Declan approached Smoke the way he would an unknown target. On the way over to Davenport's house, he repeatedly asked himself whose side he was on, eventually concluding that it was a draw. If he had to choose, he would say James, but only by virtue of knowing him for scant seconds longer.

“Smoke.”

The man in question immediately backed up, as if he were ready to bolt. “I'm not going back with you.”

“That's not why I came.”

“Then why did you? It's not even your fight.”

Declan shrugged. “I don't care what drove you apart. Only what it'll take to get you back together again.”

Smoke set his mouth tightly, but it was hard to tell if he was angry or if he was trying not to cry. “I need time to work things out,” he began.

Declan nodded. “I agree. I'm not here to argue that point.”

“Then I don't understand.” The younger man looked genuinely confused. From what Declan could remember, Smoke was not one for playing games. According to James, his “Pete” didn't have a devious bone in his body.

“Smoke…you must know how badly you hurt James.”

“That's between us! How can you come here and—and—dammit, why don't you just leave me alone?” That was when Declan saw how badly James hurt Smoke. It wasn't one-sided at all.

Declan's voice was soft and low, even compelling in a way, forcing Smoke to listen. “You can have all the time and space that you need, boyo. Just do me one favor. Call James and let him know where you are.”

Smoke shook his head mutely.

“Is it that you can't talk to him, or that you won't?”

Smoke looked absolutely terrified. “I-I c-can't.”

“What are you afraid of?”

“If I talk to him, I'll go back. Without ever changing a thing.”

“Are you sure? It would help if you could at least talk to James.”

“I can't,” Smoke whispered.

“Don't you love him anymore then?”

“Don't you see how much I love him?” Smoke turned away, a shiver working its way through his slender body.

“Then why aren't you together?”

Smoke started to answer, and then apparently thought better of it. “I promise I'll call him,” he said in a low voice.

“Today.”

He nodded, his fingers twisting and twining and betraying his inner anxiety in a way that mere words could not.

“Smoke.” Declan reached out and touched him on the arm. This time, Smoke was prepared and he didn't jump away. But Declan could sense his uneasiness.

“I know where you're coming from.” Smoke raised startled eyes to Declan's. “I do. I've been there. And no, I don't bloody well want to talk about it either.” Pause. “But I will…if it'll help you.”

But Smoke couldn't take that step yet. It was way too soon. So he settled for a faint smile and a noncommittal look.

After a long while, Declan thought about giving up, but Smoke seemed close to deciding something. So he waited.

“Maybe there is something you could do for me?”

Declan smiled encouragingly.

“I want to go back to school. Could you help me with that?”

“Now that's something I can do.”

James fell asleep with his head down on the kitchen table. He had promised Sey that he would sleep. He just hadn't said where. He still couldn't bring himself to go back to the bedroom he shared with Smoke.

The phone hadn't rung all day. James gave up hoping that Smoke would call, eventually succumbing to fatigue.

When the phone finally did ring, James missed it. He groped for the receiver, knocking it off the hook and onto the floor. By the time he managed to grasp the phone in hands made clumsy by sleep, whoever it was had hung up.

Reluctantly getting up, James stretched and made his way into the bathroom for a much-needed shower. He was just coming out of the bathroom, one towel wrapped about his waist, another towel in his hands, drying his hair, when he realized that the light on the answering machine was flashing.

He'd missed another phone call?

A frown marring his otherwise smooth forehead, James pressed the button. As much as he'd anticipated it, the sound of Smoke's voice, husky with unshed tears, still took James by surprise.

“Jamie?”

“I guess you're not home.” Smoke sounded simultaneously disappointed and relieved.

“Declan wanted me to tell you where I am.” Oh? You wouldn't have called me otherwise? Thanks a lot.

“I'm staying with Davenport. Working with the dogs.” That was interesting. About the dogs, not Davenport. James continued to dry his hair, wondering idly if he was beginning to get used to the idea that Smoke was somewhere else. Somewhere he wasn't. Then it hit him.

