Wait, wait, don't read that one!

[dashamte]

An error I can't fix because I don't have the stupid password!



Jack, as always, was scrupulously polite to Al. Even after all this time he still felt a little awkward, but sincerity and kindness went a long way to covering that. It wasn't really necessary; Al certainly understood where Jack was coming from, although he was a decade past feeling uncomfortable himself.

This trip Jack had tried several times to convince Al to stay for the night. Marcia had gone to Joel's (not because of the revelation, it had been worked out in advance) so there would hardly be a line for the bathroom. He was Al's friend, wasn't he? All was welcome in his home. There was no reason to hurry off in the middle of the night.

But Al had been looking forward to the Washington trip for a while. "It's not that late, Jack, and anyway, I had a nap on your couch this afternoon." While Sam attended the conference, Al was driving the rental car up to the convent where his sister lived. He'd get to spend a few days in the guest house outside the convent entrance. He made the visit as often as he could, but Sam knew it wasn't ever enough.

Smiling and telling bad jokes, Al checked the luggage and made sure he was taking the right bag. He said good-bye to Sam. He leaned down and gave Jack a brief, hard hug. With a last 'you kids have fun, now," he was gone.

"I suppose my kitchen is spotless," Jack said flatly, looking at his closed front door.

"Practically an operating room," Sam confirmed.

Jack nodded. He poured two glasses of wine, set them on the table in the living room, and transferred to the couch. Sam sat beside him, close enough that their shoulders almost touched, and reached across Jack to claim his glass of wine. He considered trying to ignore the whole disaster and distract Jack with something pleasant or at least comforting. It probably wouldn't work, though. So he said, "You're thinking about it, of course."

Jack nodded. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

"What are you going to do?"

That earned him a bitter laugh. "What can I do? She wants this. She wants a normal life like a regular human being--"

Sam straightened. "Sentinels are--"

"Company employees are not!" Jack snapped. And then he took a shuddering breath. "But she has found a completely mundane, upstanding man who adores her."

"If she succeeds...your family will become something very different from what it is now." He tried to banish wistful thoughts of Sammy-Jo. He owed Jack Kelso his full attention, not the leakage from his own parenthood issues. "It's quite something, having a baby around." Jack didn't respond at all. Carefully, he added, "In Brittan it's a sacred thing when your sentinel has a baby. Imagine, if next summer, Marcia kneels down and hands you a--"

"Don't. Don't. This may very well end with me losing both of them. Bad enough, Marcia, but don't--Don't--"

"You're not going to get attached to the idea of a baby."

"Talk to me in March," Jack said bitterly. "If they're both still alive."

"Hmmmm." Sam wondered just how far this defeatism extended. He should have had a long talk with John. "Keep up with the anthropology literature?"

Jack gave him in impatient, tired look. "Some."

"Schepper-Hughes. Death Without Weeping."

"No," Jack said. It wasn't a denial that he had read it.

"Some of those children die because there really is no hope. But some of them die because their parents assume the battle is over as soon as they get sick."

"So you suggest I commit to this child right now?"

"Yeah, I think so....Jack, you're not going to succeed in not caring, anyway. So you might as well admit it and do your best."

"And when...."

"If. And if it happens, then it will break your heart. It will be horrible. And you'll comfort yourself with the knowledge that Marcia was free and following her dreams and it was a chance worth taking. That's all any of us have, the chance to follow our dreams. And--if--well...you won't be alone. Your friends will be with you."

Jack snorted and rubbed his eyes again. "You are...impossible. At this moment, I hate you."

"I'll help you. As much as I can."

Jack turned toward Sam and laid his head on Sam's shoulder. Sam wiggled sideways and set his untouched wine on the table. He settled his arms as much as he could around Jack's broad shoulders.

After a few minutes he said, "You're going to have to start asking for help."

"I consult--"

"I don't just mean for your partner's medical issues. For personal things. For you."

Jack considered that. "Well. I do. I mean--"

Sam sighed. "Jack, I didn't find out you'd been shot for a month. And only because John told me. Shot, Jack. You could have called me. You should have."

"I'm not a sentinel. I didn't need a specialist in sentinel medicine."

Sam took a breath and counted to ten in German. "No. Not as a doctor. As your friend. As a partner. Because you were shot." And then you fought pneumonia for a month. And you almost died. And when I finally was let in the loop, I could hardly yell at you then, but, damn it, Jack this next task you're taking on, you won't leave me out of that, too. Sam swallowed hard and looked away.

Jack lifted his head and smiled at him sadly. "There aren't any strings, Sam. This isn't that kind of relationship."

