“I’ll go tell Mom that you hurt your ankle.”
“No!” Sasha yelled. Skye turned on her heel, startled by the vehemence of his tone. “I mean, please don’t go.”
He reached out to her from where he sat on the floor, both legs outstretched, the right one pretty much useless. “Please?” he added softly.
When she didn’t move, Sasha sighed, his heart twisting inside him, his feelings so scattered as to be almost unrecognizable. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” he apologized. “There are—things—you just don’t understand.”
He looked down at his swollen ankle, the makeshift cold pack making the pain a distant memory. Suddenly Skye crouched down and took his hand. Bringing it to her cheek, she closed her eyes and pressed a kiss to his fingertips.
Jerking his hand away with a speed that stunned even him, he could do nothing but stare at her. “Don’t!”
She gasped and dropped her head. He was pushing her away. She stood up slowly, almost painfully, and this time, he let her walk away without another word. How could she doubt that he loved her? Didn’t she know what he was going through right now, just from the slightest touch of her?
He shook his head. No, she had no idea of the depth of the sacrifice he made everyday. It was better that she misread his feelings. It might be too dangerous any other way.
***
By the time he managed to pull himself into a chair, he was almost exhausted. The acute pain had faded to a dull ache now. Leaning heavily on the chair, he eventually stood up, albeit unsteadily.
Slowly but surely, step by step, he climbed to the top of the stairway. Drenched in a cold sweat, Sasha grimaced as he struggled to maneuver the door open without putting any weight on his right ankle. Unsnapping his jacket, he let the leather slide off his shoulders and onto the floor.
Sparing a quick glance at the black puddle, he decided to leave it where it lay. Belatedly realizing that he had made the entire trip without his boots, he muttered to himself, “I am *not* going all the way back down those stairs.”
Throwing himself onto his bed, he felt the resulting bounce of the mattress jar his ankle and moaned. “That was *not* a good idea,” he told himself. Splaying his body across the twin-sized bed without removing the comforter, he willed himself to relax. Unfortunately, his mind had other ideas.
He kept replaying the scene in the kitchen with Skye, wondering if he could have handled things differently. Wondering if there were any way to keep her away from him that would *not* hurt her. He doubted it. He knew how she felt.
Rolling onto his side, Sasha rubbed his cheek against his pillow, abruptly registering that it was wet. That’s weird, he thought, before a thought slammed into his head with such force that it actually hurt. He groaned. She was here. His pillow was wet with *her* tears.
He inhaled painstakingly, her delicate scent filling his nostrils. Shit, he should have known. He should have felt her presence right away.
He held the pillow gently, lovingly, as if it were her. Long ago Sasha accepted that the difference in their ages made anything but a platonic relationship inappropriate. He resigned himself to having certain urges that were beyond his control at this point in his life, and he lived with the guilt that being attracted to older girls brought with it.
His hand crept down towards his belt, unsnapping his jeans. Here in his room he could be alone with his thoughts. Here in his room he could have feelings that had no outlet anywhere else.
He could still feel his heart beating way too fast. Pounding in his ears. And someplace else.
But just as he reached for—
Faith burst through the door without warning. Sasha pushed the pillow down, covering the fact that his jeans were wide open. Resisting the desire to hurl the pillow at Faith’s head, he snarled, “Don’t you ever knock?”
Planting herself firmly on the bed, she noted the wild color flushing Sasha’s cheeks. “Why? You sick or something?”
“Something,” he mumbled.
“What do you want, anyway?”
“I came to tell you to lay off my baby sister.”
Sasha stared at Faith. She couldn’t be serious. “What?”
“You heard me.” Faith looked distinctly uncomfortable. “You made her cry. I—hate it when she—cries.”
Sasha sat up in bed, so angry suddenly that he forgot to hold onto the pillow. “*You* hate it? I didn’t do anything—I would never—Shit!”
The pillow fell away, and all at once Faith noticed his state of deshabille. “You son-of-a-bitch! What did you do to her?”
