owe me for this, Paul. I backed you against Adrian. I had, Hell, I *still* have, more to lose than you do.”

 

The speaker was Walter, a Level 5 cold op at the height of his career in Section. Clad in black leather that clung to every sinewy muscle, Walter tore an angry swath through One, breaking hearts left and right. He had been in love countless times, but he doubted that he would ever settle down.

 

“I…told…you…” the second man said, speaking slowly and deliberately, as if he were attempting to threaten Walter. “You’ll get…Tactical Oversight. What *more* do you want, you ambitious son-of-a-bitch?”

 

The second speaker was Paul Wolfe, a former POW from the Viet Nam Conflict, as they were calling it, a man who showed such brilliance when it came to executive strategy that he was recruited fresh out of the field, ostensibly to promote Section’s interests, certainly not his own.

 

“We made a deal, Paul. The least you could do is honor it. Or do you *want* me to tell Oversight exactly how you managed to depose Adrian?” As Walter spoke, his voice had sharply risen in tone and intensity. Now he lowered it to a conspiratorial whisper.,

 

“I…know…things, Paul. Trust me, this is one pissing contest you wouldn’t win.”

 

“You don’t have the stones.”

 

“You’d be surprised what I have. Go ahead, Paul. Take a walk on the wild side.”

 

“Very well. You win. *This* time. But mark my words, Walter. Next time I’ll be waiting.”

 

“There’d better not *be* a next time.”

 

Having come to some sort of understanding, the two men nodded at each other and went their separate ways. Paul Wolfe, the new Operations of Section One, strode briskly towards the observation deck that overlooked the commons. Once inside, he walked to the windows and braced himself on both arms. He could spend hours here. Master of all he surveyed, indeed. He was born to power and he knew it.

 

He was a decidedly handsome man, dark-haired, not unlike his counterpart. But there the similarity ended. Perhaps it was Fate that the two men should be set at each other’s throats like this. They were cut from the same cloth, but they wanted very different things. Paul was suited to the military life, at heart a traditionalist who saw things only in black and white. It made him ruthless. It made those pale blue eyes of his glitter like icy diamonds as he contemplated a mission’s probable losses, not in terms of human life, but in terms of resources.

 

To Paul, the end justified the means. Always.

 

But Walter saw no black or white. Only grey. Left with no choice but to let Section use him as its unwilling whore, he collected things. Things like intel. Things like forgotten bank accounts. Things like stray people no one wanted anymore. He too had a ruthless streak, but he never let it control him. He used it to his advantage. A rebel and a nonconformist by nature, Walter had a reputation for being both a creative thinker as well as a troublemaker.

 

The former was what kept him alive in Section.

 

The latter was what kept him at odds with people like Paul Wolfe.

 

Despite Wolfe’s claims to the contrary, Walter had no great desire for power. He was not ambitious for ambition’s sake. He had just enough power to allow him to move more freely throughout the prison that was Section. He had just enough power to keep people like Wolfe off-balance.

 

He wasn’t sure he was cut out to be the major thorn in the new Operations’ side, but he would give it a try.

 

***

 

Long dark brown hair. Deep brown eyes that gleamed with intelligence and spirit. He frowned. She was a bit too petite for his tastes, but her body was well-proportioned.

 

Operations pressed a finger to a panel in front of him, opening a comm channel. “What’s your name?”

 

He was in the middle of checking out the latest recruits. Disinterested in anything that he considered beneath him, nevertheless he made it a point to show up when a new group of recruits was brought in. He was still a relatively young man, with all of the usual needs, and sometimes he believed that Section owed him for the life it had taken away. He wouldn’t be so crude as to say that he was trolling for women, but that didn’t make it any less true.

 

He had the love of a good woman once. Operations twisted the plain gold band on his left ring finger. But though he was married before coming to Section, his wife believed him dead. The soldier in him respected the logic in that. The politician in him applauded. But sometimes he thought that was responsible for killing what was left of his humanity. It hurt too much for it to be any other way.

 

“I said, what’s your name?”

 

“Madeline.”

 

“What a pretty name,” he said, regretting only for a moment the predator that he had become.

 

***

 

Walter was in his office when she knocked on his door. He raised his head, his deep blue eyes sparkling at the sight of her. “Lisa!”

 

“Hi, Walter,” she said almost shyly, playing with a strand of her long brown hair. Her bittersweet chocolate eyes brightened perceptibly as they took in the picture he made behind his desk. He was beautiful. His hair was long and straight and black as midnight. His eyes twinkled, his face was lightly tanned. He didn’t *look* anything like a spy was supposed to look.

 

She said as much the very first time they met. His response? “Camouflage, Sugar.”

 

“You’re looking mighty good, Sugar,” he said as he activated an anti-surveillance device on his desk. He had no intention of being overheard.

 

She blushed. She was such an innocent, this one. Sometimes he thought, Walter, you should be running clear in the other direction. This one’s got a hold on you.

 

“I’ve been training all day,” she said with an adorable wrinkle of her retrousse nose. “I probably need a shower.”

 

“Need a partner?” he quipped because it was expected of him. But the truth was, he liked her. He liked her *way* too much for his own good. He didn’t need another weakness for Operations to exploit.

 

He didn’t need *her*.

 

She smiled.

 

Oh, Hell, maybe he did.

 

 

Chapter 17 (language)

 

Flashback

 

January 1975

 

Section was unlike most governmental agencies. Even the most covert expected some degree of fraternization amongst its people, and though there were rules concerning that kind of behavior, they applied to people who were on-duty at the time. Not Section.

 

Section didn’t allow small talk. There was no such thing as going out to lunch with friends. Unless your friends were the Torture Twins, and you were helping them with a particularly nasty interrogation.

 

People didn’t congregate in the hallways to talk about the latest movie or to grouse about Operations’ latest edict, the way they would in an office. Section was not your ordinary day job. The sooner you found that out, the better off you would be.

 

Still, there were pockets of power. As egalitarian as Section might seem from the outside, on the inside it was anything but. It was class distinction at its worst. Level upon level upon…

 

At the moment, Walter was enjoying the top rung of his ladder. As a field operative, he really couldn’t go any higher, nor was he likely to, given Operations’ feelings towards him. Sooner or later, he would have to make a decision. A decision not to go out and fight that good fight anymore. A decision to take himself off the frontlines.

 

Not because he was afraid of dying. He faced that a long time ago.

 

But because now, for some strange, inexplicable, but wonderful reason, he had a reason to live. Beyond the obvious.

 

*She* was in love with him. He could tell. Women had come and gone in his life for as long as he could remember. There had never been anyone special. Women had fallen in love with him before. It wasn’t new. But it felt…different.

 

*He* had been in love. It was no big deal, he told himself. Been there, done that. Maybe he felt compelled to reciprocate her feelings. She *was* a nice girl. There was something innocent and untouched about her.

 

You didn’t get too much of that in Section. Everyone here was here for a reason. Oh, the party line was that everyone had committed some major crime, that people were routinely recruited from prisons around the world. Not true.

 

Oh, it happened. Once in a great while. But it wasn’t routine at all. Section had its reasons, which it rarely deigned to share with its operatives, but this was not an altruistic organization.

 

What was the truth? People were kidnapped from their daily lives. Instead of climbing into a big shiny alien UFO, they got into a dull black mission van. But the end result was the same. They were never seen or heard from again.

 

***

 

Walter cleared his desk and stood up. Paperwork was not his forte. He would much rather be *doing* something.

 

A figure blocked the light spilling from the hallway into his office. “Who’s there?”

 

“Only me, Walter.” Operations looked smug. That wasn’t good.

 

“What can I do for you, Paul?” Walter’s tone was brusque, even curt. He pushed the envelope as far as he could. He couldn’t bear to be in the same room with Operations and *he* knew it, too.

 

A sly smile curved Operations’ mouth. “That new recruit. What’s her name?” Operations made a great show of pretending not to recall her name, but Walter felt a chill run down his spine. It was clear that he was up to something.

 

“Lisa.”

 

Operations nodded. “Ah,” he said, “Birkoff, isn’t it? Lisa Birkoff?”

 

“Yeah, that’s it. Was there something you wanted?”

 

“She’s a pretty thing, isn’t she?”

 

“What’s your point, Paul?” Walter snapped, his patience at an end.

 

Operations’ smile died. “I want her.”

 

“She’s not finished training yet.”

 

“I want her now.”

 

“For what mission? She’s not fully trained! You want to get her killed?”

 

That odd smile reappeared. “Bring her to me.”

 

“I’m not your fucking pimp, Paul. You want a girl, go find your own. What happened to that one you had your eye on? Madeline? What happened to *her*?”

 

The head of Section One flushed angrily. He didn’t like being reminded of his failures, or even his disappointments, for that matter. Madeline was merely a girl, a girl of nineteen, a girl with absolutely no power in his universe. But she had refused him. He allowed her to say no. This time. But he needed to make someone pay. It might as well be Walter’s material. He liked the irony.

 

“Bring Lisa to me. Tonight. Don’t disobey me on this, Walter. I mean it.”

 

“I know you do, Paul. It’s really sad that you can’t get a girl any other way, isn’t it?”

 

“You know,” Operations slung both hands into his pants pockets, ruining the elegant line of his Armani suit. “People have been cancelled for less.”

 

“You need me, and you know it.” Bastard.

 

“Everyone has his breaking point, Walter.” I’d love to find yours. In fact, I think I have.

 

“Get fucked, Paul.”

 

The venom in Walter’s voice was unmistakable. If Operations took Lisa to his bed, willingly or not, Walter would retaliate. It wasn’t worth it. At least not now. Maybe later.

 

Anticipation was half the fun.

 

 

 

Chapter 18

 

Flashback

 

January 1975

 

 

Even Walter couldn’t openly defy Operations’ explicit orders to bring Lisa to the Tower. But that didn’t mean that he had to like it. He wanted to warn her, to beg her to stay away, but that would surely get her cancelled. He could tell her that he was in love with her….

 

Walter’s heart ached at the uncharacteristic introspection. Always a player, Walter tried not to search too deeply inside himself. That way lay madness. What Section wanted and what Walter wanted could never be reconciled.

 

His hands were quite literally tied. If he sacrificed himself to protect her now, she would be safe…for the moment. But who would protect her when he was gone? No, he had to think this through.

 

What did he know about Operations? That he liked to win. That much was obvious. That he wanted Lisa *because* he suspected that Walter cared about her. It wasn’t so much that he *desired* Lisa as that he lived to *thwart* Walter.

 

There had to be something he could do.

 

If something happened to her, Walter didn’t know how he would go on. A man like him lived with guilt every day, for the countless, senseless acts of violence he was forced to inflict on targets and collateral alike. But this was *personal*.

 

In the end, he did nothing. He would live to regret that.

 

***

 

“Operations wants to see me?” Lisa asked, her fearful brown eyes meeting Walter’s conflicted blue eyes.

 

“Yeah,” he said tersely, willing himself not to shudder.

 

“Why?”

