Michael walked, all right. He walked and he walked, and then he climbed. To the very top of the mountain where he and Nikita made love during the summer. His changeable grey-green eyes, their vivid color muted by his mood, looked out over the land coming to life under the dawn sky. Instead of feeling like the master of all he surveyed, as he sometimes did, he felt overwhelmed by an incredible weight, as if the sky were crushing him with oppressive force. After sitting down rather abruptly, Michael drew up his knees, resting his weary head on them.
He was tired of being strong right now. He was tired of pretending everything was okay. He was convinced that Kita was right. There was something evil out there, something that wanted them, even craved them. But what made it unbearable for Michael was that there was nothing he could do about it. Whatever was out there, whatever was happening, it was all beyond his control. He could not guarantee the safety of his family. It was driving him crazy. It was breaking his heart.
He closed his eyes against the brightness of day coming over the horizon. How dare it be so sunny? So clear? He pressed his head even further down, simultaneously pulling his knees up to his chest. He wanted to make himself small. Invisible. But it was no use. All he could do was feel that way.
***
Nikita woke up with a startled cry. Tears had dried on her cheeks long ago, but she still bore the traces. "Michael?"
She looked at his side of the bed, but he wasn’t there. Alarmed that Michael wasn’t back from wherever his midnight sojourn had taken him, Nikita began to feel unnerved. Muttering to herself as she dressed, she pulled on jeans and a T-shirt, noting she was already visibly thinner in the little time since her delivery.
"I knew you were upset, Michael, but I didn’t expect you to disappear for so long. Where are you?" she said to herself as she braided her long, pale hair with expert hands.
Minutes later, she was downstairs, having already discovered that Skye was visiting her grandfather. She strode into the kitchen, unsurprised to learn that Walter was playing peek-a-boo with the littlest Samuelle or that his determined efforts, no matter how well-meant, were making her newest daughter cry.
"Dad, have you seen Michael this morning?"
Walter shrugged and shook his head, wincing as he did so. It wasn’t much of a hangover, but it was definitely making its presence known. "He’s not in the house?"
Nikita wrung her hands together restlessly. "No. He...left...early this morning. Before dawn."
"Left?" Walter’s demeanor grew serious. "Is something wrong?"
"We had a...little argument. He was upset...and he took off to cool off, Dad, that’s all."
"And he hasn’t come back yet?" Walter frowned.
She shook her head.
Walter lowered his voice to a conspiratorial level, lest they be overheard by eavesdropping children. "Should we be worried, Sugar?"
Nikita looked up at her adoptive father, tears sparkling brightly in her brilliant sapphire eyes. "Maybe," she said, choking on the word.
***
In the end, it was Neil who volunteered to take Nikita out to search for Michael. He saddled one of the horses and expertly hoisted Nikita into a seat behind him. She clung to his waist, hoping against hope that they would find him. And quickly.
Neil guided the horse onto the path that led up the mountain. "You’re sure he came this way?"
"I know him, Neil. It’s where he’d go. I just feel it."
Neil snorted. "I can’t believe you were going to try to walk up there yourself, Nikita. You just delivered a baby a week ago, for God’s sake."
She buried her face against Neil’s back, and Neil abandoned any further attempts at conversation. He should have known. He knew Nikita and Michael well now. They would do anything at all to be together. What was a relatively small barrier like a mountain?
***
Against his better judgment, Neil allowed himself to be persuaded to drop off Nikita at the top of the mountain. They spotted Michael easily, but Nikita wanted to be alone with him. She promised that she would not try to walk back to the chateau alone. But Neil held little hope that she would honor that promise. She would do whatever she had to do.
Michael lay on his stomach in the grass, his face hidden. Idly rubbing his cheek on his hands, he saw little reason to remain composed. He was alone. As reassuring as it was to know that no one could see him this way, it was also a terrifying feeling. He had not been truly alone since he had rejoined Nikita after their escape from Section just over three years ago.