He grabbed the pillow and covered himself. “Dammit, I told you, Fee! I didn’t *do* anything! Not with *her* anyway!”
Faith was not impulsive for nothing. Her hand connected with Sasha’s cheek before she could stop it. “Oh, oh, God, Sasha! I’m sorry!”
Sasha’s cheek blazed bright red with the imprint of Faith’s hand. He touched his cheek gingerly as though in a daze. “I would never touch her like that, Fee. I gave my word to your father and Da.”
His dark brown eyes filled with unshed tears. “That’s why—she’s upset, Fee. Because I won’t have—anything to do—with her.”
“Why didn’t you say so?”
“Why didn’t you *ask* me?”
Faith reached out to pat his shoulder, and Sasha shrugged off her hand. Her gaze fell to his swollen ankle. “Jeez! What did you do to your ankle?”
“I twisted it playing soccer.”
“Wow. Looks bad.”
Sasha’s lip curled with disdain. “No kidding.”
“So,” she regarded him avidly, “you were trying to take your mind off the pain?” Her voice was patently amused, as she took in the pillow he clutched to his lower body.
Sasha’s eyes narrowed. He had no privacy. None. Whatsoever. “Don’t you have someplace to go?”
“Okay, okay, I can take a hint,” she chuckled as she backed off.
“No, you can’t,” Sasha snapped. “If you could, you’d be gone.”
Faith knew when Sasha had been pushed too far. She waved nonchalantly and disappeared through the open doorway.
“And you could have closed the freaking door!” he yelled after her.
A few moments later, Sey popped his head through the doorway. “What are you doing in bed at this hour?”
Sasha sighed and showed off his discolored ankle.
“I’ll see if Neil can come over. You’re in no shape to walk on that.”
“Tell me about it. Oh, and Dad?” he beckoned as Sey was about to leave.
“Yeah, kiddo?”
He looked intently into his father’s eyes. “I need a lock for my door.”
“No, Luc, you can’t play.”
“Why?”
“You’re too young.”
“Why?”
“Because—“
“Why?’
“You just are, okay?”
Luc closed the door to Faith’s bedroom and walked down the hall. “That’s okay,” he muttered under his breath. “It’s a stupid game anyway.”
Chris passed his little brother and gave him a curious glance. “Luc, who are you talking to?”
Luc’s eyes flashed, not unlike his father’s when he found himself in an admittedly rare temper. “To *myself*. Is that okay?”
“Okay,” Chris agreed, wondering what was bothering him.
He reached Faith’s door and knocked twice. “Who is it?”
“Chris.”
“How do I know you’re Chris?”
Chris frowned. What new phase was Faith going through now? “Excusez-moi?”
The door opened, seemingly of its own accord. “Come on in.”
“Now you need a password to get in here?” Chris asked.
“Uh-huh. You passed. But only cause you spoke French. No one but me and you do that.”
Chris raked a hand through his light blond hair. It hadn’t darkened all that much with age, certainly not as much as Nikita expected. Rattling off several things in French, Chris abruptly concluded with, “You’re crazy, Fee. You’re my twin sister, and I love you, but you’re absolutely crazy.”
“Fine, I’m crazy,” she said dismissively with a wave of her hand. “Now where’s Connor?” She peered behind Chris as if she expected to see Connor there.
“Music Club, I think. Mamie’s making him learn to play the piano.”
Faith looked out of sorts. “Well, that sucks.”
“Fee!” Chris reproached her.
“Well, it does,” Faith said, her mouth set mutinously. “He’s sposed to be here.”
“Connor doesn’t come when you call anymore, Fee, didn’t you notice?” Chris sat down on Faith’s bed. He found it ironic how often Faith and her would-be soulmate, Connor, were out of synch with each other. When Faith and Connor were small, they were clearly meant to be together. Once they began to grow up, however, they began to clash and eventually, grow apart.