“There was something else, Jamie. I…” There was a lot of muttered cursing, some of it in French, which James couldn't quite make out.

“Try not to hate me too much. I miss you, Jamie…and I…I do love you.” A barely-concealed sniffle interrupted the next part of the message.

Suddenly there was nothing but the sound of a dial tone. James stood there, rooted to the spot, unable to move, tears coursing silently down his cheeks. “Pete…” he whispered, his lower lip trembling.

“Please come back.”

For the next few weeks, the pattern was set. Smoke would call, but always when James was out. James could have called him, but he knew he wouldn't take his calls. So James would sit at the kitchen table and listen to Smoke's messages, over and over again, like an endless playlist of inspirational poetry.

Sometimes he cried silently. Sometimes it was all he could do not to get into the car and drive to Davenport's. And sometimes he wondered if Smoke knew what all this was doing to him.

He was grateful for his new job. Thanks to Michael, he had already started working at the University. Prepping for the classes he would soon take over from an overworked faculty. Concentrating on doing a good job helped him get through the days, but it did nothing for the nights.

Nights were the worst. Alone at home. No interest in watching TV. No interest in going out. What friends he'd once had grew tired of asking him to come out with them. But that was nothing compared to the nightmares he had whenever he slept in “their” bed. There wasn't much room on the couch in what passed for a living room, but it was the only place that James felt safe enough to sleep.

Sey had given James the rudimentary tools with which to win back Smoke's trust. But James despaired of having to wait much longer. What if Smoke never let him make it up to him? How could he court him when they were never in the same place anymore?

Suddenly James decided that he couldn't wait for Smoke to realize that they belonged together, no matter what mistakes either of them had made or would make in the future. No, he had to convince him. Beyond a shadow of a doubt.

He went to work with a renewed sense of hope in his heart. He would see Smoke today; he would tell him, no, show him how much he needed him. But it didn't happen exactly the way he thought it would.

“You're taking my freshman English course this morning, James. I hope you don't mind,” Michael said. He wanted the morning off because he planned to surprise Nikita with a three-day weekend at the Chateau.

“Not at all, Michael,” James readily agreed, stuffing an extra copy of Canterbury Tales in his satchel.

James smiled as he headed in the direction of Michael's lecture hall. Once he might have been seriously intimidated by the thought of teaching anything to 250 plus students. Now he felt like he could handle anything.

Anything, that is, that didn't include facing his estranged lover in the first row of the class.

“Smoke?” James gasped as what was left of his color disappeared.

“You must have me mixed up with someone else,” said the young man sitting in the first row of the lecture hall. He crossed his jeans-clad legs and folded back the cover of his spiral notebook, looking every inch the attentive student.

James literally backed up into the podium, nearly upsetting it in the process. Flustered, he crept behind the podium, drawing on all his inner reserves to regain his natural poise. He was just starting to read the class roster when he heard it. Whispering, loud enough to carry to where he stood, from the front row.

“You know the sub?” asked the boy next to Smoke.

“No, we've never met before,” said Smoke, looking straight at James.

When James heard his former lover deny knowing him, something inside him snapped. Two could play that game.

How he got through the lecture he didn't know. His mind kept wandering back to where Smoke sat, calmly taking notes.

At the end of the lecture, he found himself almost overjoyed to dismiss the class. At last, at last he could get to the bottom of this mystery that confronted him. And he would, make no mistake about it.

The lecture hall was nearly empty by the time Smoke got to his feet, slowly putting on his black leather jacket. He was just lifting his hair up so that it didn't go inside his collar when he saw James approach.

“What the hell are you doing here, Smoke?”

Smoke continued to adjust his clothing, but he never took his light blue-gray eyes off James. “I told you. There is no one here named Smoke.”

“Then who the hell are you?” James growled, on the verge of losing control.

“Just Pete,” Smoke said quietly.

Hurt blossomed in James' deep blue eyes. “You can't be. Pete belongs to me.”

Smoke took a halting step forward and stopped. “Pete still belongs to you, Jamie.”

“Does he?” James hated the quaver in his voice, but he couldn't help it.