"Really? Somehow 'no strings' translates for you into thinking I wouldn't want anyone to mention it if you were shot?"

Jack started to argue. He stopped and considered. "You're hurt."

Quick and direct, but guides generally didn't have a problem talking about feelings. Good. Jack was in a bad place, but not so far gone. "Of course I'm hurt, but that's not the point I was making."

Jack appeared to be thinking. Sam let him. He stretched and sipped his wine and did his best to look unhurried. Finally Jack said, "Gay agents don't...date. At least, not then. I've spent the last decade trying to figure out how to have a healthy relationship with partners. The sentinel kind of partner. I...."

"Well, I think you've got that one licked," Sam said finally. "I think it's time to branch out."

"Licked? What do--?"

"Can you really not have noticed? At different times tonight there were four other sentinels between you and Marcia and she never twitched a brow. That's not even unusual anymore, is it? She was trained to see that as a threat, a challenge, the kind of insult she 'shouldn't have to' take." Jack didn't answer. "That happens all the time, doesn't it?"

"She's mellowed a bit since she started dating," Jack protested thinly.

"They're not supposed to 'mellow' out of those attitudes. I've worked with sentinels retired from the army for twenty years who hadn't gotten over it. The guides and I have to do a little dance in the examining room so I don't step between them accidently."

"I should have been paying attention to this," Jack said slowly.

"You've been busy. But speaking of sentinels, can you enlist Jim's help with keeping an eye on Marcia? Will he do that for you, and will she tolerate it? Because his sense of smell.... I'm trained and I could barely detect her pregnancy. I think he did it in less than a minute."

Jack swallowed, but didn't answer.

"Would he do that for you?"

"Yeah, I think he would. He thinks he...owes me."

"Hmmm. I don't think that would be why," Sam said. "His body language....He trusts you. I could tell he was trying to behave himself for company, but he stepped into your intimate space at least six times tonight. And he came close but fought the impulse several more times besides."

"My god, tell me you weren't professionally observing my dinner guests!"

Sam winced. "No. I noticed because every time he did it I felt jealous."

Jack goggled so hard he gave himself a coughing fit. "Absolutely not!" he managed at last, a completely incoherent protest.

"Well, obviously. Neither one of you spiked that kind of pheromone. I do know better."

"So what is the point of this?"

"The point is, all the nonverbals from both of you don't say 'dinner guest,' they say 'family.' If you see what I mean. Jack, all your work on intimacy and compassion and the connections between human beings....you've gone so much further than you expected here. It's more than just how sentinels and guides relate. It's your whole life. You need to stop and look around. And not just at the family you've made here in Cascade, but at me."

Jack lowered his eyes. Sam breathed in gently. He smelled hunger and a little embarrassment. "You're reaching, Jack. You've been reaching for years, and people are reaching back. But you're too busy worrying about the past to notice."

"That's not....No, that is a fair accusation, I suppose. Marcia has made it more than once."

"Right. So. Here's what you need to pay attention to right now. I love you," Sam swallowed, acutely aware that he was out on a limb here, even though he knew Jack loved him back with a quiet sweetness. But it was also clear that Jack had been exhausted for months and frightened for weeks and he wasn't thinking clearly. "Which I am not saying to trap you. I know we're on different paths. And I know sooner or later you might...find the kind of relationship that...that wouldn't be compatible with this. With us. I accept that. What would be a hell of a lot harder to accept, though, is if I get another call from John, and this one says you're dead."

"Sam." A denial.

Sam shook his head. "No," he answered. It was a promise, and Jack must have heard it that way and believed it, because at that moment everything changed. Fear broke apart into hope, and it was...it was....

Sam was touching Jack, nearly coiled around him; he felt the muscles ever so slightly unlock, heard the heartbeat quicken, smelled the chemistry change. The scent was like trees after rain, so clean and innocent after the reek of despair.

Without meaning to, Sam whimpered.

Jack kissed him. His mouth was sweet and agile. Sam's body--he hadn't been paying attention to controlling his own responses. A moment ago it hadn't been remotely necessary. Now his libido slammed into him like an express bus and he threw his head back and gasped for air, trying to gain some control or at least coherence.

Jack slipped his hand under the hem of Sam's sweater and ran his fingers over the unprotected skin of Sam's belly. The world whited out. Distantly, Sam heard himself whimpering again. Jack said something. Sam had no idea what: the rhythm of the words skipped Sam's ears and teased at his bones. Desperately, Sam ground out, "Wait. I'm not--" He couldn't think of the next word. Or, rather, the next word floated up in French and German, but not in English. Gotov? No, that was Russian.

