After removing his helmet, Declan shook out his long red hair and raked his fingers through it. It had been a long, exhausting night followed by a hard, unforgiving day. Stashing his helmet in the motorcycle’s largest compartment, he was relieved to see that he could return Walter’s beloved Harley with nary a scratch on it. Strolling slowly toward the Samuelle house, he slung his arm around Birkoff, who seemed more than a bit reluctant to go inside.

Nonchalantly kissing the side of his lover’s face, Declan wearily contemplated a bath and bed, in that order. Birkoff suddenly stopped without any warning. "Before we go inside, there’s something you should know."

Declan sighed heavily. "Sey, my love, unless we’re under bloody nuclear attack in the next five minutes, there is absolutely nothing I need to know."

Birkoff looked intently at Declan. "I’m serious."

Declan returned the look, albeit a bit softer due to fatigue. "So am I."

Birkoff shifted anxiously, thinking to himself, If only Michael let me tell him when I wanted to, this would have been so much easier. But the longer he put off telling Declan that he had another sister, and a twin at that, the more difficult the task became. Declan started to move away, but Birkoff caught his arm, his grip unintentionally tight.

"Declan..." he gulped a huge swallow of air. "When I was entering the virus into the computer?"

Declan nodded, frowning. What was this about? Everything had gone as planned. And then some. They had had extraordinary luck. Hadn’t they?

Birkoff blinked nervously, swiping at his suddenly dry lips. "Michael made me run a background check on all the new people we encountered. Including Sasha. And--"

Declan shook his head. "Sey, is there a point to any of this?"

"The girl that was with Davenport? The one he’s in love with?"

Declan nodded. "Aye, the one with the grey eyes...what about her?"

Birkoff held his breath, bracing himself for Declan’s reaction. "She’s your sister. Your twin sister."

"Aye, that’s a good one, Sey. Try again when I’m not so freaking tired, though."

Birkoff pulled at Declan’s arm, preventing him from moving any closer to the front porch. "Declan, I mean it. I went deep into Section’s mainframe, the intel is good. She’s your twin sister. She was recruited into Section at a very early age. She--"

Declan paled as the significance of what Birkoff was saying began to penetrate. "You’re bloody kidding me."

"I wish I were." Birkoff looked so conflicted, anyone would have thought he was the one who needed support, not Declan.

Declan shook off Birkoff’s hand. "Well, let’s get in there and see what she has to say about this, Sey."

"Declan, wait."

"What?" Declan had already reached his frustration tolerance for the past twenty-four hours. His exasperation was beginning to show.

"She doesn’t know."

Declan stared at Birkoff incredulously. "No way! What do you mean, she doesn’t know?"

"All this time, Section kept her in the dark, too. She thinks she’s Daragh Cassidy. But her name is really Daragh Cassidy McLaren. D.C. Get it? She even has the same initials you do."

"Why would they do that, Sey? I mean-- I don’t understand."

Birkoff dropped his gaze to the ground at his feet. "Damn, Declan, I’d be speculating. Who knows why Section does anything? For real? But there’s a pretty horrible back story on her. If you want to know details."

"Spare me," Declan spat sarcastically.

"Don’t be angry with me, Dec. I wanted to tell you as soon as I found the intel, but Michael didn’t want you to know. He couldn’t afford for you to be preoccupied or distracted. Our lives were riding on you and him."

Declan’s burst of anger faded as quickly as it surfaced. "Oh, baby, I’m sorry. It’s not your fault." He pulled Birkoff close and closed his eyes as he fought for control. He was tired, and he was hungry, and he had reached his emotional limit.

"So what am I supposed to say? Hi, how are you? Heard you’re my longlost sister?" Declan asked, his voice still tinged with irritation.

"I don’t know, Dec. I only know what I told you. Maybe you shouldn’t say anything until we see Michael." He glanced helplessly at his lover, unhappy that he couldn’t do any more than he had.

"And if we run into each other? What then? I pretend we’re not related?"

Birkoff shrugged, his face the picture of genuine disappointment. Declan kissed him lightly, his fingers wiping one lone tear that hung from Birkoff’s eyelashes. "I’ll be okay, acushla. Don’t worry."

"Are you sure?" Birkoff’s lower lip trembled threateningly.

Declan lowered his head and kissed his lover again, this time lingering for a few seconds. "Aye, I am. I love you. And this has nothing to do with us," he said, emphasizing the last word.

"What if she doesn’t like me?" Birkoff asked tremulously.

"Then screw her. I didn’t know she existed till five minutes ago. She can’t tell me what to do with my life. I won’t have it." What Declan didn’t mention was that he was currently at the end of a very short tether, and one sharp tug would take him right over the imaginary line that separated threat from real violence.