Suddenly Declan and Sey appeared from somewhere behind James. And neither of them was too happy, by the look of them.

“Cool it, Shakespeare! I'll get to you in a moment!” Declan said to James, pointing his finger at the younger man in dismay.

“Christ! Can't you even follow directions?” Declan said, addressing no one in particular.

James and Smoke turned as one to face Declan. Declan was shaking his head, completely astonished at how two people who loved each other so much could get things so terribly wrong.

“What did I tell you, Smoke?”

All at once Smoke looked hesitant. “That I should take all the time and space that I needed to work through things.”

“All the time and space, yes! A bloody lifetime, no! This man's been waiting for you for weeks now, while you torture him to death, leaving cryptic messages on the answering machine!” Smoke couldn't help but back up. He could feel Declan invading his space, even though physically, Declan hadn't moved an inch.

“I never meant for you to make James wait while you carved out a whole new life for yourself, Smoke! One that doesn't seem to have a place in it for James!”

At a loss for words, Smoke merely stared at his former benefactor.

Sey gave the younger man a compassionate glance before fixing his own gaze on James. “And you! What did I tell you, James?”

James could feel himself color. “That I should find out what Smoke wanted and give it to him. That I should court him. Show him how much he means to me.”

Smoke dropped the spiral notebook he was holding with a loud clatter. To say he was shocked would be an understatement.

“Well, what are you waiting for? An engraved invitation? If we left it to you two, you'd both be old and gray before you ever spoke face to face again!”

James hung his head. “I thought he knew how I felt,” he whispered.

Sey cocked his head, straining to hear what James said. “What's that? You were waiting for Smoke to read your mind, maybe?”

Now both men looked completely miserable. James glanced quickly at Smoke before asking Sey, “Isn't there some way to fix this?”

Sey nodded. “I've got a great idea.” He looked at Declan, who gave his own lover a bemused smile, seemingly content to let Sey run the show now.

Taking each man by the hand, he made them face one another. “Now look at each other.” When both of them had difficulty making eye contact, Sey groaned, “Oh, come on, guys, you can do better than that. You've been married for five years, for Christ's sake. Act like it.”

Smoke piped up, “But won't it just complicate things, if we—?”

“If you what? Touch each other? Shit, Smoke. You don't think things are freaking complicated now?”

“Look at each other,” he commanded.

It took several seconds, but eventually they complied. “Greatttt…” Sey drawled. Declan chuckled softly, admiring his lover's handiwork.

Folding his arms in front of him, Sey surveyed the still-estranged couple. “You're damn lucky. Most people don't get another shot once they blow something this badly.”

Indicating Smoke, Sey told James, “Jamie, I'd like you to meet Pete. Say hi to Pete.”

“Hi, Pete,” James said quite breathlessly.

Gesturing at James, Sey introduced the other man. “And Pete…this is Jamie. Say hi.”

“Hi, Jamie,” Smoke said, unable to take his eyes off James' face.

“Shake hands.”

That took both men by surprise. But one cross look from Sey and it was accomplished.

“See? That wasn't so bad, was it? You've just met. All over again. Now kiss each other.”

Casting a startled glance at Sey, James stammered, “I d-don't th-think I can d-do that, Sey.”

“Who's in charge, me or you? And if you say “you”, you can just go back to fighting with each other and pining away for the next hundred years for all I care.”

Smoke bit his lip before leaning over and kissing James on the cheek. James turned his head, as quick as that, and their mouths met, for the first time in weeks. Smoke broke away, panting, as James rested his forehead on Smoke's.

“Oh, Pete…” he said in a fervent whisper, his hands cradling Smoke's beloved face.

Suddenly raising his eyes to meet Smoke's, James let all of the emotion he'd so carefully controlled until now shine through. “I'm sorry I took you for granted. I'm sorry if I did anything that made you feel less of a person than me. I'm—“

Smoke cut off his next sentence with another kiss, this time quite deliberately on the mouth. When he drew back, he let his fingertips trace their way over James' lips, desperate to lay claim to the rest of him, as soon as possible.