Jack's hands paused, but didn't retreat. "You're not in charge," he said, and no, that wasn't it, Sam certainly wasn't going to complain about that. But Jack was still talking. "I always make you take the lead. But that's not what you really want, Sam. You want to let go."

"Oh, boy," Sam gulped. No, Jack had never done this before.

Jack kissed him in the hollow behind his right ear and Sam felt the world white out again, this time turning his entire body luminescent and washing his vision with a silver glow so brilliant that he had to close his eyes. Sam couldn't remember how to pant his way through the waves of heat and light that felt so good but made it completely impossible to think.

"Do you want a safe word?" Jack whispered.

"No." Oh, no. No, no. If he asked for anything--if he could speak, if he could remember any words--Jack would give it to him. Jack wasn't playing games. There was no worry he wasn't 'safe.'

Jack was stripping off Sam's sweater, his strong hands dancing across more and more skin. Sam's body arched helplessly, seeking more contact, more warmth, more sweetness, more more.

He lost track of almost everything, then. He was distantly aware of Jack, the irresistible smell of his arousal, the driving thump of his heart, the wild taste of is mouth. The rest of the universe was lost in a flood of shimmering brilliance. Sam was long past knowing if he was whimpering or not.

When he could form a thought again he was sitting with his head in Jack's lap. He smiled.

Jack smiled back. "I'm sorry," he said gently. "I should have had the nerve to do that sooner."

Sam giggled involuntarily. "You--" He cleared his throat. "You make it sound like we've been having bad sex."

"Not that." Fondly, Jack stroked Sam's hair.

It wrung another sigh out of him. It would be so easy to go to sleep now....Sam's eyes popped open. Jack could not spend the night on the couch. Sam took a deep breath to try to come down, but the deep breath was a mistake: the air felt nearly solid and it prickled besides. The sting reminded him that the clothing he was still wearing felt like sandpaper against his skin. He was wide open, and everything was just too much. Finding his center--no, impossible. The only input that wasn't overwhelming--the only thing that felt natural and pleasant and safe--was Jack's hand on his forehead.

He needed to think of something, pull back from the moment a bit so he could come down. He really, really shouldn't have lost control here, but it was done now, and he needed to come back to himself and get his senses turned down, but all he could think of was Jack, and that would only lead him further into the sensory openness that had already turned raw.

And maybe Jack understood that, because he looked thoughtfully into Sam's eyes and said, "I read your review of Baker's new book. You don't actually thing he's an egotistical moron."

What? Oh. Baker had been the evening speaker at that conference in Knoxville. "I don't think I actually said 'moron.' And I'd heard him on that topic before. Really, we didn't miss anything." About four months after Rodney had broken his arm, Sam had run into Jack at a professional conference on workplace hazards. They had ditched Saturday night's rubber chicken dinner for Indian food and an acoustic folk concert at a tiny deco theater. Sam smiled. "The music was much better."

"That's what you say," Jack murmured, his finger tips still threading through Sam's hair. "I've heard you sing, though. You have better pitch than that lead singer. It must have been torture."

A warm laugh bubbled up. "It's not the skill, it's the enthusiasm." They had been so earnest. You couldn't fake that. The laugh escaped again.

"Sam? You all right? How about you open your eyes?"

"No. 'M fine. I'm coming down. Promise. Just....taking a minute. Hmmmm. The cheesecake was good."

"What cheesecake? Sam, you'd tell me if you ...." he trailed off, smelling slightly worried.

Sam didn't like the smell, so he explained, "After the concert. In my hotel room." When they got back to the convention center, Sam had told Jack he'd had cake that needed to be eaten, and invited him up for a snack.

"Ah," and he could hear Jack's smile. "I see. Yes, that was....It was a lovely night. In retrospect, I'm very impressed at how well you constructed a first date on short notice."

Sam grunted. "Short notice. I worked on it for a month!"

"You couldn't have--you didn't know I would be there." Genuine surprise. Which would be a bit insulting if Sam didn't still have his head in the clouds; surely Jack knew him well enough by not to know that while Sam wasn't monogamous he certainly wasn't casual. He didn't pick up people--even brilliant, kind, capable people--on a whim.

"John told me."

"Ah. That...explains a lot, actually."

When they were halfway into the cake, Sam had set down his fork and asked very seriously what Jack had heard about his personal life. Jack had carefully scraped a forkful of blueberry sauce off his cheesecake and piled it at the edge of his plate.
Then he'd looked up and said, "You're bisexual and polyamorous. You're effectively married to your guide, although he prefers women, and also to two wives. And you collect lovers...whom you treat very well and remain friends with even after the relationship ends."