 

Okay, Walter, get a grip, it’s not like she’s a blushing virgin or anything. She’s been around the block a few times. You trained her well. She can handle him.

 

Walter tried to smile, but the effort was wasted. Lisa was nothing if not perceptive. “Oh, I get it.”

 

“Do you?” Suddenly Walter was desperately afraid that she didn’t.

 

“Yeah.” She sounded sad, disappointed. Twirling a long strand of hair between her fingers, she stared a hole in the floor of Walter’s office. “I thought…maybe you and I…” Unable to finish, she shrugged wordlessly.

 

“Yeah, well…you can do better.”

 

Her head came up sharply. “You think so? Let’s not fool ourselves, right?” she said bitterly. “He’s not looking to profess undying love. He wants to *fuck* me.”

 

Walter winced at her choice of words. He was having a hard enough time trying to restrain his natural impulse to beat the shit out of Operations and damn the consequences. “Lisa, please…”

 

“Please what, Walter? You don’t want me. *He* might as well have me.”

 

He grabbed her by both arms, his fingers digging into her tender flesh so deeply that they would leave bruises. “How can you think I don’t want you?”

 

“But it’s not allowed,” she stated flatly, daring Walter to contradict her.

 

“Do you think I care about that? Do you? God, Lisa, I—“ He pulled her into his arms, his hands tangling in her long dark hair, his mouth seeking, covering, promising things he had no right to speak aloud.

 

“Take me.”

 

“No,” he groaned against her mouth, helpless to resist tasting her sweetness once more.

 

“Please…” she entreated.

 

He slid his cheek alongside hers and closed his eyes. He had to think, he had to think, dammit, why was it so hard to think?

 

“I can’t, Sugar,” he whispered, knowing that if she died, he would die, too.

 

She broke away from his tight embrace, his arms so constricting, she could barely breathe. “Then I have no choice.”

 

He shook his head.

 

“Why do you want me to hate you, too? Isn’t it enough that I’ll hate *him*?”

 

“No,” he answered sorrowfully. If despising me is the price I have to pay for keeping you safe, I’ll pay it.

 

Tears filled her eyes, setting them to sparkling like stars whose light would soon sputter and go out. “I love you,” she whispered, and with those words, she sentenced Walter to a Hell of his own making.

 

“I know.”

 

 

 

 

Chapter 19—NC-17

 

Flashback

 

January 1975

 

She never let Operations see the tears.

 

She smoothed her long brown hair with trembling hands and stood outside his door in the Tower. Almost at attention.

 

He would have appreciated her strength if he hadn’t been so busy admiring her discomfiture. He looked forward to the evening with great anticipation. If his smile was just a shade more vulpine than usual, it was understandable. Paul Wolfe was aptly named.

 

“Come in, my dear.”

 

That didn’t bode well. Accustomed to being addressed by her last name, she might have expected him to call her by her first name. But he was using endearments. He was trying to make this personal. Well, she wasn’t Walter’s material for nothing.

 

“Thank you, *sir*.”

 

The slightest of frowns crossed Operations’ face. For a moment, he wondered if she might be harder to tame than he thought. But he dismissed the thought as unworthy of someone of his stature. She should be afraid. She should be very afraid.

 

She was. But she wasn’t about to let him know that.

 

***

 

He offered her a drink. She refused. Politely, even regretfully. If he didn’t know better, he would think she was waging war on her own terms. Didn’t the foolish girl know who she was dealing with? Didn’t she know that she couldn’t win? Even Walter knew that. He had read defeat in those injured blue eyes.

 

When Operations suddenly gripped her wrist, hard enough to leave bruises, Lisa looked through him, as though he were a pane of glass. “I didn’t think rape was your style, *sir*.”

 

“It’s not,” he returned silkily, certain that it would never come to that. But if it did, well, he couldn’t deny that he found the challenge vaguely titillating.

 

“Why don’t you go into the bedroom and find something more…comfortable…to change into?”

 

“And to think, I always imagined that you did *everything* with the same *finesse* you give your work,” she snapped sarcastically.

 

“You want finesse? I’ll give you finesse.” With that, Operations pulled her into a tight embrace, forcing her head back to suffer an almost impossibly brutal kiss.

 

All at once, Operations yelped, not unlike a dog, and he drew back, his fingers touching his torn lip. “You bit me!”

 

“Oops.”

 

Operations grasped his handkerchief from his inside jacket pocket and applied it to his lower lip, which even now welled up with fresh blood. “You’ll pay for that.”

 

“I’m sure I will,” she replied flatly. But in the meantime, it gave her the greatest possible satisfaction to know that she had bested her nemesis. Even if the victory was short-lived.

 

“Come here,” he commanded, digging his fingers into her shoulders. He all but pulled her down a short hallway to the bedroom and then deposited her rather ignominiously on the bed there.

 

“Take your clothes off.”

 

She stared at him, her dark chocolate eyes gleaming with unshed tears, her full, sensual mouth set mutinously. “Do it yourself.”

 

“Don’t think I won’t.”

 

“Knock yourself out. *Sir*. “ She met him, glare for glare, and for the first time, Operations began to sense that he might win the war, but the battle might not go his way.

 

He knelt on the edge of the bed, abruptly ripping the top of her dress in such a way that it hung to her waist, leaving her vulnerable to his next unwanted advance.

 

Her breasts heaving, she said absolutely nothing as he snapped open the front closure of her bra. She was, quite literally, defenseless. If she didn’t move on Operations now, he would take advantage of her. If she used what she had been taught, she would be cancelled.

 

“You don’t want to do this, sir.”

 

“I think I do,” he said, giving her that lascivious smile that made her want to purge her body of whatever was left in her roiling stomach.

 

Bending his head to her breast, he latched onto a nipple, working the tiny nub with his teeth. He was hurting her, and he knew it. Well, if he thought that her reaction would be predictable, he was wrong.

 

Forcing herself to remain utterly still went against every fiber of her being, but she did it. Eventually, he grew tired of her apathy.

 

Stone-faced, he pushed his hands roughly up her dress, caressing her flesh with eager, thrusting fingers. Her lack of reaction was beginning to have the desired effect on him. “What’s the matter with you? You spread your legs for Walter, but I’m not good enough for you?”

 

Her eyes narrowing, she hissed, “If the only reason you want me is because you think you’re taking me away from Walter, you should know…he’s never had me.”

 

“You’re lying.”

 

She shook her head silently.

 

The man called Operations unzipped his pants and thrust a knee between her legs. “I can make you want me.”

 

“Not in this lifetime.”

 

He didn’t believe her. He would swear that he didn’t. But his throbbing erection waned until it hung limply against the inside of her thigh. *It* believed her. And since the only reason he wanted her was to strike back at Walter, *it* had no use for her.

 

He couldn’t perform.

 

It didn’t matter how he justified it to himself.

 

He couldn’t get it up.

 

“Swear,” he growled, the palm of his hand over her mouth. “Swear you won’t tell *anyone* about this.”

 

“Why would I?” she tossed back, uncaring what he did to her now.

 

“If you do,” he snarled, so close that they shared breath, “I’ll know, and I’ll take my revenge.”

 

“I don’t care.”

 

“I know you don’t care what I do to *you*, but I think you care very much what happens to *Walter*.”

 

“There’s nothing between us!” she shouted, trying to divert Operations’ attention back to her.

 

“Then you won’t care if I cancel him!”

 

She couldn’t prevent the involuntary shudder that raced through her body. Lying on top of her unwilling flesh, Operations couldn’t help but feel triumphant at provoking such an intense response. She would obey him now. This could be more useful than he’d dreamed.

 

“When you see Walter—“

 

She struggled to interrupt, but Operations gave her a baleful look.  “When you see him, you be sure to tell him just how good I was.”

 

She spat at him, and Operations backhanded her across the face without thinking. He lowered his mouth to her ear and whispered, “You tell him just how much you liked me *fucking* you.” His warning implicit, he proceeded to lick the side of her face with his tongue, the effect more menacing than sensual.

 

“Or he dies.”

 

 

Chapter 20—NC-17

 

Flashback

 

January 1975

 

“You know how dangerous this is? We can’t—“

 

Walter’s protests were cut off by the most satisfying kiss he had ever experienced.

 

She smiled knowingly. “You were saying?”

 

“You’re the first woman I’ve loved that I’d be willing to die for.” The moment the words left his mouth, Walter wanted to call them back. They said too much. They weren’t enough.

 

He was scared out of his mind.

 

“Please…”

 

“Make love to me.”

 

“They’ll find out. *He’ll* find out.”

 

“It doesn’t matter.”

 

“Of course it matters. He’ll cancel—“

 

“Who? You? Me? You said you were willing to die for me. Prove it.”

 

Walter groaned at the ease with which she threw his words back at him. “It’s not *me* I’m worried about, Lisa. I don’t—I couldn’t…if something happened to *you*….”

 

“I feel the same way, Walter. You know I do. Please make love to me,” the young woman begged. Although Operations had not been able to perform, she could still feel his hands on her. Poking, prodding, touching her.

 

“This is all wrong, Sugar.”

 

“No!” she exclaimed, her vehemence shocking Walter. “What *he* did…that was all wrong.”

 

Pulling her into his arms, Walter felt close to tears. He, who should have protected her at all costs, did not. He was responsible for her rape at the hands of their jailer. Only him. “I’m sorry, Sugar. So sorry.”

 

“Show me,” she whispered. She closed her eyes and prayed to a God who seemed curiously determined to ignore their plight.

 

Walter was so still that he might have been carved from stone. Only his breathing, loud and audibly distressed, told her that he lived.

 

She pushed her fingers inside the edge of Walter’s bandanna, clearly intending to remove it. Walter placed his trembling hand over hers. “Don’t.”

 

“You have such beautiful hair. Please let me feel it.”

 

His hand fell away.  “Not here,” he said, indicating that they remained within range of surveillance.

 

She nodded silently.

 

***

 

She had never been to Walter’s apartment before. If this were anything like a normal relationship, she would have been congratulating herself for finally achieving that milestone. Nevertheless, she had the distinct feeling that for Walter, this *was* a first.

 

He showed her into his apartment, then stopped to lock the door behind him. Leaning on the door, he appeared to be contemplating her lazily, like a big cat appraising its next meal. “How do you like it?”

 

She smiled. His apartment was a rather spartan affair. She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but this was not it. “It’s…nice.”

 

Now it was his turn to smile. “Sugar, it’s not nice. It doesn’t even look like anyone lives here.”

 

“Well…”

 

“Thanks for sparing my feelings, but the truth is, I *don’t* live here. I eat out. I drink out. I go out.” He chuckled. “Okay, I occasionally sleep here, but that’s about it.”

 

“But don’t they--?”

 

“Honey, they’ve got nothing to say to me I haven’t heard already. When I made Level 5, they cut the surveillance. One of the few perks.” At her questioning look, which clearly said, How can you believe them?, Walter said, “I’ve checked. I check everyday.”

 

He snorted derisively. “Sometimes I think I bore them to death.”

