Luc peered through shaggy brown bangs at his older sister. “We got a new brother?”
Faith nodded, her long auburn hair bouncing about her shoulders, the sun-dappled curls dancing with fiery red highlights.
Luc’s handsome face creased in a frown. “How come? Mommy didn’t have a baby.”
“It’s kinda hard to explain.” Faith thought once more that it wasn’t easy having Luc for a baby brother. He was so smart, so intuitive, that his perceptions often surprised her.
“Try,” Luc challenged.
“Well…Daddy used to be married to someone else and—“
“Noooo!” Luc wailed.
“Luc! What on Earth’s the matter?”
“My Daddy! Mine!” As usual, Luc’s overactive brain and vivid imagination conspired to leap ahead before he was genuinely prepared for the conclusion.
Luc had real difficulty dealing with the concept that Chris was not the Samuelles’ firstborn son. But not as much as Chris himself.
While Faith tried in vain to comfort Luc, Chris lay in bed, wondering how he’d been deposed as the Samuelle heir. Confined to bed for the past week with a cold that intermittently threatened to become bronchitis, Chris was distinctly out of sorts.
Emmy laid her head on Chris’ pajama-clad chest and the male half of the Samuelle twins gently stroked her long red curls. This was like a moment out of time for both of them. Bitterly disappointed that he was unable to accompany the rest of his handpicked team to rescue their parents, Chris lamented this new piece of news.
“I’ve been replaced, Em.”
“No, you haven’t. You’re too special for that.”
He stopped stroking her hair long enough to press a kiss to the top of her head. “Thanks, but I doubt that Dad thinks so.”
“You don’t know what he thinks, Chris. Why don’t you ask him?”
“I can’t,” said Chris bleakly. “What if he loves **him** more? He came first. It’s his right.”
The voice came out of nowhere, startling both children. “That’s not true, Chris.”
Chris dropped his gaze to the bedspread, avoiding his father’s surprisingly direct look. Michael gestured at Emmy, and without a word, she moved over to make room for him on the bed. The bed squeaked slightly under Michael’s additional weight. He reached out and grasped his son’s hand in his, studying it intently, as if it were an ancient artifact that held the key to life.
Michael paused, uncertain of what to say next. What should he tell his children about Elena and Adam? That it wasn’t a **real** marriage, but a marriage borne out of expedience? That it was, in a sense, **work**? They might not understand. Hell, he wasn’t sure that he understood himself. Now. Looking back was always a dangerous thing to do.
But then again, he did love Elena, and there would be no harm in letting them think that he married for love. What difference could that possibly make? It would certainly legitimize Adam’s position.
“Chris…I love all of you. Because of who you are.” Michael spoke slowly and thoughtfully, and in a way, he was telling himself, too. Perhaps for the first time.
“All of you are different. Faith is impulsive, even reckless. But I don’t love her any less than Skye.”
“Adam is my son.” Pause. “But I don’t really know him. He grew up without me.” Michael’s voice became slightly ragged, the only sign that there was deep and abiding emotion underlying his words.
“I can never get that time back,” said Michael bleakly.
Chris’ light blue eyes, so like his mother’s, filled with compassion, both for his father and for Adam. “He wasn’t as lucky as me, then, Dad.”
Michael’s heart turned over in his chest, but for the life of him, he couldn’t speak another word. Their roles seemingly reversed, Chris held out his arms and Michael gratefully accepted his embrace. Chris’ arms wound tightly around his father’s neck as Michael buried his face in Chris’ pale blond hair.
I’m the lucky one, Chris. There is so much truth in what I said just now, and yet…. You and Faith were the first children of my heart. The first borne out of the love barely acknowledged but never to be shared with anyone else. The first to survive my darkness, buoyed by my bright angel’s light. Oh, God, **we** made you. Together.
And no one could ever replace you.
