Good news travels fast, but bad news travels faster. Usually. But in this case, Walter and Miranda were out tooling around the French countryside on the Harley. Unbeknownst to anyone, Walter had his own sub rosa connection to Section for intel. No one else knew. Not Miranda. Not Birkoff. Not even Michael.
When Aspatia sacrificed herself to protect the secret of Michael and Nikita’s escape and subsequent family, she wasn’t aware that there was another person on the inside, feeding intel to a completely different source than Madeline. That was as it should be. It was the old double-blind. Neither informant knew about the other, thereby protecting both of them from inadvertent disclosure.
Once a week, Walter went into town where he picked up any messages left for him. The route by which these messages came to him was so circuitous, even Walter could not have guessed the actual source of the original message, were it not for the fact that he set up the chain of information subsystem. This way, no one could follow the path to Walter and, by extension, Michael’s family.
It was not that Walter still craved contact with Section. Far from it. He wished such subterfuge were not necessary. But experience had taught him to be very careful, and the more they knew about what Section was doing, no matter how insignificant it might sound, the better prepared they could be.
So it was that Walter and Miranda ended their road trip and headed home, becoming the bearers of bad news by default. The Harley roared up the driveway to the Samuelle home, stopping mere feet away from the steps to the front porch. Walter kicked a booted foot in the direction of the kickstand and removed his helmet.
“You okay back there, Honey?” he asked Miranda.
In answer, she removed her helmet and shook her hair out. Running her fingers through the limp blonde cap of hair, she despaired of making it look presentable without major preparation.
“Yes, love. Nothing that picking a few bugs out of my teeth wouldn’t improve,” she began, catching the disapproving look her husband sent her.
“I thought you loved our road trips, Honey.”
“I do, Walter,” she said, kissing him tenderly, then wiping at the lipstick on his mouth with her thumb. “Just teasing, love. You seemed a little out of it since we made our last pitstop. Are you feeling okay?”
Walter averted his eyes. He couldn’t tell her exactly what made him upset. And yet there was a part of him that wanted to do just that. She was his wife. He trusted her with his life.
“Actually, Honey, there is something I need to tell you….”
***
Faith bounced from foot to foot like her feet were on fire. “Mom! Grandpa’s home!”
Nikita smiled at her eldest child. “He is? Guess we’d better go see what he’s been up to, huh?”
Wiping her wet hands on a kitchen towel, Nikita turned to face the new arrivals as they entered. Her smile rapidly fading, she knew immediately that something was wrong.
“Dad?”
“Sugar, I got real bad news.”
***
As the news filtered through the family and its branches quickly, everyone reacted in their own very different ways, depending on whether or not they knew Aspatia or Hillinger. Not to mention what their history was with them.
Nikita was the first one Walter told. Although she told herself that she never had any particular love for Hillinger, she was taken aback by the apparent senselessness of his death. “He was so young,” she couldn’t help but say.
Walter nodded slowly. He couldn’t claim to like Hillinger either, especially given Hillinger’s rocky history with Birkoff. Why, at one point, Hillinger was nearly responsible for Birkoff getting killed. Still, he couldn’t say he wished him dead. Now Aspatia was another thing entirely. Walter knew Aspatia very peripherally, but he remembered her as a kind woman. He briefly wondered what an elegant older woman like that would be doing with a young, albeit handsome, wiseass like Hillinger. But he dismissed it as one of those unknowable things he might never have an answer for.
It didn’t occur to Nikita to ask how Walter came by this intel. Perhaps she was so stunned by the news itself that she wasn’t thinking clearly. But when Michael came home and heard what happened, it was one of the first things he asked.
Figuring it was better to confess what he’d been doing than hide it, Walter outlined his carefully-held connection to Section. Without revealing the name of the person who provided this intel.
“Don’t you think I should know, Walter?”
“Why, Michael? It’s not like you’ll be adding them to your Christmas card list or anything. What the hell difference can it make?”
“You don’t trust me?”
“Sure I do. How can you even ask me that, man? I’ve been doing this for you! All these years!”
“But you won’t tell me who it is.”
