Once James gathered the would-be students together, he was surprised at how different they all were. The classroom was set up in a spare room on the second floor of Madeline’s house. Frankly, there was little room left at Michael’s house. Perhaps once Davenport and Cassidy moved out... But they were in no hurry to leave behind the warmth and affection that came with being members of Michael’s family.

James wore a striped shirt, a suit jacket, and a tie. Those things together with how short he wore his hair would have made him quite the outsider. Except for one thing. He wore the jacket over a pair of worn blue jeans, and his left ear sported a shiny silver stud. Oh, and he wore boots that Michael would have coveted. He opened up his portfolio and removed his glasses. He didn’t need glasses, except for reading. But they made him look scholarly. Something he thought was important for a teacher. Especially one who looked as fresh-faced and young as he did.

"Hi..." There was a long pause. Sasha and the twins stared at James. He felt a trickle of sweat start down the back of his neck. Nothing worse than a tough audience.

"My name is Mr. Elliott." His voice squeaked on the last syllable of his name, and he cringed. When had he developed that particular annoying habit?

He began to pace. Surely that was not a good thing so early in the game. He forced himself to slow down, walking with calm, measured steps. Heel, toe. Heel, toe. "Why don’t you tell me your names?"

Sasha cupped his chin in his hand and regarded the new teacher, as if to say, We’re missing MTV for this? Chris looked at his sister, and Faith returned the look. They decided to help James out. They weren’t Michael’s kids for nothing.

Chris said, "I’m Chris Samuelle."

James smiled in relief at the little boy. "Please...stand up."

Chris looked vaguely uncomfortable. "Um...why?"

"Cause that’s what they’ll expect you to do when you get to school. Stand up, speak up. So people can hear you. I’m sure you must have important things to say."

Chris didn’t think so. He would have shrugged, but he was afraid that would be rude. So instead, he smiled absently at the teacher. And stood up.

"My name is Chris," he repeated.

"Good, Chris. How old are you?"

"Five. But I’ll be six in January."

"Where do you live?"

Chris frowned. "Here."

"No, no, I mean, where do you live? What country? City? You know..."

No, Chris didn’t know. All he knew about where he lived was what it looked like. Oh, and that it was somewhere in France. Was there more to know?

Chris shook his head. He was starting to feel a bit anxious. That was a totally unfamiliar feeling for him. He didn’t like it one bit.

Taking pity on the brand-new student, James smiled and directed him to sit down. Chris was only too happy to comply.

"How about you? What’s your name?" he asked Faith.

"Fee."

"Fay? How do you spell it?"

Now it was Faith’s turn to curse the new teacher. How could she know how to spell her name? She blinked inscrutably, like her father. When in doubt, adopt the blank stare.

"Okay...you’re the only one left. What’s your name?"

"Sasha." Sasha didn’t stand up. He thought it was a silly rule. Why did someone have to stand up to be heard? It didn’t make your voice any louder.

"Sasha what?"

"What?"

"What’s your last name?"

"Birkoff."

"Okay, Sasha Birkoff...where do you live? And don’t say here."

"But I do live here," Sasha protested.

"Oh. Well, what else can you tell me about yourself?" James smiled. Sasha wanted to play nicely. Honest, he did. But it was too tempting to be naughty. Just a little.

"Well...I used to live in a basement before I came here."

"A basement apartment, you mean?"

"No, just a basement. It was at a secret government agency that none of us are supposed to talk about. Hey, my father has a gun. Want to see it?"

James looked distinctly under the weather. What on Earth had he gotten involved in?

"Uncle Sey has a gun?" Faith exclaimed incredulously.

"Not him. My other father."

"Uncle Dec has a gun?"

Sasha beamed proudly. "He knows how to use it, too. They won’t tell us kids, but I think he shot the bad man dead."

"You have two fathers?" James was starting to look green. "And what exactly do you mean by dead?"

Sasha looked right through James. Michael would have envied the boy’s composure, if not the topic for discussion. "I can’t tell you that. You might get canceled."

"By who?" James said, a wan smile still plastered across his handsome face.

"Ummm...." For once, lost for a retort, Sasha shrugged. "Uncle Michael?"

Faith screamed her displeasure. "My daddy wouldn’t shoot no one!"

Chris wasn’t so sure about that. But he agreed with the sentiment behind it. "You’re a pretty good liar, Sasha."

"How do you know I’m lying, Chris? You’re always such a goody-goody. You prolly know exactly how many people your dad’s killed. You’re just sworn to secrecy or somethin’."

James had clearly lost control of the entire class. Even though there were only three students. He threw up his hands, despairing of ever regaining their attention.

Chris’s blue eyes grew glacial. "I know one thing. We shouldn’t be talking about this stuff."

"Why?" taunted Sasha. "Cause you might get in trouble?"

Faith came to her twin’s aid with alacrity. "No, stupid, cause it’s not very nice."

"What’s not very nice?" Sasha shouted back.

"Saying my daddy kills people!" she shrieked.

"Maybe not anymore, but he used to!" Sasha replied, like a runaway train on a one-way trip to Hell.