The slap took him completely by surprise. One minute, Adam was standing outside the back door, thinking about nothing in particular, or making a valiant effort; the next minute, a tiny whirlwind flew by, smacking him on the butt.
Adam spun around in time to catch the small boy by the hem of the red sweater he wore. “Hey! Hey! Let go! Let me go!”
“What’s your problem, kid?”
Luc may have been only five years old, but the scowl on his face would have served his father well. “I’m not a kid! My name’s Luc!”
Adam would have laughed, but the intensity in the child’s expression was nothing to be trifled with. Sobering instantly, Adam asked, “So…*Luc*, why did you hit me?”
“I *hate* you.”
The vehemence in Luc’s tone was almost frightening. “You don’t even know me, k—I mean, Luc. How can you hate me?”
“It’s easy,” retorted Luc, his five-year old mind grasping only that this was the boy who threatened the family in general, his father specifically.
“I don’t hate *you*.”
Luc all but rolled his expressive grey-green eyes. “’Course not, I didn’t do nothin’ to you!”
Adam started to nod slowly, as though comprehension, which had eluded him before, was beginning to wander into his grasp. “But *I* did something to you?”
Luc shook his head solemnly, and once more, Adam was struck by the young boy’s composure, way beyond his years. “Well…what did I do?” He held up a hand, warding off the boy’s immediate reaction, which was to curse him out and slap him again.
“If you don’t tell me, what can I do to fix it?” Adam’s tone sounded so reasonable, Luc was nearly convinced.
“You wanna fix it?” Luc intoned, his eyes big and dark as his pupils widened in response to Adam’s unexpected question.
“Sure, I do. I’m new here, and I don’t have any friends yet. But you look like someone worth knowing around here.”
Luc felt conflicted. An older boy wanting to befriend him was as special as it was scary. It made him feel like one of the big kids. But this was *Adam*, his father’s first son. He was a half. He didn’t know if he wanted a half.
“What’s the matter?” Jeez, the kid looked scared to death. Did he think he was the bogeyman? Hell, he didn’t eat little kids for breakfast.
Luc frowned, the deep crease still unable to mar the good-looking Samuelle features he had inherited. “You’re a half. An’, an’, Faith said I’m a half, too, now, an’ I don’t wanna! You can’t make me!” Luc acted as though he was going to have a temper tantrum, admittedly a rare occurrence these days, but not totally unheard of.
“A half? Faith? Is that your sister?”
That’s when Luc slapped Adam again. “’Course she’s my sister! She’s *your* sister, too, even if she is only a half now! Why’d you have to come and make us all half’s? I don’t wanna be a half! It’s not as good!”
Adam couldn’t believe his ears. “As good? As good as what?”
Luc looked exasperated. “You think we’re not as good as you are, so dat’s why you came here and made us all into half’s!”
“Ohh, no, no, no, Luc,” Adam murmured, wondering how he had made such a mess of things that little kids who didn’t understand hated him. “I’m not better than you are. Or Faith. Or Chris. Or anybody.”
And right now, I’m not very proud of myself. I brought all the chaos and dissension in my life into their lives. No wonder they don’t want me anywhere near them.
“I’m sorry, kid,” Adam choked out, afraid that he was going to embarrass himself in front of a five-year old. He backed up, and Luc’s belligerent look told him that he had made the right decision.
***
For several minutes, he walked. Into the woods at the back of the house. Not far enough to get lost. But far enough to temporarily disappear. He needed to disappear. He needed to disappear so badly that it hurt.
Tears blinding him, he sank down on a flattened tree stump, burying his face in his hands. When the voice came, seemingly out of nowhere, it startled him. “It won’t work, y’know.”
“What?” Adam looked up, swiping at his wet face. He never cried. At least, not if he could help it.
“Trying to hide. Never works. I’ve tried. But you can’t get away from *you*.”
Jazz came out from behind a tree and abruptly sat down next to Adam. Adam wasn’t sure if he remembered who Jazz was, but he shrugged. It didn’t matter. He probably wasn’t interested in knowing him either.