Declan wrapped his arms around his lover, more to comfort himself now than Birkoff. "Besides," he whispered to him, his lips grazing the top of his ear, "she may be my twin, but she’s not the other half of me. You are."

Declan strode through the front door, his arm firmly around Birkoff’s waist, heading directly for the kitchen. He gasped. "Bloody hell."

Surveying the damage with a now practiced eye, Declan continued to swear. "Look at this, milk all over the counter, on the floor. Wait a minute... This isn’t the work of grown-ups, Sey. This has K-I-D written all over it. Who let them loose in my freaking kitchen?"

"Oh, is this your kitchen?" said a soft-spoken female voice from the doorway behind them.

Declan turned and came face-to-face with his newfound sister. He blinked, trying to ignore the slightly breathless feeling he had. She was almost as tall as he was. Her hair more brown than red, but still a lovely shade, she did indeed possess the McLaren eyes. He was surprised he didn’t notice it earlier, at Section One, but then...he was a bit busy.

Preoccupied with cataloguing her every feature for later retrieval, Declan didn’t realize that he was getting the same onceover. The only difference was, Cassidy had no idea who he was. Smiling perfunctorily, Cassidy extended a hand to shake. "I’m Daragh Cassidy, and you are?"

"At home," Declan said flatly. Birkoff nearly choked on a burst of nervous laughter. Declan was not in the mood to be amused, he was sure of it, and someone really should warn the girl. But he didn’t want to be the one to do it. He was getting worn out playing messenger boy. It didn’t pay enough, and it could be hazardous to his health.

Her bright smile never reaching her eyes, she regarded the man in front of her. Long red hair. Really, an incredible shade of red. She envied it. Curly. Like her own. Taller than she was. But not by as much as you’d think. Slender, too, just like her. Lean-hipped. Muscular thighs. Not a bad-looking man at all. In fact, what was she saying, the man was drop-dead gorgeous. But that didn’t matter. For two reasons. One, she considered herself totally committed to Davenport. And two, she didn’t care for his attitude.

"You live here then?" she inquired politely.

He nodded slowly, appraising her, as if she were a target. "That’s what at home means, aye."

"Do you have a name?"

"Aye." He knew he was being surly, but he couldn’t help it. There was something about the girl that rubbed him the wrong way. Or maybe it was just the fact that she existed. He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t in the right frame of mind to be making any kind of sense out of this now.

Ignoring her outstretched hand, Declan very carefully walked around it, leaving the kitchen. Birkoff didn’t want to be rude, but he didn’t want to be alone with Cassidy either. So he followed.

Declan stalked off to the rooms he shared with Birkoff, muttering under his breath. Birkoff wisely kept his silence. Once inside, Declan nearly ripped his shirt, pulling it over his head. He was terribly frustrated, not to mention angry. But at who? And what?

When Declan pulled on a fresh T-shirt and moved to leave, Birkoff blocked the doorway. "Dec, where are you going? You said you were going to shower, then hit the rack. There’s no need to go out there now."

"There’s every need. My kitchen looks like a can of whipped cream exploded inside it. You know how I am about my kitchen, Sey."

Obsessive-compulsive. Yes, Birkoff knew how Declan was about the kitchen. "You have to clean it now? Declan, no..."

"Sorry, love, I have to." Declan brushed Birkoff’s chest, and Birkoff stepped back and out of the way. "Well, if you’re going, so am I."

"Why?"

"To keep the peace. That’s not a friendly look on your face, Dec."

"Suit yourself, Sey."

***

Birkoff was hoping that Cassidy had left. But no such luck. She was still there, apparently searching for something to eat. She smiled at Birkoff, but glared at Declan. "And who are you? Are you at home too?"

Birkoff winced. "Um, yeah, I live here, too."

"Oh." She glanced at the two of them and raised an eyebrow. "Are you related?"

Declan stared her down. Coolly. In a distinctly chilly voice, he said, "Related to whom? Michael? Or each other?"

Cassidy looked surprised. "Each other?"

"We could be brothers," he said, quite enigmatically.

"But you aren’t," she finished for him, smiling triumphantly.

"No, we’re not," he drawled.

She nodded, pondering the exact nature of their relationship. "You’re very close, though."

"How can you tell?" Declan asked, his tone too bland to be real. Birkoff wanted to shake him.

"Hm...body language. You’re inside each other’s personal space, yet you’re comfortable with that. Your gestures indicate great intimacy. Oh!" she said sharply, as though something had just occurred to her.

"Having a brainstorm, are we?" Declan said silkily.

"I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude on-- Obviously, you’re lovers," Cassidy frowned, disliking the uncharacteristic nerves she felt.