Sey smiled up at Declan. “So how'd I do? Think it's safe to leave them alone?”

Declan pulled Sey into a snug embrace, his mouth tugging at the emerald earring set in Sey's earlobe. “If they don't know how to proceed from here, they're hopeless.”

Sey rested within Declan's arms quite contentedly for several moments before saying, “Oh, yeah. James?”

James reluctantly turned his attention to Sey, his arms tightly wrapped around Smoke. “Yes, Sey?”

“When you're ready to go shopping…give me a call.” Sey winked, giving his earring a tug for special emphasis.

A sensual smile slowly spread across James' face. “Gotcha.”

“What's that about?” Smoke whispered against James' ear.

With that, James brought Smoke's left hand to his mouth and placed a tender, lingering kiss there. “Something I should have done a long time ago.”

“I have another class this afternoon, Pete,” James said, absently stroking his lover's hair. He bent close and kissed him. It was a sweet, gentle kiss. Since their reunion, they seemed incapable of treating each other with anything but kindness.

“So do I,” Smoke said softly.

“We need to talk.”

“I know.”

James groaned against Smoke's neck. “Only thing is, right now all I want to do is make love to you.”

Smoke smiled faintly. “Right now I'd let you, too.”

“Now you tell me,” James said, chuckling. Suddenly serious, he caressed Smoke's cheek with his fingertips as he stared intently into his light blue-gray eyes. “Pete…I left something out before.”

Smoke gazed raptly at James, now more certain than ever that their once-separate paths were destined to be one. “You already told me everything I needed to know, Jamie.”

James couldn't disagree with that, not now that Smoke was half-lying in his arms, in full view of anyone who chose to visit the instructors' lounge at that moment. “These past few weeks, Pete….”

Smoke frowned and placed a finger across James' mouth. “Don't, Jamie. It wasn't just you. It was both of us.”

“No question. It's just that—I learned something. I learned what it felt like…to be without you.” His voice broke, and Smoke leaned forward to nuzzle the tense line of his jaw.

“I don't know how much longer I could have—“ James turned his face away, but Smoke pulled him back with one hand. “Ssh, ssh, my love. I won't ever leave you again.”

James visibly trembled under Smoke's gentle petting. “I love you, Pete. I wish you knew how much.”

Smoke pulled James' head against his chest and kissed his hair. “I do, Jamie. I do.”

James closed his eyes and snuggled closer. Smoke rested his chin on top of James' head, feeling at peace for the first time in a long time. “When we get home, I'm going to make love to you.”

Smoke smiled at the fervor in James' voice. “What happened to taking me out to dinner? Maybe a movie?”

James jerked his head away from Smoke's body. “You want to go out?”

“I want whatever you want.”

Convinced that Smoke was serious, James put his head back where it was, a long strand of Smoke's silky black hair tickling his nose. “Fair enough.” He smiled, inhaling what he considered the essence of Smoke. “I'll take you to dinner and show you off…and then, we'll make love.”

Suddenly James frowned. There was only one problem with that fantasy. Going home meant returning to the apartment…and the bed they once shared. A chill ran up and down the length of James' spine. He couldn't explain it, but the thought of getting back into that bed, that place he now associated only with pain and heartache and nightmare, overwhelmed him.

Smoke felt, rather than saw, the frown. “Jamie?”

Somehow, in stammered bits and pieces, James managed to explain his feelings to Smoke.

Smoke raised an eyebrow. “We could always get a new bed.”

“Or….”

“Jamie, you want to leave the apartment?”

James pulled Smoke closer, kissing him tenderly. “I want to be wherever you are, Pete.”

“You'd really move in with me at Davenport's?”

“If that's where you are, yeah.”

All at once they were giggling like a couple of children embarking on a new adventure. “Do you have to share space with the dogs?”

“Of course. But I like it.”

“Christ, Pete, you turned into Dr. Dolittle when I wasn't looking.”

“Something like that.”

Their laughter faded away slowly as they looked into one another's eyes again. “I love you, Jamie.”

