"Oh, fuck. I'm never doing that again."

"Your head hurts?"

Jazz rolled over to face Adam, but he promptly lost his balance and fell out of bed. "Oh, my God."

Clamping his hands over his eyes, Jazz lay there panting, his chest heaving as though he'd been running. Adam peered over the edge of the bed at his lover, his expression unguarded and tender. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah."

"Would you like some help getting up?"

"Not really. I think I'll just stay here for a while. If you don't mind."

Adam nodded without speaking and got out of bed. He carefully stepped over Jazz and left the bedroom. Jazz could hear water running in the bathroom and assumed that Adam was going to leave him to his own devices. At least, temporarily.

Jazz sighed. He could feel the beginning of estrangement between them and it scared him. Well, he'd asked for distance and he was getting it. In spades.

"I just want to stand on my own two feet," Jazz muttered under his breath. "I didn't say you couldn't hold my hand while I was doing it, though."

The contradiction seemed lost on Jazz. Ambivalence was unquestionably the feeling for the day.

"Will you be home for dinner?" Adam asked as he washed the few dishes they'd used for breakfast. Neither one of them had been particularly hungry.

Jazz bit his lip and studied Adam. His eyes looked dark and unreadable. Whatever Adam did in the bathroom had apparently restored his defenses, not to mention his sense of control. He looked every bit as unapproachable as his father on a bad day.

"I don't think so," Jazz belatedly answered, suddenly realizing that he'd been staring.

"I won't wait up, then," Adam replied, his tone neutral.

"Adam, I-"

All at once Adam turned sharply, his eyes glittering in an almost feral manner. "What the hell do you want me to say, Jazz? Have a nice life?"

"I'm not going anywhere!"

"Could've fooled me," Adam growled, snapping the dish towel into its accustomed place near the sink.

"Don't be like this."

"Right now I don't know any other way to be," Adam said bleakly. With a start, Jazz realized that it was true. Adam always seemed so together, but he wasn't coping nearly as well as Jazz thought.

Jazz reached for Adam's hand and turned it over. Keeping his eyes fixed on Adam's suddenly pale face, Jazz kissed the center of his palm. It was both soothing and arousing. Jazz could hear the harshness of Adam's breathing. He seemed transfixed by the sight of Jazz' mouth on his skin.

"Adam…"

"No," Adam said, so quickly that he must have been rehearsing it in his mind.

"Please…"

"I can't. I fucking can't, Nick."

Jazz reluctantly released Adam's hand, forced to watch while Adam scrubbed absently at his skin. "This isn't what I wanted, Adam."

"Yeah, well, sometimes we can't have what we fucking want," Adam said bitterly.

Jazz arrived early for his shift at Valentino's. Several of the other waiters eyed him speculatively, but it was hard to tell if they were assessing him as competition at work or potential bed fodder. "Hey, new boy," called one of the more curious.

"Huh?"

"How do you like it here so far?"

"It's okay."

"Just okay? Sweetie, you took home half the tips in this place last night. You're doing more than okay."

Jazz cast startled green eyes in the older waiter's direction. "Are you hitting on me?"

"Is it that obvious?"

Jazz almost smiled. "I just wasn't sure."

"Maybe…we can find some other way to put your talents to good use," the waiter said flirtatiously.

"I'm in a relationship."

"Aren't we all, sugar?" the waiter drawled, causing those who were listening to laugh.

"You don't want to piss off my boyfriend," Jazz warned.

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him," the waiter, whose name turned out to be Toby, said with a predatory lick of his lips. "And aren't you cute, young enough to call him your boyfriend…"

"Knock it off, okay? I'm not interested."

"You will be. If you know what's good for you."

Jazz slammed his locker shut in an uncharacteristic show of irritation. "Look, I don't have a problem with you, but fuck off."

Toby made the mistake of patting Jazz on the ass. Jazz grabbed Toby's arm and bent it behind his back in a rough come-along gesture. "I said, leave me alone. Got that?"

"Got it. You're the hands-off bitch. Got it, honey."

"Good." Jazz let go of the other waiter and re-opened his locker. When he had changed back into his street clothes, he stormed directly to the manager's office.

The manager couldn't have been more disinterested. "So what do you want me to do about it?"

"I don't expect you to do anything about it."

"You don't? Then why are you in my office when you should be out front?"

"I quit."

Jazz sat on a park bench and saw nothing. His eyes blind to what was going on around him, he barely moved, not so much as a flicker of an eyelash betraying what he was thinking.