 

“But Operations feels threatened by you. Even I could see that.”

 

“*That* has nothing to do with *this*, sweetheart.” Walter pushed himself off the door and ambled over to the refrigerator. Taking a carton of orange juice from inside, he tipped the container into his mouth, some of the liquid spilling from the corners.

 

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, bemused to find Lisa staring at him. “What? You never saw a man drink OJ before?”

 

“I think you’re beautiful,” she said in a hushed voice.

 

“Yeah?” he rasped, the taut muscles in his throat working with some unspecified emotion.

 

She nodded wordlessly.

 

“Come here.”

 

She stepped closer, and Walter took another, much smaller sip of juice. Holding it in his mouth, he slowly kissed her, gently nudging her lips apart, the sticky juice filling her mouth until it overflowed. Breaking off the achingly sweet kiss, Walter watched, mesmerized, as the orange fluid trickled leisurely down the side of her slender neck. He bent his head without thinking, his tongue flicking out to lap almost tenderly at first. Before long, however, desire drove him to suckle at the sweetness there.

 

“Oh, God, “ he groaned. “I think I left a mark.”

 

“Good,” she declared triumphantly. Meeting Walter’s startled look, she said, “I want everyone to know I belong to you.”

 

“That would be fucking dangerous, and you know it.”

 

“I don’t care.”

 

A rush of longing overtook him, and his mouth found hers, again and again. “I want you,” he said hoarsely.

 

“You have me.”

 

 

Chapter 21—NC-17

 

Flashback

 

January 1975

 

He undressed her slowly, the disrobing itself part of the seduction. He could not resist touching her, kissing her, cherishing her as he proceeded, but he kept himself under almost rigid control. He would not rush this.

 

He would take her with all of the gentility and the gravity that a woman like her deserved. For she *was* the love of his life.

 

His large hands shaking visibly, he caressed her naked shoulders, brushing a kiss there. “Christ, I haven’t felt like this in years.”

 

“Good. I want both of us to remember this. Always.” Her voice was whisper-soft, but he could sense the steely determination that lurked just beneath the surface.

 

The bedroom was just as sparsely furnished as the rest of the apartment. But there was color here. The curtains at the window, the satiny over-sized comforter on the bed. Bright blue. An even brighter red. Splashes here and there. The lamp on the night table was lit, a dim light that illuminated only enough to see shape and shadows. The stereo was on. Strains of Eric Clapton’s “Wonderful Tonight” filled the small room, the music, like Walter’s hands on her body, a perfect fit.

 

She lay on her back, her long dark brown hair spilling across the crisp white pillowcase in striking contrast. Her arms outstretched, she invited him inside, and he came to her with the eagerness of a boy.

 

He sought the delicate tip of one breast, his teeth lightly grazing it until it stood proud and erect. She arched upwards, her fingers tangling in the long black hair no longer confined by its bandanna. Her unconscious groan stopped him for a moment, but she smiled beatifically in reassurance. “Please don’t stop. It’s wonderful. *You’re* wonderful.”

 

He chuckled nervously, covering his deeper feelings with an attempt at humor. “Bet you say that to all the boys, Sugar.”

 

“No.” Her bittersweet chocolate eyes deep and serious, she added, “There has never been anyone else who can touch me this way, Walter. You are the first…and the last.”

 

“But you’re not a virgin.”

 

“No,” she answered sadly. “That gift is no longer mine to give, Walter. I wish you had been the one.” Her dark eyes suddenly reflective, she said, “But in every way that counts, you *are*.”

 

Shivering, partly with anticipation, partly with the weight of emotions he had thought dead long ago, Walter shook his head. “You can still say that to me? After I made you go to *him*?”

 

Knowing that she could not reveal the truth about what transpired between her and Operations, Lisa searched for a way to allay Walter’s guilt. For that was what kept them apart now. Placing her long, slender fingertips at both temples, she held Walter with an almost-hypnotic gaze. “I will never belong to *him*, Walter. I can’t. I already belong to *you*.”

 

Her eyes growing hot on his face, she pressed closer, savoring the feel of his chest hair lightly abrading the tips of her breasts. “And once you spill your seed deep inside me, there will be no one else. Ever.”

 

If Walter were capable of coherent thought at that moment, he would have argued against the merest possibility of having a child. But this woman touched him in a way that made reason fade. The thought of her big with child, big with *his* child, was irresistible.

 

The wisdom of years and years of experience flew away as if it had never been. His hand slid between her legs, feeling the gathering moisture there. “So wet, so hot. For me.”

 

“Only for you,” she whispered into his ear.

 

He thrust smoothly into her waiting depths, her snug channel welcoming him inside. It was like coming home. They fit together. All further thought of foreplay gone, he couldn’t hold onto his control any longer. The slow, languorous lovemaking that was prelude ended with an abruptness that might have startled Lisa if it hadn’t been what she desired most.

 

To make Walter hers. To make him unleash that iron-clad will of his. To make him lose all control.

 

He moved inside her like quicksilver, taking her so vigorously that she knew neither one of them could last long. Again and again he pounded her willing flesh, unable to prevent a groan of exultation from escaping his lips. He kissed her, hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses that vibrated her entire being. She wanted to respond, she wanted so desperately to respond in kind, but he was lost in a sensual haze. When the moment of climax hit him, he bit the side of her neck and she cried out.

 

His lower body undulating wildly, he came with a force that took both of them by surprise. He was filling her. With liquid heat. So intense. So powerful. She couldn’t breathe, and then…her breath caught in her throat as she convulsed beneath him.

 

He swallowed every startled cry as if he were incapable of doing anything but devouring her.

 

He rolled onto his back, taking her with him, and the feel of him, still half-hard within her, pierced her to the quick. Her body wanted him with a fervor she had never felt before. He kissed her swollen mouth, gently rocking his hips under her. His erection growing impossibly hard again, he surged upwards with more and more force.

 

This time she could move with him. Throwing her head back, she met each thrust with one of her own. No longer passively participating, she helped them hurtle into the void. Together. His hands slid down her hips, holding her in place for his final assault. His fingers trailed down the cleft of her buttocks, and she came.

 

The clenching of her inner muscles sent Walter over the edge. With one long, hard thrust, he came inside her, the intensity of this orgasm almost as great as the first. She lay atop him, panting, as some of his hot seed leaked out, coating the wiry black hair in his groin. Dipping a delicate finger there, she tasted their mingled essence. “Mmm….”

 

“You approve?”

 

“Oh, yes.” Pause. “Are we going to do this all night long?”

 

His flaccid length stirring within her, he sighed happily, “I sure hope so, Sugar.”

 

 

 

Chapter 22

 

Present

 

“Walter?” The older man looked like he was lost in thought. But wherever he was, it had to be pleasant. There was just a trace of a wistful smile on his face, and Birkoff knew that Walter must be remembering something good.

 

Jerked away from his reveries about Lisa, Walter quickly recovered. Someday he would tell Birkoff more about his mother. But right now, he was concerned that the former Comm Op might be literally overwhelmed by recent events.

 

“You’re thinking about *her*, aren’t you?” Birkoff prompted. “My mom?”

 

A tightening of his mouth was the only sign that Walter regretted leaving the past. There were things he had done, things they all had done that could never be erased. It all played on and on, like some endless movie, in his head.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“You promised to tell me about her.”

 

“I will, Seymour. I will.” Suddenly Walter looked old beyond his years, and Birkoff could see just how much of a toll the life that they once lived had taken on him.

 

“But not today.”

 

Walter cupped the younger man’s chin affectionately. “Today you should go find that man of yours and hug him as tight as you can. Would you do that for me?”

 

Birkoff’s lips curved upwards in a slow and easy smile as he contemplated the possibilities inherent in that scenario. “I’ll see what I can do.”

 

All at once Birkoff’s resemblance to Lisa was so strong, Walter was staggered by the intensity of feeling that surged through his tired old bones. She would have been damn proud of you, Seymour. I know *I* am.

 

***

 

Birkoff trailed his fingers along the railing on the way upstairs to the apartment he shared with Declan and their children. Preoccupied, he didn’t register his twin brother’s presence until he nearly bumped into him at the top of the stairway. “Hey!”

 

His dark eyes abruptly coming into sharper focus, Birkoff asked, “Just what are you doing up here anyway?”

 

“Wouldn’t y’all like to know?” Jason taunted.

 

“If you’ve been anywhere near my kids, I swear I—“

 

Jason shook his head, a smug smile on his handsome face. “Interesting. You thought of your kids first. Wonder what Declan would have to say about *that*?”

 

Birkoff’s full-lipped mouth thinned out until it was virtually a straight line. “I didn’t have to think of Declan first. Declan can take care of himself.”

 

“Oh, yes, he can,” Jason said, insinuating his tongue between his teeth.

 

“Look, if you’ve got something to say, spit it out! Otherwise, get lost!”

 

Jason cast a studious eye over Birkoff’s body, his look of disdain telegraphing just how badly he found his brother lacking. “You ain’t no competition for me, boy.”

 

Birkoff snorted, giving his twin a not-so-gentle shove. “Get out of my way.”

 

Looking back over his shoulder at Birkoff, Jason added, “I just got done servicing your man and all you have to say to me is ‘Get out of my way’?”

 

Birkoff leaned in close, so close that Jason could feel his breath rasping across his face. “You may be related to me, but you’re sure as hell not part of this family. You’d better get your ass back to where you came from.”

 

“Yeah? Who’s gonna make me?” Jason returned, nose to nose with his brother.

 

The door swung open behind the two men, revealing a curiously expressionless Declan. “Is there trouble here?” he inquired politely.

 

Birkoff shook his head vehemently. “Just putting out some extra trash I ran across.”

 

Jason glanced at Declan, unconsciously backing up a step. Just as he would have lost his balance and gone completely over the railing, no doubt falling three flights of stairs to his death, Birkoff caught his arm, steadying him.

 

Jason blinked at his brother. “I don’t get it. You could have been rid of me if you’d just let me go. How come you didn’t?”

 

“Guess you just hit on the difference between you and me, Jason. Y’know, once upon a time, I envied you. I thought you were so much better off than me. But now I see that for what it was. Wishful thinking.”

 

Standing behind Birkoff, Declan leaned on his lover, wrapping his arms around his upper chest before sliding his face alongside his to kiss him. “I missed you, baby.”

 

To say Birkoff looked triumphant would have been an understatement. With that one quiet declaration, the two of them put a stop to Jason’s machinations to wreak havoc within the family.

 

Jason could see when he was beaten. He never would have thought his mousy twin brother capable of attracting, much less holding a man of Declan’s obvious attributes.

 

Evidently, he still had a lot to learn about underestimating the power of love.

 

 

 

 

Chapter 23—NC-17

 

Sey pushed the door shut with one hand, keeping his other hand firmly planted in the middle of Declan’s chest. Declan smiled rapaciously, wondering, no, hoping that this was the prelude to something. With a quick shake of his head, he indicated the door. “Don’t you want to know what Jason had to say to me?” he asked with considerable bemusement.

