Jazz wasn’t sure where he was headed. If he had time to think about it, he would have realized the futility of running away. But he was hurt, and he could not, would not think about what all of this really meant to him.
Suddenly he wished that Sasha were there. He would know what to do. He would—Christ, he’d never felt anything so painful in his fourteen and a half years on this Earth. If he were a little kid, he would just fling himself headlong onto the grass and cry wretchedly until he fell asleep. But no, he missed his new life already.
He couldn’t go to Sasha. He couldn’t see his friends. They were with *him* now. Adam. He couldn’t face them. They knew how he felt—and now—that this had happened—they would want to be nice to him—and down, he would cry—and shit, why did things have to end this way?
***
He was running and running. Always running. His shoulders jerked spasmodically as he came awake with a visible start. Nothing had changed. He wrapped his arms around himself. He was sitting in an all-too-familiar alleyway. Down the block from the club his mother worked in.
Used to work in. She was gone. He told himself that he didn’t care that he couldn’t find her. But he was a lousy liar at a time like this.
He was cold. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast. He had no money. It must have dropped out of the pocket of his jacket. His jacket. He supposed he could always sell his jacket.
He buried his face in the leather. It still smelled new. It was a Christmas present from Smoke. Now it would be gone, just like everything else of value in his life.
***
Faith shrugged into her coat and plunged her gloved hands into the pockets. She was bringing up the rear of the group going into town. “See you later, Mom.”
“Don’t forget your hat, Fee. It’s cold out.”
“I know, Mom! Jeez, you—“
Ignoring her daughter’s outraged look, Nikita continued. “And be nice to Adam. I don’t want to hear that you kids aren’t helping him fit in.”
“Like he wants to,” Faith muttered under her breath.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“And come straight home after the movie. It gets dark early now, and I don’t want you out late on Saturday night.”
“But Mommm….I told you. We’re all going to get pizza after. Remember?”
“Fee—“
“You said it would be okay if Adam was with us.”
“Is that why you asked him? That’s not very nice, Fee. That’s using someone.”
“Like he cares,” Faith mumbled.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
***
Chris turned to face his sister when she finally appeared on the front porch. “What did Mom want?”
Faith all but rolled her expressive grey-green eyes. “The usual. Wear a hat. Come straight home. Be nice to—uh…” Faith broke off with a guilty glance at her half-brother Adam.
Adam didn’t seem to notice. “Did she say we could get pizza on the way back?”
“Um…yes,” she answered quickly, not wanting to explore that topic in any further detail.
“Good. Let’s go.”
The small group started to walk slowly down the driveway. Suddenly Sasha stopped. “Hey, what about Jazz?”
“What about him?” Adam couldn’t prevent himself from saying in a very surly manner.
Sasha blinked at the older adolescent. “Whoa! What’d *I* do?”
Now Faith was looking at the sixteen-year old with undisguised interest. “And where *is* Jazz anyway? He *really* wanted to go.”
Adam avoided their eyes skillfully. He wasn’t very proud of himself right now, but there was no point in giving them further ammunition to use against him. He wasn’t kidding himself. He was certain that he was here on sufferance.
“I don’t know.” Jazz was so embarrassed, he probably ran all the way home. It’s your fault, too. Adam ignored the voice of his conscience, pushing it into the background with the ease of long practice.
Sasha glared at him with knowing eyes. “I bet you really *don’t* know. But—“ He leaned closer to Adam, as if daring the teenager to back up. “—the real question is—do you *care*?”
Present
“Walter?” The older man looked like he was lost in thought. But wherever he was, it had to be pleasant. There was just a trace of a wistful smile on his face, and Birkoff knew that Walter must be remembering something good.
Jerked away from his reveries about Lisa, Walter quickly recovered. Someday he would tell Birkoff more about his mother. But right now, he was concerned that the former Comm Op might be literally overwhelmed by recent events.
“You’re thinking about *her*, aren’t you?” Birkoff prompted. “My mom?”
A tightening of his mouth was the only sign that Walter regretted leaving the past. There were things he had done, things they all had done that could never be erased. It all played on and on, like some endless movie, in his head.
“Yeah.”
“You promised to tell me about her.”
“I will, Seymour. I will.” Suddenly Walter looked old beyond his years, and Birkoff could see just how much of a toll the life that they once lived had taken on him.
“But not today.”
Walter cupped the younger man’s chin affectionately. “Today you should go find that man of yours and hug him as tight as you can. Would you do that for me?”