"I don’t want to be alone," he murmured to himself, starting to cry. It was not unusual for him to be so introspective, and it had the advantage of allowing Michael to know himself, inside and out. But it was the first time Michael had admitted to himself that he needed his family in a very unexpected way.
"You’re not," came Nikita’s soft reply from directly behind him. "I won’t let you be."
Nikita knelt at his side, touching him on the back of the neck. Michael jumped, obviously startled at the way she had managed to sneak up on him without him being aware. "Kita!"
When he recognized the intruder as his wife, he gave a sharp cry. He grabbed her around the waist with both arms, burying his face against her abdomen. She stroked his hair gently, feeling the convulsive shudder that ran through him. "I’m here, love, I’m here," she repeated, effortlessly soothing him.
"Thank God," he said softly, his shoulders heaving as he gave way to more tears.
It never failed to move her, the way her husband, so strong on the outside, could be so vulnerable on the inside. But only to her. He never let anyone else see the chronic pain he struggled to live with, but she knew. She pressed a kiss to his hair, encircling him with her arms. She would hold him for as long as he needed. Forever, if it came to that. They saved each other, time and time again. They were guardians of each other’s most intimate feelings. That this was in any way unusual was lost on Nikita. It was simply the way they lived. The way they were.
When he could speak again, he tried to apologize. For leaving the chateau. For making her worry. But she understood. She knew what was driving him now. Fear of the unknown. It was easy to defend yourself against a known enemy. They had strengths and weaknesses. They could prepare. But the unknown filled both their hearts with anxiety.
"I want to keep you and our babies safe, Kita, and I can’t." His voice broke significantly on the last word. "It’s killing me, Kita," he whispered.
"Let it go, Michael."
He slid his cheek down to her jean-clad thigh, his eyes half-open, drenched with tears. "I can’t."
"You have to."
He ran his hand back and forth on her thigh, tracing meaningless patterns. "What if I can’t, Kita?"
"Michael, there is always going to be someone out there, someone who wants what we have. Whether it’s Section...or someone else, it doesn’t really matter."
Her hand cupped his chin, forcing him to make eye contact with her own tearful eyes. "We just have to keep on loving each other, the way we both deserve to be loved. And we need to keep on living our lives, as if they don’t exist. Otherwise, we might as well still be back at Section. Alone. Apart. Without hope."
His arms tightened around her waist. "Ki-ta...you and our babies are what I live for. You are my hope."
He hid his face against her thigh. She was so warm, where he was so cold. She was so soft, where he felt so brittle. She was able to be strong, when he felt so powerless.
"And you’re mine."
Nikita continued to stroke Michael’s hair, convinced that he had finally fallen asleep with his head on her thigh. But when she tried to move away, his arms tightened around her waist again. "Don’t go...please."
"You need to rest, love," she reminded him gently.
He looked up at her, and though his gaze was enigmatic, his hands moved restlessly at her waist, belying his outward calm. "I need you more than I need rest, doucette," he whispered.
"Michael, we can’t," she admonished him. "Not for weeks yet."
He regarded her somberly for some seconds, then lay his head back down on her thigh, apparently accepting what she said. He didn’t say a word, but Nikita felt his inner tension. There was a fine tremor running through his hands now, something he was incapable of controlling, but it was not anger he was suppressing. It was desire.
"I love you, Kita. That’s enough." Michael shifted uncomfortably against her body. He wanted it to be enough. But sometimes, he needed more. Sometimes he needed the physical proof of their love. It had nothing to do with sex, and everything to do with making love.
Nikita beheld the man whose head she cradled against her body, the man she loved beyond life itself. Her finger lightly touched his cheek, and he betrayed his feelings by trembling. "Oh, my poor, brave, dark knight," she whispered.
He moved slightly to kiss her fingertips. "My bright angel," he whispered back. "Save me."
Ever so slowly, she pushed his head off her thigh, laying him back in the grass. He stared at her, almost perplexed for a moment, then realization struck him. His eyes shone a brilliant green in the early morning sunlight. He tugged gently on her waist, his hands still wrapped around her. Softly, she allowed herself to fall forward, loosening the braid that held her long pale hair captive.