"Obviously," Declan agreed.

"It’s just that--"

"Yes?" Declan invited, an expectant smile on his lips.

"You don’t look gay," she finished lamely.

Declan leaned into her personal space, glad to see that the girl had the sense to feel threatened and backed up accordingly. "And what, pray tell, does a gay person look like?"

She fell silent. "I’m sorry if I offended you," she said softly.

"If?" Declan rolled his eyes. "Just get the hell out of my kitchen, okay?"

"Well..." she beseeched with her beautiful eyes, so like his own. "Could you spare a sandwich? I’m so hungry..."

"Depends. Are you the one who let the kids in here to run rampant?"

She looked blank. "There are other kids here? Besides the two I met? Connor and what was his name? Sasha?"

Declan nodded. "There are a lot of kids here. Hope you don’t mind."

"Oh, not at all. I’m..." She blushed fiercely. "Sorry, I don’t even know you, but I was going to say...I’m going to have a baby." The young woman looked so delighted at the prospect, Declan didn’t have the heart to utter another mean word.

Besides, he suddenly realized, if she was pregnant, she was carrying his little niece or nephew. The thought made him smile. A real smile for the first time since they’d met.

"Seriously, though...what is your name?"

Declan sobered. "I’m Declan."

"Ah, the other op Michael told me about?"

"What did he tell you?" Declan rarely let his guard down, but he had to admit, she had a certain charm. And she certainly didn’t appear like any Section op he’d ever known.

"Oh, this and that," she answered noncommittally.

"So...," she smiled at Declan, "what’s the twinkie’s name?"

"Excuse me? Did you just call me a twinkie?" Birkoff looked ready to become outraged at any second, but Declan looked positively dangerous.

"I don’t believe I’m familiar with that term. Could you clarify that for me?" he asked Cassidy in a perfectly normal sounding tone.

"Birkoff’s not a twinkie. More like an Oreo," said the voice behind Cassidy. Davenport was so big, he seemed to loom over the three of them. He wrapped protective arms around Cassidy’s abdomen. "He’s got a sweet tooth, darlin’."

Birkoff nodded, slowly chewing the piece of cookie still left in his mouth. "I don’t think that’s what she meant, though."

"Sure it is. Isn’t it, Derry?" Davenport willed Cassidy to agree. He liked Declan, and he didn’t want to have to rearrange any of his body parts for him, if he decided to touch her.

Cassidy stared at Davenport, her mouth slightly open. "Um...sure."

Declan huffed. "You want to keep that sort of thing to yourself then, or you could wind up starving to death. It doesn’t pay to piss off the cook. Especially in this house."

"You’re a prickly sort, aren’t you?" Cassidy said, before Davenport could warn her not to provoke Declan any further.

Davenport interjected, "You’ll have to forgive her, she’s not really good with people."

Declan nodded. "I noticed," he commented dryly.

Suddenly Cassidy whipped out her gun and aimed it directly at Declan. "I don’t like this guy’s attitude."

"Now, now, darlin’, remember what we talked about. If you shoot first, you can’t ask questions later," Davenport said nervously, unsure if he could actually stop Cassidy from firing on Declan.

Declan never blinked. He disarmed her in a move that could only be described as a blur, upending her gun and sliding the clip into his palm a moment later. Holding onto the clip, he handed the empty gun to Davenport, who looked both grateful and relieved.

Cassidy looked thunderstruck, her face growing dark and menacing. "How dare you?"

"What? You thought I would just stand here and let you shoot me?" Declan laughed.

Cassidy turned to Davenport and exclaimed, "Just who the hell is this arrogant son-of-a-bitch?"

Birkoff bit into a huge chocolate chip and smiled as it melted on his tongue. "That," he said, pointing to Declan, "is your brother."

Declan looked surprised that Birkoff gave up the secret after telling Declan to avoid just that. But then he realized, if someone didn’t say something soon, Cassidy was going to keep challenging him until he succumbed to the urge to commit violence.

"He is? But I don’t even like him, Jake!" she wailed unhappily.

"Welcome to the club, sweetie. Oh, and one more thing...if you ever point a gun at me again...you’d better be prepared to use it..."

Davenport glowered at Declan. "I know you’re not threatening her, cause you mess with her, you mess with me."

Declan moved closer, until he was nose to nose with Davenport. True, Davenport was a much bigger man. But Declan was nothing if not a keen survivor. "Look...she can call me anything she likes...but if she ever comes after Sey again...you’re dealing with me. Got that?"

Birkoff rolled his eyes. "Jeez, if you guys are determined to have a pissing contest, could you hold it somewhere else? Some of us are hungry."