He had no job. He had maybe $50 in tips, but that wouldn't go very far. So preoccupied with his own ruminations, it didn't occur to Jazz to ask himself why he was reluctant to go home. If he went home now…what would he have gained?

Adam will laugh at me, he thought. No, he corrected himself, he wouldn't laugh. There was nothing funny about the situation or what they were doing to each other. But there was love there, and part of Jazz was sorely tempted to hold onto that.

Time passed slowly. It grew dark as the sun went down. But Jazz hardly noticed. It wasn't until a stranger, an older man who no doubt thought Jazz was cruising, addressed him that Jazz was aware of his surroundings.

Jazz brushed the man off with a cursory glance and a curt phrase, getting to his feet slowly. He needed to move. He couldn't stay here.

Shifting his backpack over his shoulder, Jazz headed for the only place he could go.

"Can I crash here tonight?"

James gave Smoke a quick look that said 'Uh-oh' before replying, "Of course. This will always be your home, Jazz."

Smoke scowled in James' direction and focused his intent blue-gray gaze on their adoptive son. James could be as discreet as he wanted to, but Smoke was more forthright. As usual.

"What's wrong?"

"Why does there have to be something wrong, Pete?"

"I know you."

"I don't want to talk about it, okay?"

"Does Adam know you're here?"

Jazz looked vaguely alarmed for a moment or two before avoiding eye contact with his father altogether. "No," he said sulkily.

"Do you want him to worry?" Smoke asked softly, realizing that Jazz was more wounded than he initially appeared.

Jazz squeezed his eyes shut in an effort to hold back the tears that threatened. He couldn't speak without betraying his innermost emotions, and as much as he sought comfort, he wasn't ready to confide in Smoke. When he saw that Smoke was still waiting patiently for an answer, Jazz shook his head.

"Why don't you call him?"

"I can't," Jazz said, the words slipping unbidden from his lips.

"O-kay," drawled James. "Would you like something to eat?"

Blinking at the apparent non sequitur, Jazz shook his head again.

"You really should eat," James reminded.

"That's what he says," Jazz whispered. There was little doubt in James' or Smoke's minds who he was.

"Why don't you?"

"I can't."

Smoke intervened. He couldn't take much more of Jazz' painfully monosyllabic replies. Grasping his son by the arm, he pulled him into the bathroom. Before Jazz could protest, Smoke slipped his backpack off his shoulder and dropped it onto the floor. Smoke wet a washcloth and wrung it out. Treating Jazz as if he were much younger, Smoke painstakingly washed his son's face.

Sliding the cloth over Jazz' forehead and into his hairline, Smoke asked, "Does that feel better?"

"Yeah," Jazz responded, his dull green eyes suddenly awash with tears.

"You want to tell me about it?"

Jazz' lip trembled. "N-not really."

"Is it serious?"

Jazz couldn't do anything but nod as a single tear traced its way down his cheek.

"Come on. I'll help you get settled."

"I can make the bed myself, Pete."

"I know you can, Jazz." Smoke regarded the eighteen-year-old with compassionate eyes. "But sometimes the hardest thing to do is to ask for help."

Adam tossed and turned and threw the covers onto the floor. Sitting up so suddenly, he almost lost his balance, he sighed. Jazz wasn't home yet. Not coming home for dinner was one thing. Not coming home at all…was the most frightening thing he'd ever contemplated in his young life.

Adam started to shake and buried his face in his hands. Jazz had to come back. He had to.

When the phone finally rang, Adam almost fell in his haste to grab the receiver. "Jazz?"

"Adam…"

Adam could barely hear him. He was whispering. His voice sounded husky, as if he'd been crying. Oh, God.

"Where are you?"

"It's okay, Adam. I'm safe."

"It's not okay. You're not here. How can you be safe if you're not…with me?" Adam choked out.

"I quit the club," Jazz blurted out without fanfare.

Adam's grip on the phone tightened to the point of pain. "I don't care about that anymore, baby. Just come home. Please?"

"That's what I'm trying to tell you, Adam. I am home."

For the first time since the apparent death of his father, Adam got into bed and pulled the covers over his head. He didn't want to think. He didn't want to feel. He just wanted to sleep.

Maybe if he was lucky, he would wake up and find out it was all a bad dream.

Jazz dialed the phone and frowned. Busy. That was the third time. Every time he tried to call Adam, the line was busy. He hung up and tried Adam's cell phone instead. All he got was his voicemail. Either Adam had his cell phone turned off or…

He didn't want to worry about Adam. He wasn't responsible for what happened to Adam. Liar, he told himself, you're the one who started this.

"Pete?"