Michael sighed, but whether from relief or from desire, it was difficult to say. She kissed him, the tip of her tongue moistening his lips until he opened his mouth beneath hers. His hands abruptly left her waist and tangled themselves in the silken curtain that was her hair. "Ki-ta..."
Their mouths mated, making love in a way that the rest of their bodies could not. Michael poured the love he felt into each kiss, drugging Nikita into a near-hypnotic state. He wanted her with a desperation he rarely acknowledged, even to himself. But they could not trespass across that line. He would die before he willingly hurt her.
Nikita gasped at the urgency aroused by mere kisses. She turned her face away, and Michael slid his tongue along the side of her face, making her breasts ache, making her long for a completion that could not come. "Michael..."
"I know, love, we have to stop." He caught his breath at the sight of her transformed face. Such love in those eyes.
She felt his arousal, taut and firm, against her abdomen. In that instant, she knew she would do literally anything for him. Whatever he commanded, she would make it so. But sometimes, he didn’t command. He didn’t even ask. Those were the times she wanted to give him all that she had, the gift of her love one that never exhausted itself.
She felt his eyes, hot and bright, on her. Slowly, painstakingly, she slid herself along the length of his body, earning a groan in response. "Kita, what are you doing?" he asked huskily.
"Saving you."
She snapped open his jeans and plunged both hands inside, savoring the warm feel of his skin against hers. The zipper unraveled itself, seemingly on its own, and his arousal sprung free from its bonds. "No underwear, Michael?"
He groaned. "I was in a hurry."
Her fingers touched him lovingly, and he closed his eyes. His heart echoed the throb down below. His hand raked its way through her pale, shimmering hair.
Moments later, her mouth replaced her fingers. He almost cried out, but he drew on every bit of control he still had, managing only a muffled inhalation of breath. Her breath was warm on him, arousing him further, and his hips moved involuntarily, seeking her hidden recesses. He was melting, he was on fire. It was both and it was neither.
Her mouth left him, abruptly, and he felt cold all over, as if a shiver passed through his entire body. "Kita?"
Pulling her T-shirt off, Nikita pressed her unbound breasts against Michael’s chest, partly in an effort to assuage her own desire. His mouth claimed one of her breasts, fastening itself to the nipple with a ferocity that rivaled his newborn daughter. She gasped again, as her milk began to flow, the pang of longing so great, she inadvertently broke contact with his mouth, splashing his cheek with warm liquid.
That was his undoing. His fingers rubbed agitatedly across her wet nipple, driving both of them towards climax. He wanted to lick the milk from the tip of her breast, but he was afraid of depriving his daughter of one ounce of the sweetness she deserved.
"Please..." Nikita begged for his mouth’s return. Just for a moment.
His tongue flicked out to capture a drop of the milk that clung lovingly to her nipple. Nikita’s body arched against his. It didn’t matter that he could not penetrate her, any touch of him on her body was enough to drive her over the edge. Satisfied.
He throbbed against her, the low hum of his body responding to hers. Despite his almost rigid control, he climaxed, spending his life force against her jean-clad abdomen. "Kita..." he breathed.
She kissed him. "My Michael." Nuzzling his chin with her lips, she shivered despite the warmth of the day. He found her T-shirt and pulled it over her head, tousling her long pale hair. He looked down at the puddle of wetness that lay between their two bodies and smiled crookedly.
"We’ll have to sneak in, like two thieves in the night, or Walter will never let us live it down. The two of us, acting like teenagers."
"I can wrap Dad around my little finger," she confided to her husband, kissing him again.
His lips tugged gently at hers, deepening the kiss. "Like you do me."
She smiled mysteriously. "Maybe."
Michael suddenly grew serious, and Nikita held her breath. "What? What is it?"
"Let’s go home."
She nodded. "As soon as I get myself cleaned up a bit--"
"No." He forestalled further talk.