Birkoff offered a cookie to Cassidy, and she tentatively reached out her hand to take it. "Hey, it’s not catching, you know."

"What?"

"Being gay. It doesn’t rub off on your hands if you touch someone."

"Oh. I knew that." Cassidy bit her cookie, and the sweet taste of chocolate filled her mouth. "Mmm..."

Cassidy’s mind was a bit slow on the uptake, so it took a few minutes for the news that Declan was her brother to sink in. "So you two, um, sleep together?"

Birkoff wasn’t about to open up that topic for debate. "Declan’s a good cook. He can make you something to eat, if you let him."

"The mood he’s in now, he’d probably poison me," she said waspishly, abruptly realizing that if he did, she had only herself to blame. She had made a hopeless mess out of things.

"Possibly."

"You don’t like me either?"

She seemed puzzled, as if she met with this reaction frequently, but still had no clue what provoked it. Birkoff offered her another cookie, which she took, and thought of a way to broach the subject. But no matter how you approached it, it sounded funny. Well, y’see, Daragh, up till a little while ago, your brother didn’t know you were alive, then you made it clear just what you thought of gay people, and then you pointed a gun at him. Why do you suppose no one hits it off with you?

Finally Birkoff sighed and said, "Daragh, you seem to be having a little trouble adjusting to the outside."

"Oh?" Cassidy frowned, her beautiful face growing somber. "Do you think so?"

Birkoff nodded, trying to ignore what seemed to be Cassidy’s overwhelming lack of common sense. But then, a lot of talented people were the same way. It was just that their talents didn’t usually lie in the field of weapons.

"Just a suggestion..." he said kindly.

Cassidy nodded back.

"As a general rule, it’s never a good idea to point a gun at anyone and expect them to like you."

"Oh." She really was quite ingenuous. Not stupid. Just incredibly naive despite her massive amount of training.

"It’s especially dangerous to point a gun at your brother."

"Short-tempered fool that he is."

"Actually, he’s one of the most patient people I know." Birkoff shook his head. "And not for nothing, but...I love him. So please don’t go putting holes in him. Okay?"

Cassidy shrugged. "I guess I could let him go. This once."

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief. At last.

Then Cassidy remembered something. "Oh, Declan?"

"Aye?"

"You wanted to know who did this to your kitchen?" She couldn’t quite keep the grin off her face.

"Do you know something about who did this?"

"Oh, aye. It was a little beastie boy. I think his name is Sasha..."

Birkoff closed his eyes and counted to ten.

"Bloody hell."

"I had a feeling you were going to say that."

"Who is Sasha anyway?" Cassidy asked. "I mean, who does he belong to?"

Declan cast a longsuffering glance at his lover. "Sey?"

Birkoff looked distinctly uncomfortable. "He’s my son," he said, surprised that it didn’t pain him to admit that. Maybe there was something about the boy...nah...

"You have a child?" Cassidy exclaimed incredulously.

Birkoff had a feeling they were back to square one with her people skills again. "It’s a long story."

"I’m listening," she replied eagerly.

"It’s...complicated."

"Most things are."

Birkoff glanced at Declan, entreaty in his dark chocolate eyes. "Help me out, Dec. She’s your sister."

"An accident of birth, I’m sure." Declan yawned expansively. "Look, I’m going to take a shower and go to bed. After I sleep for about two days, I might feel like speaking to her. But no guarantees."

Birkoff pulled on Declan’s arm, preventing him from leaving the kitchen. "You’re going to let me starve? And what about your little niece or nephew she’s carrying? You’re going to let them starve, too?"

"Christ, Sey," Declan swore at his lover. He hesitated for the longest time, and Birkoff was sure that he’d lost the battle. But no... Declan narrowed his storm-grey eyes and hovered dangerously close to his body, as if he wanted to touch him...or strangle him.

"You owe me, boyo. You are going to make this up to me," Declan warned.

Everyone but Birkoff seemed to take that as a threat. Birkoff merely smiled and said coolly, "Oh, I will. Make no mistake."

Declan moved to the refrigerator and began to gather the makings for a light dinner. Davenport traded glances with Birkoff, abruptly realizing that what he felt between the two men was clearly a sensual undercurrent. He winked at Birkoff, and Birkoff nodded imperceptibly, acknowledging the gesture for what it was. A truce. Davenport was saying, you keep yours under control, and I’ll do what I can to keep mine under control.

If Davenport was surprised to learn of Birkoff’s sexual orientation, he didn’t betray it to anyone. His working relationship with Birkoff at Section One never went any deeper than that. Most of the relationships within Section were necessarily superficial. It didn’t pay to get too attached to people who might be canceled or who might turn into acceptable collateral via a trip to abeyance. But he liked Birkoff. He especially liked the way Birkoff wasn’t afraid to defend his lover to people he barely knew, people who, for all he knew, might have the means or the inclination to erase his existence, once and for all.

