Adam woke with a start, unaccustomed to sharing the bed with someone. At first, he didn't remember where he was. Then, within moments, it all came flooding back. The rejection, the pain, the irrational feeling of being abandoned by the one person he trusted more than anyone.

Jazz was curled up against him, Adam's arms wrapped protectively around his waist. Adam looked down at the slender figure he held, even in his sleep, and murmured, "I love you, baby."

As if sensing Adam's thoughts, Jazz uttered a long, deep exhalation and snuggled closer. Jazz mumbled sleepily, "Is it time to get up?"

"No, Nicky, go back to sleep," Adam said softly, tucking Jazz' head under his chin. The 16-year-old was sprawled across Adam's body as though he lay claim to it. " 'kay."

Adam's arms tightened around his beloved. He couldn't help feeling possessive. He was afraid that he came by it naturally. For someone so young, Adam had suffered incalculable losses. His father. His mother. His former way of life. In truth, though, he had gained more than he lost. His father. His new family. Jazz.

But it was hard to see clearly through a veil of tears.

Still, for both their sakes, Adam had to try.

"Remind me to tell you something in the morning," he whispered, his breath ruffling Jazz' silky golden brown hair.

"Mmm…something good?" Jazz muttered.

"Uh huh. Something *real* good."

When Jazz woke again, he was alone. There was no sign of Adam in the room. Jazz sat up and peered blearily through sticky eyelashes. That's the last time I eat hot sauce before I go to bed, he thought. His dreams had been filled with outrageous, surrealistic images that thankfully faded quickly when morning came.

"Adam?"

Jazz could hear a low voice somewhere in the suite. Slipping silently out of bed, he padded barefoot into the bathroom, not thinking to cover his nakedness.

He raised the toilet seat, not realizing that the door was still open. After he flushed, he dutifully washed his hands, sparing a moment to glance in the mirror. As he leaned over the sink, only his back was visible to someone outside.

Something Adam was more than grateful for.

In an effort to make up for last night, Adam had called Room Service to order a spectacular breakfast. While he was waiting, he quickly showered, but the food arrived a bit sooner than he'd expected.

Wearing only a towel, Adam had let the waiter in to set up the table. Noticing Adam's wet hair and state of undress, the waiter remarked, "Looks like you got lucky last night."

"Um…yeah," Adam replied, giving the older man a vaguely puzzled look.

When the toilet whooshed in the bathroom, both of them turned in the direction of the sound. That was when Adam saw the gentle curve of Jazz' back…not to mention his firm young ass. He should have been more concerned about appearances, but his body responded involuntarily to the sight of his lover.

As the waiter followed Adam's line of sight, he whistled appreciatively. "Oho, I was right. You've got a hot little chick stashed in there, don't you?"

Adam couldn't prevent a fiery blush from creeping into his cheeks. "Umm…"

"Now *that's* a nice piece of ass," the waiter said as he finished setting the table.

A bubble of laughter got stuck in Adam's throat. He watched helplessly as Jazz turned around, his naked, and very male, body framed in the doorway.

"Shit," said Jazz, seeing the waiter.

"Shit," said Adam, pondering whether or not he should tip the waiter even more generously than before.

"Well, I'll be damned," said the waiter. "You must have been *really* drunk, kid. Did you know that your sweet young thing was a guy?"

Adam shook his head in disbelief and decided not to tip the waiter after all.

Anyone that low on common sense didn't deserve to be rewarded.

"I wanted to surprise you."

"You did."

Jazz chuckled. "Did you see the look on that guy's face?"

"Mmm, yeah." Adam's lips caressed a tender spot along the line of Jazz' jaw. "Should I be jealous?" Adam asked, suddenly not sure if he was kidding.

Jazz' laughter died abruptly, showing just how seriously he took the question. "There's never going to be anyone else for me, Adam. You know that, right?"

Adam nodded, not really trusting himself to speak.

They stared at each other in complete silence for several seconds. Something indefinable passed between them. Something real and irrefutable.

Suddenly they both spoke at once. "I'm sorry."

Adam cleared his throat, his dark brown eyes shyly meeting his lover's intent green gaze. "About last night. I didn't mean to push you into a corner like that. That wasn't fair."

Jazz reached out and traced Adam's mouth with his fingertips. "Do you know how hard it was for me to turn you down?" Jazz asked shakily.

Adam shook his head slightly, encouraging Jazz to continue.