“What do you know about it?” Adam said, his chin jutting out pugnaciously.
“More than you’d think.” More than I’d like.
“They think I came here on purpose. To break up their happy little family.”
“Well, didn’t you?”
Adam stared at the fourteen-year old boy who was no more relation to them than he was. “No.”
“Sorry,” Jazz said with an unrepentant grin. His bright green eyes danced, indicating that he had not yet gotten over his love of a good controversy. As long as it didn’t involve physical aggression. Self-defense was one thing, but Jazz didn’t believe in fighting anymore. Sasha had taught him that.
“But you *are* making waves, man. You’ve gotta see that.”
“They hate me,” Adam whispered.
“Nah, they don’t hate you, man. Um, but they don’t exactly love you either, man. They can’t figure you out.” Jazz laughed, and the sound was like bright sunlight in the middle of the burgeoning darkness.
Adam took another look at Jazz. He was a handsome boy. No, that was the wrong word. He was beautiful. And yet, he wasn’t feminine. He was just made perfectly. His fingers long and slender and well-shaped. His features well-defined and refined. His hair fell straight past his shoulders, the color golden brown, as if kissed by the sun.
“They can’t figure me out?” he echoed.
“Yeah,” Jazz said cheerfully. “You’re a lot like your old man that way.”
“I am?” This was the first time anyone else had compared Michael to Adam. As much as he might pretend to ignore Michael, this was a good excuse to indulge his curiosity about the man who fathered him.
“Hell, yeah. He’s a regular mystery man.” Jazz drew up his knees to his chest and rested his chin on his knees.
“So are you,” he said to Adam, his green eyes flickering over the older boy.
“I’m not that hard to understand,” Adam offered, possibly hoping that Jazz would not only agree with him, but give him some much-needed insight into the man he knew all those years ago as Daddy.
“I doubt that.” Jazz laughed again, and this time, Adam recognized the feeling it created within him. It made him feel…happy. Accepted. Jazz was oddly noncommittal for someone in the family, but he honestly believed that Jazz was *not* judging him.
It was as if Jazz read his mind. Suddenly growing serious, Jazz leaned closer, his hair falling forward till it nearly touched Adam’s shoulder. “He’s a good man.”
Jazz’ improbably green eyes met Adam’s. For a second, Adam felt the younger boy’s breath caress his cheek. “You’re a lot like him.”
“So what are you telling me?”
Jazz’ slanted eyes crinkled up at the corners as he chuckled. “Don’t hate him. Get to know him. Give him a chance. But most of all…give *yourself* a chance.”
“I dunno why, but…you’re prolly worth the trouble it’s gonna be to get to know you.”
Adam didn’t know why that last statement gave him hope, but it did. It most assuredly did.
“Come on, I’ll take you back.”
Adam shook his head. “I can find my own way. I just want to sit here and think for a while. It’s so peaceful here.”
“Not for long. There are bears in these woods.”
“No way.”
“Yep. That was one of the first things Sasha showed me when we came out here.”
Adam looked pensive. His handsome brow furrowed with thought, he asked tentatively, “That’s the kid who came to my room yesterday. The two of you good friends?”
Jazz nodded, his eyes lighting up at the mention of his best friend. “Sasha’s cool.”
Adam’s deep brown eyes wandered over Jazz’ slender frame, then back up to his face. “Are the two of you…together?”
Jazz blinked in response, unsure what Adam meant. “Together?”
“Yeah, you know, like a couple.”
Damn, somehow he’d hoped that things would be…sigh…different. “Can’t we be friends without dating?”
“It’s just that both of you look kinda…I dunno…pretty.”
“So only fags are good-looking?” Jazz bit off.
“No, I just meant—“
Jazz advanced on the older boy, his slight build dwarfed by Adam’s solid, more muscular body. “What do you mean? They say—I’ve got a problem relating to people sometimes. They say—I see people in terms of what they can do for me, instead of seeing them for who…or *what* they really are.”