Sam felt his heat rise a bit and hoped the blush didn't show. "Well. That was succinct."

"John made a point of telling me. At the time it sounded as though he were giving me advance warning of...well. Ahem. At the time it seemed absolutely absurd."

Sam tried a charming smile, but he knew he wasn't faking a confidence he didn't feel. Yes, he could smell Jack Kelso's interest, but there were reasons to say no. Imminent awkwardness and disappointment loomed. "And now?"

"About half an hour ago I decided he was right." He lifted his full fork. "Cake? Really? Why not just invite me up to see your etchings?"

"Plan B was reviewing a manuscript." Sam swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. "Have I offended you?"

"You have to be kidding! This is the most...interesting proposition I've ever gotten that didn't involve something that's still classified."

"Is that yes?" Sam struggled to keep himself from smiling too soon.

"It's maybe. I'd like to ask...why? You've met me once. And you know dozens of people here, I'm sure, that is--"

"Well, that's a fair question. And I'm just sorry I don't know how to answer it. I mean, I only have the obvious answer, and that may not be enough.... I watched you save a man's life, and it wasn't just your skills or your job, but your compassion and patience and forgiveness and...and an utter unwillingness to give up that did it. You were magnificent. You were beautiful. And I haven't been able to stop thinking about it."

Jack blinked at him. He went scent neutral and his heart rate dropped noticeably. It must be some kind of espionage guide discipline kicking in, a response to stress. Well, darn. "Are you angry?"

"I'm astonished."

"Oh, come on! You knew I liked you! I was hardly subtle about it."

"Oh, no, no. It's your existence that is astonishing. Being a doctor isn't enough to keep you occupied, so you've turned your extraordinary bandwidth to--to--to--what exactly did you have in mind? Dating?"

"Yeah, pretty much." He didn't say that he had degrees in history and music and anthropology and modern languages and all of it was dull beside how utterly amazing other people could be--that sounded arrogant and like a really cheesy line, never mind that it was true.

Jack was nodding, though, and that was encouraging. "And the people you're married to really don't...mind?"

"Al bought the cake."

Jack looked at his fork, absently playing with blueberry sauce. "And this works out well? Usually?"

"Usually. Not...always, but usually. My child has four parents. Nobody expects anybody to meet all of their needs. Nobody owns anybody else. We have a huge incentive to be honest and respectful."

Jack hesitated for a moment. Then he said, "Do I need to mention that the sex will probably be inconvenient and require creative thinking?"

Sam smiled slowly. "Yes, and probably more than once. And at some point we may have to make diagrams."

Jack had laughed at that.

Two months later there was another conference in Oklahoma City: Thai food and acoustic guitar at the oddest concert venue ever called the Blue Door. Four months later in Santa Barbara, though, Sam was queasy from a bad flight and spiking a little, so they had neither the interesting dinner nor the folk concert. Instead, Sam had curled into a miserable ball on the bed in their hotel room while Jack read The Cat Who Walked Through Walls aloud.

That memory steadied him considerably; both the distant echoes of queasiness and the lifeline of Jack's voice. Sam took a deep breath, found it didn't burn at all, took another. He reached out and squeezed the couch cushion. The texture wasn't unusually distracting. Sam took another breath and sat up, pushing his hair out of his eyes.

"You okay?" Jack asked.

Sam swallowed a sudden lump in his throat. He nodded. "Yeah...."

Jack smiled.

Sam cleared his throat. "Let's get off the couch? Take this where there's a little more room?"

Jack's smile faded a bit. "I'm pretty restless at night these days," he said. "You might want to do your actual sleeping in the den."

Sam leaned forward, trying not to sniff too obviously: satisfaction, affection, a little embarrassment. What about? sleeping badly? "Let's give it a try. All right?"

"All right. I need a shower. You could...join me?"

Sam smiled. "Oh. Yeah."

"Also--I have to ask. Nonny is penned up in the side yard. Can you stand having a dog in the house? If you can't--"

"No, that's fine. You get started in the bathroom and I'll go let her in and lock up."

The night was pleasantly cool and Sam could smell rain in the clouds. He turned off the flood lights and toed off his shoes before stepping out the back door. The concrete path was rough and cold against the soles of his feet. Fallen leaves rattled a bit, tossed by the breeze. Across the street a door slammed. In the side yard Anonymous Source whined as she heard him coming to let her out. Sam hummed to himself as he walked around the house.

End