"It wasn't until you started to cry that it hit me," Jazz recalled with a wince that showed in his eyes. Adam broke eye contact, embarrassed by his lack of control.

But Jazz refused to let him slip away. His hand cupped his lover's chin, forcing Adam to see that the memories were just as fresh, just as painful for Jazz, too.

Tears welled up in Jazz' eyes, but he steadfastly ignored them. "I wasn't rejecting you, Adam. It never even occurred to me that you would take it that way."

"But—"

"But I get it now. Everyone you've ever loved has left you. But I won't. I love you. I'll always love you." Jazz rubbed his wet cheek against Adam's, an instinctive gesture that was at once comforting and affectionate. "And I will never ever leave you," he continued in a choked whisper.

"Oh, Nick," Adam murmured, vaguely ashamed that he wanted, no, needed that much reassurance.

But one night had changed things irrevocably. For the better. In reversing their roles, however temporarily, they had seen each other differently. During the night, Adam's need had spoken loudly and Jazz had heard and answered it in kind.

"I don't have any right to ask you this, but—"

Jazz sighed and closed his eyes, his sodden eyelashes strikingly dark against his skin. "Ask me," he pleaded hoarsely.

"I want to give you something."

"Adam, you've already given me everything I need."

"Something to mark the occasion, then," Adam said wistfully. "Please."

"Adam, I swear, there's nothing you could give me that would make me love you any more," Jazz protested.

Adam plucked his brand new, custom-engraved senior class ring off his right hand and offered it to his lover.

"Except that," Jazz exclaimed, sounding breathless. "But Adam, that's *yours*. You worked hard to get that. It belongs to *you*."

"And now I want *you* to have it. Wear it. Be mine."

For someone who didn't consider himself particularly adept at expressing romantic feelings, Adam was doing surprisingly well.

"I *am* yours," Jazz replied, his vivid green eyes never losing sight of the ring in the palm of Adam's hand.

"Then you'll wear it?" Adam asked hopefully.

"Put it on me," Jazz whispered, holding out his right hand.

Without missing a beat, however, Adam reached for Jazz' left hand and slipped the ring onto his ring finger.

"Oh, Adam…"

It was a perfect fit.

"What do you want to do?" Adam asked.

"Well," Jazz drawled, "I *am* naked. Does that give you any ideas?"

"Plenty. But I wouldn't want to take advantage of you."

"I *love* when you take advantage of me," Jazz declared, his eyes flashing.

"Uh huh." Adam started to undress. "In that case, I'd better level the playing field. Just to keep things fair and all."

"Yeah," Jazz said, "we'd better use the bed this time, too. Wouldn't want that DO NOT DISTURB sign to go to waste."

"What DO NOT DISTURB sign?" Adam asked, suddenly deciding that he'd kept his hands off Jazz for way too long.

Jazz melted against Adam, the desire to merge and become one paramount now. "Love me."

"I do."

"*Now*."

With a whimper, Jazz scrambled for the bed, aware that he wanted something, but not sure how to ask. Adam kissed Jazz repeatedly, not so gently pushing him back further and further until his back was flush against the mattress.

Adam's body was as hard as Jazz' was yielding. Nudging Jazz' legs apart with his knee, Adam whispered, "Are you sure that sign is on the door?"

"Better be," responded Jazz, "cause I'm not letting anyone in."

"Oh, yes, you are," Adam breathed against his mouth. "I'm…coming…in…" Adam ground out between harsh breaths as he quickly coated himself with the expensive hand lotion that the hotel favored.

Jazz was so unbearably aroused by the pressure that throbbed and pulsed against his still-tender opening that Adam slid inside him with almost no resistance. "Ohhh…" Jazz groaned, his eyelashes fluttering erratically against his cheeks.

"Is this what you wanted?" Adam murmured, the urge to thrust almost impossible to bear. Unlike the previous night, they were face to face, just the way Jazz had imagined.

This was the stuff that romantic fantasies were made of.

Jazz held up his left hand, eyeing the shiny white gold ring that Adam had given him. "It's beautiful."

"So are you," Adam said without hesitation, holding onto a thread of control. For him, hurting his lover was out of the question.

Even if it was making him ache.

"So is this," Jazz said, giving a slight upward wiggle of his hips, encouraging Adam to move.

As much as they wanted it to last, they were simply too hot. A few strokes was all that it took for both of them. With a moan that made Jazz' already softening erection twitch, Adam came and collapsed atop him.