“I love you, too, Pete.”

There was a long pause, filled with ardent kisses and soft caresses, broken finally by a deep groan. “I'll share the damn bedroom with ‘em, but I'm not giving you up to anyone. Not even a dog.”

Smoke chuckled, and the sound was balm to James' senses. Things had finally turned around.

Smoke made it as far as the door before James tackled him. Pinning his lover's body against the wall next to the door of the instructor's lounge, James wound his hands through Smoke's hair, kissing his mouth over and over, his rapacious tongue thrusting more and more intimately each time.

Gasping for breath, Smoke moved his head marginally, unable to believe this was the same man he'd been married to for five years. “Jamie! I think you're trying to kill me!”

James licked Smoke's mouth, teasing and tugging at his full lower lip until he looked dangerously sensual. “Oh, I want you very much alive, Pete,” he growled, his straight white teeth nipping gently at Smoke's jawline.

“You're never going to feel taken for granted again, Pete. I swear. I'm going to make sure you know how much I love you. All the time.”

“All the time?” Smoke squeaked, feeling the pressure of James' rock-hard erection pressing against the vee of his legs. “You don't have to show me all the time,” he added weakly.

James all but swallowed Smoke's earlobe, and Smoke nearly fainted at the wave of pleasure that crested over him. James began to chuckle as he wedged his knee between Smoke's legs, gently pushing against Smoke's growing arousal there. “I love you, I need you, and I don't think I can wait until we get to wherever we're going to call home to make love to you,” he whispered urgently into Smoke's mouth.

“Mmm…Jamie, I hate to say no, but we both have class. I don't want to get off to a bad start here.”

“Dammit, Pete, I hate it when you can think straight while I'm getting positively carried away!”

Smoke gave James a brilliant smile. “Jamie, I think somehow we must have switched roles. That used to be my line.”

James rested his forehead against Smoke's, trying to get his breathing, not to mention his runaway libido, back under some semblance of control. Nuzzling his lover's mouth, James said, “I love you, Pete, but I wish to hell you weren't right.”

James caressed Smoke's face, observing how his face lit up so brilliantly when he looked at him. “I want to move in with you tonight, Pete. I don't want us to be apart one more second than we have to.”

Smoke's light eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. “Okay.”

“After class, could you meet me back here? I want to take you shopping…for something special, Pete,” James said almost shyly.

Smoke nodded, his hands playing with James' hair. James wore it short, but Smoke liked the feel of it, like brushed velvet, against his fingertips.

“I'll be here.”

The jeweler kept glancing at the couple, as if that might hurry them along with their purchase. But James, preoccupied with finding just the right item, didn't even notice. “Pete, do you like this one?”

Before Smoke could answer, the jeweler interrupted. “Perhaps I could help?”

“Perhaps you could back off, mate,” said James, suddenly sounding like the Aussie he really was. It was an easy thing to miss. James was sometimes too good at blending with the resident culture.

The jeweler merely raised an imperious eyebrow. “Was there something in particular that you were searching for?”

James started to snap off a reply, but Smoke pulled on his arm. “Come on, Jamie, let it go.”

James looked stricken. “I wanted you to have something really nice, Pete. Please….”

“We can't afford it anyway, Jamie.” Smoke shook his head apologetically at the old man who waited behind the counter. “Sorry to waste your time.”

To their utter amazement, the jeweler said, “You look like a nice couple. Is this for an anniversary?”

Smoke's arm crept around James' waist, holding him against his body. His stance looked almost protective. In fact, it was. So much of Smoke's experience was tinged with bitterness and distrust.

But James dearly wanted something more than a trinket to celebrate his renewed commitment to Smoke. “Well, yeah, something like that,” he answered, unable to believe that it could have escaped the jeweler's notice that they were gay.

The jeweler didn't even pretend to misunderstand. “How long have you two been together?”

“Five years,” Smoke replied softly.

He smiled at Smoke. “I have something very special hidden away for times like these. I hope you like silver,” he said, as he turned away from the two men.

