Declan had absolutely no intention of taking advantage of the situation. It was the furthest thing from his mind. That was undoubtedly why he was shocked when he woke to find Birkoff’s mouth pressed hard against his chest. "Sey!"

Birkoff looked up at him, his eyes red and swollen, much like his nose, and sniffled. "I’m sorry, Dec."

"Don’t be. You have nothing to apologize for." Declan stroked Birkoff’s hair, so fine and silky under his fingertips.

"Yes, I do. I upset you, Dec. I didn’t mean to invite you to my pity party," Birkoff said sarcastically, seeking refuge in the self-deprecation and sardonic wit he was noted for.

Birkoff lay his hot, flushed cheek against Declan’s chest again, his fingers absently searching for a way inside Declan’s shirt. Declan touched Birkoff’s forehead and flinched at the heat he felt. "Sey, you’ve got to drink something. You’re burning up!"

"Who cares?" Birkoff closed his eyes, finding Declan’s presence a comfort despite his miserable mood.

"I care, dammit! Don’t make me get tough with you!" Declan’s fuse was understandably short.

Birkoff paid little attention. He was at the mercy of the angst that once ruled his young life. That it came back, showing its evil fangs, now, when he could least defend himself, seemed the perfect irony to him. That it threatened the love and acceptance he had finally found was not only ironic, but tragic.

Declan shook his head, a forlorn look in his own eyes, gone dark with pain. "Sey..." Declan swallowed hard. "Kieran..."

Birkoff’s head whipped around, a tormented look on his face. "Don’t call me that! I don’t deserve it! Or you!" Aghast at what he’d uttered, in the heat of the moment, Birkoff collapsed against Declan’s body, his fingers clutching at Declan’s long red hair.

"I love you!" Declan cried.

"Prove it!" Birkoff shouted back without seeing Declan’s conflicted face.

Declan didn’t know if he had the heart for this. He could no more turn away his lover than fly. But to take him, when he was so sick, when he was so deeply invested in the past...

Birkoff sighed heavily when Declan didn’t move immediately. He didn’t know how ambivalent this made Declan feel. He only felt his own pain, and now he added the pain of Declan rejecting him to that.

All at once Declan wrapped his arms around Birkoff, his arms squeezing Birkoff uncomfortably. Birkoff looked up at the face he loved so much, astonished to see that he had driven Declan to tears once more. "Dec?"

Declan pushed Birkoff off his chest in answer, dumping him unceremoniously on the bed. He sat up, swiping angrily at his cheeks, wet with tears he never should have cried. Staring at Birkoff long enough to make the younger man wince, Declan whispered, "I won’t let you add me to the long list of people who’ve hurt you, Sey."

He reached out with a trembling hand and caressed Birkoff’s cheek. "I love you." His grey eyes almost black now with despair, Declan softly and rhythmically moved his fingers against his lover’s mouth. Birkoff kissed Declan’s fingertips, grasping at them, to hold onto them, but Declan retreated.

"What we have is too special to destroy this way," Declan whispered, the very effort of speaking making his head ache. "I won’t make you my whore, Sey, no matter how much you think you deserve it. It’s not who we are."

He stood up, his tall, lean body unfolding itself slowly, as if in great pain. "I have to take Emmy up to Maddy. I’ll be back later."

***

After Declan left, Birkoff sank back amongst the covers, burying his face in his pillow. How could he do that to Declan? The one person who truly loved him? The one person who asked nothing from him except to be loved in return?

I’ll make it up to you, Dec. Just please, please, come back to me. Birkoff shuddered one last time and fell into an uncomfortable sleep.

***

"Declan?"

It was Maddy’s voice. Somehow she had tracked him down. Declan was sitting on the back porch, his head buried in his crossed arms, which lay across the tops of his knees. His knees were drawn up, nearly to his chest, as if he were trying to fold himself up into a smaller package.

Declan sniffled. Maddy had an unerring sense for tragedy. It was probably her greatest advantage at Section One, but here, amongst family, it was hardly ever used. "What?" he finally answered, his voice muffled against his arms.

Madeline was nothing if not calm. Staying calm was a highly effective attribute, and one she cherished now. If she thought too hard about how upset Declan was, she could not help him. And he sounded as though he desperately needed her help.

Madeline kicked at an icicle hanging off the porch, sending it crashing to the snowy earth with a tiny crystalline ping. The sharp, sudden noise made Declan flinch. That was not like him. It was considerably worse than she thought. "You’re going to freeze sitting out here in the cold, Declan."

"I don’t care."

"You have no coat."

"I said I don’t care!" Declan raised his voice, lifting his head enough for Madeline to see the emotional wreckage that littered his suddenly flushed face.