Birkoff’s lips curved upwards in a slow and easy smile as he contemplated the possibilities inherent in that scenario. “I’ll see what I can do.”
All at once Birkoff’s resemblance to Lisa was so strong, Walter was staggered by the intensity of feeling that surged through his tired old bones. She would have been damn proud of you, Seymour. I know *I* am.
***
Birkoff trailed his fingers along the railing on the way upstairs to the apartment he shared with Declan and their children. Preoccupied, he didn’t register his twin brother’s presence until he nearly bumped into him at the top of the stairway. “Hey!”
His dark eyes abruptly coming into sharper focus, Birkoff asked, “Just what are you doing up here anyway?”
“Wouldn’t y’all like to know?” Jason taunted.
“If you’ve been anywhere near my kids, I swear I—“
Jason shook his head, a smug smile on his handsome face. “Interesting. You thought of your kids first. Wonder what Declan would have to say about *that*?”
Birkoff’s full-lipped mouth thinned out until it was virtually a straight line. “I didn’t have to think of Declan first. Declan can take care of himself.”
“Oh, yes, he can,” Jason said, insinuating his tongue between his teeth.
“Look, if you’ve got something to say, spit it out! Otherwise, get lost!”
Jason cast a studious eye over Birkoff’s body, his look of disdain telegraphing just how badly he found his brother lacking. “You ain’t no competition for me, boy.”
Birkoff snorted, giving his twin a not-so-gentle shove. “Get out of my way.”
Looking back over his shoulder at Birkoff, Jason added, “I just got done servicing your man and all you have to say to me is ‘Get out of my way’?”
Birkoff leaned in close, so close that Jason could feel his breath rasping across his face. “You may be related to me, but you’re sure as hell not part of this family. You’d better get your ass back to where you came from.”
“Yeah? Who’s gonna make me?” Jason returned, nose to nose with his brother.
The door swung open behind the two men, revealing a curiously expressionless Declan. “Is there trouble here?” he inquired politely.
Birkoff shook his head vehemently. “Just putting out some extra trash I ran across.”
Jason glanced at Declan, unconsciously backing up a step. Just as he would have lost his balance and gone completely over the railing, no doubt falling three flights of stairs to his death, Birkoff caught his arm, steadying him.
Jason blinked at his brother. “I don’t get it. You could have been rid of me if you’d just let me go. How come you didn’t?”
“Guess you just hit on the difference between you and me, Jason. Y’know, once upon a time, I envied you. I thought you were so much better off than me. But now I see that for what it was. Wishful thinking.”
Standing behind Birkoff, Declan leaned on his lover, wrapping his arms around his upper chest before sliding his face alongside his to kiss him. “I missed you, baby.”
To say Birkoff looked triumphant would have been an understatement. With that one quiet declaration, the two of them put a stop to Jason’s machinations to wreak havoc within the family.
Jason could see when he was beaten. He never would have thought his mousy twin brother capable of attracting, much less holding a man of Declan’s obvious attributes.
Evidently, he still had a lot to learn about underestimating the power of love.
Sey pushed the door shut with one hand, keeping his other hand firmly planted in the middle of Declan’s chest. Declan smiled rapaciously, wondering, no, hoping that this was the prelude to something. With a quick shake of his head, he indicated the door. “Don’t you want to know what Jason had to say to me?” he asked with considerable bemusement.
Sey cocked his head, a half-smile creasing the corners of his mouth. His dark eyes gleaming with mischief, he said, “Well, he’s still alive, so it couldn’t have been all *that* interesting.”
“Maybe you’d rather hear what *I* had to say to *him*,” Declan said, pulling Sey into his arms. Sey melted against his body, winding his arms around Declan’s neck. “Did it involve any kind of weaponry?”
Declan pretended to ponder the question seriously. “Hm…no, not really.”
Suddenly he could feel Sey’s fingers in his hair, tugging and tangling the long curly red strands. As his head was drawn down to the smaller man’s, Declan asked huskily, “What do you want, acushla?”
Sey’s breath wafted over his face, coming in erotic little huffs and hitches that tantalized Declan no end. “Want you,” he managed to reply, biting his lip.
Declan’s whisper frayed the very edges of Sey’s control. “You want me to kiss you, baby?”
“Yesss…” he hissed. “Please kiss me.”