Birkoff interrupted Davenport’s musing by hopping up onto the kitchen counter. Davenport didn’t miss the interested gleam in Declan’s eye when he saw where Birkoff sat. Oh, Davenport thought wickedly, they must share a fascinating history.

"Why don’t I tell you what I found out about Cassidy now, Declan? Then you two can get to know each other better."

"And why would I want to do that, Sey?" Declan muttered, loud enough for Cassidy to hear.

"I’ll clean the kitchen for you later," he offered.

Declan laughed. "I got news for you, boyo, you’re going to do that anyway."

That didn’t seem to faze Birkoff. "Okay," he readily agreed, thinking of another time and another kitchen.

"And you have to promise to keep a leash on that son of yours," Declan uttered darkly.

"I don’t even know where he is, Dec. I haven’t seen him since we left Section." Birkoff frowned. "Maybe I should go look for him. There’s no telling what kind of mischief he could get into."

Declan snorted. "And keep him away from Emmy. For the time being."

Cassidy sat down at the kitchen table, Davenport joining her there a moment later. He wrapped his arms possessively around her shoulders, and she leaned back against him, content to be in his embrace again.

"Who’s Emmy?" she asked, not without a little trepidation. She didn’t want to set off her...brother. God, that was quite a thought to wrap her mind around. She had always been alone. Until Davenport. And now the baby inside her. She had a brother. The thought simultaneously thrilled and frightened her. He seemed like a dangerous man. But then, she laughed to herself, wasn’t she equally dangerous?

Declan stopped what he was doing, waving a knife in the air to punctuate his words. "Emmy’s our daughter. And before you say anything, Miss Congeniality, that makes her...your niece."

Cassidy blinked at her twin. "You both have children...how--"

Declan looked at Birkoff. "You tell her. I’m busy."

Turning his back on the others, Declan began cooking. Whatever it was, it smelled delicious. Cassidy’s stomach growled despite her best efforts. "Tell me...what’s your name again?"

"Sey." Cassidy looked blank. "It’s short for Seymour," Birkoff added by way of explanation.

"It’s better if I go back to the beginning. Wherever that is. According to the records I unearthed at Section One, you were born to Sean and Mairead McLaren. You and Declan were the last children born to them. Fraternal twins. Dec’s about two minutes older."

"Must be what makes him so bossy," Cassidy quipped. Declan glared without speaking.

Birkoff sighed. "Your father wasn’t a very...nice...man." Declan interjected, "Ha! That’s a bloody understatement."

Cassidy glared back at Declan. "No editorializing, please. I want to hear this."

"Your father...split the two of you up."

Declan flushed, the first sign that he was truly listening to the story Birkoff was telling. "Ma never knew?’

"She knew, Dec. But there was nothing she could do. You know how he was."

"She never told me," Declan said, his voice breaking. "What about all the things she told Neil when he went to Ireland? How come she never mentioned this to him?"

Birkoff shot Declan a tortured look. He knew this was deeply upsetting to him. Hell, it bothered him, too, and he hadn’t lived through it. "She thought you were dead, Dec. There was no reason to tell anyone."

Declan didn’t look at Cassidy. He couldn’t. It wasn’t anyone’s fault they never knew about each other. Except Sean’s...and Section’s.

Birkoff resumed his story. "He kept Declan because he was a boy. But he sold you. Quite literally. Only problem was, you kept running away."

"That must have been when I was living on the streets," Cassidy said, her mind growing almost numb. She’d had parents. But her father hadn’t wanted to keep her.

"Eventually, you were sold to Section. As far as I could tell, Operations himself took charge of your training. He wanted to create the perfect assassin. When Declan was recruited, you were sent away to another Section. There was clearly a concerted effort to keep the two of you from finding out about each other. Once Declan escaped, Operations brought you back to One. The rest you know."

"No, no, I want to know about my bloody family. The one he had. The one he grew up with. While I was living hand to mouth on the freaking streets," Cassidy spat out viciously.

Birkoff looked sad. Her resentment was understandable, really. If it were based on reality. But it wasn’t. Declan needed to tell her the truth. But Birkoff didn’t know if he could.

Declan whirled around, his silvery eyes tearful. "Which bloody part would you like to hear about? The part where I got the shit beat out of me every night by our father? Or the part where I wanted to be just like our dear older brother, who happened to be a freaking terrorist?"

Declan turned to face Birkoff, his eyes spilling tears down his cheeks. "You remember Justin, don’t you, Sey? The one who tried to kill you?"