Faith punched Sasha. So hard, the punch turned his head. His long brown hair whipped across his face with a snapping sound. "Hey!" he yelled, tears coming involuntarily to his eyes.

Chris grabbed his sister’s arm just as she drew back to hit Sasha again. "Don’t. You’ll just hurt your hand."

Faith nodded. Good point. When did they break for lunch? She was starving. "Mr....um...Teacher? Can we go eat something?"

James was sure he wouldn’t live to see another day if he turned her request down. Her father, his friend, Michael was obviously an important man. Probably high up in the ranks of the Mafia. Or some other clandestine organized crime group. "Sure," he agreed readily.

James bent down to look at Sasha’s face. His upper lip looked swollen, and his lower lip was cut, a trickle of blood welling up through the cut. When James tried to touch him, Sasha jerked his face away. He’d screwed up again. But good. Now he probably would get canceled. Or sent back to the basement of Section One. It would serve him right. Now he’d never find out how it felt to have his father hold him or read him a bedtime story.

"You should have your face looked at. Let me go get someone. Maybe your father..."

"No! Don’t tell him! Please! He’ll send me back!"

Sasha’s terror was genuine. But James thought there was something else wrong. He thought he’d stumbled into an organized crime family, but worse, they didn’t even treat their own children with the respect they deserved. He wondered if he should call the French equivalent of Children’s Protective Services. He wondered if there even was such a thing.

Sasha broke away from the group, running for the door, only to be stopped by a pair of strong but slender hands on his shoulders. He looked up, fearful he would see Declan. But it was Birkoff. Scared out of his wits by the potential consequences of what he’d done, he exclaimed, "Dad!"

Birkoff looked surprised. If there was ever a word that he believed would never cross Sasha’s lips, that was it. It echoed throughout his entire body until it hit his heart and caused a small explosion there. "Sasha...where are you going? And what happened to your mouth?"

James stopped trying to talk to the twins and looked up, noticing Birkoff for the first time. "Are you his father?" he called.

Birkoff nodded, his hands clasped firmly around Sasha’s shoulders. Sasha wanted to run, but Birkoff’s grip was too tight. He wasn’t all that afraid of what Birkoff would do, but he knew Declan would extract some awful punishment. The problem was, he thought, as a tear trickled down his cheek, he deserved it. He was a bad boy. Maybe he couldn’t change. Even though he wanted to.

James came abreast of the two of them and looked solemn. "Hi, I’m James Elliott." James held out a hand to Birkoff, and the two men shook hands, albeit somewhat warily. "I’m the new teacher," he added, by way of explanation.

"I’m Birkoff. Sasha’s father."

"You don’t have a first name?" James couldn’t prevent himself from blurting out.

"Just Birkoff is fine," Birkoff said. "What seems to be the problem here?"

"Your son is..." James sighed. "Well, he’s incredibly disruptive. I asked him a simple question, and he started telling wild tales about government agencies and guns and family members shooting people. Dead." James waited anxiously, hoping that Birkoff would confirm that the boy merely had a fertile imagination.

He did. Without so much as a glance in Sasha’s direction, Birkoff lied through his teeth to James. To protect Sasha. To protect himself. To protect the others, who depended on their secret staying just that. Secret. He would deal with Sasha later.

James looked visibly relieved. "I’m afraid he scared the little girl. Fay, I think her name is. But I must say, she punched him pretty hard. Perhaps you should have a doctor look at his mouth."

Birkoff nodded. "Not a problem. Neil is downstairs. He’s a doctor," he added, seeing James’ inquiring look.

"Would you mind if I took him there now? I don’t want to interrupt your class."

"I’d say it’s pretty well interrupted now. Maybe we’ll just break for lunch."

Faith heard James mention lunch and leaped to her feet happily. She had defended her father’s honor and she was glad. She would do it again. In a heartbeat.

Birkoff pulled Sasha over the threshold, and with each step they took away from the classroom, he could feel the boy’s reluctance grow. "Okay," he said, stopping finally. "Tell me about what happened."

Sasha looked up at his father, his beautiful mouth swollen and bruised. "I was bad," he said, as if that explained everything.

"I know that much. Tell me what you said."

Slowly, haltingly, Sasha related what he said, leaving out no part of it. Not even the part that provoked Faith to hit him. Birkoff listened in silence, wondering why Sasha, who was clearly such a skilled liar, didn’t even try to manipulate his way out of this.

When Sasha finished, he hung his head in shame. He’d disappointed his father. He could see it in his eyes. Birkoff bent down to Sasha’s level, attempting to peer into those dark eyes, so like his own. "You know, what you said wasn’t a lie, Sasha. But it was wrong to say it in front of other people. You know why, don’t you? Cause it’s very dangerous for anyone to know where we came from."

Birkoff sighed heavily. "Maybe you don’t care what happens to me or Declan, Sasha. But we care about what happens to you. I won’t let anyone send you back there. Not even Declan," Birkoff vowed.

Sasha’s eyes grew wide. "But you love him. You would take my side over his?"

"You’re my son, Sasha." Birkoff paused a moment to let that sink in.