“Michael, you must know it’s better that way. If this hadn’t happened, I never would have—“
“—told me. I know.”
After a moment or two of reflection, Michael nodded. “I understand, Walter.” Suddenly looking tired, Michael said, “I didn’t know Aspatia. But I know she played a big part in our getting Connor back from Section, and for that, I will always be grateful.”
“As for Hillinger…I can’t say I miss him. But I never expected his death to be like this. Something about this whole thing…bothers me.” Michael shrugged. He was used to questions that must remain unanswered. It didn’t mean that he had to like it, but sometimes, that was just the way it was.
***
In the end, it was Madeline who put things together in a slightly different light. Aspatia was, after all, her connection in Section.
“She never called me. But something must have come up.” Her dark eyes looked strangely melancholy. “I liked Aspatia. She was very reliable….”
“Jesus, Maddy, you make her sound like a dog!” Neil raked his hands through his blond hair, mussing it completely. “Have a heart.”
Madeline fixed her husband with an enigmatic look. Neil was so irritable lately. Perhaps things were not as they should be between them. Perhaps he was giving up on working on those things.
“As I was saying, Aspatia would put the family’s welfare before her own. It’s why I chose her. If she made the decision…” she swallowed, grimacing as if something tasted bad, “to kill herself, I’m sure that there was a very real threat.”
“To us?” Nikita asked.
Madeline nodded. “Yes.”
“But what?”
Madeline sighed. “We may never know. Or it could be related to Hillinger. I find it odd that a woman like that would hook up with Hillinger.”
“Why, her age?”
“Not just that. She had class. Hillinger didn’t.”
At Neil’s exasperated look, Madeline continued, “Well, he didn’t, Neil. You didn’t know him.”
“Hardly seems right to speak ill of the dead, Maddy.”
“Don’t fool yourself, Neil. We could just as easily be sitting around talking about one of us having died.”
That hit home. “Christ. You think she sacrificed herself and this kid.”
“I know she did. Or as much as I can know anything I didn’t see with my own eyes.”
Walter seized control of the conversation. “Hey, time out! Let’s not get stupid at this stage of the game, okay? What Madeline says does make sense. Should we assume that killing Hillinger neutralized the threat then?”
“That would be a fair assumption,” Madeline agreed.
“Well, I for one need to know that something good came out of this,” Walter muttered.
Nikita put her arm around her adoptive father. “Dad, it wasn’t your fault. No one’s blaming you. Aspatia…well, she made her own decision. For better or worse.”
Suddenly Walter looked his age. “Birkoff’s going to have a hard time with this, Sugar. He knew Aspatia. Well. He’s going to blame himself somehow. And Hillinger? God, he hated him. But still….”
Michael shook his head. “He knew him. Even better than he knew Aspatia. That’s going to hurt.”
Walter’s head came up with a start. “Jesus. I just thought of something worse.”
“What?”
“Sasha.”
Dead silence.
Walter passed a weathered hand over his face. “I don’t want to sound like I’m backing out of my responsibility here, but—“
“Birkoff should tell his son. It should come from him.” No matter how difficult it might be, Michael was convinced that Birkoff needed to be the one who broached the subject to Sasha. Aspatia was the first person to treat Sasha like a person, instead of a thing, and whatever Sasha’s initial responses to her attempts to mother him had been, he grew close to her.
Walter nodded faintly. “But I’ll tell Declan.” He paused. “Maybe Declan should tell Birkoff, not me. He seems to have a way with him—“
The object of Walter’s attention finally joined the group gathered in the Samuelles’ living room. Pondering the reason for the family being called together, Declan was abruptly caught by the fact that it looked almost like a strike force. “What do you want me to tell Sey?” he asked with the beginnings of a frown.
By the time Walter finished explaining the circumstances of Aspatia and Hillinger’s deaths, Declan looked vaguely stunned. “Christ, I remember Aspatia. She was that woman who was with Davenport. When we went back to Section.”
“Yeah,” Walter agreed. Heaving a great sigh, Walter added, “I’ve got to tell Davenport, too. Get him and Derry down here, would you, Michael? I don’t think this kind of thing should be done over the phone.”