Birkoff reached for Declan, but Declan was in an emotional frenzy. Whipping himself away from his lover, Declan backed up until he stood in front of Cassidy. Suddenly kneeling at her feet, he grasped her hands in his, his fingers moving restlessly over her soft, velvety skin.

Staring intently into her eyes, so like his own, he began to shake his head as he cried. "You want to know how I ended up in Section One? Because Justin..." He dragged a deep breath past his parched lips.

Birkoff watched the man he loved prostrate himself before the sister he never knew he had.

"Because he freaking raped me....." Declan managed to choke out finally, bowing his head.

Birkoff closed his eyes on hot tears. But not before he caught a glimpse of empathy from Davenport, whose arms tightened around Cassidy.

There was no sound, but Declan’s harsh breathing. Then...ever so slowly, so slowly, one might have imagined it, Cassidy’s hand crept towards Declan’s shoulder and lay there.

Declan felt Cassidy’s hand on his shoulder and it brought him back to his senses. Inside, he still felt like he’d been cut adrift and left to wander out to sea alone. Then he met Birkoff’s eyes and he knew he would never be alone while Birkoff was alive.

Clearing his throat softly, Declan shrugged off Cassidy’s hand and stood up. Unused to showing emotion to anyone other than Birkoff or the family, Declan felt more than awkward. He was embarrassed.

Mumbling something vaguely apologetic, Declan refused to meet his sister’s eyes. "Sey," he said hoarsely, his voice still rough with emotion. "It’d be a shame for the food to go to waste. Please...make sure everybody gets something. I’m going to bed."

Birkoff hopped off the counter. "Dec, you should eat something."

Declan looked as if even the idea of food made him sick. "I can’t. Really. I couldn’t eat a thing."

Birkoff was torn between wanting to hold Declan and not feeling comfortable being that intimate in front of Cassidy and Davenport. But love won out. Birkoff pulled Declan into his arms, and as if to prove how far gone Declan was, he didn’t even object to being hugged in front of virtual strangers.

"Sey, I want to go to bed, baby," Declan whispered.

"Wait for me, Dec. You shouldn’t be alone. Just give me a second to fix a plate for us."

But Declan wouldn’t wait. He was on the verge of losing control again, and he couldn’t stand the feeling. He moved through the doorway like a sleepwalker and once he reached the hallway, he slumped against the wall, closing his eyes.

Birkoff didn’t hesitate this time. He left the food where it was and said, "Look, I know this is incredibly rude, but...help yourselves. I can’t leave him alone. I just can’t." Birkoff sounded as distraught as Declan had looked.

Davenport nodded, his body pressed close enough to Cassidy’s to register the way she trembled. He knew she felt bad for having triggered this reaction in her brother. She was as quick-tempered and impulsive as she’d accused Declan of being.

Cassidy reached out and grasped Birkoff’s hand. He stared at the way their two hands were joined, uncertain what she was trying to tell him until she spoke. "You really love him."

"You have no idea," Birkoff replied softly.

Her mouth curved into a sorrowful smile. "Take good care of him."

"I always do. I’m all he has."

The melancholy cast disappeared from her face. "Not anymore," she vowed.

***

Birkoff rounded the corner and found Declan instantly. "Dec! Are you okay?"

"Sey," he said, choking on every word. "I’m over this. I mean, I should be over this. Shouldn’t I? But it still hurts, baby..." He finally broke down, laying his head on Birkoff’s shoulder as he wept.

It broke Birkoff’s heart to see Declan like this. There was something about a strong man being made vulnerable that upset the natural order of things. "Come on, I’ll put you to bed."

"I don’t want to be alone, Sey. Can you come in and hold me until I fall asleep?"

Declan looked as if he wasn’t quite steady on his feet, and Birkoff wrapped his arms around Declan’s waist, pulling him along to their rooms, murmuring soothing words the entire way. If anyone had asked him later what he’d said, he couldn’t have told them. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered right now except Declan.

Pausing only long enough to lock the door behind them, Birkoff literally led Declan into the bedroom, where he settled his lover on their bed. Birkoff knelt at Declan’s feet and pulled off his boots. Unaware that Declan was watching him intently, Birkoff then pulled off Declan’s socks, tucking them neatly inside the boots.

"You know just how I like them. I never knew that you noticed before."

Birkoff looked up at Declan as his hands massaged Declan’s feet. "I notice everything about you, Dec," he said with a loving smile.

When he stood up, Birkoff lifted Declan’s legs up and onto the bed. Bending over him, he unsnapped Declan’s leather pants and shimmied them down both legs, taking care not to touch him any more intimately than he had to. He reached out and pulled Declan’s T-shirt over his head, setting his unruly red curls into glorious disarray. He couldn’t help but touch him then. "You’re so beautiful, love."