"The other kids don’t know anything about Section. Their parents chose to keep that away from them. But you and I can’t pretend we don’t know what Section is like. It’s not my fault that you were born and raised in Section, without my knowledge. Just like it wasn’t my fault I grew up there."

"You grew up there, too? Like me?" Sasha was incredulous.

Birkoff nodded. "But just like you, I was lucky enough to have friends who helped me escape. That’s why we must never betray that secret, Sasha. It puts all of us in jeopardy."

"I-I’m s-sorry," Sasha said. He meant it. "Are you g-going to t-tell Decl--I mean, Da?"

Birkoff nearly smiled, despite the situation. Sasha was bonding with both of them, whether he realized it or not. "What do you think?" Birkoff asked, playing with a strand of his son’s hair.

Sasha allowed Birkoff to touch him. He was getting used to being treated with genuine affection now. It was so much better than what passed for emotion at Section. "I think you’ll tell him cause you don’t want to keep any secrets from him."

Very perceptive. Birkoff nodded. "That’s right. Because deep, dark secrets hurt the people you love."

"But he’ll want to send me back, Dad. I don’t want to go back there. I want to stay here with you."

"I won’t let him send you back there, Sasha. I told you that. Don’t you believe me?"

Sasha looked frightened. "I believe you, Dad. But no one can stand up to Dec--I mean, Da. He’s too strong."

"That’s true, Sasha. Except you’re forgetting one thing." Birkoff reached out for his son and took him into his arms. Sasha settled against his chest, laying his head against Birkoff’s shoulder.

"What?"

"That he loves me." Birkoff pressed a kiss to Sasha’s hair. "He won’t go against me on this." Sasha wrapped his arms around Birkoff’s neck, so tightly it was an effort to breathe.

"That doesn’t mean you can use that information against him, to do whatever the hell you want, Sasha. Do you understand?"

Sasha kissed Birkoff’s cheek. For the first time. "I understand, Dad." And he really did. For the first time.

"Declan?" Birkoff struggled to keep his tone as even as possible. He didn’t want Declan to sense the slightest bit of weakness. He was like a hunter seeking the scent of a wounded hare sometimes.

Declan turned to face his lover. His research paper had made it safely to school, and it was now in the hands of his professor. He thought it was worth at least a B+, but he would be happy just to pass and put the last of his required coursework behind him. He wanted to create. Draw, paint, sculpt. Anything but look at another statistical table or take another useless course.

"What is it, baby? I’ve got the whole weekend off, for a change. I don’t suppose you’d consider closing the bookstore till Monday?" Declan asked wistfully, knowing his chances of getting an affirmative reply were practically non-existent.

Birkoff looked vaguely conflicted. "Uhhh...." Before his father could say anything, Sasha popped his head out from behind Birkoff’s legs.

"Hi, Da," said Sasha.

"Hi, yourself, sprite. How’s school? And why aren’t you in class?"

Birkoff sighed. "It’s a long story." Declan motioned to Birkoff to sit down, and they sat opposite one another in their sitting room. Sasha knelt at Birkoff’s feet, afraid to leave the safety of his father’s immediate company.

By the time Birkoff finished explaining what happened, Declan was more than upset. He was furious. "Bloody hell! I realize that with George and Operations dead, we’re not facing the same threat as before. But there’s a very real danger in getting complacent here. We can’t just go around telling everyone we meet about Section."

Birkoff nodded. "I know."

Declan stood up and raked both hands through his long red hair, dislodging it from its thong. "I don’t want to tell you what to do with your son, Sey, but damn..."

Declan crouched down and stared at the little boy, who now cringed between his father’s knees, as if he wished he could make himself small enough to be invisible.

He cursed under his breath. This was so much more complicated than raising Emmy. He couldn’t take out his anger on the boy. He was just that. A little boy. And given Declan’s own history of abuse as a child, he couldn’t even contemplate subjecting another child to violence. In whatever form.

Declan didn’t care what happened to him. At least, not for himself. If God decided to take his sorry ass today, that would be that. But he had Sey and Emmy to worry about now. And Sasha, if the boy would let him inside those staunch defenses of his. The thought of losing any part of his family made him physically sick. That was why he struck out. At the only person who could take his anger safely.

He ignored Sasha, who was watching Declan’s every move like a mouse who faced being eaten by a cat. "Sey, this could have ended in disaster. You saved us this time, but what about the next time? And I don’t doubt for a minute there’ll be a next time. Maybe he needs more than we can give him. Maybe he needs to go--"

Birkoff leaped off his chair and stared Declan down. "--go where? Back to Section? Back to living in a goddamn basement? Living off scraps of food people threw away?"

"There are other places he could go, Sey. Better than Section."

"Like an institution, maybe? How is one cage better than any other? Dammit, Declan, you promised this wouldn’t be an issue! You promised you wouldn’t even try to come between us!"

Declan’s chest heaved as he struggled to control his breathing. He had the feeling that imminent catastrophe lay directly ahead. "Sey, for Christ’s sake, you didn’t even know the boy was alive until a few days ago!"

Birkoff grabbed hold of Declan’s shoulders, his face contorted, veins standing out prominently in his neck. "So what? He’s my son!"