 

Sey cocked his head, a half-smile creasing the corners of his mouth. His dark eyes gleaming with mischief, he said, “Well, he’s still alive, so it couldn’t have been all *that* interesting.”

 

“Maybe you’d rather hear what *I* had to say to *him*,” Declan said, pulling Sey into his arms. Sey melted against his body, winding his arms around Declan’s neck. “Did it involve any kind of weaponry?”

 

Declan pretended to ponder the question seriously. “Hm…no, not really.”

 

Suddenly he could feel Sey’s fingers in his hair, tugging and tangling the long curly red strands. As his head was drawn down to the smaller man’s, Declan asked huskily, “What do you want, acushla?”

 

Sey’s breath wafted over his face, coming in erotic little huffs and hitches that tantalized Declan no end. “Want you,” he managed to reply, biting his lip.

 

Declan’s whisper frayed the very edges of Sey’s control. “You want me to kiss you, baby?”

 

“Yesss…” he hissed. “Please kiss me.”

 

Declan claimed his mouth like a victorious warrior seizing his prize. Neither hard nor gentle, the kiss simply was. Nudging Sey’s lips apart with his tongue, he begged entrance and was admitted. Sey’s hands crept up his lover’s cheeks, anchoring him there.

 

Alternately licking and nibbling Sey’s lips, Declan began unbuttoning his shirt. When the shirt was open, Declan pushed it off one shoulder, exposing the pale skin there. Breaking away from Sey’s mouth, Declan latched onto the flesh of his shoulder, suckling until the area was wet and discolored.

 

At Sey’s gasp, Declan stopped. “Did I hurt you?”

 

Sey buried his face against Declan’s neck, where even now a strong, steady pulse beat. “You gave me a love bite,” he said breathlessly, laughter coloring his voice.

 

“Oh, no, baby, *this* is a love bite,” he corrected, his straight white teeth sinking into Sey’s shoulder.

 

He could feel Sey grinning, even if he couldn’t see him, and as if to prove it, Sey began to laugh in earnest. Taking a half-step back, he held onto Declan, his arms now encircling his waist. “Make love to me?”

 

“Sey, if you can’t tell that’s what I’ve been doing, I’d better start over,” Declan said, love shining out of his splendid silver-grey eyes.

 

Sey’s smile faded as he reached up to kiss Declan, his hand splaying across his right cheek. “Take me to bed,” he whispered against his mouth.

 

Declan nipped at his lover’s mouth. “You object to the floor?” he asked, his eyes flickering away for a moment to the thick carpeting beneath their feet.

 

If Declan’s knee hadn’t been pressed tightly against Sey’s groin, he might have missed the answering throb of his arousal. “Where are the kids?” Sey asked, beginning to feel like a debauched angel vibrating at the sound of his new master.

 

“Out.”

 

“For how long?”

 

Declan swooped down on him like a hungry bird of prey, his hands simultaneously holding him steady even as they unbuckled the belt of his jeans. “You ask too many bloody questions,” Declan chuckled.

 

“But what if--?”

 

Declan swallowed Sey’s protest, his mouth drugging him into submission. When Sey could speak again, he met Declan’s eyes with a mixture of desire and affection that was unique to the two of them. “I love you,” he said quite helplessly.

 

“I love you, too,” Declan responded, a tinge of sadness in his lambent silver eyes. As always, whenever he felt truly intense emotion, Declan felt like he straddled both worlds, a world of pain and a world of joy. It was as if the two could never really be reconciled, for to know one without the other would weaken the feeling somehow. The joy of having always balanced on a knife’s edge by the pain of losing what they had.

 

In his intuitive way, Sey understood this. It didn’t matter if it made sense to anyone else. It made sense to *them*.

 

“I want you inside me.”

 

Declan caught his breath at the sound of his lover’s voice. Deep and throaty with need. And yet full of love.

 

With a touch of his fingertip, Sey’s jeans slid down his legs to pool around his ankles. With a strange air of obeisance, Declan fell to his knees at Sey’s feet. Leaning forward, he touched him, mouthing his hardness through the thin white cotton boxers. His legs spread apart, Sey threw his head back, his mouth opening involuntarily at the feel of Declan’s warm, wet lips on him.

 

Declan barely noted that he was still dressed. Keeping his mouth pressed firmly to Sey’s cloth-covered flesh, he stripped. Releasing his lover, Declan slid onto his back, positioning himself between his legs. Sey kicked away his jeans and removed his shirt. Slowly lowering himself to straddle Declan’s body, Sey smiled at the man he loved more than life itself.

 

Declan ran his hands over every inch of his lover, provoking him to greater and greater heights. “Come for me, baby,” he whispered hoarsely, and Sey’s only answer was a heavy-lidded look and a groan.

 

He palmed Sey’s flat nipples, which had hardened to sharp peaks, as they thrust towards each other, completion floating just out of range. But finally, oh finally, when it came, it was with such sweetness, it was as if the passion never was.

 

Sey lay his head on Declan’s chest, and Declan buried his face in Sey’s dark silky hair. “I love you,” he said, exultation warring with tragedy.

 

Sey pressed a kiss to Declan’s chest and closed his eyes. Sometimes there really were no words.

 

 

Chapter 24

 

Michael looked weary, as if sleep had eluded him for far too long. Declan offered him another cup of coffee, but Michael shook his head. His nerve endings were vibrating so finely, he was certain that anyone looking at him could see the tremors.

 

“Bad night?”

 

“Long one.”

 

“Let me guess. Adam?”

 

Michael barely nodded. “I’m worried, Declan. He’s so angry. So ripe for falling under the wrong influences.”

 

“Jazz?”

 

“You must be reading my mind,” Michael said dryly.

 

“No, it’s just painfully obvious to anyone who looks at the two of them.”

 

“Declan…you know how I feel about you. You’re the brother I never had. And Birkoff…well, he’s family, too. But I would never wish that on my own son. I couldn’t.”

 

“I know,” Declan said quietly. “Is it that you object to the idea in general or to Jazz in particular?”

 

“A little of both.” There was a long, drawn-out pause where the only audible sound was Michael’s harsh breathing. Declan looked at the man he had come to know as well as himself in many ways.

 

“You want him to be happy.”

 

“God, yes. But how can he be? Like that?”

 

Michael’s emotional conflict was written all over his still-handsome face. Declan sighed. “Maybe he’ll grow out of it,” he offered.

 

If Michael were the type to snort, he would have. “He’s 16.”

 

“Aye, well, Jazz is too young for him at 14. So there you go.” Declan clenched his mouth shut as if to say, That ends *that* discussion.

 

Michael shook his head, a somber half-smile on his lips. “You really think that’s going to stop either of them?”

 

“So put the fear of God into Adam, Michael. You’re his bloody father, for God’s sake. There’s no sense in wailing about it to me. *I* can’t do a goddamn thing.”

 

Declan sounded almost angry. Was he? Michael paused a moment to consider how Declan might feel about the whole thing. Perhaps he could put it into perspective for him.

 

“Declan? What if it were Sasha?”

 

“What if what were Sasha?”

 

“What if it were Sasha that Adam was…enamored with.”

 

“That’s an easy one. Sasha’d deck him if he looked at him cross-eyed.” Declan sipped at his coffee, but his silvery eyes never left Michael’s face.

 

“But suppose Sasha returned his feelings. What would you do?”

 

Declan chuckled darkly. “Pardon my French, but I’d kill the little bugger.”

 

“Which one?”

 

Suddenly they both broke into a fit of laughter. Eventually, though, the laughter faded, leaving heartache in its wake.

 

“Michael, I can’t tell you how to handle this. But I *can* tell you what *not* to do. Don’t tell them not to see each other. They’ll never abide by it. They’ll sneak around, and the fact that it’s forbidden just makes it more fun.”

 

“But I can’t just ignore it,” Michael protested.

 

“No, but you can tell them the same thing you’d tell your girls when they get to that age. Save yourself for someone who means something. Wait until you’re old enough to handle the responsibility as well as the consequences of being in a serious relationship.”

 

Michael’s eyes gleamed wetly. “Would *you* listen to someone who gave you such advice?”

 

“Listen? I *did* it, Michael. I waited, and God gave me Sey.”

 

Sey leaned on the kitchen door, regarding his lover for several moments before interrupting. “We were both with other people before we met, Dec.”

 

Declan turned sharply, his long red hair flaring out around his head like a burst of sunlight. “We were already adults, Sey.”

 

Sey chuckled. “*You* were, anyway.”

 

“Oh, come on, love, you don’t give yourself nearly enough credit—“

 

“Like you’re not giving Adam or Jazz?”

 

“Michael and I both agree that they’re not ready for a sexual relationship.”

 

“They haven’t tried to take their friendship further.”

 

“Yet,” Michael cut in.

 

Michael looked away from Sey’s apparently all-knowing eyes. “This isn’t about *you* or Declan, Birkoff. It’s about *them*.”

 

“That’s funny. How come neither one of *them* is involved in this conversation?”

 

“Because I’m not ready to *have* this conversation with them.” The strain on Michael was all too evident. Adam was one topic that was far too close to his heart for him to be even remotely objective.

 

There was a moment of complete silence.

 

All at once the cup that Michael had been holding fell out of his nerveless fingers and splashed across the tablecloth, the coffee’s darkness spilling like blood onto flesh. “It’s my fault,” Michael said numbly.

 

Declan knew at once what he meant. “No, it’s not,” he said, grabbing a cloth to swipe at the mess.

 

“Yes, it is,” Michael insisted, raising pain-filled eyes to Declan’s. His fingers fluttering uselessly and restlessly, Michael added, “I should have been there. I should have done something.”

 

Declan grasped Michael’s wrist and anchored it to the table. “Michael, there’s nothing you could do to change this. It’s not your fault. It just is.”

 

“But I—“

 

“You didn’t make him this way.”

 

“But he was so perfect,” Michael whispered, tears filling his eyes for what might have been and for what might never be.

 

“Only because you loved him. He’s still the same boy, Michael. No matter who he *becomes*. He’ll always be your son.”

 

Michael closed his eyes and Declan glanced at his lover as if for approval. Sey nodded gravely.

 

Declan slowly but surely gathered the older man in his arms, and Michael hid his face against his shoulder, taking comfort from Declan’s strength even as his own ebbed.

 

Even the strongest person has his limits. That’s what friends are for.

 

 

Chapter 25

 

The late-afternoon light filtered in through the blinds, creating a series of sun-dappled spots on the living room carpet of the Samuelle house. Outside, a cold winter wind whipped the long golden-brown strands of Jazz’ hair across one wind-reddened cheek. Sticking his ungloved hands into the pockets of his chocolate brown leather jacket, Jazz contemplated the fact that he was a good twenty minutes early.

 

Sweeping a hand through his hair, which continued to blow with the breeze, he sighed. Not a sign of anyone yet. A small group of the older children was going into town to see a movie. Faith, Chris, Connor, Sasha…oh, and Adam. Adam was supposed to accompany them.