"Well...do you care if I freeze to death?" Madeline waited for a reply, and she had just decided that Declan refused to answer, when he did.

He looked shell-shocked. Worse than that. A casualty of war? No, a casualty of love. "You want me to come inside." It wasn’t a question.

"Yes," she said softly, reaching out her hand. Declan held a special place in her heart. She was not going to let him fall by the wayside like some stranger.

He came inside the house willingly enough, but he refused to go upstairs with her, claiming he needed to be close to Birkoff.

"Where’s Emmy?" Madeline asked, a faint shadow creasing her finely sculptured eyebrows.

"In her room. I was going to bring her to you, but--" Declan broke down, giving in to the now overpowering urge to cry. Madeline opened her arms wide, and Declan fought with himself for mere seconds before succumbing to the inevitable.

He needed her. God, he needed someone. Preferably the voice of reason. Someone who could tell him what the hell to do.

Trapped within her embrace, Declan no longer tried to hold back the cascading wave of emotion that threatened his almost-rigid self-control. "Maddy..." He hugged her back, his arms wrapping around her petite frame, seeking her calm, her fortitude, her strength of purpose. He lay his head on her shoulder, desperate for answers. Anything that would help him make sense out of what happened between him and Sey.

Slowly, chokingly, he told Madeline what transpired, taking great care not to leave out any seemingly insignificant detail. She listened, her near-black eyes misting at the thought of the two star-crossed lovers. Eventually, she spoke.

"Declan, what part of this scares you? Birkoff’s tears? The fact that he’s sick?" She stroked Declan’s magnificent red hair. "Is it facing his abuse or your own that frightens you?"

"It kills me when he cries, Maddy," Declan whispered against her shoulder. He couldn’t tell her that Birkoff’s repudiation of the Gaelic name he’d given him for their anniversary hurt even more. Even though he knew it was Birkoff’s pain speaking, he couldn’t help but be devastated by that. As for Birkoff being sick...

"And even if it’s only a cold, Maddy, I hate that he’s sick."

"No one ever died from a cold, Declan."

"You think I’m overreacting? I know. I know, Maddy, but I can’t help it."

Madeline might have left it there, but for the most important question that Declan didn’t answer. "What about the abuse, Declan?"

"What about it, Maddy?"

"Declan..." she admonished him, surprised he still had enough will to resist her questioning at this point.

"I can’t...stand thinking...that there’s anyone out there, much less his parents, Maddy...who would hurt him like that." Declan raised his head briefly, and Madeline could see the emotional toll this was taking on him.

"Not everyone’s as kind as you, Declan."

"Kind! Ha! I’m not bloody kind!"

"You are, Declan. Why do you have trouble admitting that? Do you consider it a flaw, a weakness?"

"Weakness...yeah. People prey on people who are kind, Maddy. You know that. You should bloody well know that. You used it to your own advantage enough times," Declan struck out viciously at Madeline, in an effort to assuage some of his own pain.

Madeline’s dark eyes closed briefly, the only reflection that his comment had hit home.

Declan winced, wishing he could take back what he said immediately. But words spoken in anger simply hung there, in the air, waiting for a new moment to strike.

"Declan...this isn’t about me." She paused, considering how best to approach the issue. "I don’t think it’s just Birkoff’s abuse that’s overwhelming you. You never faced your own abuse, Declan--"

He started to cut her off, but Madeline stared at him intently, her dark eyes glowing fiercely. "This is not a coincidence, Declan."

"Is that your way of saying I need help, Maddy?" Declan barely managed to whisper.

"Is it that difficult for you to accept, Declan?" Madeline countered.

Declan closed his eyes, those brilliant, silver-grey eyes, and what light was left within him dimmed. Madeline held her breath, wondering if she had pushed him too hard.

Moments later, he opened his eyes, his expression enigmatic and difficult to read. But his words left no doubt. "I need your help, Maddy. Will you help me?"

Madeline smiled, her dark eyes gleaming. "Of course."

***

Declan picked up Emmy and handed her to Madeline. "You’ll take good care of her, won’t you?" He knew he sounded like every other anxious parent leaving his child in someone else’s care, but he couldn’t help worrying.

"Yes." Madeline looked down at the little girl in her arms. "You’re such a sweet little thing, aren’t you?" Turning back to Declan, she asked, "Where do you suppose she gets it from, Declan? You or Birkoff?"

Declan almost smiled, but he abruptly realized that he didn’t feel very well. "Maddy," he said, his clear grey eyes clouding over.

She noticed how flushed he looked. "Declan, are you feverish?" She touched his forehead with the back of her hand. "My God, you are."