Suddenly Faith seemed preoccupied with counting out the game cards. “He still loves me more than anybody else, though,” she eventually said, her voice softer and lower than before.
Chris gave her a tight smile. He loved Faith, but he didn’t like to see *anyone*, but especially someone as vulnerable as Connor, hurt by her. He started to say something, but he couldn’t make the words come out of his mouth. For all her surface bravado, Faith was strangely sensitive underneath.
And he really believed that she loved Connor.
“Maybe he’ll join us later,” he offered by way of assuaging her disappointment.
“Maybe,” she echoed.
This was odd. Faith was never down. Well, rarely. “Is something wrong?” he asked, concerned.
“Nah, I just made a jerk of myself a little while ago, that’s all.”
“You did? How?”
She blushed, remembering how she barged into Sasha’s room without any warning at all. She shouldn’t have been surprised at his anger. Of course, he loved Skye. He wouldn’t harm a tiny blonde hair on her tiny blonde head, she thought meanly, automatically begging forgiveness for feeling jealous of her own sister.
It wasn’t as if she wanted Sasha’s attention. Not *that* way. She didn’t. She loved Connor. Even though their relationship grew rockier day by day.
But sometimes her sister was so freaking *perfect*. Skye got better grades. Skye was polite. Skye was—er, wonderful.
Then she came downstairs, crying silently, and she even looked perfect doing that. Her eyes weren’t red. Her mouth wasn’t swollen. Her nose wasn’t dripping. Dammit.
But she was upset. And in some patently misguided attempt to make up for envying her younger sister, Faith took off. A Warrior seeking only to defend. A Warrior hell-bent on extracting vengeance.
She told Chris everything. Like many twins, they were intuitive about each other. They had few secrets. He looked at her thoughtfully, his blue eyes somber.
“You meant well, Fee.”
She nodded.
Chris crossed his arms in front of him, and Faith waited expectantly. Chris would tell her the truth. He always told the truth. Like any good knight-in-training. He still believed in archaic things like valor and honor. She almost smiled. So did she.
Their ends were the same. Their means were very different.
“But youd don’t know Sasha as well as I thought you did.”
She lowered her head accordingly. “I know. Like I said, I acted like a jerk.”
“Yup.”
Faith scowled, but the grimace did nothing to detract from her increasingly attractive features. “You’re sposed to know when to disagree with me, Tosh.”
“How could I disagree with a statement like that?” Chris snorted.
“You’re my brother! You’re sposed to take my side!” she whined.
Chris put his arms around his sister, drawing her into a snug bear hug. “Anyone can *say* they’re on your side, Fee. But I really *am*. That’s why I don’t always tell you what you *want* to hear. Just what you *need* to hear.”
“I know,” she murmured, laying her head on Chris’ shoulder.
Suddenly there was a knock on the door. Faith raised her head and called, “Who is it?”
“Let me in, Tig!” said an impatient voice.
Chris smiled as Faith bolted from his arms, smoothing her hair behind her ears.
She opened the door. “Pooh!”
“The one and only.”
Faith restrained herself from leaping into Connor’s embrace. He hadn’t offered, and she didn’t want him to know how much she missed him. “You look good,” she said inanely.
Connor’s face lit up. For someone who genuinely looked like the boy next door, he was beginning to show a depth and a maturity beyond his years. “Heard you missed me. I’m back,” he quipped with a coy smile.
Behind Faith’s back, Chris rolled his eyes. Connor met his gaze evenly and then winked.
Oh, my, Chris thought, Connor was tearing a page out of Faith’s book. And it was working.
“Get down off the roof! What do you think, you can fly?”
“I’m testing somethin’!”
“Well, for Heaven’s sake, test it down here!” Nikita was beginning to sound completely exasperated with her youngest son.
In truth she was frightened to death. She knew Luc was impulsive, but she had never seen him so reckless. It would be so easy for him to take a step and fall—No! She refused to think that way.
If only Michael were home. He would have Luc down and grounded for the rest of his life faster than he could spell danger.