Declan claimed his mouth like a victorious warrior seizing his prize. Neither hard nor gentle, the kiss simply was. Nudging Sey’s lips apart with his tongue, he begged entrance and was admitted. Sey’s hands crept up his lover’s cheeks, anchoring him there.
Alternately licking and nibbling Sey’s lips, Declan began unbuttoning his shirt. When the shirt was open, Declan pushed it off one shoulder, exposing the pale skin there. Breaking away from Sey’s mouth, Declan latched onto the flesh of his shoulder, suckling until the area was wet and discolored.
At Sey’s gasp, Declan stopped. “Did I hurt you?”
Sey buried his face against Declan’s neck, where even now a strong, steady pulse beat. “You gave me a love bite,” he said breathlessly, laughter coloring his voice.
“Oh, no, baby, *this* is a love bite,” he corrected, his straight white teeth sinking into Sey’s shoulder.
He could feel Sey grinning, even if he couldn’t see him, and as if to prove it, Sey began to laugh in earnest. Taking a half-step back, he held onto Declan, his arms now encircling his waist. “Make love to me?”
“Sey, if you can’t tell that’s what I’ve been doing, I’d better start over,” Declan said, love shining out of his splendid silver-grey eyes.
Sey’s smile faded as he reached up to kiss Declan, his hand splaying across his right cheek. “Take me to bed,” he whispered against his mouth.
Declan nipped at his lover’s mouth. “You object to the floor?” he asked, his eyes flickering away for a moment to the thick carpeting beneath their feet.
If Declan’s knee hadn’t been pressed tightly against Sey’s groin, he might have missed the answering throb of his arousal. “Where are the kids?” Sey asked, beginning to feel like a debauched angel vibrating at the sound of his new master.
“Out.”
“For how long?”
Declan swooped down on him like a hungry bird of prey, his hands simultaneously holding him steady even as they unbuckled the belt of his jeans. “You ask too many bloody questions,” Declan chuckled.
“But what if--?”
Declan swallowed Sey’s protest, his mouth drugging him into submission. When Sey could speak again, he met Declan’s eyes with a mixture of desire and affection that was unique to the two of them. “I love you,” he said quite helplessly.
“I love you, too,” Declan responded, a tinge of sadness in his lambent silver eyes. As always, whenever he felt truly intense emotion, Declan felt like he straddled both worlds, a world of pain and a world of joy. It was as if the two could never really be reconciled, for to know one without the other would weaken the feeling somehow. The joy of having always balanced on a knife’s edge by the pain of losing what they had.
In his intuitive way, Sey understood this. It didn’t matter if it made sense to anyone else. It made sense to *them*.
“I want you inside me.”
Declan caught his breath at the sound of his lover’s voice. Deep and throaty with need. And yet full of love.
With a touch of his fingertip, Sey’s jeans slid down his legs to pool around his ankles. With a strange air of obeisance, Declan fell to his knees at Sey’s feet. Leaning forward, he touched him, mouthing his hardness through the thin white cotton boxers. His legs spread apart, Sey threw his head back, his mouth opening involuntarily at the feel of Declan’s warm, wet lips on him.
Declan barely noted that he was still dressed. Keeping his mouth pressed firmly to Sey’s cloth-covered flesh, he stripped. Releasing his lover, Declan slid onto his back, positioning himself between his legs. Sey kicked away his jeans and removed his shirt. Slowly lowering himself to straddle Declan’s body, Sey smiled at the man he loved more than life itself.
Declan ran his hands over every inch of his lover, provoking him to greater and greater heights. “Come for me, baby,” he whispered hoarsely, and Sey’s only answer was a heavy-lidded look and a groan.
He palmed Sey’s flat nipples, which had hardened to sharp peaks, as they thrust towards each other, completion floating just out of range. But finally, oh finally, when it came, it was with such sweetness, it was as if the passion never was.
Sey lay his head on Declan’s chest, and Declan buried his face in Sey’s dark silky hair. “I love you,” he said, exultation warring with tragedy.
Sey pressed a kiss to Declan’s chest and closed his eyes. Sometimes there really were no words.
It was getting darker. Colder. The wind had picked up, whipping through the tight passage between buildings with a vengeance. Jazz pulled up the collar of his leather jacket and shivered. He didn’t need to worry about where his next meal was going to come from. He was going to die from exposure.
A sharp noise skittered through the alleyway. Something small. A rock? Kicked by a human foot?
Jazz stared into the blackness as if he could see. Someone was coming. Someone big.
