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*?”

"That was a good movie!" Connor said, smiling at Faith across the table.

The pizza parlor was not far from the theatre. That turned out to be a good thing because the movie ran longer than any of them expected, and Faith was convinced that they would all be cancelled if they came home late. They were sharing a pizza. A plain cheese pizza. Much to Faith's dismay.

She bit into her slice of pizza, wincing as the melted cheese burned her tongue. "Ow! That's just great! Now I can't taste anything!"

Connor eyed her flirtatiously, his fingers reaching for hers. "Want me to kiss it better, Tig?"

Faith almost spit out her mouthful of pizza. "Yuk! No thanks, Pooh."

Connor had changed. In the past, he would have taken such a discouraging comment to heart and retreated to lick his wounds in private. Not now. Leaning over to whisper into her ear, he said, "I should have kissed you when I had the chance. During the movie."

Then he sat back triumphantly to watch her reaction.

Suddenly Faith was mesmerized by the look in Connor's dark blue eyes. He seemed so confident lately. As if he knew what he wanted. As if he were prepared to storm the battlements if necessary. And with Faith, he well knew it might be necessary.

"You wouldn't have—would you?" she asked hesitantly. This was a Connor she was no longer sure of.

He bit his lip and nodded slowly, his blue eyes seeming to grow darker by the second.

"Oh." She colored furiously, completely forgetting about the slice of pizza wilting in her hand.

He smiled. Not a smug I-want-to-take-you-over kind of smile. But a captivating I'd-love-to-go-anywhere-with-you kind of smile.

Her pizza fell limply onto her greasy paper plate.

A half hour later, the pizza was gone. Nursing his soda, Sasha studied the check. Adam seemed so preoccupied that it was as if he weren't even there. So it startled Sasha when he spoke.

"How much is it?" Adam asked, reaching into his pocket for money.

Sasha blinked. "I'll get it. I have enough."

"I want to pay it. Really. Tell me how much."

"I said *I'll* get it. What's wrong with you?"

Adam abruptly dropped the handful of coins he was clutching, spilling them noisily across the table. "Go ahead! Take them!" He grabbed a couple of bills and threw them on top of the coins. "I said, take them!"

Sasha could see how white the sixteen-year-old had gotten. "Hey, man, are you sick?"

Adam closed his eyes on a wave of pain and shook his head. "Not exactly," he whispered.

"Hey, we're all friends here."

"Are we?" Adam returned bitterly.

Sasha looked deep inside himself for the patience that he knew was there. Adam was just harder to reach than most. But that didn't make him a bad person. Yet.

"Talk to me, Adam."

Adam's dark eyes met Sasha's before sliding away furtively. "Jazz was at the house," he said, almost too low to be audible.

Sasha nodded, as if to say, I had a feeling he was. "Go on."

Adam wrapped his arms around himself, looking like he was about to shake apart. Sasha took pity on the older teenager, consciously rearranging his features into a less threatening façade. "So—did you talk to him?"

"Yes."

"Did he say why he wasn't coming with us?" Now Sasha was puzzled.

"He was-upset."

"About what?"

"My father."

That caught everyone else's attention. Chris and Faith turned their heads, seemingly as one, to stare at Adam. Connor cocked his head, listening.

"What's Dad got to do with Jazz not coming to the movies?" Faith demanded.

Chris started to remonstrate, but Faith ignored him. "Did Dad say something to Jazz?"

"Not *to* him, no," Adam explained softly. "Jazz overheard him talking to someone. He wanted to keep Jazz away from me."

The menace in Sasha's voice was unmistakable. "Funny that it wasn't the other way around."

Adam's eyes, as dark as they were, reflected back none of the pain he was feeling deep within himself. "He didn't have to warn *me* to stay away from *him*. I was already doing that."

"We noticed," Sasha replied dryly. "Care to tell us why?"

Adam's eyes flickered with some unidentified emotion for a second.  "Anyway, Jazz was upset."

"I got that. What else happened?"

"What makes you think that anything else happened?"

"I know that look. I can see the guilt in your eyes, man. So why don't you make us all feel better and tell us what you did?"

There was a significant pause. Whether it was because Adam was making up his mind or because he was thinking up some new way to avoid having this conversation was debatable.

"Jazz-um-implied that we had certain feelings for each other."

The light of vengeance faded slightly from Sasha's bittersweet chocolate eyes. "He does. I mean, I don't see it myself. Personally, I think you're a jerk."

Adam almost smiled at that. "I am."

"So…what else?"

"I told him-I didn't."

A long sigh escaped Sasha. "You don't?"

Adam looked frustrated. "I *do*, but I said that I *don't*."

Sasha's brows met in a perplexed frown. "I almost understood that. Run that by me again."

Adam looked like he was ready to jump out of his skin. "Jazz is in love with me!"

Sasha shrugged. "Yeah, I know. So what's the problem?"

"I told him I wasn't!"

"Wasn't what?"

"In love with *him*!"

"Ohhh…" Sasha sat back in his chair, completely oblivious to anything else now. "And you're not? See, I said you were a jerk."