Luc was perceptive enough, even at his young age, to know that his mother, who could be inexhaustibly patient, was genuinely worried. Although Luc could easily be equal parts rebellious and defiant when he wanted, he decided to cooperate and come down right away.
That was when it happened.
He reached for the model airplane, which, interestingly enough, did not belong to him, but to Chris. It didn’t occur to Luc that taking Chris’ model airplane, which he had labored long and hard to put together, was tantamount to stealing. Luc’s philosophy was simple. He came, he saw, he conquered. Just like Caesar. Albeit on a markedly smaller scale.
The reason Luc took it up to the roof was just as simple. He wanted to see if the plane would fly.
Nikita realized that she might have to climb up on the roof and bring Luc back herself. She couldn’t stand there, on the ground, for very much longer, hopelessly wringing her hands. It wasn’t *her*.
But what if Luc fell off while she was on her way? Who would catch him? No, she needed someone else. Quickly.
Keep him talking, Nikita. Think.
A tug on the long pale blonde braid that cascaded down her back brought her to attention. “Wha--? Who?”
Suddenly she was staring into the familiar dark brown eyes of Michael’s oldest son. “Adam!” No, she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. What a position that would put both of them into. It would look like she was sacrificing Adam to save Luc.
He took the decision out of her hands. “I’ll get him,” he said cheerfully, as if the alternative never occurred to him.
“Adam! Don’t!”
He gave her a smile that reminded her curiously of Michael. He was supremely confident in his own abilities. Not because he was the most amazing human being who ever lived. No, he had the insouciance of youth on his side. Invulnerable. Inviolate. “I can do this. Don’t worry, Nikita.”
It briefly ran through her mind that Adam shouldn’t be addressing her by her first name, but a moment later, she realized that if Adam didn’t make it back down from the roof, it wouldn’t matter. Nothing would matter.
“Luc! Stay where you are, honey!” she called.
Luc turned to see where his mother was, and the sheer height of being three stories up made him dizzy. He never should have looked down. “M-mommy?” he stammered, dropping the plane.
He was too afraid to look. He should have. The plane glided back and forth in zigzag fashion, gradually approaching the ground. It would have landed safely except for a random gust of wind that sent it spiraling out of control. It went into a steep dive and abruptly crashed, its nose buried deep in the dirt. It was the only piece of the plane left intact.
All at once she was aware that someone else was standing next to her. She might have guessed. Chris. “He broke my plane, Mom,” he protested, interrupting himself when he saw the distress in his mother’s light blue eyes.
He didn’t even think; he automatically wrapped his arms around Nikita, holding onto her as tightly as he could. “I’m sorry, Mom.”
Sasha joined them a moment later, his eyes mesmerized by the sight of Adam crawling inch by inch along the roof towards Luc. “How did Luc get up there?”
Chris felt his mother shiver. “The important thing is, how is he going to get down from there?” Without killing either of them, Nikita finished non-verbally.
To Nikita’s surprise, Chris replied, without a trace of jealousy, “Adam can do it. He’ll get him down, Mom.”
“Honey, I know I never discussed this with—“
Suddenly Chris looked very serious. And very mature. “It’s okay, Mom.” He smiled, and his entire face softened. “It’s…um…kinda cool having an older brother for a change.”
Nikita felt close to tears. How did she and Michael get so lucky? Biting her lip, she looked intently into her son’s eyes, so like her own, and whispered, “Oh, sweetie, no one could ever replace you, you know that?”
He nodded. “I know.”
***
Luc lay on his stomach, clinging to the solid texture of the roof beneath him. Squeezing his eyes shut, he wished that he had never gotten the bright idea of trying to make Chris’ plane fly in the first place. He was so scared. He had never been so scared in his whole life.
At last Adam reached Luc. “Hey, munchkin. What are you doing up so high?”
Luc opened his eyes and smiled tearfully. Sniffling, he wiped his nose on the sleeve of his jacket. “I dunno.”