***
Smoke stoically concealed his runaway emotions. They would do Jazz no good. They would not help him deal with the fact that their son was somehow missing.
James. James was his rock. His center. He didn’t fall apart in a mindless heap. He took charge of things. “We need to search here first,” he said, pointing to a map of the city. “The club where you worked. That’s where you found him. That’s where he last saw his mother.”
“That’s where he would go,” Smoke nodded in agreement. It was logical. His heart was breaking, but his mind appreciated James’ ability to stay calm under the circumstances.
James didn’t let himself think too far ahead. That way lay madness. The thought of never seeing Jazz again, well… It didn’t bear thinking about.
If his hand shook when James handed the map to Smoke, he didn’t acknowledge it. They *would* find him. In time. A boy of his age and his description, on the streets at night, was an open invitation to predators. They both knew it. But they said nothing. As if denial alone could ward off evil.
***
Faith was the first one through the door, calling loudly for her father. Michael appeared so suddenly, it was almost as if he had been waiting for her summons.
“What is it, Fee?”
“Daddy, Jazz is missing!”
“Missing? How do you—“
Sasha burst into the living room, all flailing arms and legs. “Uncle Michael! Jazz ran away!”
“How do you know he ran away?”
Adam slowly strode over the threshold, his demeanor grave. “He overheard you.”
Michael blinked hard. He didn’t even pretend not to understand what Adam meant. He noted the way that Adam attached himself to Sasha’s side. In unconscious allegiance?
“Adam,” Michael said in a subdued tone.
“He-ran-away-because-of-me, Dad.” Adam’s dark brown eyes were filled with pain, not anger. Anger would come later. When he had a chance to realize what he’d lost.
“Sasha, would you excuse us?” Michael asked quietly. Sasha gave Adam a long, considering look, as if he wasn’t certain that Adam was up to having this conversation with his father. Adam nodded imperceptibly to his newfound ally, and Sasha somberly led Faith and the others away.
“Did he tell you what I said?”
‘Yes,” Adam whispered. “He was so upset.”
“Then it’s *my* fault. Not yours.” Michael couldn’t stand the heartache he saw in Adam’s eyes. But he couldn’t be sure why it was there.
“It *is* my fault, Dad. He came to me for support…confirmation…I dunno—“ Adam raked both hands through his dark brown hair until it fell into disorder.
“It’s not your fault if you can’t love him that way, Adam.”
“Yes, it is! I told myself that I didn’t care about him! But it was all a fucking lie! Because I thought—I thought—“ Unshed tears stood in his eyes, hovering expectantly at the edge of his eyelids.
“What did you think, Adam?” Michael asked softly.
“I thought—if I kept those feelings to myself—I could maybe be the son you wanted me to be! I thought maybe you would love me then!” Adam shouted, anger beginning to war with despair.
Michael closed his eyes on a wave of pain so intense that he almost couldn’t breathe. “I’ve…always…loved you, Adam.”
“I thought—you couldn’t love me. I’m not what you expected. What you wanted. I’m a fucking disappointment. You think I don’t know that?” Adam’s voice broke on a sob.
Michael’s eyes shot open, a flash of brilliant green cutting like a laser. “Yes, I think you don’t know that!”
There was a pregnant pause. “I thought I would never see you again, Adam,” the older man whispered huskily. “If I put my own unrealistic expectations on *you*--well, I am sorry for that.”
Michael regarded his oldest son sadly. “I have no right to tell you who to love. I—forfeited that right when I walked away thirteen years ago.”
“No, Dad,” Adam said shakily. “You never had that right to begin with. No one does.”
All at once Michael realized that he was very, very proud of his son. Perhaps he was wrong about him not having the maturity to determine his own relationships. Love was *meant* to be unconditional. It was time that he made it so. Between him and Adam.
“Are you too old for a hug?”
“Are you?” Adam countered.
Michael gathered his son into his arms, and after an initial moment of resistance, Adam began to hug him back. When they broke apart, Adam asked, “Are you going to be okay with this, Dad?”
“Are you?” Michael returned, a curious half-smile appearing.
In response, Adam hugged him again, this time more tightly. “Yeah.” There really was no one else like his father. God, he’d missed him.
“Gimme the fucking jacket, kid!”
“No!” Jazz pressed himself against the dirty brick wall in an effort to get away from the lumbering big man. Some might think it foolish to face almost certain assault over a piece of cowhide, but not Jazz. To Jazz, the leather jacket was the last thing that his new family had given him. If he was forced to sell it, in order to eat, he would do it. But give it up voluntarily? Never!