"Mere biology."

Birkoff slapped Declan, hard enough that his fingers left a bright red imprint on his cheek. Hard enough that tears came to his bright silver eyes. Or maybe those were already there.

"I told you never to hit me again, Sey," Declan said shakily.

Sasha looked from one man to the other and back again. This was all his fault. He did more than just play with the new teacher. He had upset Faith, enough for her to hit him. He had upset Chris, enough for him to pretend he no longer existed. And now he was driving a hard wedge between his parents. As atypical as their relationship might seem, it worked. Until he entered the picture. Maybe it would be better if he left.

Declan drew back his arm, as if to slap Birkoff, and Birkoff closed his eyes, as if he could do nothing but wait patiently for the consequences of his actions.

With a small cry, Sasha jumped between the two men. Birkoff opened his eyes and frowned. "Sasha, what are you doing?"

Sasha spread his arms wide across Birkoff’s body, or as much of it as such a small person could cover anyway. "Please don’t hurt Daddy!"

Declan’s arm fell limply to his side, as if he suddenly registered exactly what he was doing. Sasha looked at Declan, breathing hard for several moments before bursting into tears. "I’m sorry! It’s all my fault! I’ll go back! Just please don’t hurt my daddy!"

Birkoff looked as if he would cry, too. "Sasha," he whispered, trying to remove the boy from where he clung to his leg. Finally succeeding in freeing his leg, Birkoff sat down again, and Sasha climbed into his lap, holding onto him for dear life.

"I told you, Sasha, I won’t let anyone send you back there," Birkoff said, hugging his son. Hot tears welled up in his dark eyes as he held Sasha. He couldn’t even think about leaving Declan now. But he wasn’t going to let go of Sasha either.

Declan sank to his knees beside his lover. Wrapping his arms around both of them, he buried his face in his partner’s hair. "I’m the one who’s sorry, Sey," he whispered tearfully.

Birkoff kissed Declan’s cheek and stroked his son’s hair. "I think we’re all sorry, Dec."

Sasha regarded Declan through new eyes. If such a strong man could cry and admit that he was wrong, there was an important lesson for him there. Sasha pressed his face against his father’s chest, his dark eyes fixed on Declan, who finally met his intense gaze. "Sometimes people hurt the ones they love the most..." Declan said tremulously.

Sasha nodded. A boy could do worse than to have two such fathers.

"Mmm..." Nikita purred as her husband wrapped his arms around her. He lifted the hair off her neck and pressed a kiss to her nape. "So how was your day?" he asked, his manner strangely carefree.

The smile on her face froze as she searched for the right word to describe her day. "Interesting," she said, finally settling on that particular word for no other reason than that the Chinese consider it a curse, not a blessing, for one’s life to turn ‘interesting’.

Michael frowned, his brows arching sharply. "How so?" Michael disliked anything being out of his control, and this sounded like something he didn’t anticipate.

"Oh, well, you know, the usual. The new teacher would like to have a word with us."

"Already? What did Faith do?"

Nikita gave her husband an enigmatic look. "Now why would you assume that Faith did something?"

Michael shrugged. "Force of habit?"

"She’s your daughter, Michael," she said, pressing a long, slender finger to his chest.

"Oh, no, Kita, she’s definitely your daughter," he returned, taking advantage of her momentary discomfiture to steal a kiss.

She leaned her forehead against Michael’s, her mouth faintly smiling before she kissed him back. "I love you. Mmm...I wish we could sneak upstairs for a little while."

Michael nuzzled her cheek with his nose. "Tell me why we can’t."

She sighed. "Your daughter, whom I foolishly allowed to learn to defend herself, punched Sasha."

Michael blinked. "She didn’t."

"She certainly did. Sasha has the swollen mouth to prove it."

Michael automatically came to his daughter’s defense. "He must have said or done something to provoke her."

"Well, actually, yes. That’s the part you’re not going to like." She wrinkled her nose in distaste, and Michael could see that Nikita wasn’t very happy about what she was going to tell him next.

"What did he say?"

"Seems he made several remarks about Section as well as about shooting people. Specifically, about killing Operations, though he didn’t mention his name, thank God for small favors."

Michael never let anything surprise him. But this came close. "Anything else?"

"Yes, he offered to show the teacher Declan’s gun. Oh, and how could I forget?" She smiled sweetly at Michael, hoping to mitigate the effect of what she was going to say. "He told Faith that her daddy kills people."

"What?" For a moment, Nikita thought that Michael was going to make that statement accurate. Right away. But he visibly shuddered, regaining control only with great difficulty.

"And that’s why she hit him?"

Nikita nodded. "She was defending your honor, Michael. She said she would gladly do it again." Helpless tears suddenly sprung into Nikita’s sapphire blue eyes. "It’s kind of sweet, in a twisted sort of way. It’s just that--"

Michael felt Nikita’s pain as if it were his own. "What, doucette? Tell me."

"I always hoped we could keep that part of our lives away from the kids, Michael. Even though Faith and Chris both believe Sasha was making up stories, I can’t help but feel they should never have to know about any of this."