Smoke turned to face his son, not surprised to see an all too familiar frown marring Jazz' features. "What's up?"

"I can't reach Adam."

"Thought you didn't want to."

"It's been three days, Pete. He's not answering the phone."

"I thought you didn't care."

"I never said that. I love him."

"Then what are you doing here?"

"Trying to find myself, I guess."

"You won't find yourself here. How is being here any different from being there?"

Jazz found that he couldn't answer that. Smoke continued, "If your problem is with Adam, you need to work things out with him. Or give him up. It's up to you."

Jazz looked appropriately horrified by the idea. "I don't want to give him up, Pete. I'm in love with him."

Smoke gave his son a long, considering look. "Does Adam know that?"

"I guess," Jazz murmured, feeling vaguely uneasy.

"I know you're upset, Jazz. But running away doesn't help. You said you want to be more independent. Maybe that means you have to move out of the apartment. Maybe not. But you'll never find out if you stay here."

Jazz stared at his father with troubled eyes. "Is that your way of kicking me out, Pete?"

"I want you to be happy, Jazz. If I didn't think Adam was good for you, I wouldn't have let you go in the first place, and I sure as hell wouldn't send you back to him."

"I just wanted some time to think, Pete."

"Thinking's good. So's talking. Go talk to him."

"What if he doesn't want to see me?"

"If he's half as upset as you are, he'll want to see you."

"How do you know all this, Pete?"

Smoke exhaled a long, deep breath. "A long time ago…I moved out on Jamie. It doesn't matter why. What matters is that we hurt each other very badly before we got back together."

"Guess anything worth having takes a lot of work, huh?"

"You're pretty smart…for a kid." Smoke's warm smile took the sting out of the qualification.

"So are you…for a dad."

"What do you mean, you haven't seen him? Don't you two have a class together at the U?"

Sasha held the phone away from his ear. Jazz was literally shouting. "Adam hasn't been to school for three days, Jazz. I thought you knew."

"How would I know?" Jazz yelled.

Sasha ignored him and concentrated on what he remembered from the previous day. "I went to the apartment to check things out. I figured maybe Adam was sick or something. But he never answered the door. I had to get Aunt Nik to lend me her spare key. She wanted to come, too, but I wouldn't let her. I wasn't sure what kind of condition he would be in, y'know?"

"What do you mean, Sasha?"

"Jesus, Jazz, you've been away for three days. Adam hasn't been seen in three days. You do the math, man."

"I don't know how things got so fucked up, Sasha," Jazz whispered.

"That doesn't matter. As long as you're prepared to do whatever it takes to fix 'em."

"Is he all right?" Jazz asked with a fair amount of trepidation.

"What do you think?"

"Oh, God."

"He looks like shit, man. He hasn't eaten. He hasn't shaved. I'm even pretty sure he hasn't taken a shower. His bed looks like he's been sleeping morning, noon, and night."

"Our bed."

"What?"

"I said, it's our bed."

"Not anymore it's not. You left it, you'd better be ready to take the consequences."

Jazz grew silent. "You think he's seeing someone else?"

"Shit, Jazz, have you been listening? Adam's in no shape to see anyone."

"I have to go home," Jazz decided urgently.

"Listen, man, it's not a pretty picture. So don't go there unless you mean to stay. I've never seen Adam this messed up, and I know he wouldn't appreciate me letting you know."

"Thanks, Sasha."

"You going somewhere?" Smoke asked, contemplating the half-packed backpack on Jazz' bed.

"Home."

"Thought you were home."

"Where I belong, then."

"You finally figured that out, eh?"

"I always knew it. I just thought…wanting to be there made me…weak or something."

"You're not weak at all, Jazz. It's about time you realized that."

"Well, I'm not that strong either. Adam's the strong one."

"Sometimes things change, kid."

Jazz smiled. "Yeah."

Jazz unlocked the apartment door. "Adam?" The apartment was eerily silent. Jazz dropped his backpack by the door and walked quietly through the living room. There was no sign of anyone.

Maybe Adam had finally gotten himself together and returned to school.

Maybe…nothing.

Jazz gasped as he took in the sight of his lover lying huddled in bed in the middle of the day. "Adam!" He looked sick. Or worse.

He rolled Adam over, unprepared for Adam suddenly opening his eyes. The hopeful expression in the older teenager's eyes flared into life with heartbreaking eagerness. "Nicky?" Adam croaked.

"What did you do?" Jazz exclaimed.

Adam groaned and hid his face, but Jazz refused to let him slip away. "I'm here, Adam," the younger man whispered, stroking his dark brown hair.

"You went away."