 

That is, he had been invited. No one was really sure if he would go. Adam could be as aloof and as unreadable as his father at the best of times.

 

He stomped his booted feet to keep warm, wondering how long it might be before someone came out to join him. After a few more minutes, he was no longer wondering. It was too cold for him to hang out.

 

He pushed open the unlocked door, knowing that this meant that people were indeed up and around. Just not in the immediate vicinity. His thoughts wandered to the oldest Samuelle son. Adam. His green eyes sparkled involuntarily even as he intentionally wrenched his mind away from that subject.

 

He might be young, but he knew what love was. He might not have discovered the difference between love and lust, had it not been for his earlier life on the streets, but then again, his parents, if he could call James and Smoke that, were as loving as they were unorthodox.

 

Hopelessly infatuated, that’s what you are, he told himself. Standing around in the cold, waiting anxiously to catch a glimpse of the reclusive Adam. He should be looking for Sasha. Sasha, his best friend. Sasha, who would never deliberately steer him wrong.

 

Sasha, who thought he could do better.

 

For someone who had been around the block as many times as Jazz, it was disconcerting to find himself in this position. Why love? He had effortlessly resisted any attempt to become involved with people he met on the streets. Well, maybe effortlessly was the wrong word. He had, as the song said, been looking for love in all the wrong places.

 

But according to Sasha,  Jazz was still looking in the wrong place. Another sigh escaped him, and the sparkle in those green eyes dulled. Living with James and Smoke had given him hope. There *would* be someone for him. Maybe it just wasn’t Adam.

 

But oh, how he wanted it to be.

 

***

 

Instinct told him that he should call out Sasha’s name and make his presence known. But he hesitated a second too long. That’s when he heard it. Michael’s voice.

 

Making the announcement that would literally change his life.

 

“They can’t be together. I won’t allow it.”

 

The conviction in Michael’s voice was compelling. Jazz missed what the other voice said in reply, his mind too preoccupied with trying to make sense of what he overheard.

 

Then the implications became unmistakable. “I can’t let Adam make such a mistake. He can’t let his feelings rule his life. He doesn’t know any better right now, but someday he will.”

 

“It’s for their own good.”

 

Jazz backed up, stunned that he was still aware enough of his surroundings to be silent. He had to leave. Now. He had to get out. Before anyone saw him. Before anyone guessed what he’d been so foolishly dreaming.

 

Because Jazz never grew up in a traditional family, he had no idea that parents could do things to their children for any other reason but spite or ignorance. He didn’t know that some parents were willing to invoke their children’s wrath to uphold what they believed to be in the children’s best interests.

 

All he knew was that there would be no happily ever after for him. Not with Adam.

 

He didn’t have the luxury of time or experience on his side.

 

So he ran.

 

***

 

He ran right into the one person he hoped to avoid. Adam.

 

“Oof!” Adam exclaimed as Jazz catapulted out the door and into the center of his chest, nearly bowling him over. “What’s your hurry, kid?”

 

Jazz struggled with Adam, unable to bear the thought of anyone seeing them together, seeing the trembling, all-too-vulnerable smile on Jazz’ face, seeing the hopeless rush of desire that flared briefly in Jazz’ vibrantly colored eyes. “Let me go!”

 

Adam released him abruptly, as if he hadn’t even realized that he’d been holding the younger man. “You look…upset.” Adam winced, thinking of how close he had come to saying “beautiful”.

 

“I-I overheard your father—“ Jazz swiped carelessly at his face, knowing that he was moments away from tears, if he allowed himself to think about it. “He doesn’t want us to be together.”

 

Adam raised an eyebrow and gave Jazz a cool, considering look. “He objects to us going to the movies? Sorry, but I don’t think even *my* father has that big a stick up his ass.”

 

“N-not the movies. Anywhere. He wants to split us up. You know, because of the way we feel about each other.”

 

Adam saw it then. A big fat tear hung on Jazz’ eyelashes, vibrating helplessly with the fine tremors that ran through his entire body now. He wanted to wipe it away. He wanted to…touch him. With a conscious effort, Adam deliberately misunderstood what Jazz said.

 

“What do you mean *we*, kid?” he said derisively, hating the sound of his own voice.

 

Jazz wrenched his eyes away from Adam’s, unable to stand the scorn he saw there. If a hole in the earth suddenly appeared to swallow him up, it couldn’t happen quickly enough to suit him. Nor could it possibly contain all the hurt and the embarrassment that flooded throughout his being.

 

His feelings were just that. *His* feelings. He had thought…he had felt…something.  But no. Adam felt nothing for him.

 

He had to get away now.

 

Turning on his heel, he spun away, a choked but audible sob echoing softly in his wake.

 

Adam closed his eyes as he felt the all-too-familiar guilt weighing him down. He had hurt someone. Again. Sometimes he thought that it was the only thing he was still capable of.

 

If he had done the right thing, how come it felt so wrong?

 

If he had done the right thing, how come it hurt *him*, too?

 

 

Chapter 26

 

Jazz wasn’t sure where he was headed. If he had time to think about it, he would have realized the futility of running away. But he was hurt, and he could not, would not think about what all of this really meant to him.

 

Suddenly he wished that Sasha were there. He would know what to do. He would—Christ, he’d never felt anything so painful in his fourteen and a half years on this Earth. If he were a little kid, he would just fling himself headlong onto the grass and cry wretchedly until he fell asleep. But no, he missed his new life already.

 

He couldn’t go to Sasha. He couldn’t see his friends. They were with *him* now. Adam. He couldn’t face them. They knew how he felt—and now—that this had happened—they would want to be nice to him—and down, he would cry—and shit, why did things have to end this way?

 

***

 

He was running and running. Always running. His shoulders jerked spasmodically as he came awake with a visible start. Nothing had changed. He wrapped his arms around himself. He was sitting in an all-too-familiar alleyway. Down the block from the club his mother worked in.

 

Used to work in. She was gone. He told himself that he didn’t care that he couldn’t find her. But he was a lousy liar at a time like this.

 

He was cold. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast. He had no money. It must have dropped out of the pocket of his jacket. His jacket. He supposed he could always sell his jacket.

 

He buried his face in the leather. It still smelled new. It was a Christmas present from Smoke. Now it would be gone, just like everything else of value in his life.

 

***

 

Faith shrugged into her coat and plunged her gloved hands into the pockets. She was bringing up the rear of the group going into town. “See you later, Mom.”

 

“Don’t forget your hat, Fee. It’s cold out.”

 

“I know, Mom! Jeez, you—“

 

Ignoring her daughter’s outraged look, Nikita continued. “And be nice to Adam. I don’t want to hear that you kids aren’t helping him fit in.”

 

“Like he wants to,” Faith muttered under her breath.

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

“And come straight home after the movie. It gets dark early now, and I don’t want you out late on Saturday night.”

 

“But Mommm….I told you. We’re all going to get pizza after. Remember?”

 

“Fee—“

 

“You said it would be okay if Adam was with us.”

 

“Is that why you asked him? That’s not very nice, Fee. That’s using someone.”

 

“Like he cares,” Faith mumbled.

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

 

***

 

Chris turned to face his sister when she finally appeared on the front porch. “What did Mom want?”

 

Faith all but rolled her expressive grey-green eyes. “The usual. Wear a hat. Come straight home. Be nice to—uh…” Faith broke off with a guilty glance at her half-brother Adam.

 

Adam didn’t seem to notice. “Did she say we could get pizza on the way back?”

 

“Um…yes,” she answered quickly, not wanting to explore that topic in any further detail.

 

“Good. Let’s go.”

 

The small group started to walk slowly down the driveway. Suddenly Sasha stopped. “Hey, what about Jazz?”

 

“What about him?” Adam couldn’t prevent himself from saying in a very surly manner.

 

Sasha blinked at the older adolescent. “Whoa! What’d *I* do?”

 

Now Faith was looking at the sixteen-year old with undisguised interest. “And where *is* Jazz anyway? He *really* wanted to go.”

 

Adam avoided their eyes skillfully. He wasn’t very proud of himself right now, but there was no point in giving them further ammunition to use against him. He wasn’t kidding himself. He was certain that he was here on sufferance.

 

“I don’t know.” Jazz was so embarrassed, he probably ran all the way home. It’s your fault, too. Adam ignored the voice of his conscience, pushing it into the background with the ease of long practice.

 

Sasha glared at him with knowing eyes. “I bet you really *don’t* know. But—“ He leaned closer to Adam, as if daring the teenager to back up. “—the real question is—do you *care*?”

 

 

 

Chapter 27

 

“That was a good movie!” Connor said, smiling at Faith across the table.

 

The pizza parlor was not far from the theatre. That turned out to be a good thing because the movie ran longer than any of them expected, and Faith was convinced that they would all be cancelled if they came home late. They were sharing a pizza. A plain cheese pizza. Much to Faith’s dismay.

 

She bit into her slice of pizza, wincing as the melted cheese burned her tongue. “Ow! That’s just great! Now I can’t taste anything!”

 

Connor eyed her flirtatiously, his fingers reaching for hers. “Want me to kiss it better, Tig?”

 

Faith almost spit out her mouthful of pizza. “Yuk! No thanks, Pooh.”

 

Connor had changed. In the past, he would have taken such a discouraging comment to heart and retreated to lick his wounds in private. Not now. Leaning over to whisper into her ear, he said, “I should have kissed you when I had the chance. During the movie.”

 

Then he sat back triumphantly to watch her reaction.

 

Suddenly Faith was mesmerized by the look in Connor’s dark blue eyes. He seemed so confident lately. As if he knew what he wanted. As if he were prepared to storm the battlements if necessary. And with Faith, he well knew it might be necessary.

 

“You wouldn’t have—would you?” she asked hesitantly. This was a Connor she was no longer sure of.

 

He bit his lip and nodded slowly, his blue eyes seeming to grow darker by the second.

 

“Oh.” She colored furiously, completely forgetting about the slice of pizza wilting in her hand.

 

He smiled. Not a smug I-want-to-take-you-over kind of smile. But a captivating I’d-love-to-go-anywhere-with-you kind of smile.

 

Her pizza fell limply onto her greasy paper plate.

 

***

 

A half hour later, the pizza was gone. Nursing his soda, Sasha studied the check. Adam seemed so preoccupied that it was as if he weren’t even there. So it startled Sasha when he spoke.

 

“How much is it?” Adam asked, reaching into his pocket for money.

 

Sasha blinked. “I’ll get it. I have enough.”

 

“I want to pay it. Really. Tell me how much.”

 

“I said *I’ll* get it. What’s wrong with you?”

 

Adam abruptly dropped the handful of coins he was clutching, spilling them noisily across the table. “Go ahead! Take them!” He grabbed a couple of bills and threw them on top of the coins. “I said, take them!”

 

Sasha could see how white the sixteen-year old had gotten. “Hey, man, are you sick?”

 

Adam closed his eyes on a wave of pain and shook his head. “Not exactly,” he whispered.