Before she could say another word, Neil entered Emmy’s room. Without even hearing about the afternoon’s events, Neil could tell that something was wrong. But more than that, he could see that Declan was sick. Probably with the same virus that Birkoff had.

"Maddy, you’d better bring the baby upstairs right away. If Declan is sick, she’s been exposed. So keep her away from Connor." Neil withdrew his stethoscope from his pocket, intending to listen to Declan’s lungs. "You like to make my life complicated, don’t you, Declan?" Neil commented with an amused smile.

Declan sniffed. "Sometimes things get a bit too...interesting."

Neil nodded. After further examination, he declared, "You need to go to bed and get some rest."

"Who’s going to take care of Sey?" Declan asked, suddenly tearful.

Neil tried not to notice Declan’s tears, fearing it would only embarrass him. He grabbed Declan’s arm, physically pushing him towards the rooms he shared with Birkoff. "Take care of each other," Neil said softly.

***

The moment that Neil crossed the threshold of the bedroom with Declan, Birkoff burst into tears. "You came back!"

Declan tried to retreat, but Neil held onto his arm. "Declan is sick, too, Birkoff. Looks like the two of you will be sharing the chicken soup and the orange juice."

Birkoff wiped his eyes with the edge of the comforter, watching as Neil took charge of the situation. "Get undressed, Declan."

Declan glared at Neil. Neil laughed. "Don’t worry, you’re not my type."

"I don’t have any pajamas," said Declan with a mysterious smile.

"You think that’s going to stop me from putting you on bedrest? Nice try, Declan." Neil actually began removing Declan’s shirt before Declan wrenched himself away and took over the job.

"Scoot over, Birkoff," Neil instructed, as he assisted Declan into bed. That Declan was clearly weaker than he’d been was obvious. Declan would have fought tooth and nail to stay out of bed on any other day.

"Stay," Neil commanded, indicating both of them.

He left the room briefly and returned with two freshly heated bowls of Declan’s chicken noodle soup. "Fresh from the microwave."

"Now..." Neil surveyed the two, lying morosely in bed. "Are you going to force me to feed you? One at a time?"

Birkoff hid under the covers, but Declan refused to let that pass. "You’re going to eat something if I have to feed it to you, Sey!"

Birkoff crept out from under the covers slowly. "You would do that?"

"Yeah," Declan whispered harshly, his throat beginning to ache.

Neil brightened, hoping that proximity, not to mention love, would take care of what else ailed the young couple. "I’ll be back to check on you both later." Stopping at the door, he warned, "Oh, and I’d better not find either one of you out of this bed."

After Neil left, Declan fed Birkoff most of a bowlful of soup before finishing his own. Birkoff was tremendously relieved that Declan had returned, for whatever reason, and yet he never voiced any of this to his lover. Crawling under the covers again, Birkoff curled up on Declan’s chest, in much the same position as before.

Declan wrapped his arms around his partner, refusing to think beyond the fact that they loved each other. Running his hands through Birkoff’s hair, Declan heard him say, "Thanks", in a very low voice.

"For what, love?" Declan asked.

"For coming back." Birkoff’s voice was ineffably sad.

"How could I not? I love you," Declan murmured against his hair.

"I love you, too, Declan." Birkoff pressed a kiss to Declan’s chest, but this time, it was soft, an expression of possession, not of aggression.

Declan stroked his lover’s hair, feeling an indescribable tenderness towards him. "Did you manage to find Kieran while I was away?" he inquired, almost holding his breath.

Birkoff looked up at Declan, traces of the tears he’d cried still visible on his unlined face. "He’s right here," he said, kissing Declan.

"So he is," said Declan.

Now he could rest.

Birkoff struggled to stay awake just to watch Declan sleep. He snuggled under Declan’s chin, his palm moving restlessly back and forth on Declan’s chest. Eventually the movements slowed, and then finally, they stopped. Birkoff fell into an uneasy sleep, punctuated by often surrealistic nightmares.

It was during one of these nightmares that he re-surfaced. Panting. Sweating. Screaming.

The scream died on his lips as Birkoff came fully back to consciousness, meeting Declan’s panic-stricken eyes. "Are you okay, Sey?"

"Yeah," he sighed heavily, raking his hands through his thick hair. "Cause you’re here."

Declan almost smiled, but his heart felt too constricted, as if it were bound within his chest. His grey eyes flickered from side to side, as if making eye contact with Birkoff were too much effort.

Birkoff pressed a kiss to Declan’s palm. "What’s wrong?"

"You’re so wounded, Sey...and I hate the people who did this to you. I don’t care if they were your parents." Declan nearly choked on the emotion swelling his throat shut.