"I mean...let’s go home. To our house." He watched her carefully, and he could tell the moment that his words sank in. She gave a happy cry and kissed him, tears springing into her eyes. Happy tears.
"We’re going home?"
He smiled. "Why not? It’s where we live."
For what seemed like the millionth time, Birkoff pushed Declan’s arms away. Declan kept snuggling against his back, wrapping his arms around Birkoff’s middle. In fact, right now, Declan’s mouth was pressed against the nape of his lover’s neck, his breath coming hot and heavy as he snored in alcoholic stupor.
After spending an uncomfortable night intermittently locked in the embrace of his inebriated lover, Birkoff was more than ready to get up and start the day. Muttering to himself, Birkoff snapped, "And you are never ever coming to bed in that condition again."
Declan smiled in his sleep, as if he recognized his partner’s voice, but was quite oblivious to the tone or the actual words. Birkoff disentangled himself from Declan once more and threw back the covers, inadvertently covering Declan’s face. Declan woke suddenly, sounding as though he were choking on the comforter. "Bloody hell!" he shouted, fairly coherently, given his state of intoxication several hours ago.
"Good morning to you, too," Birkoff said sarcastically.
Declan sighed at the tone of Birkoff’s voice. He was still mad. He would beg his forgiveness, if he thought it would help, but somehow, Declan just couldn’t seem to shape his face into an expression of contrition.
"Acushla?" Declan asked hesitantly.
Birkoff growled, his eyes narrowing, "Don’t even bother buttering that particular biscuit, Dec! Just leave me alone for about, oh, maybe a day or two, and things should be back to normal." With that, Birkoff slammed into the bathroom, waking Emerant in the process.
"Emmy!" Declan wailed, holding his head. The sound of her crying pierced the veil of any leftover lethargy. "Darlin’ girl, you’re going to drive your Da mad with that sound!"
Having finished his morning ablutions, Birkoff popped his head out and shouted just as loudly at Declan, "And don’t scream at the baby!"
Birkoff managed to flounce past where Declan lay and opened the door to Emerant’s room. "Aw, good morning, sweetness, was your father," Birkoff emphasized the last word, "yelling at you?" Birkoff picked up the baby and held her, and slowly but surely, she quieted, fixing her curious gaze on her ‘other’ father.
Emerant giggled, as only a beauteous, fair-complected princess of Celtic extraction could. Birkoff knew the look on his face must be hopelessly giddy, but that was how she made him feel, his little girl. A mere three years ago, if anyone had dared tell him that he would be married with children at this point in his life, he would have laughed them out of the room.
He rested her on his hip, looking for all the world like a hip young househusband. Contemplating his other half, he nudged Declan with his foot. "Dec? You’d better plan on getting up soon. You’re not lying in bed all day, holding your damn head, and playing ‘woe is me’ on the harp."
Declan slowly came to a sitting position. This was not good. Sitting was much worse than lying in bed. His head pounded like a jackhammer, and whatever was still in his stomach threatened to come up. The hard way.
"Sey," Declan said in a strangled voice, "I think I’m going to be sick."
Birkoff frowned. "Not in our bed, you don’t. Get the hell out of bed now, Declan McLaren!"
Emerant regarded her fathers through the eyes of the very young. One earnest, sincere, looking as fresh-faced and fresh-scrubbed as the day was new. The other tragically beautiful, yet curiously ravaged, reluctant to face the new day.
Declan stared at Birkoff with bloodshot eyes. "Are you going to shout like that all day, Sey? Cause if you are, give me fair warning, or I won’t be responsible for what happens to you!"
"Is that a threat, Declan?"
Declan sneered. "Noooo," he said with a smirk. "It’s a freaking promise, boyo. Don’t make me come over there."
Birkoff snorted. "You couldn’t lift a finger to help yourself right now, Dec, and we both know it!"
"You’re an aggressive little thing, aren’t you, Sey? What, you’ve suddenly developed a taste for blood?" Declan was more than mildly irritated. He thought he deserved a little sympathy, if not a lot, and here was Sey, treating him like the bloody enemy.