 

“Hey, we’re all friends here.”

 

“Are we?” Adam returned bitterly.

 

Sasha looked deep inside himself for the patience that he knew was there. Adam was just harder to reach than most. But that didn’t make him a bad person. Yet.

 

“Talk to me, Adam.”

 

Adam’s dark eyes met Sasha’s before sliding away furtively. “Jazz was at the house,” he said, almost too low to be audible.

 

Sasha nodded, as if to say, I had a feeling he was. “Go on.”

 

Adam wrapped his arms around himself, looking like he was about to shake apart. Sasha took pity on the older teenager, consciously rearranging his features into a less threatening façade. “So—did you talk to him?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Did he say why he wasn’t coming with us?” Now Sasha was puzzled.

 

“He was—upset.”

 

“About what?”

 

“My father.”

 

That caught everyone else’s attention. Chris and Faith turned their heads, seemingly as one, to stare at Adam. Connor cocked his head, listening.

 

“What’s Dad got to do with Jazz not coming to the movies?” Faith demanded.

 

Chris started to remonstrate, but Faith ignored him. “Did Dad say something to Jazz?”

 

“Not *to* him, no,” Adam explained softly. “Jazz overheard him talking to someone. He wanted to keep Jazz away from me.”

 

The menace in Sasha’s voice was unmistakable. “Funny that it wasn’t the other way around.”

 

Adam’s eyes, as dark as they were, reflected back none of the pain he was feeling deep within himself. “He didn’t have to warn *me* to stay away from *him*. I was already doing that.”

 

“We noticed,” Sasha replied dryly. “Care to tell us why?”

 

Adam’s eyes flickered with some unidentified emotion for a second.  “Anyway, Jazz was upset.”

 

“I got that. What else happened?”

 

“What makes you think that anything else happened?”

 

“I know that look. I can see the guilt in your eyes, man. So why don’t you make us all feel better and tell us what you did?”

 

There was a significant pause. Whether it was because Adam was making up his mind or because he was thinking up some new way to avoid having this conversation was debatable.

 

“Jazz—um—implied that we had certain feelings for each other.”

 

The light of vengeance faded slightly from Sasha’s bittersweet chocolate eyes. “He does. I mean, I don’t see it myself. Personally, I think you’re a jerk.”

 

Adam almost smiled at that. “I am.”

 

“So…what else?”

 

“I told him—I didn’t.”

 

A long sigh escaped Sasha. “You don’t?”

 

Adam looked frustrated. “I *do*, but I said—that I *don’t*.”

 

Sasha’s brows met in a perplexed frown. “I almost understood that. Run that by me again.”

 

Adam looked like he was ready to jump out of his skin. “Jazz is in love with me!”

 

Sasha shrugged. “Yeah, I know. So what’s the problem?”

 

“I told him I wasn’t!”

 

“Wasn’t what?”

 

“In love with *him*!”

 

“Ohhh…” Sasha sat back in his chair, completely oblivious to anything else now. “And you’re not? See, I said you were a jerk.”

 

Adam shook his head vehemently. “No, no, no. I think I *am*. That’s why I’m a jerk!” He buried his face in his hands, uncaring if the others saw it as weakness. He would give anything to take it all back. To take back that stricken look on Jazz’ face.

 

Sasha leaned forward and whispered, “So Jazz has no idea how you really feel?”

 

Shaking his head yet one more time, Adam whispered back, “No.” Raising his eyes to meet Sasha’s with considerable bleakness, he continued, “I chased him away. He ran home.”

 

“Why? Why did you lie to him?”

 

“I—it—didn’t seem like a lie at the time. I didn’t—I couldn’t—“

 

Sasha couldn’t stay angry. Suddenly he understood. “Jesus, you didn’t know, did you?”

 

Blindsided. That’s what it felt like. But Adam welcomed the pain, even as it slammed through him. He wasn’t numb anymore. He could feel again.

 

And it hurt.

 

 

 

Chapter 28

 

“Let’s go home,” Sasha said decisively. Adam might be the oldest of the extended family, but Sasha was clearly the leader. The others collectively held their breath.

 

But Adam, who was every bit as much a control freak as Michael, surprised everyone by acquiescing gracefully. He remembered Sasha’s unexpected kindness upon his arrival, and he told himself that he was only wearing himself out trying to keep everyone at a distance. The fact was, he had to trust someone sooner or later. It might as well be Sasha.

 

Sasha was Jazz’ best friend. That the two were inextricably connected in his mind was not lost on him. But that didn’t mean he was using Sasha. He *liked* Sasha. Maybe…someday…Sasha would be his friend, too.

 

So Adam went home with the others, and none of them knew that Jazz was sitting in a cold alleyway not that far away.

 

***

 

“Let’s stop at the Davenports’.”

 

Adam stopped dead. “Why?”

 

“So you can talk to Jazz, dummy. Why do you think?” Sasha said, incredulous that Adam still seemed determined to deny his feelings.

 

As if he read his mind, Adam said, “I’m not fighting the inevitable. Just—postponing it till there’s a better moment.”

 

Sasha laughed.

 

“What’s so damn funny?” Here he was, finally baring his soul to people he hoped would be friends one day, and Sasha had the nerve to laugh.

 

Sasha grinned. “Nothing personal, Adam. It’s just—there’s no such thing.”

 

“You’re a real wiseass for someone your age, you know that?” Adam growled.

 

Far from chastened, Sasha stuck his tongue out at the older adolescent. Adam shook his head while Chris raised an eyebrow imperiously at his half-brother. Faith chuckled, saying, “That’s not exactly a newsflash, Adam.”

 

Winding her fingers surreptitiously around Connor’s wrist, Faith continued, “But we love him anyway.” Her changeable grey-green eyes were fixed on Sasha’s face, but Connor had the distinct impression that she was speaking to *him*. But maybe that was just wishful thinking.

 

***

 

When Sasha knocked on the door, he couldn’t help but notice that Adam had almost compulsively attached himself to his side. “You nervous?”

 

Adam closed his eyes for a second. “You have no idea.”

 

“Don’t be. I mean, it’s not like he’s going to turn you down or something.”

 

“Yeah,” Adam replied, but his mind was obviously disquieted, perhaps by just that very thought.

 

Intuitive to a fault, Sasha smiled compassionately at Adam. “He won’t push you into anything, y’know. He just wants to be with you. That doesn’t mean you two have to—“

 

Adam was saved from having to formulate any kind of response to that by the opening of the door. James peered outside, smiling when he recognized Sasha and the others. “You’re back! Come on inside!”

 

When the little group had reassembled inside, James seemed to be waiting expectantly. Sasha knew better than to wait for Adam to handle things. “We came to see Jazz.”

 

James frowned. “What do you mean, you came to see Jazz? Isn’t he with you?”

 

For the first time, James studied the group of adolescents, wondering vaguely if he had reason to worry. “He said he was going to the movies. With you.”

 

“He’s not here?” Sasha and James spoke at the same time. A tiny buzz of excitement forming in the pit of his stomach, Sasha repeated, “He’s not here?”

 

This wasn’t the kind of excitement that made him feel good, either. It was the kind that told him trouble lay ahead.

 

Sasha cursed Adam for probably minimizing what happened between him and Jazz. Then he cursed himself for not realizing how Jazz would react. He of all people knew how Jazz felt about Adam. Some best friend he was, he railed inwardly.

 

“If he’s not with you, where the hell is he?” James asked impatiently, knowing that he was undoubtedly overreacting. He didn’t care. He thought of Jazz as part of his family. In every way that counted, Jazz was his son. His and Smoke’s. Oh, God, Smoke.

 

“Pete? Pete!”

 

James’ undeniably tense voice brought Smoke running. “What is it, Jamie?”

 

“Jazz is missing.”

 

“Missing? How can he be missing? He went to the movies with—“

 

The realization that Jazz was not amongst the others hit him full force. “You lost him? Left him somewhere? What?”

 

Adam couldn’t believe what was happening. All this time, all this wasted time, Jazz wasn’t home, safe in his room, hating his guts. *He’d* done this. Made Jazz run away to God-knows-where.

 

A low moan reminded Sasha that Adam was there. “You stupid fu--!”

 

Sasha was prepared to tear Adam apart with his bare hands, if necessary, but the stricken look in Adam’s dark brown eyes gave him pause. He didn’t need to beat him up. Adam was doing a fine job all by himself.

 

“We have to go out and look for him, Jamie.”

 

“I know, Pete. I know. We’ll find him.”

 

“He’ll be okay, Jamie. He’s not—“ Smoke took a much-needed deep breath. “He’ll be okay.”

 

Please, Jazz, please be okay.

 

 

 

Chapter 29

 

It was getting darker. Colder. The wind had picked up, whipping through the tight passage between buildings with a vengeance. Jazz pulled up the collar of his leather jacket and shivered. He didn’t need to worry about where his next meal was going to come from. He was going to die from exposure.

 

A sharp noise skittered through the alleyway. Something small. A rock? Kicked by a human foot?

 

Jazz stared into the blackness as if he could see. Someone was coming. Someone big.

 

***

 

Smoke stoically concealed his runaway emotions. They would do Jazz no good. They would not help him deal with the fact that their son was somehow missing.

 

James. James was his rock. His center. He didn’t fall apart in a mindless heap. He took charge of things. “We need to search here first,” he said, pointing to a map of the city. “The club where you worked. That’s where you found him. That’s where he last saw his mother.”

 

“That’s where he would go,” Smoke nodded in agreement. It was logical. His heart was breaking, but his mind appreciated James’ ability to stay calm under the circumstances.

 

James didn’t let himself think too far ahead. That way lay madness. The thought of never seeing Jazz again, well… It didn’t bear thinking about.

 

If his hand shook when James handed the map to Smoke, he didn’t acknowledge it. They *would* find him. In time. A boy of his age and his description, on the streets at night, was an open invitation to predators. They both knew it. But they said nothing. As if denial alone could ward off evil.

 

***

 

Faith was the first one through the door, calling loudly for her father. Michael appeared so suddenly, it was almost as if he had been waiting for her summons.

 

“What is it, Fee?”

 

“Daddy, Jazz is missing!”

 

“Missing? How do you—“

 

Sasha burst into the living room, all flailing arms and legs. “Uncle Michael! Jazz ran away!”

 

“How do you know he ran away?”

 

Adam slowly strode over the threshold, his demeanor grave. “He overheard you.”

 

Michael blinked hard. He didn’t even pretend not to understand what Adam meant. He noted the way that Adam attached himself to Sasha’s side. In unconscious allegiance?

 

“Adam,” Michael said in a subdued tone.

 

“He-ran-away-because-of-me, Dad.” Adam’s dark brown eyes were filled with pain, not anger. Anger would come later. When he had a chance to realize what he’d lost.

 

“Sasha, would you excuse us?” Michael asked quietly. Sasha gave Adam a long, considering look, as if he wasn’t certain that Adam was up to having this conversation with his father. Adam nodded imperceptibly to his newfound ally, and Sasha somberly led Faith and the others away.