"Looks like we worked off breakfast," Jazz said playfully. "Want to try for lunch?"

Adam lifted his head briefly before returning to what was now his favorite place. Jazz' pliant, willing body. He buried his face against his lover's neck and closed his eyes.

"I think I need a nap."

Skye put her books on the kitchen table and greeted her mother. "Hi, Mom."

"Hi, sweetie. How was school?"

"Okay."

"Just okay?"

"Well, it *is* school, Mom," Skye said by way of explanation. "It's not like I expect to have fun or something."

Nikita frowned. "But school *should* be fun, honey. At least, some parts of it."

"But I'm *bored*, Mom," Skye groaned, giving her mother a pained look that did nothing to detract from her youthful beauty.

"Oh." Nikita chose her next words carefully. "Your father and I have been thinking about placing you in another school."

"Why?"

"You're gifted, baby, and I'd like to see you develop more of your potential."

Skye looked askance at her mother. "Couldn't I just skip another grade?"

"Honey, we tried that. It doesn't seem to be working. You're still not challenged enough."

Skye grimaced as if she'd eaten something that tasted bad. "Where's this other school?"

Nikita sighed. "That's the thing, sweetheart. It's not here in France."

Skye went still. "It's not?"

Nikita shook her head. "No. It's in England."

Skye turned pale. "England?" she echoed weakly.

"What's in England?" Faith questioned as she entered the kitchen, heading straight for the refrigerator.

"School. A special school for your sister," Nikita explained. "And don't spoil your dinner, Fee. Why don't you have some fruit?"

"Yuck," Faith replied, closing the refrigerator door. Seizing an apple from a bowl in the middle of the table, Faith sank her teeth into it with an audible crunch.

An apple *was* still fruit, Nikita mused, wondering if her oldest daughter could follow her own train of thought sometimes. "Did you even hear what I said, Fee?" Nikita asked more or less rhetorically.

"Sure. You're going to send Chuckles away."

Skye wished valiantly that she was older. Or at least, old enough to be considered Faith's peer. She resisted the urge to smack her sister, however, settling for the articulate comeback that all younger sisters try out.

"Leave me alone," Skye muttered under her breath.

"What?"

"I said I told you not to call me that."

"What, Chuckles?"

"I *hate* that."

Faith laughed, but the laughter died soon enough when she caught a glimpse of her mother's face. "Umm…sorry," Faith mumbled, her mouth suddenly too full of apple to talk.

"You could show your sister a little empathy, Faith," Nikita said crossly.

Now Faith knew that Nikita was mad. She rarely called her Faith anymore. Unless Faith was in dire need of a spanking. It didn't matter that she was too old to spank. Nikita would raise an eyebrow in a way that suggested she had learned more than she admitted from Michael. Including twenty-seven ways to take someone out with a paper clip.

Sometimes her mother scared her more than her father. She wanted her to be *nice*. Ugh. That was almost as bad as the time she insisted that they indulge in a group hug.

"I…" Faith began, realizing that even *she* couldn't lie right to her mother's face. "…need to do some homework," she finished lamely.

Before Nikita could say another word, Faith had disappeared, taking the dreaded piece of fruit with her. Nikita turned to comfort Skye, but the younger teenager shifted uneasily before her, begging to be excused.

"I…uh…have homework, too," Skye said, struggling to stay comfortably numb until she was somewhere else. Preferably in her room.

"We can talk about this later, honey," Nikita said kindly.

Not if I can help it, Skye snapped back mentally, certain that some of her distress had to be visible. She used her mother's momentary confusion over her reaction to make good her escape.

Skye raced up the stairs as if the gates of hell had opened behind her. At the top, she ran right into Sasha, who instinctively grabbed her by the arms to steady her. "Hey, take it easy! You could fall down the stairs and break your neck!"

Her light blue eyes brimming with unshed tears, Skye exclaimed heatedly, "Like you would actually care!"

Sasha tried to keep what he was thinking off his face, but his emotions were too close to the surface. "You know I care," he said huskily.

"Well, it won't matter anyway," she cried, dashing her hands across her face. Sasha slid his hands down her arms to her wrists, effectively trapping her.

"What's wrong?"

"You should be happy. They're sending me away!"

Sasha blinked as his heart constricted. "What? Where? When?" Why? his entire being screamed silently.