“Did you come to rescue me?”
“I dunno.” Adam smiled kindly at the five-year old. “Do you need rescuing?”
Luc nodded, so slightly that Adam could have missed it if he hadn’t been looking so closely. “Maybe jus-just a l-little.”
“Okay then.”
Adam wrapped his arms around the small boy, and Luc wound himself around the teenager’s body. “Think you can hang on while I climb back down?”
Luc nodded again, this time more vehemently. “Do I hafta look?”
“Nope. You can just pretend you’re part of *me*, okay?”
Luc obediently buried his head under Adam’s chin. “’kay.”
***
Adam was just starting to climb down when Luc began to sob. “What if you f-f-fall?”
“I won’t.”
“But what if? What if?” Luc wailed.
Adam stroked Luc’s hair, feeling the fine tremors racing through the child’s body. “Do you believe your Mom can do just about anything?” he whispered.
Luc nodded solemnly. “Y-yes. She’s the b-best.”
Adam felt Luc’s belief in his mother bolster both their spirits. “Well, so do I. So if *I* fall? She’ll just have to catch us, won’t she?”
“She won’t let us fall.”
Adam could hear the clarity in the careful way Luc pronounced those words. “No, she won’t let us fall,” Adam echoed.
As he felt the boy relax against him, Adam sighed with relief, thinking, There are damn few people I would trust to catch me. Thank God she’s down there.
“Jamie!”
“Yeah, Pete?” James surreptitiously wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead. He couldn’t be perspiring. What was he doing that was so labor-intensive? Just…just…waiting on his significant other. Hand and foot.
“Could you get me a glass of water?”
“Another one?” James couldn’t keep from saying.
“Please?”
That did it. James couldn’t turn down an entreaty like that one. When Smoke uttered anything in that low growl, James melted like butter. “Okay, mate,” he replied in his familiar Aussie drawl.
“I like that,” Smoke whispered, his light blue-gray eyes catching fire like so much kindling.
“Like what?”
Smoke blushed intensely, and for a moment, James wondered just how far down that blush went. “When you call me your mate.”
James looked puzzled, then startled as he suddenly realized that this would not be a good time to explain to Smoke that the word had more than one meaning. He sat down on the bed, gazing affectionately at his lover. “That’s what you are, Pete. My mate.”
Restlessly running his thumb over Smoke’s lips, which were healing nicely in the aftermath of the assault, James contemplated kissing him. Unfortunately, there were very few places on Smoke’s slender frame that were *not* covered in bruises or abrasions of varying colors. Changing the subject to distract himself from making love to him right then and there, James asked, “How do your ribs feel?”
Smoke shifted, an involuntary wince escaping his control. “Umm…a bit better, I think.”
All at once James brightened. “Hey, how would you like to take a walk later? Get some exercise? It’d be good for you.”
Smoke shivered. “Do you think I should, Jamie? It’s so cold out today.” As if just the thought made him cold, Smoke pulled the covers up to his neck, his fingers peeking over the top.
“Pete?” James frowned. Lightly stroking Smoke’s cheek with his fingertip, James pondered the change in his lover. “Are you afraid to go outside?”
Smoke shook his head. He wasn’t *afraid*. He had been through much, much worse. Alone. When he was much younger and completely unprepared.
“But you haven’t been out since…y’know, since that night.”
“It’s not that, Jamie.” Smoke averted his face, all too expressive and all too readable by his partner.
"But it *is* something, right?”
Smoke closed his eyes. How could he admit that he loved being spoiled by James? That he loved spending his days in bed, a la Camille, just so that James could cosset and comfort him? Mind you, he *wanted* to get better. He wanted to return to school. He wanted to return to his job taking care of the kennels. But most of all, he wanted, no, *longed* for the day when he and James could make love again.
That was the tradeoff of all this tea and sympathy. The more fragile Smoke appeared, the more affectionate James became. Up to a very important point. Smoke was certain that James was convinced that they shouldn’t make love until Smoke’s ribs were totally healed.