Birkoff regarded Declan with those older-than-time dark eyes. Sometimes it seemed as though they had seen too much. "You hurt for me, Dec, I know you do." Birkoff pushed Declan’s hair back off his face, lovingly framing it with his hands.

"I don’t understand it, though. You’re such a beautiful person, Sey," Declan said, his pale grey eyes shadowed. "Why would someone who loved you want to hurt you?"

Birkoff hid his face against Declan’s for a moment. "Why did your father and your brother hurt you, Dec?"

Declan finally met Birkoff’s troubled eyes. "Don’t answer a question with another question, Sey. I want to know."

"So do I," Birkoff said sadly.

Declan kissed him, but the tragic look on his face persisted. "You mean you don’t know?"

"I mean..." Birkoff shuddered involuntarily. Most of the time when he came out of a nightmare like this, he remembered nothing. But this time....

"Maybe I’m afraid of finding out that..." Birkoff bit his lip anxiously. "Maybe there was a reason it was so easy to hurt me.’

"What? What possible reason could there be?" Declan was incredulous.

"Maybe they...maybe they didn’t love me." There. He’d said it. The terrible thing that lurked in his heart, keeping it from healing. Birkoff raised terrified eyes to Declan’s anguished face.

"Oh, Sey..." Declan cried. "Come here, acushla. Come here." Declan wrapped his arms tightly around his lover’s neck and pulled him close. Birkoff went willingly into Declan’s embrace, rubbing his cheek on Declan’s shoulder.

"I always wondered...how they could hurt me like that...if they really loved me," Birkoff whispered against Declan’s neck. "And now I know...they never did."

"Sey...I dunno how anyone could not love you. That face, those eyes..." Birkoff’s lips were warm and parched against his skin. "That mouth."

Eager to distract Declan from more serious topics, Birkoff kissed him, stringing a trail of love bites from one end of Declan’s face to the other. "You love my mouth," Birkoff said with a satisfied smile.

Declan’s face softened, suffused with love and compassion. "Aye, I do. Your honey mouth..."

Birkoff stared at him, his dark eyes suddenly serious. "You’re the only person who’s ever really loved me," he whispered.

Declan shook his head. "What about Walter? And Nikita?"

A sob caught in Birkoff’s throat. He grabbed Declan’s hand and pressed it to his cheek. "No...you’re the only one who sees the real me."

"No matter how much I love you, Sey, I know I can never make up for the pain you’ve suffered."

"It doesn’t matter anymore."

"It does. You’re only fooling yourself if you say it doesn’t."

"Maybe you should listen to your own advice, Declan," Birkoff said softly.

Birkoff rolled over onto his back, flinging his arms out to the sides. Heaving a great sigh, Birkoff glanced at Declan, a crooked smile curving his lips. "Dec-lan," he sang.

When Declan turned to face him, Birkoff walked his fingers up Declan’s bare arm to his neck, hooking his hand behind Declan to pull him closer. "Being in bed all day is boring. Unless...."

"Don’t even finish that sentence, Sey," Declan warned.

"If you’re worried about corrupting me, don’t be. I’m already corrupted," Birkoff giggled playfully.

Declan grabbed Birkoff by his hair, his hands clasped in a punishing grip. "Don’t even joke like that!"

Birkoff stared at Declan, his chocolate eyes even more bittersweet than usual. "I’m sorry. It’s not like you’re taking advantage of me."

"It feels like it sometimes," Declan confessed, stunned that he’d admitted as much.

"How could you think that? Declan, we’re equal, you and me."

Declan closed his eyes. When he reopened them, Birkoff was still looking at him, his heart in his eyes. "Make love to me, Declan. Help me forget the pain."

"You can’t use sex as a shield, Sey. It’s not fair to either one of us."

Birkoff pushed Declan onto his back, and Declan did not have the will to resist. "I love you," Birkoff whispered, his breath coming hot on Declan’s mouth before he kissed him. "I just want to be with you."

His shoulder-length brown hair tickled Declan’s chest as Birkoff contentedly settled himself atop Declan’s body. "Okay, I won’t let you have me. I’ll just lie here and wait."

"Wait for what?"

Birkoff smiled. "For you to change your mind."

Declan lay trapped beneath Birkoff’s body for several minutes, refusing to move so much as an inch. "I’m not changing my mind."

Birkoff nuzzled the hollow of Declan’s neck with his nose until Declan groaned.

"I thought you weren’t going to touch me."

Birkoff licked his way from the base of Declan’s throat to his chin. "Mmm, no, I said I wasn’t going to let you have me."

Declan’s arousal sprung to life at the thought of laying claim to Birkoff, and Declan shifted uncomfortably. But Birkoff refused to let Declan off so easily and continued to tease and provoke him. Until Declan couldn’t stand it.