Birkoff turned his back on Declan. That was the final straw. Declan jumped up, intending to move towards Birkoff, but the sudden movement rendered him incapacitated with pain. All at once, he doubled over, retching. Hearing the noise, Birkoff half-turned towards Declan, his dark eyes growing as big as saucers. "Dec!"
He raced into the adjoining room and hurriedly put Emmy down in her cradle. Closing the door firmly behind him, Birkoff hesitated before proceeding to Declan’s side.
Declan sank to his knees, overwhelmed by the excruciating pain in his head, but the pain only worsened the already intense nausea he was experiencing. He was afraid. Afraid he might die. Afraid he might live. If this was the price for drinking all that wine, he hoped another drop of wine never crossed his lips.
Birkoff just stood there, seemingly transfixed by Declan’s deterioration. Declan caught his lover’s rueful gaze. "Oh, sure, you’re sorry now, aren’t you, boyo?" But he couldn’t sustain his anger. He was too sick. Clutching his stomach, Declan fell over, dry heaving.
Birkoff moved then, kneeling at Declan’s side. Wordlessly, Birkoff pulled on Declan until he righted him, then helped him into the bathroom. He held Declan’s head while he threw up over and over again. It was not a pretty sight. He was even pretty sure that Declan deserved exactly what happened to him. But Birkoff’s heart was too generous to maintain that attitude towards someone he loved.
He ran cold water over a facecloth, applying it to Declan’s forehead when the vomiting finally came to an ungraceful end. Declan turned and lay back weakly, his head resting against the edge of the toilet seat. "Thanks," he whispered, all the fight gone out of him.
Birkoff watched Declan silently, still not trusting himself to speak. But his haunted dark brown eyes told the story. I was unfeeling, even mean, and I’m sorry. His fingers adjusted the cloth on Declan’s forehead, and Declan gazed at his lover, his face as pale as parchment.
"You are sorry, aren’t you, Sey?" Declan intuited. Birkoff nodded.
"I appreciate that," Declan said, sagging forward, his head on his knees. The facecloth fell onto the floor, and both of them reached for it at the same time, nearly bumping heads. That would have been tragic, for the pain would probably have killed Declan outright.
A groan escaped Declan’s lips, and Birkoff quivered. His heart couldn’t take another moment of estrangement. "Dec, are you okay? Please be okay," he whispered fervently.
Declan opened his eyes, catching the empathetic look on his lover’s face. "I’ll live, more’s the pity. Long enough to regret last night several times over."
"I’m sorry I said all those things, Dec," Birkoff began to chatter nervously. "I was just so afraid. If anything ever really happened to you, I don’t know what I’d do. I just--"
Declan’s eyes entreated Birkoff to come closer. And with a sudden rush of sound, Birkoff closed the distance between them. He wrapped his arms around Declan, rocking him gently to and fro. "If there is something bad out there, please don’t let it get you, Dec. I couldn’t stand it."
Now Birkoff was tearful. Declan rested his chin on Birkoff’s shoulder and sighed with relief. "Nothing’s going to happen to me, Sey. I won’t let it. Hey," he said brightly, "I got too much to live for, remember?"
Birkoff buried his face in the hollow of Declan’s neck. "I love you, Dec," he whispered, wiping his eyes on Declan’s skin. "Nothing you do can change that. No matter what."
"Even if I do something incredibly stupid, like getting drunk?" Declan asked, his eyes half-closed, his mouth pressed against Birkoff’s shoulder.
"Even that."
"I knew there was a reason I loved you," Declan whispered huskily, his voice fading, as he fell asleep in his lover’s arms.
Birkoff smiled to himself.
Christmas was coming, and Michael wanted his family to spend Christmas at home. It was a prodigious task packing up the family’s belongings, but it was nonetheless a pleasure that Nikita was not willing to forego. It meant that they were really going home. To their house. The house that she picked out over three years ago. The house that welcomed the twins home. The house that helped Nikita realize her dream of having a family. It was the house where she and Michael first committed themselves to being a family. And what a family it was now.