Michael pulled Nikita against his chest, tucking her head under his chin. She gratefully lay her head over his heart, taking very real comfort in listening to his heart beat strong and slow. It had a calming effect on her. "Michael...should we say anything to them?"

"Faith and Chris?"

She nodded.

"No, love. They don’t need to know. It would only bring all of us more pain. There’s not a thing we can do to change the past. All we can do is choose carefully what to do in the future."

She raised her tear-streaked face to meet Michael’s loving gaze. He framed her face with both hands, kissing her softly. "I love you, doucette."

"What should we tell the teacher? You know him better than anyone else, Michael. Should we let Birkoff’s lie stand? Or try to intimidate him?"

Michael considered that. "For the time being, we let the lie stand. In the meantime, though, I’m going to ask Birkoff to expedite the background check on him. Perhaps he’ll turn up something we can use."

"That sounds so cold, Michael. So--" Nikita began shaking her head.

"Like we used to operate, Kita? I know. But if it comes down to a choice between him and us...whose side are you on?"

"Yours. Ours." She kissed him, sliding her cheek against his.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his hands just above her hips. "After we take care of this, I want to take you to the farmhouse for the weekend."

His lips grazed her temple gently, the touch both poignant and arousing at the same time. "I want to make love to you. Day and night. Until we don’t have enough energy to get out of bed."

"Mmm...that’s what I want, too, Michael. Could we?" she asked hopefully.

"Of course." His green eyes gleamed brightly. "Am I still under orders to please you?"

"Mmm...absolutely."

***

The meeting with the teacher was scheduled for late afternoon. Class was dismissed for the day, and the children sent to their respective parents. James sipped at the cup of coffee Nikita brought him. "This is excellent. Did you make this, Nikita?"

She smiled warmly, attempting to make the young man feel more at ease. He seemed awkward, and she could almost feel his desperation at trying to fit in. "No, no, I’m afraid I don’t do more than boil water. Declan’s the cook in this family."

"Declan? I don’t think we’ve met yet."

"Probably not. He’s teaching at the college this semester. In addition to being a student there."

"Oh? What department?"

"Art."

The conversation went dead as everyone fell silent. A moment later, Birkoff entered the classroom, followed by the man in question, Declan. "Ah," James exclaimed, "Mr. Birkoff!"

Declan raised an eyebrow, politely indicating to Birkoff that he was less than pleased with the younger man’s overly enthusiastic response to his lover.

James smiled at Declan, completely missing the subtle undercurrent that passed between them. Meanwhile, there was not a thing that Declan missed about James. Including the silver earring worn in his left ear. Birkoff didn’t have a clue what it meant, other than decoration. But Declan did. And he would use any piece of intel, no matter how slight, to press home his advantage.

"You must be Declan."

"Aye, I’m Mr. McLaren," Declan corrected, making it very clear that whatever respect he accorded his partner, he should give him.

Michael glared at Declan briefly. He wanted this meeting over and done with as soon as possible. He would be the first to admit, he had an ulterior motive. He wanted to make love to his wife with something approaching desperation.

James looked uncomfortable. "We had a little incident today. Between Sasha and Faith, mostly. Mr. Birkoff assured me that Sasha has a wild imagination, and nothing he said is even remotely related to the truth. Nevertheless, Sasha’s stories made Faith angry enough to punch him. Now I--"

Declan rolled his eyes. ‘Could we cut to the chase already?"

"Um, Mr. McLaren? I’m not sure why you’re here. I asked Faith’s and Sasha’s parents to come."

"And here I am. I came." Declan crossed his arms in a mutinous posture. There would be no budging him from his duly-appointed task. No, sir. He was better than the freaking mailman, Dec hooted inside his head.

"Um...may I see you privately for a moment?"

Declan inclined his head briefly and followed James to the other side of the room. While everyone else watched with great interest, of course.

"Look, this meeting is intended for--" James began, only to be cut off sharply by Declan.

"I know exactly who it’s intended for, Shorty."

James stared at him a moment before removing his glasses. Getting a closer look at Declan, James continued. "Who *are* you, besides being the most interesting male in the room?"

Declan laughed. "That was subtle. Are you actually trying to hit on me, you insignificant piece of--?"

"No, no, no." James held up his hands in protest. "My mistake. I thought you were--"

"I am. And so are you. Now listen, sweetheart, I have some advice," Declan wasted no time in getting to the heart of the matter. "You’re going to forget what Sasha said to you today, okay? Instant amnesia."

James frowned, struggling to find out how he had lost complete control of the parents as well. "Why would I--"

"Unless you want everyone in this room to know why you left Australia..." Declan trailed off meaningfully.

James paled. Someone here knew about that? Who *were* these people? "Give me one good reason why I should give in to extortion," he sputtered angrily.

Declan managed to look completely innocent as he glanced at Birkoff and smiled before returning to the matter at hand. "Oh, I dunno." Declan glanced casually around the room. "Life is good. I don’t think much of the alternative, though."

"Are you threatening me?" James gasped.

Declan met his eyes steadfastly. Like Michael, he had strong protective instincts. No one was going to hurt the people he loved. "A threat is something that might *not* happen. I wouldn’t call this a threat. Would you?"