Smoke glanced hopefully at the man he loved. James shrugged, but Smoke leaned close, his lips grazing his lover's cheek. “Is it okay if we at least look, Jamie?”

The jeweler came back to the counter holding an intricately worked fine silver link chain. Proudly offering it to Smoke, the jeweler beamed. “Go ahead, look at it.”

It wasn't long. It was possibly crafted more as a choker, if only in that it clung snugly to one's neck. At the end of its length was a small silver locket shaped like a heart. It appeared to be solid until one opened it up. Inside there was room for a tiny picture.

“Would you like to try it on? See how it looks? I think it would look pretty against your skin.”

James flushed, not sure if he wanted the jeweler to be quite that understanding. He wanted to be the only one who appreciated Smoke that way. He felt a surge of possessiveness so intense, it was all he could do to keep his hands off Smoke.

Noting the jealous glint in James' eye, the jeweler wisely asked him, “Would you prefer to put it on him?”

James looked distinctly discomfited. He would. He would love to put the chain around Smoke's neck. Suddenly he had a flash of Smoke, lying on his back, waiting for him, in their bed. Wearing nothing but that damn chain around his neck.

Chewing on his lip, James reached out for the chain with trembling fingers. Before he took it, though, he said, “It looks way too expensive. Sorry we put you to all that trouble.”

The jeweler's brows arched upwards in a moue of surprise. “No, no, no, you don't understand. This is a special piece.”

“Yeah, I think it's freaking beautiful. We just—*I* just can't afford something like that.” His heart broke at the look on Smoke's face. It was painfully obvious that Smoke had fallen in love with the chain and its heart-shaped locket. Right now, he was undoubtedly convinced that James didn't think he was worth whatever it cost. What could he do?

The jeweler gently clasped James' arm, beckoning him to move closer. “You don't understand. I can give you a great price.” At James' puzzled look, the man continued softly, acting as if he didn't want Smoke to overhear what he was saying. “I haven't been able to sell it. No one'll take it.”

That took James aback. “Why?”

The older man glanced sympathetically at Smoke and cupped his hands over James' ear, whispering, “It's made so that once you put it on…it won't come off. Guess no one believes in forever these days.”

“I do,” James shocked himself by admitting to a perfect stranger. “We'll take it.”

True to his word, James took Smoke out to dinner, but neither man showed more than cursory interest in the food, picking over it without enthusiasm.

Suddenly grinning like a fool, James asked, “Would you hate me if I said, I don't even know what I'm eating?”

Smoke rested his chin in his hands, studying his partner. His long black hair swung side to side as he shook his head.

“This is sheer torture, Pete. Being this close to you, but not being able to touch you…or kiss you…or…Christ, what are we doing here, sweetheart?”

At the sound of the endearment, Smoke hid his face against his hands for a moment. “Ja-mie….”

“Am I making you blush, Pete? God, I want to get closer to you—“

“Let's go home, Jamie.” Smoke almost cried to think he might never have been able to utter those words again if…. No matter. No sense worrying about might-have-been's.

His arms wrapped around Smoke, James let him lead the way to their new home. “We can always pick up my stuff over the weekend.”

Smoke nodded. “You're sure you don't mind sharing space on the kennel side of the property?”

“Pete, if you lived on the freaking moon, I would find a way to be there with you. Does that answer your question?”

They chuckled companionably. Pause. “You were kidding about sleeping with the dogs, though, right?”

“Come see…” Smoke invited, opening the door to his side of the sprawling house that the Davenports had acquired.

“Wow,” was all that James could say a moment later.

“They gave you all this space? In return for taking care of the dogs?”

Smoke shrugged. “Davenport said it was worth it.”

“So…do you like it?” he asked, indicating the living room, far larger than anything they had shared at the apartment.

“I love it.” James wrapped his arms around Smoke's waist, holding him tightly against his body. “God, you feel good, Pete.”

Smoke leaned over James, his mouth seeking his cheek, his hairline, and finally, his ear. “Gonna feel a whole lot better soon, Jamie.”