Forming a small caravan of people, cars, and animals, Michael’s family moved slowly but surely through the beautiful European countryside. The last thing that Michael did before he left the chateau was to arrange for a caretaker and staff to maintain the property and take care of the horses. This was not goodbye. His plans for the future definitely included the chateau, and he felt strongly that the twins, in particular, should spend part of the year there, for it was, in a very real sense, his legacy to them.
When they finally arrived home, it was the middle of the night. It had been a long journey. Not a difficult one. But long. There were children clamoring to go to the bathroom, there were babies crying intermittently, and then there was the occasional bark or meow uttered by an imprisoned Zero and a totally dismayed Josephine.
When Nikita caught her first glimpse of the Norman-designed house, she felt her heart leap into her throat. As strange as it seemed, she felt all choked up. Over a house. "It’s more than just a house," she whispered to herself, knowing instinctively she spoke the truth.
Michael glanced at his wife. He held his daughter Faith, who was sleeping peacefully on her daddy’s shoulder, her thumb stuck unrepentantly in her mouth. "It is, doucette. This is literally where we started," he said.
Nikita smiled. "Well, actually, our family kinda anticipated itself, if you remember correctly, Michael," she said, unconsciously touching her abdomen.
He returned the smile. "Well," he said, unabashed, "that’s just cause the twins couldn’t wait to get here."
Faith’s head lolled on her father’s shoulder. Michael pressed a kiss to Faith’s hair and shifted her into a more comfortable position. Faith whimpered in her sleep and restlessly tugged on her father’s neck. "It’s going to take a while to get settled in."
Nikita grinned wearily. "What’s another few hours here or there, Michael? But if you want my advice, I say, let’s find the bed linens and camp out in the living room until morning."
Michael whistled low. "That would be a bit cramped, wouldn’t it?"
"But easier on our nerves."
Michael shook his head. "Speak for yourself, Kita. You’re not the one who’d have to listen to Walter snore."
Nikita picked up the littlest Samuelle, seven-month old Skye, trying not to wake her. She was a good baby. Exceedingly quiet. Already sleeping through the night. Unlike Faith. Who had recently turned into a miniature night owl. Oh, well, perhaps it was the excitement of being done with toilet training.
"It feels good to be home."
"I’m sorry it took us so long to get here, Kita. But we needed to make further renovations."
Nikita’s expression darkened. It was the one shadow that still hung over them. When they decided to return home, Michael learned that Neil and Madeline’s house had burned to the ground. "Mom was devastated, Michael. Some of what they lost was...irreplaceable."
"Things can always be replaced, doucette. People can’t. Just be glad they weren’t in the house when it caught fire."
Nikita glanced quickly at the approaching couple. Neil was holding his one-and-a-half year old son, Connor, while Madeline brought some of their belongings. "Mom thinks the fire was suspicious, Michael. She’s not convinced that it wasn’t related to Section...or Justin."
Michael sighed heavily, raking a hand through his cinnamon-colored hair. "I’m not totally convinced myself, Kita. But as you said, we can’t put our lives on hold forever."
"I’m glad you let me invite Mom and Neil to stay with us until their house is ready."
Michael retreated behind an enigmatic expression. "Well, hopefully, they won’t need to stay too long."
"Michael!" Nikita exclaimed.
Michael hid his lack of enthusiasm for the idea behind a crooked smile. "I like Maddy, doucette. But a little bit of her goes a very long way."
Nikita laughed softly. "Don’t let her hear you say that."
Madeline crept into the conversation on little cats’ feet. "Hear you say what?"
Michael pressed his cheek against his sleeping daughter’s. "Oh, nothing. We were just waiting for everyone before going inside."
On that note, the rest of the family seemingly converged at once, heading for the front door of the Samuelle house.