“Davenport…Jesus, he’s not going to take this well either,” said Declan.
Michael laid a hand on Declan’s shoulder in support. “We’ll handle Dav. You just worry about Birkoff and your son.” As far as Michael was concerned, Declan was the one who would have the raw end of the deal. Birkoff and Sasha. Both emotional. Both with good reason to be genuinely distraught over these deaths.
Declan nodded, a thoughtful look on his face. “I suppose this had to happen sooner or later.”
“What? Death?” Walter asked.
“Aye. Sasha’s never had to deal with death before. And this…makes it very personal.”
Walter gripped Declan’s arm and looked intently into his pale grey eyes. “If you need any help, you know where I am.”
“Thanks, Walter.”
***
Birkoff was in the process of hanging up his jacket when he noticed Declan sitting in the recliner in their living room. Automatically launching into chatter about his day, he was surprised when Declan didn’t answer him. “Dec? Dec? Is something wrong?”
“C’mere, baby,” Declan said softly, patting the space next to him in the recliner. They had picked out this recliner for its size as well as its comfort. They liked to share their space, sometimes quite literally, and Declan wanted Sey close enough to hold right now.
A muscle began to clench in Birkoff’s cheek. He was nothing if not perceptive, and he had already gotten the scent of something bad. Something very bad. “What is it?”
“Please. Sit with me.”
Birkoff reluctantly sat down in the recliner, feeling as if his limbs were going numb. It was suddenly so hard to move. Declan wrapped his arms around him and kissed his forehead chastely. Cupping Sey’s chin, Declan forced Sey to make good eye contact with him. It was important that he hear this the first time. It was awful enough without repeating it.
“You know I love you, right?” Declan whispered, unable to resist the urge to touch Sey’s hair. Sey wanted to scream with frustration, but instead, he nodded silently.
“Don’t ask any questions yet. Just listen. Okay?”
Again, Birkoff nodded.
Rubbing a thumb absently against Birkoff’s shoulder, Declan began. “Your friend Aspatia is dead.”
“When? How? Dec!”
“Ssh, baby.” When Birkoff unwillingly subsided, Declan continued. “Hillinger, too.”
“Greg? Jesus, Declan! What--?”
Declan pulled Sey closer, burying his face in his hair, murmuring “Ssh” over and over. It was bad enough that they were dead, but Declan wished that Sey didn’t need to know how they died.
“They died together, Sey,” Declan whispered. “Apparently, they were having an affair and—“
“No way, Declan! No freaking way!”
Now Sey was clinging to Declan, his fingers clenching and unclenching in his long red hair. “Was it Section?”
“No, baby. Aspatia killed Hillinger…and then herself.”
Declan could feel Sey shaking his head back and forth. More and more vehemently. “No, no, no, no, no…Space wouldn’t do that. She was—she was—oh, God, she’s dead?”
Sey cried for several minutes, his tears soaking Declan’s shoulder. By the time he regained control, Declan was tempted to join him. Instead Declan pulled his lover into a tighter embrace, his mouth against Sey’s ear.
“Are you okay, acushla?”
“Yeah, I guess so. It’s just…damn, I can’t believe this. I’m so sorry that Space is gone, Dec. She was just…a great person.”
Declan nodded.
“But Greg—“
“You didn’t like him, baby.” As if that helped.
“No, but…we spent hours and hours together at work. I know it sounds stupid, but I just can’t imagine him being…dead.”
Declan kissed Sey’s temple. “I know, baby, I know.”
Birkoff shivered, his voice quavering, and for the first time, Declan thought he sounded a little bit hysterical. “Jeez, he was such a wiseass. Like he knew all the answers. Guess he didn’t know this one, huh?”
“Christ, Declan, he was younger than us. It’s kinda…I dunno…creepy when someone that young dies, you know? Like it could—it could—happen to us.” Birkoff’s voice broke as the finality of it all hit him, and suddenly he was facing his own mortality.
Burying his mouth at the base of Declan’s throat, Sey could feel his heartbeat, strong and steady. Somehow that helped center him again. Declan was alive. So was he.