All at once Jazz sank to his knees at Adam’s feet. Keeping his head low, he whispered, “And sometimes I see myself as this thing who has to perform for people…just to get them to like me.” Flicking his tongue out to moisten his lips, Jazz suddenly looked up, his eyes awash in tears.
“Is that what you want from me?” Jazz scooted closer, his knees between Adam’s legs. “Is that what I have to do to get you to like me?”
Adam stared at the younger boy, stunned beyond comprehension. When he could finally speak, it was to sputter, “N-no! Get up! Get off your knees! You don’t have to do that!”
Wrapping his arms around Adam’s knees, Jazz clung tightly to the older boy. “But I want you to like me.”
“I do! Now get up!”
“You do?” Jazz looked so young and hopeful, it almost broke Adam’s heart to look at him.
“Yeah, I do,” Adam admitted. He reached out a hand, tugging on Jazz’ arm until he reluctantly stood.
Jazz smiled, albeit shyly, and Adam was momentarily dazzled by the radiant light that burst forth. “You don’t mind that I’m gay?”
Adam didn’t even hesitate. “I like you just fine the way you are. Honest.”
“Can I kiss you?” Jazz asked eagerly.
“What?”
“I’m attracted to you. Can I kiss you?”
Adam looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Well, um, I don’t—I mean, I’m not—“
“Oh.” Jazz shrugged. “Madeline says that I’m, like, conditioned to come on to people I like. Something about confusing sex with affection.”
Adam nodded, as if this were an everyday topic of conversation for him. “She’s, um, straightening you out then?” He winced at his accidental choice of words, briefly sparing a moment to ponder what Freud might have made of his reaction.
To his utter amazement, Jazz threw back his head and laughed. “She’s trying, but I think I’m too twisted, even for her.”
“I’m sure you don’t mean that.”
“Well, yeah, I do. In a way. I mean, I know I’m gay, and that’s not gonna change, not even with therapy. I mean, I don’t want it to. Really. I *like* guys.”
He cocked a hip to one side, pushing his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. Jeans that were entirely too tight. Or maybe that was just the way it seemed now. Adam’s eyes were drawn to the artless yet graceful stance Jazz had.
Giving his new friend a fond look, Jazz confessed, “I like *you*, Adam.”
His mouth inexplicably dry, Adam said, “I’m not, um, I mean, I like you, but—“
You’re just about the most sensual creature I’ve ever met. I’m not sure I know why I’m able to appreciate that. Maybe I *am* like you, and I’m just too fucking repressed to know it. Except that I’m *not* a virgin and I *do* like girls. I—
The sweetest, most tender of caresses interrupted Adam’s rumination. It was just a gentle brush of the lips upon his.
Truly.
But it changed everything Adam ever thought he knew about himself. His life was getting way too…interesting.
Fuck.
“I can find my own way back,” Adam ground out between clenched teeth. Things were complicated enough right now without venturing into that potential minefield.
Jazz wasn’t offended. “Sure. Knock yourself out, man.” He leaned over, and Adam backed up, afraid that the younger boy intended to touch him again. Jazz laughed even as he admired Adam, his bright green eyes playfully glinting in what remained of the afternoon light. “Just don’t let those bears take a bite out of you. You’d be a mighty tasty morsel.”
Adam looked vaguely horrified. Those were his choices? The bears or…what? What was Jazz offering anyway?
“I like girls,” Adam said, a propos of nothing.
Jazz shrugged. “I like dogs. Good thing, too. Cause my folks live on the kennel side of the Davenports’ place.”
“I won’t come visit you.”
“Who asked you? You need to lose a little of the attitude, man. People might mistake you for someone who doesn’t give a shit. And I know you do.” Jazz shook his head sadly. “Just like your Dad. Like I said.”
“Why don’t you leave me alone?”