It might be months. Smoke was damned if he would wait that long.
“Jamie…” Smoke whispered, his eyes suddenly bright and seeking. “You know what I need…” he purred.
James shook his head. Not because the unspoken question tried his intellect. He knew that they both needed to reaffirm their love in the physical sense. But he would never willingly hurt Smoke, and hurting him seemed all too likely, given the nature of his injuries.
Maybe. Oh, hell, maybe *he* was the one who had issues. With his own powerlessness to prevent Smoke’s assault. With the multi-colored bruises a constant in-his-face reminder of what happened.
“Jamie?” Smoke sat up with great difficulty, clutching at James’ hand for balance. Nearly exhausted by the effort, he studied his lover. “Jamie, we need to talk.”
James lowered his head with a sigh. Plucking anxiously at the comforter that covered his partner, James whispered almost inaudibly, “I should’ve been there, Pete. I should’ve kept you safe.”
Smoke’s improbably light eyes widened in astonishment. “*You* should’ve kept *me*? I was a street fighter way back, Jamie. You—you’re a—a—teacher!”
James swung around to stare at Smoke. “You don’t think I could have?”
“That’s not what I said. Jamie…” Smoke reached out and caressed the back of James’ hand.
James’ deep blue eyes glistened with unshed tears. “You came so close to—“ He swallowed hard. “To—to d-dying. I—I don’t want to lose you, Pete.”
“I don’t want to lose you either, Jamie. I love you.”
“Oh, Pete.”
Smoke placed his hands on James’ shoulders and pulled himself closer, even though it hurt. Kissing James’ ear, he whispered, “I need you. Please.”
James started to shake his head, but Smoke caught his face between his hands. Fear was evident in James’ eyes now. “But what if I hurt y--?”
“What if you do, Jamie?” Smoke kissed him tenderly, feeling the tiny gasp of breath that marked James’ surprise.
“Then we’ll both know I’m still alive,” Smoke whispered against his mouth. “Alive…and well…and loved.”
“Always, Pete.”
“Show me.”
And he did.
It was a good thing that Adam was able to rescue Luc successfully. The look on Michael’s face gave away nothing. But if they could have looked inside, they would have seen the emotional turmoil swirling around his gut. Christ, he hadn’t been this afraid since…they first escaped Section. And that wasn’t because they faced almost certain death at every turn. It was because he feared losing the only thing that still mattered to him. Nikita.
He listened to the entire story, start to finish, his expression never changing. For a moment, he thought, I should have been here. But he dismissed that as so much fleeting guilt.
Michael thrust a hand through Nikita’s long pale hair, anchoring her body to his. He glanced at her, wondering if she could feel the fine tremors racing through him. Not from excitement, but from fear. How would she feel about that? Her dark knight trembling? Her most ardent protector shivering where he stood?
Her gaze caught and held him. She knew. She always knew. Emotional, intuitive…she kept his heart safely in her grasp. His hand tightened almost convulsively on her hair, but she didn’t flinch. Her light blue eyes softened as they took in his face. So familiar. So beloved.
“Michael, they’re both okay.”
He nodded absently.
“Luc thinks he had an adventure,” she said with a chuckle. “Adam stayed calm through the whole thing. You would have been proud of him, Michael. Really.”
She squeezed Michael’s hand lightly, and he felt warmth begin to flood back into his body, which had gone strangely cold minutes before, almost as though he were in shock. “I know how you feel,” she whispered conspiratorially.
His now-dark grey eyes flickered across her face. His other hand came up to cup her cheek, and she leaned into it, savoring the gentle caresses that came afterwards. “Michael?” she said softly.
“Your son saved our son.”
His hands released her, only to pull her closer, as he buried his face against the side of her neck. “They’re both ours now, doucette.”
She closed her eyes and held him, pushing aside several clinging tendrils of silky brown hair to splay her fingers across the nape of his neck. “Yes, they are.”