"You must be feeling better, you little tease, or you wouldn’t be so relentless," Declan said sharply, trying not to be mesmerized by the sight of Birkoff’s mouth so close to his. Birkoff smiled and merely closed his eyes as Declan lost the battle with his will.

With a harsh cry, Declan rolled over so that Birkoff now lay beneath him. His tongue stabbing ruthlessly between Birkoff’s lips, Declan ground his mouth against his, hard. When Declan released him, Birkoff sighed. "Who are you trying to punish now, Declan, me or yourself?"

Declan immediately released Birkoff and rolled off him, moaning low in his throat. "I don’t want to hurt you, Sey."

"What makes you think that anything you could ever do to me could possibly compete with what my parents did?" Birkoff whispered.

Declan flung his arms over his face with a groan. "Now I don’t want to talk about this."

Birkoff pried Declan’s arms from his face with a very real effort. Declan was hiding now, from Birkoff, and from himself. "Talking about the abuse doesn’t hurt me, Declan, it hurts you," Birkoff suddenly stated with almost perfect clarity.

"That’s why I’ve been avoiding it," Birkoff said flatly, realizing he had managed to stumble onto the truth. "In my own dumb way, I was trying to protect you. Not that you need much protecting."

Declan was galvanized by what Birkoff said. He crept back to his lover’s side and gazed intently into his dark brown eyes. "Not dumb, Sey. Never that."

He kissed him as lightly as possible, the flutter of his lips against his like butterfly’s wings. "I love how you defend me, acushla. No one is braver than you when it comes to saving me," Declan whispered, his hands gently splayed across Birkoff’s cheeks.

"I can face your demons, Sey. It’s mine I can’t handle." Declan finished hoarsely.

"Every time I bring it up, you run the other way, Declan."

"Every time you bring it up, it scares me to think what might happen..."

Birkoff placed his hands over Declan’s. "What are you scared of, Declan?"

"Of not being in control."

Birkoff kissed him, an overwhelming tenderness in his eyes and on his lips. "Is that such a bad thing?"

Declan’s armor cracked. "I’m afraid to get in touch with all that anger, Sey. What if I--?"

"What? What’s the worst that could happen?" Birkoff encouraged.

Declan began to cry. "What if I lose control? And hurt you?"

"You wouldn’t," Birkoff said firmly.

"What if it changes something?" Declan looked positively terrified.

"Like what?" Birkoff frowned.

"Like us! Us, Sey!" Declan choked out the words on a sob. "If I lost you...I wouldn’t want to live," he wept.

Now tears stood in Birkoff’s eyes. Seeing Declan this vulnerable was difficult. You’re my hero, Dec, you’re always so strong. If you’re not strong, how can I possibly be?

Birkoff held Declan, unconsciously tangling his hands in Declan’s unruly red curls. Declan buried his face against Birkoff’s chest and let go of his pain. "Tell me how you felt, Declan. All those times you stepped between your mother and your father. You must have been scared."

"I was," he said brokenly. "I thought for sure Da would kill me before I had a chance to grow up. But he died...and I was glad he was dead!" Declan closed his eyes, letting the tears run freely down his cheeks.

"You feel guilty?"

"Wouldn’t you?"

"We’re not talking about me now," Birkoff warned softly.

"Yes, I felt guilty," Declan whispered. "It was such a relief, him dying like that. God, what a terrible thing to say."

Birkoff kissed Declan.

"What’s that for?"

"For you, for being so brave and admitting what you really felt."

Declan clung to Birkoff, unconsciously drawing strength from the powerful embrace they shared. Hold onto me, my Kieran, hold onto me so I can’t slip away...

"What about Justin? And...and what he did to you...?" Birkoff’s resolve faltered. Just thinking about how that cruel bastard victimized his own brother made him sick.

Declan sagged weakly against Birkoff, but his defenses were coming down. He was starting to feel some of the old pain, long submerged, and with it came the anger. "God, he was a mean son-of-a-bitch."

Birkoff agreed, holding Declan even tighter, his hands clutching convulsively over his back. "How--how did you feel?"

Declan nearly snapped his head off. "How do you think I felt? The beatings were one thing, sort of this chronic pain that never really goes away, y’know?"

"And the--?

Declan pushed himself away from Birkoff, genuinely frightened at the intensity of his rage. "Christ! Rape! You can say rape, Sey! That’s what it was!"

Birkoff started to back up, unconsciously distancing himself for safety’s sake. But Declan took it as a personal affront. "You think I’d hurt you, Sey? No, wait, a few minutes ago, you were begging me to take you! To willingly do to you what that bastard did...to me."