“You can’t be scared of me, man. I don’t bite. Well, hardly ever,” Jazz drawled flirtatiously.
“Stop that!”
“Stop what?” Jazz asked, the perfect picture of innocence.
“Flirting with me! You’re not a girl!”
“I know.” Jazz looked thoughtful. “But do you?” he asked, dropping his gaze meaningfully to Adam’s rather obvious state of arousal.
“Hormones, that’s all. I get excited five, six times a day. So what?” Adam said belligerently, daring the younger boy to make something out of that.
“So I’m impressed. Jeez, do you get off that many times, too? Or is that the problem? You keep getting excited cause there’s no one to…take care of business.”
“Shut up. You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“You’d be surprised. I made a brief but stunning career out of it on the streets.”
“Why don’t you go back there?” Adam snapped angrily, directing his anger at Jazz because he was the safer target. He’d already had enough of beating himself up.
A dark look flickered across Jazz’ beautiful face and was gone. The smile that replaced it was every bit as brittle as it was bright. “Sorry. I forgot not everyone thinks I’m charming.”
“Why do you do that?”
“What?”
“Set yourself up for someone to knock you down. It’s like you do it…I don’t know…on purpose or something.”
Jazz blinked and bit his lip. “We all do what we’re used to.”
“But why are you used to it? Where did you come from that you would get used to something like that?”
“Look,” Jazz said, tossing his head, “I didn’t ask you about where you came from. So you don’t have any right to ask me anything.”
“You fucking kissed me, you queer! I think that gives me the right to ask you anything I fucking want to!”
Jazz’ vibrant green eyes went dead, now the chilly color of leaves after a hard summer rain. “Guess we’re not going to be friends, after all,” Jazz quipped, the humor never reaching those bleak eyes. Jazz wrapped his arms around himself as tightly as he could, and Adam could see him retreating somewhere deep inside himself.
Adam took a step forward, but this time, Jazz was the one to back up. “Hey, I don’t need a ton of bricks to fall on me, man. I’m leaving.”
“Look, I’m sorry about calling you—“ Jazz winced. “—that name.” Adam looked genuinely apologetic. “Why don’t you sit down again and we can talk?”
“We don’t have anything to talk about.”
“Please?” Adam reached out a hand, palm up. “Come on.”
“Aren’t you afraid I’ll hit on you again?”
“Don’t be dumb.”
“I’m not.”
“Are you saying you can’t keep your hands off me? I’m not that—that—terrific.”
“That’s sad.”
“What?”
“That no one’s ever told you how special you are.”
“I didn’t say that.” Adam sat down again, his butt landing on the stump unexpectedly hard. He grimaced, and it was all Jazz could do not to laugh out loud.
“But it was my Mom, you know? She always thought I was something special.” Adam laughed derisively at himself. “You know how Moms are.”
Jazz bit his lip again, this time hard enough to draw blood. “I wish I did. At least your Mom loved you. Mine didn’t want me.”
He stood there on shaky legs while Adam digested this new information about Jazz. Adam looked up suddenly, his dark eyes full of contrition. “Is that how you ended up on the streets?”
Jazz nodded silently. He wouldn’t cry. All that was in the past. It had no power to hurt him anymore. His folks loved him. That made all the difference.
“Please sit down,” Adam entreated, patting the spot next to him.
Reluctantly Jazz complied. But his body was in league with his heart right now, and neither one could take much more proximity to Adam.
“What was your Mom like?” Jazz asked.
For the first time in days, Adam felt like he could talk about his mother. He didn’t question the wisdom of confiding in someone he had barely met. He felt safe, and that was all he needed.
They talked for a couple of hours. Till the light faded completely. Till the wonderful folks that saw something worth salvaging in Jazz came for him. Worried.
Ironically, it was Smoke who saw the couple first. “Jamie! Look!”
James cursed under his breath. “I see him, Pete. He’s going to be sitting on pillows for a week by the time I get done with him.”