James pondered. His options were limited. "Suppose I threatened to tell everyone else your secret?"

"Oh, which one would that be?" Declan growled.

"About you being...you know..."

Declan smiled. Now he knew he’d won. He turned and pointed in Birkoff’s direction. "You see that man over there?"

James nodded tentatively, unsure where this was going, but certain he wouldn’t like it.

Declan lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I’m married to him." Declan held up the third finger of his left hand, where the silver Claddagh ring still resided. James’ cobalt blue eyes widened. "Jesus."

Swallowing a gulp of air, James asked wanly, "Then everyone knows about--"

"For years," Declan said with a grin.

"Then that would make you..."

"Sasha’s other father." Declan rather liked the young man, now that he was completely discomfited.

"Oh." James couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

Guiding the younger man back to where the others waited, curious to know exactly what Declan said to James to produce such a mysterious change in the teacher’s demeanor, Declan traded glances with Michael. "James and I were just getting to know each other better."

Birkoff gave Declan a warning look. "Declan..."

"It’s okay, Sey. James sees Sasha’s potential, too." Declan leaned on James’ shoulder. "Don’t you, James? You don’t mind if I call you James, do you?"

James shook his head, looking for all the world like a sleepwalker.

Nikita looked blankly from her husband to Declan and back. She knew that Declan had done something, but not what. Maybe it was better not to ask too many questions.

"We’d like you to stay on, James, if it’s working for you," Nikita offered.

James looked at Declan, to see what his answer was supposed to be. Declan smiled. Now he was learning. "Oh, James is going to stay, Nikita. Aren’t you, dear?"

That was obvious enough that even Birkoff caught that reference. Declan smiled mysteriously. "Well..." Birkoff said, shrugging. "That’s great."

Birkoff pulled on Declan’s T-shirt, and Declan leaned into Birkoff’s face, very pleased that things could be resolved so quickly and without bloodshed, too. "What did you say, Dec?" he whispered.

Declan smiled. "We were having a philosophical discussion. About the fragility of life. And how most people don’t know what they’ve got till it’s gone."

James nodded. His stomach hurt. He had a feeling he should lay in a lifetime supply of Zantac. He was going to need it.

"Declan!" Birkoff’s mouth dropped open. Michael hid a smile behind his hand, and Nikita tried not to giggle. In vain.

"Oh, yeah. There was one more thing, Sey. He thinks you’re the hottest thing since sliced bread, but I told him you were mine." And with that, Declan kissed Sey. Right in front of everyone.

Michael passed a hand over his face. Nikita leaned on Michael, trying to stifle the bubble of laughter that seized her.

Michael sighed and slowly stood up. "I should have warned you about Declan."

James shook his head. "No, no, your family is just...more challenging than I’m used to. That’s all."

Michael nodded. "They certainly can be."

"But Michael?"

"Yes, James?"

"I want a raise."

James let himself into his apartment, crossing the threshold eagerly. Throwing his jacket onto the back of a chair, he called out, "Philo?" Deciding that Philo was not home, James sighed unhappily and started to make coffee.

When the coffee was made, James sat down at the kitchen table, sipping it slowly. His relationship with Philo was problematic at best. Philo claimed to love him, but James knew he was seeing someone else. And that someone else was just one in a long line of someone elses. He knew he should break off things with Philo, but he was in love.

After seeing how Declan treated his lover, James was envious. He wanted someone to love him that way. But he had a feeling it would not be Philo. He vowed to be strong and tell Philo he had to leave. It wasn’t fair for him to live with James while he was fooling around with just about anyone. It wasn’t fair...and it certainly wasn’t safe. That alone gave James the strength to make the break.

When Philo sauntered in, late as usual, James was seething. His anger was useful. It kept him centered on what was wrong with their relationship, instead of indulging in wishful thinking about how things would change someday.

"Honey, I’m home," Philo slurred, apparently drunk as well. Philo was about the same age as James, and like him, he attended University. But there all resemblance ended. Philo was dark where James was light. His long, dark brown hair fell to his shoulders in tangles and disheveled waves. His eyes, as charismatic as they could be, were nearly black.

The last straw came when Philo tried to kiss James, his mouth stinking of hard liquor. "God, get away from me, Philo."

"You don’t want to have a little fun?" Philo winked at his lover. James cringed. How had he ever thought Philo was attractive? But worse, how did he ever fall in love with him? He had no redeeming qualities. He was sloppy where James was neat, he was lazy where James was ambitious. Philo was content to live off his family’s money, and he expected to obtain a degree in something by the time the money started to run out.

"I want you to get out, Philo." James took the bit in his teeth and ran with it.

Philo laughed until he abruptly hiccuped. "Thas pretty funny, Jimmy."

"Don’t call me that," James said, his eyes turning dark blue.

"Aw, Jimmy, don’t be like that. Just come to bed and we can work things out."

"Work things out yourself. I want you to leave." James stood fast, surprised that it was getting easier and easier to resist Philo as time went on.

Philo turned mean with a suddenness that was as alarming as it was swift. His handsome face sullen, Philo said with a snarl, "You forget, Jimmy. I know what happened back in Australia."