 

“Did he tell you what I said?”

 

‘Yes,” Adam whispered. “He was so upset.”

 

“Then it’s *my* fault. Not yours.” Michael couldn’t stand the heartache he saw in Adam’s eyes. But he couldn’t be sure why it was there.

 

“It *is* my fault, Dad. He came to me for support…confirmation…I dunno—“ Adam raked both hands through his dark brown hair until it fell into disorder.

 

“It’s not your fault if you can’t love him that way, Adam.”

 

“Yes, it is! I told myself that I didn’t care about him! But it was all a fucking lie! Because I thought—I thought—“ Unshed tears stood in his eyes, hovering expectantly at the edge of his eyelids.

 

“What did you think, Adam?” Michael asked softly.

 

“I thought—if I kept those feelings to myself—I could maybe be the son you wanted me to be! I thought maybe you would love me then!” Adam shouted, anger beginning to war with despair.

 

Michael closed his eyes on a wave of pain so intense that he almost couldn’t breathe. “I’ve…always…loved you, Adam.”

 

“I thought—you couldn’t love me. I’m not what you expected. What you wanted. I’m a fucking disappointment. You think I don’t know that?”  Adam’s voice broke on a sob.

 

Michael’s eyes shot open, a flash of brilliant green cutting like a laser. “Yes, I think you don’t know that!”

 

There was a pregnant pause. “I thought I would never see you again, Adam,” the older man whispered huskily. “If I put my own unrealistic expectations on *you*--well, I am sorry for that.”

 

Michael regarded his oldest son sadly. “I have no right to tell you who to love. I—forfeited that right when I walked away thirteen years ago.”

 

“No, Dad,” Adam said shakily. “You never had that right to begin with. No one does.”

 

All at once Michael realized that he was very, very proud of his son. Perhaps he was wrong about him not having the maturity to determine his own relationships. Love was *meant* to be unconditional. It was time that he made it so. Between him and Adam.

 

“Are you too old for a hug?”

 

“Are you?” Adam countered.

 

Michael gathered his son into his arms, and after an initial moment of resistance, Adam began to hug him back. When they broke apart, Adam asked, “Are you going to be okay with this, Dad?”

 

“Are you?” Michael returned, a curious half-smile appearing.

 

In response, Adam hugged him again, this time more tightly. “Yeah.” There really was no one else like his father. God, he’d missed him.

 

 

 

 

Chapter 30—NC-17  (language, adult situations, violence)

 

“Gimme the fucking jacket, kid!”

 

“No!” Jazz pressed himself against the dirty brick wall in an effort to get away from the lumbering big man. Some might think it foolish to face almost certain assault over a piece of cowhide, but not Jazz. To Jazz, the leather jacket was the last thing that his new family had given him. If he was forced to sell it, in order to eat, he would do it. But give it up voluntarily? Never!

 

“C’mere, ya little fag! You’re a real pretty one, ain’t ya? Come on over here, and mebbe we can work somethin’ out!” The big man stank of alcohol, which was good enough reason to avoid him, but when he leered at Jazz, exposing a mouthful of semi-rotten teeth, Jazz visibly paled.

 

Jazz didn’t want to fight. But if it was the only way he could survive, he would have to. As if he had settled something important in his unconscious mind, he automatically dropped back into a fighting stance. His hands up, near his chest, he moved lightly on his feet, circling the big man.

 

“What are you sposed to be, some kind of frou frou ballerina or somethin’?”

 

He would be sorry for that. He tugged hard on the sleeve of Jazz’ jacket, and Jazz gave every appearance of cooperating. At first.

 

Then Jazz darted in and backhanded him, retreating to a safe distance before the man could recover. “You son-of-a-bitch!”

 

Enraged, the older man made up in strength what he lost in agility. He didn’t have to connect with all of his punches. Just one would do it.

 

Not one to wait patiently, Jazz tried to sweep the big man, but he was an immovable object. His weight was so much greater on his front leg that it was impossible for Jazz to succeed. However, the movement brought Jazz into striking distance, just for a second, and the would-be thug’s fist hit Jazz, bruising his left cheek.

 

It stung. Enough that Jazz howled in surprise.

 

He wasn’t cocky enough to suppose that he could win. But he could say one thing. He was definitely holding his own. The problem was, he was already tiring. How long could he last? He certainly couldn’t out-punch his attacker, and his legs weren’t long enough to give him a real advantage. Shit, he had nowhere to run.

 

“You wait till I get ahold of ya, kid!” the man threatened. The stakes seemed a bit higher than a plain leather jacket now.

 

Jazz was genuinely afraid. He would never see his family again. Oh, God. He turned away just as the older man’s meaty hand closed around the back of his neck. He screamed—

 

--and watched his adoptive father pounce from the shadows. Smoke didn’t fight with the finesse of someone like Sasha. He was a streetfighter, through and through, and it showed. Oh, he was graceful. He was a trained dancer, after all. But the moves he used to take down Jazz’ assailant weren’t taught in school.

 

Smoke hadn’t had to defend himself in a long time, but it was impossible to tell. He flowed like he was one with the rhythm of the night, snapping the man’s head back with crisp, staccato punches, driving him into the opposite wall with full-force sidekicks.

 

When the man lay panting on the ground, his mouth trickling blood, he growled, “You’re dead, man!”

 

For extra added emphasis, Smoke knelt and pressed his knee down into the man’s elbow joint before forcing his arm backward with one hand. The man shouted in pain, and Smoke smiled. “I could break your arm like that!” Smoke said almost cheerfully, snapping his fingers.

 

“What do you care about some cheap little hippy punk getting his ass reamed, man?”

 

If there were enough light to see clearly, the big man would have seen the dangerous look that flitted across Smoke’s face. His blue-gray eyes glittered with something that was unmistakably vengeance. “That punk is my son!”

 

The man spat, narrowly missing Smoke’s face. “I didn’t know queers *had* sons,” he snorted derisively.

 

“You don’t know an awful lot,” Smoke said in a menacing tone.

 

There was a noise behind them. Smoke’s head came up sharply, but the light was too poor to make anything out. “Who’s there? Jamie?”

 

He and James had split up in order to cover more territory. Smoke heard the scuffle in the alleyway, but it was the scream that galvanized him into action. His heart nearly leaped out of his chest when he recognized Jazz’ voice.

 

“Jazz? Are you all right?”

 

Jazz nodded silently, not realizing that Smoke couldn’t see him. He was in awe of the way Smoke moved. But far more than that…no one had ever cared enough to defend him that way. Ever. Not even his own mother.

 

There was another noise, louder this time. The sound of metal on metal clanged through the air. Trouble.

 

“Jazz, get behind me.”

 

“No way, Pete. I want to help.”

 

“Do what I tell you! Please, Jazz!”

 

“Yeah, Jazz,” the man on the ground mimicked. “The cavalry’s coming, and they ain’t on *your* side!”

 

“Shut up, you stupid fuck!” Smoke commanded. He was frightened, but not for himself. He was afraid of what they would do to Jazz.

 

The big man began to laugh.

 

Suddenly Smoke’s eyes widened. There were so many of them. So many. One of the other clubs must have finished its early show and thrown its doors open wide.

 

Jesus Christ. They were hunting gays.

 

 

Chapter 31—NC-17  (language, adult situations, violence)

 

“Pete!” Jazz screamed as the first wave of men attacked.

 

Smoke was good. But he was outnumbered. He fought valiantly, but he couldn’t possibly win. Splitting his attention between those who were targeting Jazz and those who were pummeling him didn’t help.

 

Still he fought on. Knowing he needed backup, knowing he couldn’t leave Jazz on his own.

 

“This here’s the one!” the man on the ground shouted, gleefully pointing out
Smoke. “He needs to be taught a lesson!”

 

Suddenly two men grabbed Smoke, each one taking an arm, effectively immobilizing him. As they held him, a third man kicked him in the chest. Despite the tight hold they had on him, Smoke doubled over in pain.

 

Jazz winced. He heard an audible crack, and he knew. Smoke’s ribs were broken. As the older man tried to guard his ribs from further injury, he was attacked again and again.

 

He never uttered more than a low groan. It was as if he knew the crowd scented blood, and it would erupt into a veritable frenzy if it heard him scream.

 

Suddenly he heard a wail of pain, louder than anything the mob was making. It was James. Smoke’s eyes met James’, begging him to go back. Get help. Get Jazz out of here.

 

James saw the open cuts and dark bruises that marked his lover’s skin and howled, plunging into the fray like a man possessed. He didn’t care how many of them there were. He couldn’t let them do this.

 

A fine trickle of blood wept from the corner of Smoke’s mouth, and James couldn’t understand how Smoke could still be on his feet. One of the men grabbed the silver choker that hung around Smoke’s neck, seemingly admiring it. “This is real pretty, fag. I wonder what I could get for something like this.”

 

“Don’t. Please don’t.” Smoke was indeed on the verge of unconsciousness. But he couldn’t let them take his choker. It was a symbol of his commitment to James. It had to remain unbroken. It was the one thing left that he would fight for. Even in his condition.

 

The man chuckled ominously, tugging experimentally at the chain. It looked fine, but it was surprisingly strong. “Maybe I’ll just rip this sucker right off your fucking neck.”

 

“No!!!” James screamed.

 

The man turned, jerking his hand away from Smoke, and then, as if in slow motion, they both watched Smoke’s neck burst into a series of jagged little tears, each one dripping blood.

 

“NO!!! You’re killing him!”

 

James stepped in front of his lover, taking a blow that was clearly meant for him. Partially supporting Smoke’s weight now, James couldn’t even get enough air into his lungs to speak. As if he understood that James would do whatever he could to protect him, Smoke finally gave in to the demands of his body and passed out.

 

James followed Smoke down to the ground, holding him in his arms, daring anyone to approach. If they saw weakness, they would be on him in a heartbeat. So he couldn’t fall apart. He owed Smoke. Smoke brought him back to life. In so many ways.

 

“Jazz,” he hissed. “I can’t leave Smoke. You have to get help.”

 

Jazz was mesmerized by the sight of his adoptive father lying there so pale, so still. “Is he gonna die? He’s gonna die, isn’t he?”

 

That word seemed to strike fear into their would-be assailants. “Die? Shit, I ain’t going down for no murder rap, man! Specially not some fag!”

 

“Yeahhh, let’s get the fuck out of here!”

 

Some of them were ready and willing to disperse at that point. The rest were waiting for a signal of some kind. When it came, though, it surprised all of them.

 

There was a gunshot. A single gunshot. Suddenly the men couldn’t scatter quickly enough. There was a hideous flurry of noise for a few moments, followed by dead silence.

 

Michael lowered his gun, clicking the safety on as he pointed it at the ground. With barely a flicker of his now-grey eyes to betray what he was feeling, Michael placed his gun in the waistband of his jeans before pulling out his cell phone. “I’ll call an ambulance,” he said softly.