***
Once they crossed the threshold, everyone began chattering at once. Michael called for their attention at least three times before he succeeded in getting it. "Madeline, I’ll show you where you’re going to be staying upstairs as soon as I put Faith down to sleep. Walter, why don’t you show Declan and Birkoff what the newest renovations look like? You’re more familiar with them than I am." It was true. Walter was a fair engineer, when it came to mechanical things, and he had been only too happy to supervise the rest of the renovations to the house.
With that, the family splintered into smaller groups. Walter led the way to Declan and Birkoff’s rooms, now more literally an apartment. The bedroom was larger now, the bathroom unchanged. But the latest addition was a small sitting room, not unlike a living room or den, where there was enough room for a comfortable chair or two, a desk or workstation, and a stereo or TV. "Wow, Walter, I’m impressed. Color me grateful for the desk. Now I have a place to put the laptop."
Declan chuckled. "I thought the place for a laptop was your lap, Sey."
Birkoff snickered. "You would, Dec. Someone must have been sleeping in computer class."
Walter raised an eyebrow at the two of them. "It’s late, guys, and I need my beauty rest, okay? Where are you planning to put Emmy?"
Birkoff shrugged. "In our bedroom, I guess."
Walter sighed. "Brilliant, Birkoff. Even I wouldn’t subject a beautiful child like yours to the two of you snoring. But even more to the point," he harrumphed loudly, heralding a cogent comment or two. He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "You can’t have a baby in your bedroom, guys...unless you two were maybe planning to become celibate in the near future?"
Declan colored furiously, dropping his gaze to the ground at his booted feet. "Jesus, Walter, get to the point!"
"Welcome to Paradise, guys. Behold...Michael has spoken, and the word is good. The room across the hall from you is now suitable for a princess to move in. Emmy’s almost old enough to have her own room now, isn’t she?"
"She’ll be a year old on Christmas Day, Walter," said Declan. "You think it’s wise for her to be across the hall?"
Walter leaned on Declan’s shoulder, clapping a hand to the younger man’s arm. "Declan...you gotta let go sometime. Sooner or later, she’s going to grow up. I have a feeling, you’d better start preparing now."
"Then you think she’s ready?"
"She is. But are you?" Walter countered.
Walter yawned expansively, barely remembering to cover his mouth. "I’m heading to bed, guys. Declan, if you’d just lock up?"
Declan nodded, already halfway out the door by the time Walter finished his sentence. Birkoff sighed, but it was a wistful sound that made Walter prick up his ears. Winking at Birkoff, Walter quipped, "He doesn’t do everything that fast, I hope?"
Birkoff blushed. "Walter!"
"Sorry, lil buddy," Walter replied, but the twinkle in his eyes said he wasn’t sorry at all. Suddenly worried that Birkoff would tell Declan, Walter feared the former cold op’s retribution. Declan could get back at him in more subtle ways than the Torture Twins knew.
"You won’t mention this to our friend, will you?" Walter asked with more than a little trepidation.
Birkoff’s eyes lit up as he exclaimed gleefully, "He’d whup your ass, Walter!"
Walter muttered to himself. Birkoff was enjoying his discomfiture entirely too much for his liking. "I don’t remember you ever being this vindictive before, Sey-mour..." he drawled.
Birkoff smiled mischievously, his dark chocolate eyes warm and liquid. "I never had a protector before."
"Is that what Declan is?"
"Sometimes." Birkoff considered that. His eyes shifted, slowly losing their warmth. "He’s the only person who ever cared enough to put me first. No one’s ever treated me that way, Walter. Not even my parents. Sometimes..." he broke off suddenly, as if he had just realized something.
"What?"
"Sometimes he acts like he cares more about what I want than what he wants. I’ve never felt this important in my whole life," he finished, biting his lip to hold back the tears that threatened to spill.
Walter’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled kindly. Hugging Birkoff fiercely, he whispered to him, "You better hold onto him, then, huh? I’m glad you two are so good for each other, Birkoff. I mean that."
"Thanks, Walter. That means a lot."