It was as if the world had been righted somehow. This was the way things were meant to be.
***
When dinnertime came, everyone held their collective breath as Michael sat down at the table. As usual, Luc enthusiastically broke the silence. “Daddy! Daddy! I got stuck up on the roof today! But Adam res-res-ummm--?” He glanced at his half-brother, and Adam smiled.
“Rescued?” Adam supplied.
“That’s it!” Luc beamed at the teenager. “He rescued me!”
Adam’s dark brown eyes slid carefully over his father’s face, taking note of his calm demeanor. He had been so sure that Michael would react predictably and angrily. Instead Michael picked up a spoon and helped himself to the mashed potatoes.
Frowning, Adam asked, “Don’t you want to know how he got up there?”
Michael met his oldest son’s gaze evenly. “I assume he climbed.”
Adam shrugged. “Then wouldn’t you like to know why he climbed up there?”
Michael smiled at Luc before turning back to face Adam again. “I imagine he thought he could make the plane fly.”
“Aren’t you going to forbid him to go up there again?” Adam asked, completely perplexed at Michael’s non-reaction.
“Luc, would you get me a glass of water please?” Michael asked his youngest son, effectively banishing him from the table for a moment or two.
Once Luc was in the kitchen, Michael addressed Adam, “I’m sure nearly falling off the roof of a three-story house was more than enough to convince Luc not to do it again. There would be no point in me scaring him half to death at this point, would there?”
“But…” Adam almost looked hurt. “How will he know that you care what happens to him?”
They were interrupted by Luc’s return, a full glass of water teetering precariously in his hands. “Here, Daddy. Didn’t spill any.”
“Thank you, Luc.” Michael accepted the glass of water and put it down firmly on the table before continuing. “Luc?”
Luc looked up into his father’s face expectantly. “Yes, Daddy?”
Michael reached out to grasp both of Luc’s shoulders. “I’m glad you didn’t get hurt today.”
“Me, too.” Luc scooted closer to his father, pulling his head down for a sloppy kiss. “I was scared, Daddy. Till Adam came,” he admitted, albeit in a whisper no one but Michael could hear. “I’m glad you didn’t yell at me. I won’t ever do it again,” he said with a slight shudder.
“I know,” Michael agreed, emotion choking him despite his considerable control. “I love you, Luc.”
Luc wound his arms around Michael’s neck so tightly, it was almost a stranglehold. “Me, too, Daddy.”
Adam felt tears spring into his eyes at the sight of Michael’s obvious devotion to Luc. He wished—he wished that things could have been different for him and Michael. He wished that *he* could have had that kind of relationship with him. He—Jeez, he was too old to cry like a little kid.
Michael looked up, his own eyes wet, and reached out a hand to Adam. “Come.”
Adam started to refuse. He felt completely self-conscious, not to mention embarrassed, that he even betrayed such a meager show of emotion. But there was something about Michael’s expression that drew him in. He was allowing Adam to see something that few people could.
He *did* care. And he was letting him in. Close enough to hurt.
“Please,” Michael beckoned.
“D-Dad,” Adam’s voice broke. As soon as he reached Michael, Michael pulled him into an embrace just as snug as the one that enveloped Luc.
“Thank you for saving Luc,” Michael whispered, his breath ruffling Adam’s hair.
Adam closed his eyes and willed himself not to cry.
“I’m so proud of what you did,” Michael admitted, every word feeling as if it were pulled from the depths he never let anyone see.
Adam couldn’t help it. A single tear trickled down his cheek, surely the prelude to more. “Daddy,” he choked out.
“Maybe I didn’t tell you when you first came, but…I love you, Adam. More than I can tell you.”
The words might be softly spoken, but the emotion behind them was so intense, no one else dared speak, for fear of disturbing them.
Adam summoned a strength he rarely used to acknowledge feelings that had been left hanging in the balance all those years ago. “I love you, too, Daddy.”
And Michael wept. The years might be lost to him forever, but his son was not.