“Where's the bedroom?” James whispered.

Smoke's throaty chuckle vibrated against James' face, and the younger man stole a fervent kiss a moment later. James slid his hands inside the back of Smoke's jeans, savoring the touch of bare skin beneath his fingers.

“Mmm…that way,” Smoke inclined his head in an easterly direction.

By the time they made their way to the bedroom, James was impatient enough to kick the door shut with one booted foot. He leaned on Smoke, his hands automatically wandering into old familiar places. James' hand skittered up the length of Smoke's spine as they kissed one more time. “I love you, Pete.”

Slowly they undressed each other, somehow sensing this was a moment unlike any other. “Wait…” Smoke said, tearing his mouth away from his lover's. Now he was like a vision out of James' fantasy, wearing nothing but a smile and the chain James had given him.

James' face flooded with happiness at the sight. It was more than just desire. He loved Pete, and he knew he would love Pete forever. That's what made the forever clasp on the chain so wonderful.

Lifting his hair off his neck, Smoke said, “I want you to take off the chain, Jamie. That way I can't lose it in the bed.”

“Oh, it can't come off, Pete.”

“Everything comes off, Jamie. Now come over here.”

James ignored the sultry pout of Smoke's mouth and grinned. “No, it really doesn't come off, Pete.”

Smoke abruptly let go of his hair, and it fanned out around his face like a silken curtain fashioned from the midnight sky. “It doesn't?”

“That's how come we got it so cheap.”

James was so busy feeling triumphant, he didn't immediately notice how Smoke's face clouded over. “It was cheap? You bought me something broken?”

“Noooo, sweetheart—“

“Don't sweetheart me, you son of a bitch.” Smoke turned his back on James, stalking to the other side of the room, to gaze sightlessly out the window. Tears filled his light blue-gray eyes, but he refused to let them fall. There had been too many tears.

James walked up behind Smoke, wrapping his arms around his chest, pulling him against his body. “You don't understand, Pete.”

“Then make me understand, Jamie,” Smoke whispered brokenly, an errant tear trickling silently down his cheek to land on James' hand.

“Oh, God, Pete, you're crying.” Aghast at his mistake, James closed his eyes and lay his head on Smoke's shoulder.

“It's the way it was made, Pete. For people like us. Who still believe in forever.”

Turning the man in his arms, James gently brushed the tears away. “*That's* why it never comes off, Pete. Cause there's no reason. We're always going to be together, you and me. Forever.”

“Oh…” Smoke made a choked little sound deep in his throat before he kissed James.

Oh.

Michael tossed and turned restlessly in bed, his arms and legs flailing, almost as if they sought to find and connect with the familiar body at his side. But Nikita wasn't there.

He woke with a start. Instantly aware. With none of that lag time that other people might experience when they first awakened from sleep.

“Kita? Kita!”

Suddenly frantic to know where she was, Michael dove out of bed, his feet hitting the carpet with a soft thump. “Kita?” His voice took on a darker, more haunted tone, as he saw that his wife was indeed nowhere to be seen.

“Kita!” he cried.

Nikita flung open the bathroom door and stood there framed in the doorway for several seconds, her pale blue eyes slowly adjusting to the change in light. “Michael? What's wrong?”

He didn't answer. He simply wrapped his arms around her as tightly as he could, tears racing fast and furious down his cheeks as he buried his face in her hair. “I thought I'd lost you.”

Nikita didn't find the echoes of the past that flowed around the two of them disturbing. Instead, she welcomed them, embraced them, made them hers again, even as Michael was hers.

“I've got you now, love, and I'm never going to let go.” She kissed his cheek, feeling the feverish heat suffusing his face. A few wet tendrils curled limply over his forehead. Nikita reached up with one hand and gently brushed them off his face.

A soft inarticulate noise made its way from between Michael's parched lips.

“What happened? Are you sick?”

“Yes…no…not really,” he finally managed to say.

She pushed him back carefully, so that she could look at his face more closely, and he went, albeit reluctantly, clearly unwilling to relinquish his almost painfully-tight hold on her.