Birkoff leaned over him, kissing him as softly as he could. Declan’s fingers caught in his lover’s hair, trying to pull him closer, but Birkoff drew away slowly. "Do you want to take a shower before you go to sleep? I’ll help you."

Declan shook his head.

"Are you sure you don’t want anything to eat? Last chance..."

Declan shook his head again.

Birkoff brushed the hair away from Declan’s face with loving fingers. "Then go to sleep, sweetie. I’ll watch over you."

Declan closed his eyes, awash on an undercurrent of love so powerful, he felt invincible. Birkoff sat there, unmoving, for several minutes, content just to watch Declan’s chest move up and down. Compelled to lie down beside him, Birkoff briefly gave in, staring intently at the way Declan’s eyelashes fluttered in his sleep. His fingers longed to reach out and caress Declan’s face, his mouth ached to possess Declan’s lips. But he didn’t move. He just watched, gradually becoming aware that his eyes were wet. Placing his lips next to Declan’s ear, he whispered, "I love you."

When he was certain that Declan slept, Birkoff eased himself off the bed, careful not to disturb his lover. As much as he wanted to join Declan, there were a few things he needed to do before he could sleep. He needed to find out where Emmy was, and who was taking care of her. He hated Emmy being out of his sight for too long, even though he was sure that she was fine. As for Sasha, he couldn’t even guess where he was, or what he was doing. But as his father, even in the most basic sense of the word, he felt responsible for locating and tethering the boy.

The past few days were a blur. A fragmented, fantastical journey into the nightmare world that was Section. Now that they were back home, all of the usual claims upon their time re-surfaced. Declan had classes to teach. Birkoff had a bookstore to run. Michael had a contract with a publisher to produce his book in time for Christmas. Yet it was the normalcy that seemed wrong, askew, unbalanced. That was what Section did. Turned things upside-down, making it hard to see which way to turn.

***

Birkoff lay back in the recliner, Emmy curled up next to him. As it happened, he didn’t need to go anywhere to find her. She found him. After hearing that her daddies were home, she begged and cajoled Madeline until she let Emmy go. And, of course, where Emmy went, Chris followed. Actually, that was the only reason Madeline let Emmy go. Knowing that Chris would protect the little girl from anyone or anything that threatened her.

Emmy sighed contentedly. Daddy said he wasn’t sleeping. He was just resting his eyes. But he didn’t fool her. She knew he was on the verge of unconsciousness. The remote control for the television dangled precariously from his almost nerveless fingers before it fell, with a plop, to the carpet.

Emmy put a finger to her lips, indicating that Chris should be quiet. "Daddy’s sleeping," she whispered.

Chris nodded, smiling brightly at Emmy. "Soleil, look," he said, picking up the remote control and aiming it at the television. Click. The television changed channels. Click. The television went off. Click. What a fun new toy.

Emmy giggled at Chris. They were so preoccupied with each other, they never noticed what the new boy was doing. Sasha was hard at work. He’d found a computer. And now he was doing what he did best. "Fixing" things.

Of course, one of the things he dearly wanted to "fix" was Declan. So it shouldn’t have come as a surprise to learn what he did.

Then again, maybe it should have.

Declan woke up with a start. He had no idea what time it was or how long he had slept. "Sey?" he called, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

His hand searched the space next to him. No sign of his lover. In fact, the sheets were cold. So either Birkoff left their bed a long time ago, or he never came to bed at all.

Declan looked at himself and noted that he was unclothed except for his shorts. He vaguely recalled Birkoff putting him to bed. He smiled. He definitely remembered the kiss. And little else.

He stood unsteadily and rummaged through the dresser for a clean T-shirt and a pair of jeans. After he was dressed, he opened the door leading to the sitting room.

What a picture.

Two pairs of guilty eyes met Declan’s. Birkoff was fast asleep in the recliner, obviously worn out from both the mission and its aftermath. Emmy and Chris were sitting next to each other, the remote control for the television on the floor between them. Declan was puzzled by their reaction. What on Earth did two children that age have to feel guilty about?

But before he could survey the rest of the room, Emmy brightly exclaimed, "Da!", her beautiful face transformed at the sight of her other father. "Daddy said not to wake you up cause you was so tired...so we played quiet, Chris an’ me." Chris nodded solemnly.

"Hi, Princess Em," Declan said softly, realizing that he never grew weary of looking at his daughter.

Emmy giggled happily. "Then Daddy fell asleep. He cleaned up the whoooole kitchen and everything."

Declan gazed fondly at his lover, who kept his promise, even though Declan wasn’t awake to enforce it. "I see."