Declan came bustling through the door, whistling merrily, watching in utter amazement as the two men sprung apart almost guiltily. "Okay, what are you two up to now?"
Walter smoothed his palms down the sides of his thighs almost nervously. "Nothing much."
Birkoff leaned on Declan affectionately, rubbing the back of his neck. "What Walter is trying to say is that he has a hot date with his wife. Isn’t that right, Walter?"
The expression in Birkoff’s eyes was genuinely tender, probably owing more to the presence of his lover than Walter, but he was giving Walter a chance to make his exit gracefully, and that was all that Walter cared about.
"Yeah," agreed Walter, adding "if I can stay awake long enough."
***
After Walter left, Birkoff checked on Emmy, who was sleeping peacefully in her cradle in the sitting room. "So should we move her into her new room, Dec? We don’t have a baby monitor. We’ll have to get one, I guess."
Declan stopped Birkoff’s chattering with a kiss. "I don’t care what Walter says, she’s too young to sleep across the hall from us right now."
"But--"
Declan kissed him again. Birkoff’s expression remained enigmatic, but his lips tingled where Declan kissed him. "That was very effective, Declan. Do that again."
"Please?"
Birkoff dutifully repeated "Please."
Declan slid his hands under Birkoff’s thick, dark hair and pulled him close for another kiss, this one deeper than the first two. His eyes dark silver, Declan asked, "Are you glad to be home, acushla?"
"You have no idea, Dec." He kissed Declan back, pushing his hands through Declan’s long red hair, breaking off the kiss abruptly with a giggle.
Declan blinked. "What? Did I just miss something?"
Birkoff grinned. "You sure did. Guess what just flew past us?"
"Christ, Sey, there are times the bloody Concorde could fly past us and I wouldn’t see it, if I was kissing you."
"As flattering as that is, you’ve got to see what I just saw."
Declan’s eyes narrowed. "What did you just see?"
Birkoff pulled on Declan until he followed him into their bedroom. "What the--?"
There, ensconced in their bed, was Zero. Grinning broadly as all get out, Zero panted charmingly, his tongue hanging all the way out of his mouth. Birkoff laughed. "He bounded through the room and appropriated our bed, Dec."
"I can see that. Well, he can bloody well un-appropriate our bed. I have plans for it."
Declan’s arms wrapped around Birkoff’s waist as he lowered his mouth to kiss Birkoff one more time. Birkoff groaned. "Umm, Dec? I don’t have the heart to put him out. Honest."
Declan wanted to smash every affectionate bone in his lover’s body, but then, Sey wouldn’t be Sey. Declan sighed, but this was not the same wistful sound that Birkoff made earlier. It was fraught with tension and disappointment.
Birkoff brightened. "I have an idea."
Declan refused to let himself hope that there might be a way around the recalcitrant dog. Birkoff went into the sitting room and collected Emmy and her cradle. He placed the cradle at the foot of the bed. Zero assumed guardian status immediately. He loved babies, even babies he hadn’t met yet. He was one of the mushiest dogs ever born.
"Guard, Zero," Birkoff commanded.
Declan snorted. "You can’t tell me that dog was ever trained. Or that he understands commands. Or that he’ll actually do what you told him."
"Nope. But I just told him to do what he does naturally. So I expect him to do it." Birkoff smiled. It was so simple being Birkoff. Being Declan must be much more complicated.
"That almost made sense, acushla," Declan said, a wary look in his eye.
With that, Birkoff found a couple of comforters and pillows and brought them into the sitting room. Cheerfully humming to himself, he worked quickly to create a loving little nest for the two of them to sleep in. In moments, it was done. Birkoff admired his handiwork. "Voila`."
Declan stood behind Birkoff, wrapping his arms around his chest, as he nuzzled his neck. "You are bloody amazing sometimes, you know that?"
It was on the tip of his tongue to say that Declan was the only one who thought so, but Birkoff never uttered the sentence aloud. Part of him wanted to believe what Declan said. It was almost Christmas. A magical time. He would try harder to believe it.
Much harder.