James’ heart stopped. Just for a moment, he wished he had a fierce protector like Declan watching over him, the way Declan guarded Birkoff. But he had to do this himself. He was alone. It was time to get used to it.

"So do a lot of people."

Philo grabbed James, his big hands seizing James’ face in a torturous hold. James couldn’t help but stare at him with frightened eyes. Philo had always been a bit eccentric, but now he was definitely crazy. "You listen to me, Jimmy. If you think it’s over between us, think again. I’ve got friends in all the right places. I can make sure you never get a decent post or a decent school."

James tried to convince himself that Philo wasn’t actually capable of doing such things, but he had a feeling Philo spoke the truth. At least, about this. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered now but cutting his losses and getting loose. "Go ahead, Philo. You just convinced me I’m making the right decision."

Philo tightened his grip on James’ face, and James winced at the increasing pressure. "It’s not your decision to make, Jimmy. I’ll let you know when I’m done with you."

James gritted his teeth. "You know what I don’t get, Philo? Why you want to hang onto me. You’re never here. You’ve never been faithful."

"Yeah, well, I’m too young to tie myself down to one person, Jimmy."

"Too stupid, you mean. You don’t know what we could have had," James couldn’t prevent himself from saying. He’d fallen in love with the wrong person. Philo was everything he was not. Reckless, impulsive...dangerous. Was that what attracted him to Philo? That element of danger? Or did he secretly believe, in his heart of hearts, that he didn’t deserve anyone better?

"I know, all right. It’s just not what I want."

That cut James to the quick. They had wanted different things, right from the beginning, and he never knew it. "Get out," he managed to say hoarsely.

All at once, Philo released James’ face. "You’re going to regret this, Jimmy. I’ll make sure of it."

James’ vision blurred. He refused to cry in front of Philo. He would relish his pain, like the sadistic devil he was revealing himself to be.

Philo stood silhouetted in the doorway, his dark, malevolent shape somehow looming over James. "See you in the funny papers, Jimmy." With nothing more than a flippant gesture, he was gone.

James caught his breath on a sob and clutched his throat. He felt like he was suffocating. The truth was going to come out. About Australia. There was nowhere else he could go. No one else he could trust. He slid down the wall to the floor, his legs giving out under him.

Burying his face in his hands, he wept. For all the times he’d been hurt in the past. And all the times yet to come.

***

Birkoff grinned at Declan, his eyes the color of soft, melting caramel. He wrapped his arms around Declan’s neck and kissed him. "Michael’s taking Nikita to the farmhouse for the weekend..."

"Aye, I heard." Declan gazed warmly at his lover. "I’m off this weekend as well, y’know."

"I know." Birkoff slid his hands down Declan’s body, resting on his slim hips. "Davenport is taking his lady love house-hunting..."

"Hey, watch it, that’s my sister you’re talking about," Declan laughed.

"Maybe Walter will watch the kids...and we could..." Birkoff nipped gently at Declan’s ear with his sharp white teeth. Declan closed his eyes on a sigh. "We could, could we?"

"You asked me to close the bookstore for the weekend..."

Declan opened his eyes with a start. "I never expected you to say yes!"

Birkoff smiled mysteriously. "I like being able to surprise you once in a while, Declan. Keeps things...interesting."

"You’d lose an awful lot of business, Sey," Declan reminded him.

Birkoff chuckled. "Are you trying to talk me out of it, Dec?"

"Not a chance."

***

"Grandpa’s going to take care of us all weekend."

Sasha lay on his stomach on the floor of the living room. Cupping his chin in his hands, he looked thoughtfully at the little girl sitting opposite him. "Yeah, Da’s taking Dad away. Your Mom and Dad must be going away, too, huh?"

Skye nodded. "Mommy said it was a cele...cele..."

"...bration. Celebration," Sasha mouthed for his beloved angel. Rolling onto his back with a loud exhalation, Sasha threw his arms open wide. Skye leaned over Sasha, her bright blue eyes shining. "You look happy today."

Sasha grinned, his crooked smile just like Birkoff’s. "I am. I’m going to stay, Skye. They’re never going to send me back. I’m going to live here."

Sasha’s dark eyes grew serious as he looked directly into Skye’s warm blue-eyed gaze. "With you."

Skye’s eyes twinkled briefly. "Does this mean you won’t be a devil boy anymore?"

Sasha bit his lip as he stared at her, enraptured by those eyes and that face. "I guess."

Skye’s lips quirked in a loving smile. "Good."

Sasha let down his guard. With her, he could be himself. She liked who he was. Even when no one else thought there was much to like. Breathless, he whispered, "But you’ll still be my angel girl."

No one thought it odd when they didn’t hear from James the next day. Class met Monday through Friday. Weekends were for family and fun. Besides, Michael, true to his word, took Nikita to the farmhouse for the weekend. Nothing was going to intrude on their romantic interlude. Nothing.