"Not because of me?" he asked hesitantly.

"No! Because of *me*!" Skye shouted. "They want me to go to a special school. In *England*."

Sasha inhaled so sharply, he nearly choked on the air he breathed. "England?"

So near and yet so far away. When he saw that he was almost holding her in his arms, Sasha dropped them to his side immediately, stung by the realization that they might never truly be together.

"Yeah," she said, not even trying to stifle the sob that came with the thought of being separated from Sasha.

"Maybe you'll never see me again."

"Ange…" Sasha whispered, unable to figure out what he needed to say. "I wish things could be different."

"So do I," Skye wept, denied even the comfort of Sasha holding her one last time.

Sasha didn't cry. He didn't ask how much time he had left to store up memories of Skye. He simply walked upstairs and threw himself across his bed in stony silence.

By the time the news had filtered down to the others, Sasha was asleep. Sey rapped lightly on his son's bedroom door before pushing the door open further. "Sasha?"

"Go away," came the muffled response.

"I heard what happened."

"So what?"

Sey ignored his son's uncharacteristic insubordination and pressed on. "Skye's taking this pretty hard."

"No kidding." Hearing the low throb of unspent emotion in Sasha's voice, Sey sat down on the bed, intending to stroke his son's hair. But the suddenness of Sasha's withdrawal took him by surprise.

Sey watched him stand on unsteady feet, blinking away traitorous tears, his arms mutinously folded across his chest. All of his instincts as a father cried out for him to hold Sasha and reassure him. But he couldn't. His son was miles away, even though he stood so close, and no amount of reassurance, however persuasive, was going to sway him.

So Sey waited. And waited. Knowing that Sasha would break sooner or later. He had to. He could barely breathe for the pressure in his chest.

"There's nothing you can say, Daddy," Sasha whispered.

"It's not a punishment, Sasha—"

"Then tell me why it *feels* that way!" Sasha cried out. "Isn't it enough that I see her every fucking day and I can't be with her? Now I can't even—" Sasha closed his dark brown eyes and shuddered. "I know what I'm feeling is *wrong*, Daddy. I know—"

"It's not wrong, Sasha. Love is never wrong."

"But everything is so fucked up! Why did God let me fall in love with her if He doesn't want us to be together?" Sasha railed at his father. "I must have done *something* wrong, Daddy, for Him to take her away from me!"

Frustrated beyond words, Sey grabbed Sasha by the shoulders and shook him. "You are *not* bad, Sasha. You didn't do anything *wrong*."

"But it must be my fault, Dad," Sasha whispered. "It's always my fault."

"What's always your fault, Sasha?"

"When things get fucked up," Sasha said with a sob.

"Who told you that?" Sey demanded, knowing that he and Declan never gave Sasha that message, no matter how difficult he could be.

"He did. You know, *him*." Sasha looked beaten. Whatever mirror he had looked into was reflecting back powerful and intense insecurities, things that went back to the first six years of Sasha's life.

"Operations," Sey muttered, wishing that Paul Wolfe wasn't dead, just so that he could kill him.

Taking a deep breath, Sey said, "I know it doesn't seem like it now, but…things are going to get better. We're going to get through this, Sasha. Together."

"Together?"

Sey nodded. "Yes. Cause that's what families do."

Sasha sniffed and swiped at his nose with his bare hand. Sey offered Sasha a handkerchief which he gratefully accepted. His chest still jerking from time to time, Sasha stood there, trying to get himself under control.

"Daddy?"

"Yeah, kiddo?" Sey rubbed his own eyes, which he wasn't afraid to admit were wet, and met Sasha's uneven gaze.

"Am I…um…too old for a hug?"

Sey shook his head and said softly, "No, Sash. You'll never be too old for a hug. Not from me. And not from Da."

Sey took the younger man into his arms and hugged him fiercely. He could feel Sasha's heart pounding as though it would beat right out of his chest. "We love you…and there's nothing you could say…or do…that will ever change that."

"Even…if I love Skye?" Sasha choked out, clinging to his father's shoulders.

"Even then, kiddo. Cause there's nothing wrong with you loving Skye. Or her loving you back. Someday…this is all going to work out. You'll see."

Sasha buried his face against Sey's chest, his hands tightening their grip on his father's shoulders. "Thanks for finding me, Daddy."

"I'll always find you, kiddo. No matter where you are. I'll come get you and remind you of how much we love you."