Adam shook his head vehemently. "No, no, no. I think I *am*. That's why I'm a jerk!" He buried his face in his hands, uncaring if the others saw it as weakness. He would give anything to take it all back. To take back that stricken look on Jazz' face.

Sasha leaned forward and whispered, "So Jazz has no idea how you really feel?"

Shaking his head yet one more time, Adam whispered back, "No." Raising his eyes to meet Sasha's with considerable bleakness, he continued, "I chased him away. He ran home."

"Why? Why did you lie to him?"

"I—it—didn't seem like a lie at the time. I didn't—I couldn't—"

Sasha couldn't stay angry. Suddenly he understood. "Jesus, you didn't know, did you?"

Blindsided. That's what it felt like. But Adam welcomed the pain, even as it slammed through him. He wasn't numb anymore. He could feel again.

And it hurt.

"Let's go home," Sasha said decisively. Adam might be the oldest of the extended family, but Sasha was clearly the leader. The others collectively held their breath.

But Adam, who was every bit as much a control freak as Michael, surprised everyone by acquiescing gracefully. He remembered Sasha's unexpected kindness upon his arrival, and he told himself that he was only wearing himself out trying to keep everyone at a distance. The fact was, he had to trust someone sooner or later. It might as well be Sasha.

Sasha was Jazz' best friend. That the two were inextricably connected in his mind was not lost on him. But that didn't mean he was using Sasha. He *liked* Sasha. Maybe…someday…Sasha would be his friend, too.

So Adam went home with the others, and none of them knew that Jazz was sitting in a cold alleyway not that far away.

"Let's stop at the Davenports'."

Adam stopped dead. "Why?"

"So you can talk to Jazz, dummy. Why do you think?" Sasha said, incredulous that Adam still seemed determined to deny his feelings.

As if he read his mind, Adam said, "I'm not fighting the inevitable. Just—postponing it till there's a better moment."

Sasha laughed.

"What's so damn funny?" Here he was, finally baring his soul to people he hoped would be friends one day, and Sasha had the nerve to laugh.

Sasha grinned. "Nothing personal, Adam. It's just—there's no such thing."

"You're a real wiseass for someone your age, you know that?" Adam growled.

Far from chastened, Sasha stuck his tongue out at the older adolescent. Adam shook his head while Chris raised an eyebrow imperiously at his half-brother. Faith chuckled, saying, "That's not exactly a newsflash, Adam."

Winding her fingers surreptitiously around Connor's wrist, Faith continued, "But we love him anyway." Her changeable grey-green eyes were fixed on Sasha's face, but Connor had the distinct impression that she was speaking to *him*. But maybe that was just wishful thinking.

When Sasha knocked on the door, he couldn't help but notice that Adam had almost compulsively attached himself to his side. "You nervous?"

Adam closed his eyes for a second. "You have no idea."

"Don't be. I mean, it's not like he's going to turn you down or something."

"Yeah," Adam replied, but his mind was obviously disquieted, perhaps by just that very thought.

Intuitive to a fault, Sasha smiled compassionately at Adam. "He won't push you into anything, y'know. He just wants to be with you. That doesn't mean you two have to—"

Adam was saved from having to formulate any kind of response to that by the opening of the door. James peered outside, smiling when he recognized Sasha and the others. "You're back! Come on inside!"

When the little group had reassembled inside, James seemed to be waiting expectantly. Sasha knew better than to wait for Adam to handle things. "We came to see Jazz."

James frowned. "What do you mean, you came to see Jazz? Isn't he with you?"

For the first time, James studied the group of adolescents, wondering vaguely if he had reason to worry. "He said he was going to the movies. With you."

"He's not here?" Sasha and James spoke at the same time. A tiny buzz of excitement forming in the pit of his stomach, Sasha repeated, "He's not here?"

This wasn't the kind of excitement that made him feel good, either. It was the kind that told him trouble lay ahead.

Sasha cursed Adam for probably minimizing what happened between him and Jazz. Then he cursed himself for not realizing how Jazz would react. He of all people knew how Jazz felt about Adam. Some best friend he was, he railed inwardly.

"If he's not with you, where the hell is he?" James asked impatiently, knowing that he was undoubtedly overreacting. He didn't care. He thought of Jazz as part of his family. In every way that counted, Jazz was his son. His and Smoke's. Oh, God, Smoke.

"Pete? Pete!"

James' undeniably tense voice brought Smoke running. "What is it, Jamie?"

"Jazz is missing."

"Missing? How can he be missing? He went to the movies with-"

The realization that Jazz was not amongst the others hit him full force. "You lost him? Left him somewhere? What?"

Adam couldn't believe what was happening. All this time, all this wasted time, Jazz wasn't home, safe in his room, hating his guts. *He'd* done this. Made Jazz run away to God-knows-where.

A low moan reminded Sasha that Adam was there. "You stupid fu—!"

Sasha was prepared to tear Adam apart with his bare hands, if necessary, but the stricken look in Adam's dark brown eyes gave him pause. He didn't need to beat him up. Adam was doing a fine job all by himself.

"We have to go out and look for him, Jamie."

"I know, Pete. I know. We'll find him."

"He'll be okay, Jamie. He's not-" Smoke took a much-needed deep breath. "He'll be okay."

Please, Jazz, please be okay.

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.