Declan rubbed his hand in circles on Sey’s back, the touch reassuring to both of them. In the midst of death, there was life.
Birkoff hiccupped and drew back to look tearfully at his lover. “Sasha. Oh, God, Dec, Sasha!”
“I know, acushla.”
“If it wasn’t for Space, maybe Sasha wouldn’t have survived.”
“Davenport was still in the picture, Sey.”
“Sasha’s going to be crushed. Oh, shit, Declan, he’s never known anyone who died before.”
“He’ll be okay. He’s got us, Sey. He’s got Emmy. Davenport. My sister. The whole goddamn family now.”
Sey smiled through his tears, his cheeks wet and shiny now. “That’s right.”
“So do you.”
“So do I what?”
“Have the whole bloody family surrounding you, baby. Can’t you feel us?” For emphasis, Declan twined his arms around Sey’s neck and kissed him tenderly.
Sey swiped at his eyes with trembling fingers and tried valiantly to smile. “I must look awful.”
“No, you look beautiful. You’re beautiful and alive and well and truly in my arms… oh, God, I love you.”
“Oh, Dec….” Shaking his head slowly, Sey beseeched with his dark eyes. Please. Cast the pain out.
“Make love to me.”
“Now?” Declan seemed almost startled. Then he relaxed. It was said that when there was great tragedy, the urge to do something life-affirming was almost overwhelming.
Sey held his breath.
Declan kissed him. Even in the face of death, there was life.
They sent Sasha directly upstairs. If Sasha thought it odd, he didn’t say so. But he opened the door with some degree of trepidation. Pushing it open very slowly, he peered around the edge of the door, not totally surprised to see his parents waiting.
Declan still sat in the recliner, but Sey was asleep with his head on Declan’s shoulder, his fingers intertwined with his partner’s.
“Da?” Sasha frowned at the incongruity before him. Sey asleep during the day? The why of that completely eluded him. Declan in hypervigilant mode? Something was clearly wrong. The very atmosphere screamed its surfeit of tension.
Declan answered Sasha by placing a finger to his lips, effectively silencing him. “Don’t wake him,” he whispered, indicating Birkoff.
Declan struggled to get free of his lover’s entangling limbs without alerting him, but every attempt only served to make Sey more agitated without ever coming fully awake. “Deccc…d-don’t l-leave me…” he said, trying to hide his face against Declan’s chest.
At Sasha’s shocked expression, Declan abruptly realized that the pre-teen had jumped to the wrong conclusion. “I’m not…Sasha, I’m not leaving. That’s not what he meant.”
Literally wrapping Sey’s arms around him, to hold him fast, Declan studied the young boy before them. “Come here and sit,” he beckoned.
“Th-there’s no room, Da.”
“There’s plenty. I’ll just shift your father over.”
Once he was sitting on Declan’s lap, he asked hesitantly, “Is Daddy sick?”
“No, no, he’s just—upset. We had some rather bad news today, kiddo.”
“I’ll tell him, Declan,” Sey protested, rubbing his eyes sleepily. “He’s my son.”
“He’s our son, and you’ve had just about enough, baby.” Glancing quickly at Sey, he could see that he was determined to assume full responsibility for telling Sasha. But Declan was equally determined—to protect Sey. From himself, if necessary.
“Sasha, how much do you remember about Section?” asked Declan.
“Not much detail. More like bits and pieces. Feelings. That kind of stuff.”
“Do you remember specific people?”
“You mean like Davenport and Cassi—I mean, Derry? Sure.”
“I mean, before them. When you were really little. When you lived in the sublevels.” Declan waited anxiously for Sasha to reply.
“Ohh…you mean the lady who used to bring me real food so I wouldn’t have to eat scraps?”
“Aye. That lady. Do you remember her?”
Sasha smiled suddenly as a memory came flooding back. “She was nice. Even when I wasn’t.” He chuckled softly. “She kept trying to get me to come out of my hiding place, and I think I kept trying to bite her.”
“Well, people hadn’t treated you very well. You had good reason to be wary of people.”