“Michael? I haven't seen you this upset in a long time.” She prompted him to tell her what he felt, knowing that sometimes, he just couldn't, no matter how much he wanted to.

“It's all right. It's fading now. It's…it's going away.”

“What's going away?”

“The dream. Nightmare.”

Her eyes widened in sudden comprehension. “Oh, Michael. Would it help to talk about it?”

He closed his eyes and shook his head vigorously, a few final tears trickling slowly down his face. “I don't want to remember it. I don't want to give it that much power over me.”

“It was that bad? Michael, you need to tell me. Tell me now.”

“Please….”

“Are you afraid if you talk about it…it might actually come true?”

His hands fisted in her long blonde hair, he laid his head on her shoulder, trying to control something that even now tore at his insides, making him wretched with grief. “I don't think I can do it justice if I try to describe it, doucette,” he whispered, choking back this amorphous feeling that hung over him like a tenacious black cloud.

“Just—let me hold you, Kita.”

“Always.”

Always. Whatever it was, Nikita felt the shiver that ran through Michael at the sound of that word. Whatever it was, it had scared Michael, badly enough that it shook his belief in forever.

Birkoff sat up in bed, his dark chocolate eyes wide with fear, a scream dying in his throat. He raised a shaky hand to his cheek, feeling fine tremors working their way uncontrollably through his slender frame.

Declan stirred, trying to focus his mind on just what disturbed him. “Sey? You okay, baby?”

“I had the worst…nightmare, Dec.”

Declan roused himself more fully, hearing the note of anxiety in his partner's almost inaudible voice. “What was it?” His fingers automatically sought his lover's, and he didn't feel better until Sey intertwined them, bringing Declan closer.

Lowering his head to his chest, Sey refused to make eye contact, muttering something under his breath. “It's gonna sound stupid.”

Declan pushed back the covers and dove after Sey, pulling him against him. He knew he had done the right thing when he felt Sey shudder uncontrollably. Declan stroked his hair, fingers smoothing back the silken strands again and again, as if he needed to feel them, needed to know they were real. “Nothing you ever say to me is stupid, acushla. Talk to me.”

Sey buried his face against Declan's neck, and Declan sighed at the feel of warmth and wetness. Tears. Ah, but he understood tears. Some people might find Sey overly emotional, but it was that humanity in his lover that initially drew Declan in and then kept him there. “It's like someone was walking over my grave, Dec.”

“You're not dead, baby.”

Sey flinched, actually jumped, within Declan's arms, upon hearing the word ‘dead'. “I was.”

Declan couldn't keep himself from shivering. “God, Sey. Don't say shit like that.”

“But I was. In the dream…the nightmare.” Sey's breath came erratically as he struggled to get the words out. “Don't they say that if you dream of your death, you really die?”

Declan squeezed his eyes shut on a wave of intense pain. “Christ, Sey, that's a…an old folk tale or some such thing. You're here. Alive and well and…God, I love you, baby.”

“It scares you, too, Declan, doesn't it?”

“What, acushla?”

“The idea of dying.”

“The only thing that scares me about dying is the idea of you or one of the kids dying. That's a fact, baby.”

“But you're not afraid of your own death?”

Declan shook his head slowly, his long red hair tumbling loose over his shoulders. “I faced all that a long, long time ago, Sey. But the idea of never seeing you again? That makes me want to weep out loud,” he finished huskily, emotion making it difficult to catch his breath.

Sey pressed the side of his face against Declan's chest, letting the steady heartbeat soothe him. “I don't want to leave you, Dec. Ever.”

“Then don't, baby,” Declan whispered.

“As long as you're with me, I can be brave.”

So you are, my love. And as long as I'm alive, you'll never have to face that kind of terror alone.

“Stay with me forever?”

“Forever.”

Forever. It was a word that once changed their lives. It was a word that would continue to shape their lives.

As long as there was breath in his body, Declan would love Sey. As long as there were stars in the sky, Sey would live in Declan's heart.

Always and forever.

They were not just words.