"It’s not rape between you and me, Declan. Is that what’s going through your head whenever either of us gets the least bit aggressive?" Birkoff’s face clouded over.

"No! I know the difference. I do. I...do...." Declan’s voice faded away as he abruptly realized that what Birkoff said was true.

"You didn’t corrupt me, Dec," Birkoff said, swiping at his face with the back of his hands. He was crying openly now, but he wanted to help Declan through this, and if they stopped now, they might never work this out.

"You didn’t make me gay. You didn’t rape me." Birkoff pulled on Declan’s hair, trying to prevent him from moving away any further. "Whatever I was, I was. I just didn’t know it until I fell in love with you."

Declan’s body suddenly went limp, and Birkoff sensed that he was no longer fighting what they both knew to be true. "What he did to you was unforgivable. But it was just another way of beating you. It was violence, Dec. Nothing else."

Birkoff didn’t know where he was getting the strength to do this, but he pressed on. "What you do to me...is love." He kissed Declan’s hair, and he felt Declan tremble in his arms.

"Now sleep."

Birkoff stood up shakily, taking great care not to wake Declan, who had finally fallen asleep in his arms. He felt out of sorts, which he attributed to their discussion, and he knew that this would not be the last time that they talked about this. Padding into the bathroom in his bare feet, Birkoff turned on the shower. His body smelled sour to him, probably the result of the fever and its resultant sweating.

He did feel better. His nose still felt congested, but his headache had faded away to nothing but a memory. Birkoff was used to life in the fast lane, despite the time spent away from Section, and forced bedrest did not sit well with him. Nevertheless, he was undeniably better.

Standing under the shower spray, he soaped his entire body before rinsing it off. When he was done with that, he shampooed his hair, knowing that if he left it to dry naturally, it would wave on its own, all the way down to his shoulders. As he rinsed his hair, the water sluiced across his face, making it impossible to tell if there were tears. If anyone had asked, he would have denied that he was crying, but it would have been a lie.

His hair a tangled mass of waving tendrils, Birkoff leaned on the wall behind the shower head and wept. Silently. Even though it would have been difficult to hear anything above the noise of the water. His shoulders heaving, his back muscles rippling fluidly under the harsh shower spray, Birkoff never heard Declan come into the bathroom.

But like Birkoff, Declan had a sixth sense when his lover was not in bed beside him, and when there was trouble between them, or around them, neither one of them could tolerate being separated for very long.

"Sey?" Declan rasped, his voice ruined for the duration.

Birkoff turned with a startled gasp. His dark eyes gleamed wetly, but Declan knew it could not be attributed to the shower. "Acushla..."

Declan stepped into the shower behind Birkoff and held him, much the way that Birkoff had held him. "I’m sorry, Dec. I’m trying to be strong for you." He buried his face against Declan’s shoulder.

"You are, acushla, and I love you for that. I love you for so many other reasons, though. Just come back to bed with me. I can’t rest when you’re not there."

Birkoff grasped Declan’s fingers in his hands and kissed them. "If I do, will you make love to me?"

"Sey...."

"Please...." Birkoff took Declan’s index finger in his mouth and suckled. A wave of heat suffused Declan’s entire body, a feeling not unlike an electrical charge moving through his groin.

"Christ, Sey, you don’t play fair."

"Not when I’m fighting to hang onto you any way I know how, Declan."

Birkoff pressed himself against Declan’s body, reaching up to kiss him. "You said if you lost me, you wouldn’t want to live without me," he whispered, his breath coming in fits and starts, as if he were under great duress. "Why would you think I feel any differently?"

Declan wrapped his arms around Birkoff’s neck, wet hair and all. But if before he had brusquely plundered the treasure he called Birkoff’s ‘honey mouth’, now he was the essence of finesse. He caressed Birkoff’s tear-stained face with his fingertips. "I love you, my Kieran, and I swear to God, I will never leave you willingly."

"You’d better mean that, Declan," Birkoff said plaintively.

"I do," Declan murmured, his silver-grey eyes fixed on his lover’s mouth.

Moments later, Declan helped Birkoff out of the shower, drying him off with a large fluffy white towel. "Dec?"

"Aye, love?" Declan responded, rubbing Birkoff’s skin briskly with the towel. Birkoff shivered despite the warmth of the room, and Declan abruptly wrapped the towel around his shoulders. "I’ll find you another one."

"No, it’s okay. We’re going back to bed anyway, right?"

"Right," Declan nodded. "It’s your turn to talk, Sey."

Birkoff frowned, his dark eyes darting away from Declan’s intense silvery gaze. "What? You don’t want to talk anymore? Then we’ll sleep."