“I remember when I left, I promised myself I would always remember her.” Sasha’s dark eyes held a faraway look, as though he were irretrievably lost in that time. All at once Sasha colored.
“What?”
“Sorry, it’s just that—I haven’t thought about her in a really long time. Guess I didn’t keep my promise.”
“That’s okay. She would understand.”
“You think so? I wish we could see her again. I bet she’d be surprised to see how much I’ve grown.”
Declan choked back a tiny sob. “She’d be very proud of how you turned out, kiddo.”
Sasha’s eyes narrowed as he scrutinized his father’s face. “Why are we talking about her, Da? Did something happen to her?”
Sey raised his tear-stained face to look at Sasha. Releasing Declan’s hand, Sey fumbled to grasp his son’s. “Yeah, kiddo. Something bad happened.”
With his intuitive feel for the underlying emotions Sey was attempting to conceal, Sasha asked, “Is she dead?”
Sey started to give under the overwhelming weight of his emotional load, but Declan bolstered him with a tender kiss before pulling his lover against his chest once more. His face crumpling, Sey whispered brokenly, “Yes….”
Though it was true that Sasha had no frame of reference for death, inasmuch as death had never touched him personally before, that didn’t mean that he didn’t know what death was. Up until now, it was something that happened to other people. Other older people.
Sasha nodded in acknowledgement, but he didn’t really know what to say. “Was she sick?” Or did the bad people get her? Sasha didn’t know where that thought came from. He wasn’t sure if it was a memory or if he was hearing things.
Come on, Sasha, the voice in his head continued. You remember the bad people? The ones who wanted to train you like an animal? The ones who didn’t care when you finally disappeared? Though Sasha didn’t know it, he had repressed most of what happened to him at Section. That was why things came to him in fragments, occasionally accompanied by feelings.
Sey cried silently, fresh tears coursing down his face. He felt like he was failing miserably at supporting Sasha, but Declan refused to let him go. “She wasn’t sick.” Oh, God, she killed herself. After killing someone else. How could he tell Sasha that part? Did Sasha even need to know that?
So he settled for something approximating the truth. Something that felt like the truth, even if it wasn’t quite. “She died trying to protect us.”
Sasha’s eyes widened. Even Sey stopped crying to stare at Declan. Smearing his wet face with the back of his hand, Sey said, “Yeah. She—she wanted to keep us safe.”
Sasha’s lower lip quivered. He didn’t know if he was really starting to remember how it was there, or if he was merely reacting to his father’s tears, but he felt a huge lump in his throat. “Now I feel really bad that I didn’t keep my promise, Daddy. I meant to. I swear.”
Sey pulled Sasha into a big hug, his hands in almost constant motion, playing with Sasha’s hair. “Don’t you feel bad, kiddo. She loved you. Maybe she was even the first one to see the good inside of you. But she wouldn’t want you to blame yourself, not for anything.”
Sey kissed Sasha on both cheeks before framing his face with his hands. “She saved you so we could find each other. I’ve always believed that. Now I want you to believe that, too.”
With a wail, Sasha collapsed on his father’s shoulder, suddenly feeling all of five years old again. Sey wrapped his arms around him, his eyes meeting Declan’s over Sasha’s head. With an almost imperceptible gesture, Sey urged Declan to join them.
Declan hugged both of them, his silvery eyes dark and dull with grief. A moment later, he hid his own wet face against Sey’s neck until Sey pushed him back to kiss him. One hand gripping Declan’s hair, Sey slid his cheek against Declan’s, murmuring “I love you” so softly, it was barely audible.
Straining to regain control, Sasha sat up, an occasional hitch in his breathing still noticeable. “Daddy? I think she would’ve liked the way you turned out, too.” Turning to Declan, Sasha said, “And she would’ve been glad that Daddy found you, too, Da. What do you think?”
“I think Aspatia wasn’t the only one who was special.”
Jago sat on the back porch, his black eyes shiny and wet with unshed tears. He had never seen his father cry before. It was kinda scary. His big, tough, stoic father?
Davenport never realized that his son overheard him talking to Derry. After Walter told him about Aspatia and Hillinger’s deaths, Davenport immediately sought out his wife. Needing to tell someone, but especially her, just how he felt.