Emmy walked up to her father and hugged him. "I missed you lots and lots, Da. Bof’ of you. I’m so glad you came back."

Declan picked her up and held her. She was growing so fast. She was going to be tall, like him. Like...um...what was her name? Cassidy. He kissed her and smoothed her bright red curls with one hand. "I’m glad I came back, too, Princess."

He set her down, abruptly aware of Chris’ scrutiny. "Something wrong, Chris?"

Chris stood up, drawing himself up to his full height. Declan looked over the oldest Samuelle child appraisingly. This must be very serious indeed. He frowned. "Chris?"

Chris moistened his suddenly dry lips with the tip of his tongue. "Uncle Dec?"

"Aye?" Declan asked, unable to figure out where this was headed.

"I just wanted to tell you something," Chris declared.

"Okay." Declan nodded slowly.

"Someday...when I get almost as big as you?" Declan nodded again. "I want to marry Emmy...and have a house like this...with kids like us...and...everything."

Chris was normally quiet. He was also normally articulate. This veritable outpouring of emotion, in its own tongue-tied way, was more touching than anything he might have rehearsed.

Declan didn’t laugh at the five-year old. Chris was completely serious. To treat him with anything less than respect would be wrong.

"You love Emmy?"

"Oh, yes," Chris answered, almost reverently.

"Cause she’s beautiful?"

Chris frowned. That sounded like one of those grown-up trick questions. Yes, she was undeniably beautiful. But that wasn’t what drew him to her. He didn’t even know if he could put what he felt for Soleil into words that Declan would understand.

Then again, Uncle Declan did understand love. He could see that in the way Declan cared for Birkoff.

Declan waited. And Chris didn’t disappoint him. "No," he said, telling his uncle that beauty was not the reason he loved Emmy.

"I love her cause...she’s Soleil," Chris said, as if that explained everything. And it did.

Declan was moved. It was so clearly the right answer, and it scared him, just a little bit, to imagine that a boy that young could really know love. He glanced at his daughter.

"Emmy, what do you think?" It was a rhetorical question, and Declan knew it. He knew exactly how Emmy felt about Chris. She looked at him as though he’d hung the moon and the stars. Just for her.

Emmy reached for Chris’ hand and held it. "He’s...sweet, Da," she said shyly.

"Well, I’m not ready to give her up yet, Chris," Declan said, taking great care not to offend the little boy. "Do you mind if I keep her, oh, say, another twenty years, maybe?"

Chris never blinked. It wasn’t a ‘yes’ to his unspoken question of ‘Do you approve of my loving your daughter?" But it certainly wasn’t ‘no’ either.

"Now not to change the subject, but...why did you two look so guilty when I came in here? What were you up to?"

Chris flushed. "Sasha was here."

Declan stared at Chris. "What?"

Emmy’s lower lip trembled, like her daddy’s did, when he was upset. How could she look so much like Sey sometimes, when they weren’t even related by blood? "We didn’t bring him, Da. He just...came in."

"I told your daddy to keep him out of here. Just for now. Do you understand why, Em?"

"Cause he’s not a good boy?" she asked.

"Sort of. But I don’t really know him all that well, and I don’t want to take a chance that he might hurt you."

That last part Emmy didn’t understand at all. "Why would he want to hurt me, Da? I never did nuthin to him."

Realizing that he had inadvertently frightened Emmy, Declan backed up and retraced his steps into that particular conversation. "I didn’t mean that you’re in danger, Em, just that you need to be careful. He...doesn’t know how to be nice."

"Yet."

They all turned to see the owner of the voice that spoke that monosyllable. Birkoff had decided to rejoin the living. He was awake, if one could call it that. He rubbed at his eyes with the heels of both hands.

Declan said, "Excuse me?"

"I said yet. You said he doesn’t know how to be nice. And I said. Yet."

"Meaning?"

"There’s hope for him," Birkoff said.

Emmy’s silver eyes lit up as she clapped her hands. "That’s good, Daddy. You get a big kiss for that." She climbed up onto the recliner, snuggling her way under Birkoff’s chin. Planting both her tiny hands on Birkoff’s cheeks, she kissed him soundly.

"What’s that for, Emmy?"

Emmy’s eyes grew liquid with uncharacteristic sadness. "Cause Sasha gots nobody to love him. Unless we do. So we hafta keep hoping he’ll get nice. Otherwise, he won’t have any place to live. Or he’ll have to go back to the bad place. Down in the ground."

Birkoff looked at Declan, his heart in his eyes. It didn’t matter what the child was like. They couldn’t banish him back to that place. No one should have to live there. Especially not a child. No, he corrected himself. Especially not his child.