“Jamie,” Smoke admonished his lover in a whisper. “He’s got a crush on the boy,” he said with a faint smile.
James’ deep blue eyes grew round. “He’s Michael’s son, for God’s sake. Pete, do you have a sudden death wish?”
“Are you worried about us…or about him?”
“If Jazz seduces Michael’s son, I’m afraid there won’t be enough left of any of us to worry about, Pete.”
“Jesus, Walter. I thought you were okay with this.”
“I am, I am,” the older man replied quickly, but he was visibly trembling.
“It’s okay, you know.”
“What’s okay?”
“I’m glad it was you.”
“Dammit, Seymour, stop talking in riddles!”
Sey heaved a great sigh. “About you being my father. I didn’t mean to bring back a lot of bad memories.”
“Shit, Seymour, you never cease to amaze me. You find out that you have a long lost twin brother. You find out that I’m your father…and you’re worried about me.”
Sey shifted uncomfortably under Walter’s renewed scrutiny. That tough old man hadn’t lost any of the intensity in those I-can-see-everything-right-clear-down-to-your-soul blue eyes. “I meant what I said, Walter. You’ve always been there for me. And now, to find out that you’re my father…” Sey’s voice almost broke, but he managed to hang onto what was left of his control at the last moment.
Walter held out his arms in welcome. “Come over here and hug me, already!”
Wrapping his arms around the younger man, Walter made short work of letting him know just how he felt about Birkoff being his son. “I always hoped that you were mine,” he whispered.
“Me, too,” Sey choked out.
“Don’t you go crying on me now, Seymour,” Walter warned.
“I told you not to call me that…*Dad*.”
Walter ruffled Sey’s long brown hair. It seemed to have developed a wave where it curled almost lovingly around his face. Suddenly Walter threw back his head and laughed whole-heartedly.
“What? What’s so funny?” Sey asked in a perplexed tone.
“It was the computer’s idea to call you Seymour.”
“What?” Sey exclaimed incredulously.
“Yeah, well… When Lisa’s time came, she was so sick, she couldn’t name you two.”
“What about you?”
“Me? I was away on a mission. So that left—“
“The computer? How?”
“We had a random name generation program we used to fabricate aliases back then. Unfortunately, the op who programmed the list didn’t have much of an imagination. Obviously, Section wasn’t set up to name babies. So they relied on the computer to select the next two names.”
Sey began to laugh, too, finally seeing something funny in a name he had always hated. “That explains how we ended up Seymour and Jason.”
“I wonder what she would have named me, if she’d been given the chance,” Sey mused out loud, unaware that a certain wistfulness had crept into his expression.
“I imagine,” Walter began huskily, “that she would have taken one good look at you and thought of something…just plain terrific.”
“Did she know?”
Walter frowned. “Know what?”
“That it was you.”
Walter’s face softened as his memory captured her image, blurred by time, but nonetheless recognizable. His gravelly voice caught as he replied, “I sure like to think so.”
“How come you two didn’t get married?”
Walter shook his head, a dark shadow crossing his weathered face. “What makes you think we didn’t?”
Sey gave the older man a skeptical look. “You wanted to, though.” With his natural intuitive grasp of the situation, Sey knew that it was true.
“She said no.” Walter’s voice was so low as to be almost inaudible.
“You couldn’t talk her into it?”
Walter’s eyes looked faraway. “I guess it wasn’t meant to be.”
“Tell me about her.”
“You’ve got her eyes. Her coloring. God knows you don’t take after me. This,” he indicated his thinning gray hair, carefully camouflaged under yet another colorful bandanna, “used to be black.”
“Was she pretty?” Sey was beginning to believe that he could see her, through his newly discovered father’s eyes.
“Breathtaking,” Walter whispered. He could see her. As perfect as she had been before—the trouble started.
But nothing beautiful stayed that way for long inside Section. Section killed beautiful things.
Section killed her.