“Space is dead,” he said flatly, not a quaver in his voice betraying his inner turmoil.
“Oh, Jake.” Derry’s soft whisper was his undoing. All the feelings so carefully bottled up and under such tight control came spilling out.
He hugged her, his well-muscled arms crossing behind her back. He bit back a cry of something that might have been outrage at the unfairness of it all, hiding his face, and yes, his tears, against her hair.
“Derry, Derry…why’d it have to be Space?”
She had no answer for that. No one did. Maybe Hillinger had. But he was dead, too.
***
No one knew he was listening. People, adult people, forgot that children were there. Underfoot. Seeing and hearing the bits and pieces of their lives they thought hidden.
So Jago was left with the sudden realization that his father was not perfect. He could be hurt, just the same as anyone else…and he could cry. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. In a way, it was like finding out his hero had feet of clay. That was the part that frightened him. He thought his father was invulnerable. Invincible. Finding out that he wasn’t…well, it stunned him.
Enough that he found himself sitting on the back porch. Watching the memorial service on the back lawn from a distance. A safe distance. All those grown-ups, holding hands. Some crying. Some praying.
These were the people he depended on. He wiped at his eyes. I’m glad no one else is here. They’d just think I was a baby. But I’m not, his heart protested, I’m five.
The back door slammed shut behind him.
Straightening up, Jago pretended he was as cool as his father could be. Sasha studied the little red-haired boy for a moment before choosing to sit down next to him.
“Jago?”
His head whipped around, his black eyes burning with the desire to cry. “Oh! Sasha! Um…hi.”
“Are you okay?”
The smaller boy averted his gaze, taking refuge in avoiding eye contact. “Sure.”
Sasha pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped both arms around them. He stared out at the back lawn, seemingly lost in thought himself. After a long minute, Sasha abruptly said, “Y’know, sometimes it helps to talk about it.”
Jago raised his face, his chin set mutinously. “I don’t have anything to talk about.”
“You sound upset to me,” Sasha countered.
“I’m not. Why would I be? I didn’t even know the lady who died.”
Sasha winced. “I did.” There was a world of pain in those two words. Sasha had lived through a great deal in his barely-twelve years on the earth, but this was something he was both old enough and aware enough to experience fully. He knew the finality of death now, in a way that was terribly personal. Worse, he was beginning to confront his parents’ mortality, if not his own. Ha! If Jago thought he was scared, he didn’t know the half of it.
Jago was staring at the older boy, an incredulous look on his face. “You knew her?”
Sasha nodded slowly. “Hillinger, too.” At Jago’s puzzled look, Sasha explained, “The guy who died.”
A guilty look flashed across Sasha’s handsome face and was gone. “Daddy doesn’t even know that I remember him. But I do.”
“Don’t tell, please.” Sasha put a finger to his lips, and Jago instantly swore his silence. He was in awe of Sasha, if Sasha but knew it. Here was someone he couldn’t help but look up to. Sasha could claim his allegiance. No question.
For Jago, and the other children raised outside of Section, there was no other way of living. No basis for comparison. Sasha alone knew what Section was like. Firsthand. That was why he owed Aspatia. For giving him a life. For giving him loving parents. For giving him a chance to make a difference in the world. His world.
When Jago finally got up the courage to speak again, he asked, “Was she nice?”
“Oh, yeah.” Sasha smiled fondly, glad that some of his memories seemed to be coming back. While the return of the bad memories was not something he genuinely looked forward to, he welcomed the return of the good memories. That almost made him laugh out loud. Yes, there were good memories. Of Space. Davenport. Derry.
Hiding a rakish grin, Sasha wondered what Davenport would say if he told him just some of what he remembered about him and Derry. Concentrating on interlocking his fingers, Sasha missed the curious glance that the younger boy gave him.
When it seemed that Sasha would not volunteer what he was thinking about, Jago offered in a worried tone, “I just never saw Daddy cry before, that’s all.”