“C’mere, ya little fag! You’re a real pretty one, ain’t ya? Come on over here, and mebbe we can work somethin’ out!” The big man stank of alcohol, which was good enough reason to avoid him, but when he leered at Jazz, exposing a mouthful of semi-rotten teeth, Jazz visibly paled.
Jazz didn’t want to fight. But if it was the only way he could survive, he would have to. As if he had settled something important in his unconscious mind, he automatically dropped back into a fighting stance. His hands up, near his chest, he moved lightly on his feet, circling the big man.
“What are you sposed to be, some kind of frou frou ballerina or somethin’?”
He would be sorry for that. He tugged hard on the sleeve of Jazz’ jacket, and Jazz gave every appearance of cooperating. At first.
Then Jazz darted in and backhanded him, retreating to a safe distance before the man could recover. “You son-of-a-bitch!”
Enraged, the older man made up in strength what he lost in agility. He didn’t have to connect with all of his punches. Just one would do it.
Not one to wait patiently, Jazz tried to sweep the big man, but he was an immovable object. His weight was so much greater on his front leg that it was impossible for Jazz to succeed. However, the movement brought Jazz into striking distance, just for a second, and the would-be thug’s fist hit Jazz, bruising his left cheek.
It stung. Enough that Jazz howled in surprise.
He wasn’t cocky enough to suppose that he could win. But he could say one thing. He was definitely holding his own. The problem was, he was already tiring. How long could he last? He certainly couldn’t out-punch his attacker, and his legs weren’t long enough to give him a real advantage. Shit, he had nowhere to run.
“You wait till I get ahold of ya, kid!” the man threatened. The stakes seemed a bit higher than a plain leather jacket now.
Jazz was genuinely afraid. He would never see his family again. Oh, God. He turned away just as the older man’s meaty hand closed around the back of his neck. He screamed—
--and watched his adoptive father pounce from the shadows. Smoke didn’t fight with the finesse of someone like Sasha. He was a streetfighter, through and through, and it showed. Oh, he was graceful. He was a trained dancer, after all. But the moves he used to take down Jazz’ assailant weren’t taught in school.
Smoke hadn’t had to defend himself in a long time, but it was impossible to tell. He flowed like he was one with the rhythm of the night, snapping the man’s head back with crisp, staccato punches, driving him into the opposite wall with full-force sidekicks.
When the man lay panting on the ground, his mouth trickling blood, he growled, “You’re dead, man!”
For extra added emphasis, Smoke knelt and pressed his knee down into the man’s elbow joint before forcing his arm backward with one hand. The man shouted in pain, and Smoke smiled. “I could break your arm like that!” Smoke said almost cheerfully, snapping his fingers.
“What do you care about some cheap little hippy punk getting his ass reamed, man?”
If there were enough light to see clearly, the big man would have seen the dangerous look that flitted across Smoke’s face. His blue-gray eyes glittered with something that was unmistakably vengeance. “That punk is my son!”
The man spat, narrowly missing Smoke’s face. “I didn’t know queers *had* sons,” he snorted derisively.
“You don’t know an awful lot,” Smoke said in a menacing tone.
There was a noise behind them. Smoke’s head came up sharply, but the light was too poor to make anything out. “Who’s there? Jamie?”
He and James had split up in order to cover more territory. Smoke heard the scuffle in the alleyway, but it was the scream that galvanized him into action. His heart nearly leaped out of his chest when he recognized Jazz’ voice.
“Jazz? Are you all right?”
Jazz nodded silently, not realizing that Smoke couldn’t see him. He was in awe of the way Smoke moved. But far more than that…no one had ever cared enough to defend him that way. Ever. Not even his own mother.
There was another noise, louder this time. The sound of metal on metal clanged through the air. Trouble.
“Jazz, get behind me.”
“No way, Pete. I want to help.”
“Do what I tell you! Please, Jazz!”
“Yeah, Jazz,” the man on the ground mimicked. “The cavalry’s coming, and they ain’t on *your* side!”
“Shut up, you stupid fuck!” Smoke commanded. He was frightened, but not for himself. He was afraid of what they would do to Jazz.
The big man began to laugh.
Suddenly Smoke’s eyes widened. There were so many of them. So many. One of the other clubs must have finished its early show and thrown its doors open wide.
Jesus Christ. They were hunting gays.