"You promised you’d make love to me," Birkoff said, his eyes filling up with fresh tears.

"Sey..."

"You promised, dammit," Birkoff brushed his wet hair back from his face, almost angrily.

"Sey, what’s causing this? You seem to have an almost fanatical desire to have sex now." Declan looked troubled.

Underneath the strong facade he’d erected to protect Declan, Birkoff was in chaos. He couldn’t articulate his feelings as well as Declan, but he knew one thing. He needed to know that Declan loved him, more than anyone or anything, even Emmy. But he was beyond feeling the power of the words now. He needed Declan to show him.

Birkoff didn’t know what else to say. He just sat down on the bed, the look in his eyes so lost, it touched Declan’s heart. "Sey..."

Birkoff’s lower lip quivered. "Did you realize we never had a honeymoon, Dec?"

"I know, Sey, but..."

"But what, Dec?" Birkoff trained his tear-drenched eyes on Declan. "But we’re not entitled to a honeymoon cause we’re not really married? Or cause we’re freaking queer?"

Declan almost unseated Birkoff, he swooped down upon him so quickly. "I told you, Sey, I never want to hear you use that word again."

"Why not?" Birkoff cried. "It’s truer for me than it is for you!"

"Sey, for God’s sake!" Declan tried to hug Birkoff, but he pulled away, grabbing the pillow off the bed and holding it against his abdomen as a shield.

"I don’t remember a whole helluva lot from my childhood, Declan, but I remember that!" Birkoff’s eyes were wild now, tormented by what little memory he had.

"Remember what, Sey?" Declan barely managed to get past frozen lips, having a feeling he was going to hate the answer.

"Y’see, I was so smart..." Birkoff hiccuped, not even aware of the sobs wracking his slender frame. "I was so different...and you know how people hate what they don’t understand...so they hated me!"

"No one could hate you, Sey."

"They did! Declan, for God’s sake, listen to the actual words for once! They said this to me! Not to you! Not to somebody else! To me!" Birkoff screamed hoarsely.

Birkoff buried his hot face in the pillow, crying desperately. Declan wanted to hold him, but he seemed so volatile, Declan was afraid to touch him.

"What did they say, Sey?" Declan asked quietly, a pang in his heart. Somehow he knew what he was going to hear, and why Birkoff couldn’t remember it until now.

"What a queer little boy," Birkoff said, almost under his breath. "Maybe they thought I was too young to understand what they were saying. Or maybe they figured if they beat the shit out of me enough times, it wouldn’t matter."

Declan closed his eyes, wincing at Birkoff’s pain. Of all the things to remember. "Sey? Maybe they didn’t mean it the way you think."

"Oh, yeah, Dec, that’s some comfort. Mommy and Daddy don’t actually think you’re a fag, sweetheart, just peculiar. Thanks!" Birkoff spat sarcastically.

Declan’s storm-grey eyes darkened ominously. He was deeply angry. But not at Birkoff. Birkoff could take all the potshots he wanted at Declan. Declan would gladly stand there and take whatever punishment Birkoff handed out. He was more than entitled.

Suddenly there was near-total silence. The only sound, if one could call it that, was Declan gritting his teeth. "Are your parents still alive, acushla?" he asked in a deceptively soft tone.

"Oh, no, Dec, no, no, no...." Birkoff said, his mouth quivering. He grabbed Declan’s arm and pulled on it, trying to get his attention. "You can’t, you couldn’t..."

"I sure as hell could, Sey. I swear to God. And don’t tell me you’re begging for the absolution of their sins!" Declan’s eyes narrowed as he contemplated his lover. Birkoff shivered, but whether in terror or in anticipation of retribution, it was hard to say.

"I’d be the last one to say, forgive and forget, Dec," Birkoff said in a small voice. "But violence begetting violence can’t be the answer either."

Birkoff unwrapped the towel that covered his body, letting it fall softly to the floor. "Forget about it, Declan. Please." He stood up suddenly, on unsteady feet, and Declan automatically reached out to balance him. Declan looked down at his hands, clasped around Birkoff’s waist, and then back up to Birkoff’s beloved face.

"Are you seducing me because you want me, or because you’re trying to distract me from killing your bloody parents?" Declan asked.

"Does it matter?"

"Aye, it does to me."

"There’s a third reason."

Birkoff’s eyes fairly gleamed with sweet anticipation.

"Oh, what’s that?" Declan asked.

"I don’t need a freaking reason. I love you," Birkoff whispered as he sank down on Declan’s lap.

There was absolutely no such thing as being surrounded by too much love. Birkoff knew it was true. He woke in Declan’s arms, his thick hair mussed, as if his lover had just finished tousling it. "Hey!" he cried gently.