“Oh,” Sasha replied knowingly. He could reassure Jago that his father, and his mother, too, was undeniably human. But he obviously needed to work through this himself. With a little help, maybe, from someone closer to his age than his parents.
“It is a little scary, huh?” Sasha asked. Jago nodded, grateful that someone understood.
“Well, it’s like…your Dad is real strong, right? Bet he could lift three hundred pounds.”
Jago inclined his head curiously. “Well, he works out and stuff.”
“But as strong as he is…you don’t spend all your time worrying that he might haul off and hit you someday, do you?”
Jago drew back with a sharp gasp. “He wouldn’t! He never--!”
Sasha waited patiently for the smaller boy to catch up to what he was saying. “When you saw him cry, why did you feel scared?”
“I-I dunno.”
“Yes, you do. Just think about it.”
Jago’s lower lip quivered tellingly, but he refused to give in to the feelings that threatened to overwhelm him.
“Are you afraid something bad is going to happen to him now? Or you?”
“No…why would it?”
“Are you sure?”
Jago blinked. Sasha met his eyes evenly, never looking away for a moment.
Suddenly the little boy threw himself at Sasha, his clenched fists pummeling him for mere seconds before degenerating into a flurry of helpless motion. Suddenly sobbing, Jago felt Sasha pull him into a hug. After a weak struggle or two, Jago gave up the fight, torn between crying and muttering under his breath.
Unable to quite make out what the redheaded boy was saying, Sasha asked, “What? Jago? What did you say?”
All at once the five-year old screamed, “My Daddy wouldn’t leave me like that lady did!”
Swallowing a strong urge to say, “Neither would mine”, Sasha closed his eyes against the tears that welled up. He could see himself in Jago, wanting to believe that everything would always go on, just as it had, but discovering that no one lives forever.
“No one,” he whispered, as he held the smaller boy in his arms. “Not even Daddies.”
“You seem lost in thought,” Michael said to Nikita. Arms braced on the windowsill, Nikita stared out the window overlooking the back lawn. It was true. Ever since Aspatia and Hillinger’s deaths, things had changed. Maybe in a very subtle way, but still they had changed.
She would often find moments during the day or night when she would simply drift off. Pondering the why of things. Why someone like Hillinger, who undoubtedly deserved it, but nevertheless had survived far worse? Why someone like Space, who gave herself in a fight that was not her own?
She had no answers. Perhaps with time they would come. Perhaps not. She had a feeling she was going to learn far more about Fate and inevitability than she could have imagined.
Slowly he came to stand behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders. Lowering his head to her nape, he brushed his lips against her skin, so lightly it was like being caressed by mere air. She shivered, but not with fear or cold.
She turned to face him, a question in her eyes. “Michael?”
“Hm?”
“Do you ever think about what our lives might have been like?” She reached out to play with a long curling tendril of his cinnamon-colored hair, her eyes not meeting his.
“If?” he prompted.
“If we hadn’t made it out? If we hadn’t left Section when we did? If—“
Michael cut off her musing with a soft kiss. “Stop. We did make it out, doucette.”
“But—“
“What are you worried about?” He gently smoothed the hair back from her forehead, and she unconsciously leaned into his hand, her body language always reflecting where she longed to be. Always. In his arms.
“Nothing really. Just—Do you think that things happen for a reason?”
“Sometimes.” He continued to work his magic over her, a loving touch here, a tender stroke there.
“It’s been five years, Michael.”
“Since?”
“Since Luc was born. We make love all of the time, but I haven’t…you know….”
“Do you want to have another baby, Kita?” His tone said it all. If she wanted a hundred children, he would give them to her. If it was in his power to grant.
“I-I dunno.”
He kissed her again, his mouth nudging her lips apart, deepening the kiss as she responded. “If it’s meant to be, it’ll happen, Kita. It’s not as if our lives aren’t full. We have so much.” He regarded her with such reverence in his warm green eyes, she was almost taken aback. That he still loved her with that intensity helped her throw off the chill of the melancholy thoughts that occasionally plagued her.
“But it could so easily be taken away.”