 

Jazz knelt next to James, quietly crying. “This is all my fault. All my fault,” he repeated, afraid to touch Smoke, for fear of what he might find out.

 

James placed his hand over Jazz’, trying to comfort him without words. He didn’t think he could get actual words to clear his throat yet.

 

But when he realized what Jazz was saying, he couldn’t stay silent another moment. “It’s not your fault, Jazz.”

 

“It is! I ran away!” He swiped at the tears trickling down his bruised cheek, unknowingly smearing some of Smoke’s blood across his face. The grotesque image, something so awful juxtaposed with something so intrinsically beautiful, would live in James’ mind for a lifetime.

 

“It’s not your fault. It’s—“ James turned slowly to face Michael. He owed him their lives, but he couldn’t help hating him at that moment.

 

“It’s *yours*,” he said to Michael, knowing the older man would not deny it. “He’s only a kid. You’re the fucking grown-up.”

 

“You’re right,” Michael admitted.

 

James cocked his head at Michael, not realizing until then how much of the heat of his anger had left him.

 

Jazz slowly stood up, his bruised cheek glistening darkly with Smoke’s blood, his green eyes impossible to read. Suddenly a figure appeared behind Michael. Michael and James exclaimed, “Adam!”

 

Michael frowned. “I thought I told you to stay home. I told you I would take care of this.”

 

Adam bit his lip. He no longer felt like openly defying his father, but this, this was too important for him not to be here. “I heard you. But I had to be here. I know you think you’re to blame for all this, Dad. But you’re not.”

 

“It’s my fault.” Adam’s words echoed across the silent alleyway. “I’m the one who has to fix this.”

 

James glared at the adolescent. “Not everything can *be* fixed.”

 

“I know.” Adam’s bleak eyes met Jazz’. “But I have to try.”

 

 

 

Chapter 32/End

 

The ambulance arrived with considerable fanfare, but each of them was so preoccupied with his own thoughts that it could have passed virtually unnoticed. James was stroking Smoke’s hair back from his forehead as gently as possible. Smoke came awake with a low moan, pain surging through his body with such intensity, he didn’t even attempt to sit up. “Oh, God, Jamie, it hurts,” he groaned.

 

James was so glad to see Smoke regain consciousness that his deep blue eyes misted over. “Ssh, ssh, save your strength.”

 

The crew attached to the ambulance hovered impatiently over Smoke. One of the EMT’s finally glowered at James. “Could you please move?”

 

James looked up at the man, hurt evident in his expressive eyes.  “Be careful with him. He’s in a lot of pain.”

 

The EMT snorted. “Just let us do our job, okay?”

 

James reluctantly slid out of the way and stood up very slowly. The EMT’s opened the back door of the ambulance and unfolded an orange canvas stretcher. After what seemed to be a strangely cursory examination, the three men exchanged glances.

 

The third man, apparently the driver, returned to the front of the vehicle, while the other two lifted Smoke onto the stretcher. As they attempted to place Smoke carefully inside the ambulance, James clung to his hand, clearly unwilling to be separated from his lover.

 

The EMT who originally addressed James suddenly stepped in front of the door, physically barring James from climbing into the back of the ambulance. “No ridealongs, sorry.”

 

“You don’t understand—“ James protested.

 

“I understand plenty. God, you people are so pathetic. You’ll have to wait to see him at the hospital, *honey*,” the man said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

 

Michael stepped into the EMT’s personal space, so closely that it was obvious that the other man perceived it as a threat. Putting a hand up, as if something so meager could actually protect him, the EMT said, “Listen, I don’t want any trouble. So just back off, man.”

 

Michael didn’t even speak directly to the technician. “Get in the ambulance, James.”

 

James glanced curiously at Michael, but his need to be with Smoke won out over any residual anger. Poised to enter the vehicle, James stopped, once more effectively prevented from getting inside. “Next of kin only.”

 

Michael’s eyes flared bright green for a moment before returning to their seemingly placid grey. “Do you hold up medical treatment for *all* your patients? Or just this one?”

 

The EMT regarded Michael impassively. “I don’t know what you mean. If anyone’s holding anything up, it’s *you* people.”

 

Michael’s eyes narrowed, his voice deepening to a tone that those who knew him recognized as dangerous. “And what people would those be?”

 

The driver honked, lending the scene a certain urgency, and Michael took a step back, drawing his gun at the same time. “James, get in the ambulance.”

 

James pushed brusquely past the EMT and settled into a place at Smoke’s side. He was fairly sure that Michael wouldn’t shoot the man, but then again…you could never really tell with Michael.

 

The EMT frowned at Michael. “You’re in deep shit, my friend.”

 

“I don’t think so,” Michael replied tersely. “But if you don’t get these people to the hospital in the next few minutes, you’ll be dealing with *me*, and I don’t think you want that.”

 

Muttering to himself, the EMT backed up, closed the door, and thumped his large hand on the back of the door, signaling the driver that the patient was safely inside. “Okay?” he sneered at Michael.

 

Michael barely nodded. After he replaced his gun in the waistband of his jeans, he pulled out his cell phone again, this time dialing closer to home. “Neil? Who do you know at St. Catherine’s? And how fast can you get there?”

 

***

 

The ride to the hospital ER was a quiet one. Michael was lost in thought. Adam sat next to him, while Jazz huddled in a corner of the back seat. Although Jazz himself had minor injuries that needed to be treated, he had refused to accompany his adoptive father in the ambulance. Smoke had risked his life for him. He didn’t want to take one moment away from him and James.

 

He thought that James was probably injured as well, but James seemed so invincible that it was as if nothing impacted him. Well, except for Smoke’s condition.

 

And who was responsible for that? Jazz closed his eyes, feeling hot tears trace a path through the grime and the gore on his face.

 

If he could only have looked up at that moment, though, he would have seen that at least one person still thought he was the most beautiful thing on Earth.

 

***

 

The ER was a loud, bright, frightening place to be on the weekend. But it was the anxiety of not knowing the outcome that made all of them feel somewhat desperate. When hospital staff tried to separate James from Smoke, this time it was Smoke who protested. “Please! I need him with me!”

 

“You’ll see him later!” the resident yelled back over the din.

 

James  shook his head, giving in to the inevitable, but not liking it one bit. “I’ll wait here, Pete.”

 

“No! Jamie!”

 

James shut his eyes tightly against the noise and the smells and the sound of Smoke’s voice fading away as he was whisked down the hall on a gurney for evaluation.

 

“Are you going to be okay?” Michael interrupted softly.

 

James looked at the man to whom he owed his life. His and Smoke’s and Jazz’. “Ask me later,” he said, his voice breaking.

 

He didn’t have to be strong any longer. He ached in every part of his body, but he knew it was nothing compared to how Smoke must feel. “He looked so…battered. God, what they did to him. All that beauty…gone.”

 

Michael tapped James’ chest. “He’s still beautiful…in here. Where only you can see.”

 

James gave a tiny gasp as the last of his control shredded. Michael caught him as he slumped forward, and he pulled the younger man into a fierce hug. “I’m so sorry, James.”

 

“I know you are. I think that’s the only thing making this bearable,” James whispered. Having someone even stronger than he was to hold him helped. It made him feel…safe.

 

James pulled back, swiping at his suddenly tear-filled eyes, noting that Adam and Jazz were standing very close together on the other side of the room. “Hey! Stay away from him! I think you’ve done enough for one night!”

 

Michael turned, catching the stricken look in Adam’s dark eyes as well as the heartbreaking glance Jazz allowed himself before moving away from Adam. “James,” Michael began, not sure if he had words articulate enough to say what he wanted.

 

“Don’t make the same mistake that I did.”

 

“But they can’t—“

 

“Do you think telling them they can’t is going to change how they feel about each other? I did.” Michael stared grimly at his oldest son. “And look how well that turned out.”

 

“But Jazz is too young—“

 

“So’s Adam.” There was a beat and a restless step as Michael shifted his weight, unconsciously betraying his remaining anxiety about his son. “I’ve just gotten him back. I don’t want to lose him.”

 

“You won’t.” The voice came from behind Michael. His face cleared, relief taking the place of concern. “Kita!”

 

Michael held out his arms, and his wife walked into his embrace, as always the only person who could pass freely through the boundaries of Michael’s emotional defenses. James could swear that he saw tears in Michael’s eyes, but he was sure he must be mistaken. No one as strong as Michael would—

 

Then he realized that it took someone even stronger than Michael to allow him to express all that emotion that he kept so carefully under control. That someone was Nikita.

 

***

 

Adam watched somberly as a nurse’s aide briskly started to clean Jazz’ face. But when Jazz winced, he intervened. “Here, give me the cloth. I’ll do it.”

 

“Are you sure?” the young girl asked hesitantly.

 

“Absolutely,” Adam said, looking intently into Jazz’ vivid green eyes.

 

When she left the two of them alone, Adam began wiping slowly at Jazz’ face, concentrating on the dirt and careful to avoid the huge bruise that encompassed his entire left cheek. His lip was cut, too, though not badly. Adam dabbed at his lip, and he was rewarded with a restless sigh from Jazz’ vicinity.

 

“Thanks.”

 

“No problem.”

 

There was a dead silence, and then there was a moment as they both tried to talk at once. “Sorry.”

 

“No, you go first.”

 

“I just—we have a lot to talk about,” said Adam.

 

“We do?” Jazz asked hopefully.

 

“Yeah.” Adam’s voice had grown impossibly soft, but Jazz didn’t mind at all.

 

“About what?”

 

“About—this.” Adam slid his cheek along the side of Jazz’ face, lightly contacting the bruised area.

 

Jazz drew a sharp breath, but whether from pain or pleasure was hard to tell. Adam frowned. “Did I hurt you?”

 

“Yes—no—I…” Jazz colored and shook his head.

 

Adam grazed Jazz’ bruised cheek with his fingertips. “Someone hit you?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Adam nuzzled Jazz’ cheek with his nose, then his lips. “You’re still beautiful.”

 

Jazz turned his head, ever so slightly, and Adam’s lips touched his chastely. He couldn’t prevent an involuntary grimace as his torn lip protested the intrusion, and Adam pulled away.

 

They looked at each other for a long moment before speaking again. Adam’s thumb rubbed at Jazz’ brow. It seemed like the only place where no cut or bruise marred his skin.

 

“So where do we go from here?”

 

“Someplace warm?” Jazz suggested brightly.

 

“Are you teasing me?”

 

“Me? Dunno how.” But Jazz’ impish grin gave him away. “Ow!” he said as the smile tugged at the cut on his lip.

 

“Want me to kiss it and make it better?”

 

Jazz’ eyes slid away shyly. This was everything he had hoped for and more. But maybe he was asleep. Maybe he had been knocked out during the fracas. Maybe he was dreaming all of this.

 

“Would you?”

 

Adam tenderly brushed his dry, warm lips against his, the touch lasting no more than a fraction of a second. Jazz stared back at him, incredulous.

 

“That almost didn’t hurt,” he whispered.

 

“See? Getting better already.”

 

 

End