Declan’s mouth was against his ear, his breathing soft and rhythmic. He slept, a peaceful smile curving his lips. Evidently they were both feeling better. Declan’s body no longer felt unpleasantly hot, and the congestion that had plagued Birkoff had faded.

The important thing was, they were both intact. They had run the gamut of emotions throughout the night, and still they stood unbowed. "We’re survivors, you and me," Birkoff whispered.

Declan shifted closer in his sleep, as though he were acknowledging Birkoff’s statement. If he’d been awake, he would undoubtedly have agreed. They were survivors. No matter what life managed to throw at them, they escaped, if not unscathed, at least not mortally wounded.

Birkoff was not going to let go of Declan. He hadn’t come this far to give him up. They shared a destiny. They had a future together. The past was just that. The past. It needed to stay there. Where it could no longer hurt either of them.

They would go on. They had to. Emmy needed both of them. And they needed each other.

***

When they were both fully recovered, Birkoff held Declan to his unspoken promise. Declan had made love to Birkoff, if not with complete abandon, at least with considerable passion, satisfying his desire to be loved. It was the validation he sought, beyond the power of the words, when words could no longer reach his heart with any intensity.

But just to make sure, Birkoff approached Nikita cautiously in the kitchen. As she sipped a cup of hot tea, Nikita’s bright blue eyes met Birkoff’s dark chocolate eyes in a question. "Can I help you?" she asked bemusedly.

Birkoff nodded. "Nikita, I know you said that the farmhouse was just for you and Michael, and I respect that, I really do, but--"

"But you and Declan would like to use it?" Nikita guessed. She was way ahead of Birkoff. She knew what was bothering Birkoff, in a way. Nikita herself sometimes felt the same. As if she needed desperately to be loved for herself, as part of the couple that was Michael and Nikita, not just as Faith’s or Chris’ or Skye’s mother.

It couldn’t be very different for Declan and Birkoff. Their commitment barely two years old, they were basically newlyweds themselves. Being plunged into parenthood suddenly, without any warning, had strained their relationship, no matter how much they loved Emmy. Now Declan and Birkoff needed time as a couple.

Birkoff looked strangely shy about broaching the subject, but he pressed ahead. "It’s just that...Dec and me never had a honeymoon and--"

"You want to give him one? That’s sweet, Birkoff." Nikita was touched by Birkoff’s gesture. Even if the farmhouse wasn’t his to offer to Declan, she admired his generosity of spirit.

I want to give myself one, he thought. I’m a selfish, jealous bastard, and I want all of Dec’s love and attention for myself. Birkoff smiled to himself. But failing that, he would settle for the better half of that love and attention.

Nikita misunderstood Birkoff’s pleasantly detached expression, but she granted him his wish. A three-day weekend at the farmhouse.

He could hardly wait to tell Declan.

***

Michael crept up behind Nikita and grabbed her, wrapping his arms around her waist. She shrieked, nearly flinging her teacup at him unintentionally. He kissed her neck. "You seem to be losing your touch, doucette."

"Ooh, you’re just sneaky, Michael." She turned to face him, encircling his neck with her arms. "I should punish you for that, y’know."

Michael smiled unrepentantly. "I look forward to it."

***

Madeline lounged on the bed, regarding her husband as he dressed for the day. "Mmm...that tie looks good on you, my love."

Neil turned, a dubious smile on his lips. "So now we’re into ties, Maddy? You’ve been in a very interesting mood lately."

She ran her tongue lightly over her lips to moisten them, her dark eyes alight with warmth and...something else. "Would you like a demonstration of just how...interesting...I can be, Neil?"

He pulled off his tie with one motion and knelt on the bed, leaning on his arms. His light blue eyes danced merrily over her face, dominated by that sultry sloe-eyed look. Raising one eyebrow, he contemplated his wife’s intentions.

"Should I save the tie, Maddy? I can think of one or two...interesting...things I could do with it," Neil said slowly, as if daring her to contradict him.

She kissed him. So could she.

***

Miranda purred contentedly as her husband walked his fingers up her spine. Suddenly rolling onto her back, she traced a slender finger across his well-defined mouth. He grabbed her finger and kissed it. "You tempting little witch," he growled in his smoke-and-whiskey voice.

"Would you like me to cast my spell on you?" she said throatily.

"Mmm...you already did, my huntress." His lips caressed her neck. "You gave me the stamina of ten men," he declared, a playful look in his blue eyes.

She ran a hand down his chest, then back again. "Would you like to show me again?"

Walter laughed. "You’re insatiable."

She winked at him. "And you love it!"

Walter fixed his gaze on her mouth. "I’ll show you what I love."