“Hush,” he whispered against her mouth, willing her to be silent. “The years we’ve been given are a gift, doucette. Let’s not ruin the years still to come by agonizing over things that may never happen.”
“But someday—“
“Someday…” he said with a fervor that was quite unlike him, “we will die in each other’s arms.”
“But what if we’re not together?”
“We’ll always be together, doucette. Always. That’s the way it’s going to happen. Trust me.”
“I-I want to believe you, Michael.” Tears suddenly filled her light blue eyes.
“Then believe me,” he said softly. With a sigh, he rubbed his cheek against the side of her face, his eyes sliding shut of their own accord. “I love you…and I could never live without you.”
She made an inarticulate noise before burying her face in his hair, her tears gradually trickling down the side of his neck.
“I love you, too.”
It was both plea and vow. A vow that Michael would honor…or die trying. A plea that a merciful God would see fit to grant.
***
“Jake?”
Derry’s voice roused her husband from his preoccupation. Lately he had taken to staring out the window at nothing. Ever since Space’s death.
“Yeah, darlin’?” Davenport sounded almost absent. She had never seen him mourn this way. But then, they had been lucky enough not to be tested before.
A small but capable hand touched his shoulder. He turned to face her, his expression more blank than sad. “Did you want something, sweetheart?”
“You, Jake. I want you.”
“You’ve got me, darlin’, I dunno what you mean.”
“Jake, come back from wherever it is you go. I try to follow, but you won’t let me.”
Davenport sighed. “I don’t want you to feel like I do, Derry. I wouldn’t wish that on anybody.”
“Are you worried about what we talked about?”
Ah, that. The big secret. The secret that Jago had been dying to share with his friends. Especially Luc. Who thought his father knew everything.
“A little,” Davenport said hesitantly.
At Derry’s sharp look, he corrected himself. “Okay, a lot.”
“It’s not that I don’t want you to go to work, darlin’. You know that whatever you want to do, baby, I’m right behind you. One hundred percent. I mean that.”
“Jake, it’s okay. I’ve decided to postpone my plans.”
“I…huh? You did?” Davenport couldn’t help it. He tried not to fret over Derry’s desire to work outside the home, but with everything that happened still so fresh in his mind, all he could think of was: Someday I’ll come home and it’ll be her they’re talking about. Dead. And I don’t think I’d want to live very much longer.
Derry wrapped her arms around her husband, enfolding him in her loving embrace, knowing instinctively what he craved now. Closeness. She put her head down on his shoulder, and she could feel his heart thumping with such force, she knew how much he needed this.
“Jake, I still want to go to work someday. But now is not the right time. I know how much you’d worry—“
“Darlin’, I love you, of course, I’d worry. If you decided you wanted to work as a waitress in a coffee shop, I’d still worry. But security work—“ He huffed, his midnight-black eyes moist but not tearful.
“It’s so dangerous, Derry.”
“It’s what I’m good at, Jake. You and I both know that.”
He pulled back, his face animated, as if he’d just thought of something important. “Isn’t there some compromise we could come to? I don’t want you away from me one more minute than you have to be. If you become a bodyguard, I’ll never see you. You’ll be traveling all the time. You’ll—“
“I won’t forget you or the kids, Jake. No job could make up for what we have.” She cocked her head at him, her silver-grey eyes brightly shining. “I do have an idea, though.”
“Tell me, darlin’.”
“Corporate security, Jake.” She smiled, certain that she had hit upon the right combination this time. A combination that would fulfill her while minimizing the risks.
Davenport looked like he was considering the idea carefully. “It would be less dangerous,” he conceded.
She nodded. “It should be regular hours, too, Jake. No nights or weekends.”
Davenport slowly shook his head. “You’re right, darlin’. I guess I should thank you for thinking of me and the kids.”
“Oh, Jake. I love you. Thinking of you and the kids isn’t some kind of sacrifice I have to make.”
He kissed her soundly, abruptly realizing that with her announcement, he felt better. Less lost. More centered. And certainly more like what he thought and felt mattered to the woman he loved.
His big arms connecting solidly with her slender frame, he rocked her back and forth. “I love you, too, darlin’,” came the heartfelt whisper.