And just as Birkoff had said, Davenport and Cassidy were up bright and early, scouring the surrounding area for the perfect house. No one knew about Cassidy’s pregnancy yet, and though that gave the matter some urgency, Davenport was more concerned about planning their wedding. He didn’t care if he had to drag Derry before a justice of the peace, he would do anything to marry her. He wasn’t about to let her wriggle out of their commitment.

It was mid-afternoon on Saturday when James heard the doorbell ring. Not expecting anyone, he almost didn’t answer it. He was still waiting anxiously for the other shoe to drop. The other shoe being Philo. He didn’t have long to wait.

James opened the door. Philo stood there, grinning like a madman. "Hello, Jimmy. Didn’t think you’d get rid of me that easy, now, did you?"

James instantly tried to block Philo from coming inside the apartment, but Philo was well recovered from his drunken binge, and his reflexes were once again lightning quick. "You and me got a lot to talk about. So sit down."

When James didn’t respond right away, Philo backhanded him across the face, his heavy ring cutting James’ lip. "I said sit," he commanded.

James staggered over to a chair and fell into it, his legs akimbo. Clad only in a light T-shirt and blue jeans, he wore little that would protect him from further blows. Philo stood over him like an evil giant come to eat a little boy. James wiped at the blood that trickled down his chin in vain.

"Let’s take a little trip, Jimmy. Down memory lane. Once upon a time, there was a very wealthy young boy. He lived in Australia," Philo snarled at James.

Philo cackled, a wicked grin cutting across his face. "You remember Australia, don’t you, Jimmy? It’s where *he* lived. It’s where he still lives."

James looked up, surprise in his deep blue eyes. Philo laughed maniacally. "Oh, this is too rich. What did you think, Jimmy? That he killed himself when you left? Just because you found your one and only true love doesn’t mean he felt the same way."

James closed his eyes in pain. "S-stop it , Philo. David loved me as much as I loved him."

"So how is it that he’s moved on? Found himself a new love? Oh, yeah, he’s very happy now. Without you. How does that make you feel, Jimmy? Sick?"

Yes, James said to himself. It does. I loved David more than you’ll ever know, Philo. And he loved me. I never would have left him if my family hadn’t intervened.

"You’re the bloody expert on my life, Philo. Why don’t you tell me?"

Philo laughed harshly, jealousy and anger transforming his handsome face into something truly sinister. "If you loved each other so much, why aren’t you with him now? I’ll answer that one, Jimmy. Because your parents, who held the pursestrings to a very nice piece of change, didn’t like the idea that their only son, the heir apparent, was gay."

Philo snorted derisively and continued. "No, not just gay. But having an openly gay affair. With someone who wasn’t quite, shall we say, upper crust."

James all but spat at Philo. "He was worth ten of you, Philo. Easy."

"Then how did you end up with me, Jimmy?"

"Rebound, I guess," James hissed.

Philo kicked James in the stomach with his booted foot, and the chair James was sitting in fell backwards with a resounding crash. Shock echoed throughout James’ body. He was completely unused to physical punishment of any kind.

"The scandal broke, and you were forced to leave Koala-land."

"There wouldn’t have been a scandal, if my parents hadn’t made one."

"But they did, Jimmy. You left David. David wept bitter tears for all of two seconds, then hooked up with the current love of his life."

James struggled to get up again. His head felt woozy, and it was hard to focus his eyes. Philo glared at him fiercely. "He forgot you, you frigging moron."

"No," James protested with a whimper.

"Did you think you were making some kind of personal sacrifice for David? To keep the press from stoning him to death?"

James shook his head, and the room began to spin. He felt sick at his stomach. Dry heaving, James bent over, clutching his abdomen.

"Answer me, goddammit." For special emphasis, Philo kicked James again, this time aiming a bit higher, successfully cracking one of his ribs.

"H-he couldn’t take it. They were making him out to be a villain. I let him go."

"And?"

James wailed, "What the hell do you want from me, Philo? Blood?"

"Yesssss!" Philo shouted.

"And I’ve regretted it ever since..." James finished in a whisper.

"How do you think that makes me feel?" Philo shrieked.

"I don’t care," James said softly. "You’re trying to take the one good thing in my life and turn it into something twisted. It wasn’t. David was the best thing that ever happened to me. I was a fool to let him go. But I did. And I’m sorry I ever met you, Philo."

"Did I remind you of him, Jimmy? Do I look like him?"

"Don’t do this, Philo. You, of all people, have no right to be jealous. And of my past, no less."

Philo crouched down on James’ level, peering into James’ cobalt blue eyes. "You have no right to tell me to get out of your life, Jimmy. I’m not ready to go."

"You’ll never get me to come back this way, Philo."

"Maybe not," Philo said with a menacing stare. "But I can make damned sure no one else ever gets their hands on you either."

Philo reached for James, pulling him into a tight embrace. But when James felt Philo’s arms around him, he began to fight. Philo’s mouth slid across James’ lips, and James wrestled to pull him away. When James broke away from Philo, Philo grabbed hold of James’ earlobe, fixing on the silver stud earring. With a war cry, Philo claimed James’ ear, ripping the stud from its mooring.

James screamed. The most blood-curdling scream anyone could even imagine. When he collapsed, unconscious, that was when Philo finally ran. For good.