"Yeah." Jazz ran his fingers over Adam's cheek, noting two or three days' growth of beard there. "But I came back."

"Cause I'm so pathetic?"

Jazz winced. It wasn't like Adam to demonstrate such a blatant lack of confidence. "No…cause I want to be here."

Adam struggled to smile, but failed, exhaustion and tears vying for a place on his face. "I need you."

"I know," Jazz agreed, trying valiantly not to cry himself. "We can work this out, Adam. Together."

"Together," Adam echoed, a blissful expression transforming his face. Tears ran unchecked down his cheeks, but he didn't even attempt to wipe them away. "I'm sorry."

"Me, too."

"I love you…so much."

For the first time since he'd moved in with Adam, Jazz saw beyond the surface calm that Adam usually projected to the inner vulnerability that no one was allowed to see. "I love you, too," Jazz said softly, feeling the power those words held over both of them.

Adam's breath hitched in his throat, and Jazz couldn't stand being apart one moment longer. He didn't care how scruffy Adam looked or how bad he smelled. He had to hold him and reassure him, no, reassure both of them, that their love had survived.

They might have been separated for days, but they had gained years.

"Get in the shower."

"What?" Adam looked up at Jazz with wounded eyes, but Jazz refused to give in.

"I said, get in the shower."

"Some reconciliation," Adam sniffed.

"I love you, Adam, but you stink. If you think I'm sleeping with you like that, you've got another think coming."

Adam grabbed hold of Jazz's wrist as his lover attempted to get off the bed. "Are you?'

"Am I what?"

"Sleeping with me?"

Jazz stifled a powerful urge to kiss Adam senseless and settled for stroking his cheek. "We can talk about it later. After your shower."

"I don't know if I can stand up, Nick. I feel…woozy."

"I know, baby. I'll help you."

"What did you call me?"

"Baby?"

Adam grinned. "That's what I call you."

"So? Get used to it. Now get your ass in the shower or we're done talking."

"Okay."

It took several tries to get Adam up on his feet and he was still none too steady. But he leaned on Jazz and somehow they managed to make it into the bathroom. "Can I kiss you?"

Ignoring Adam's question for the moment, Jazz reached in and turned on the shower spray. When Adam made no move to get in, Jazz handed Adam a washcloth and ordered, "Get wet or else."

"You want to help me?"

Adam was flirting with him. Jazz blushed, heat flooding his cheeks in a way that was as unwelcome as it was unaccustomed. "Get started, Samuelle. I'm going to fix us something to eat."

"You are?" Adam asked incredulously. "I don't think you've ever volunteered to do that before."

"There are going to be a lot of firsts around here, Adam. Some of them you might not like."

A genuine warmth blossomed in Adam's dark eyes and Jazz knew that he was right where he needed to be. "I can deal."

"We'll see."

"I think I like you this way."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Adam stripped surprisingly quickly and stepped into the shower. Then he popped his head out from behind the curtain. "Hey…you want to be grown-ups with me?"

"Yeah. You think you can stand me taking care of you once in a while?"

Adam nodded. Jazz gazed at him in wide-eyed wonder and slowly approached the shower. Placing his palms flat on Adam's chest, Jazz leaned in to give him a kiss. Despite his earlier warnings about the condition of Adam's body, Jazz captured his mouth in a kiss that promised more than ever before.

Adam slowly wrapped his arms around him and abruptly tugged him under the spray with him. "Ack! You had to get me wet! Now are you satisfied?"

"Not yet."

"You'll have to get cleaner than this for me to touch you. You need a shave, too."

"You sure came back bossy."

"You better believe it. Baby."

Jazz felt a strong pair of arms encircle his waist. "Mmm, smells good. What are you making?" asked Adam.

His hair was still wet and clung sleekly to his well-shaped head. He wore a heather gray T-shirt and a faded pair of jeans that should have been retired long ago. Judging from the way the jeans sat low on Adam's hips, Jazz assumed that Adam had lost more weight than he originally thought.

"Tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches."

"Comfort food," Adam declared with a saucy grin.

"Yeah. You look squeaky clean. Should I check behind your ears, too?" Jazz asked, returning the mischievous look.

"Nah, I'm good."

"You look it," Jazz said, admiring the change in Adam's entire demeanor since he'd come home.

"That's cause you're here," Adam replied huskily.

"I could get used to you depending on me for a change, y'know."

"I guess I thought…I had to be strong all the time. It's kind of a relief not to be. Does that make any sense?"

"Yeah." Jazz expertly flipped the grilled cheese sandwiches in the pan and turned off the gas. "I think I felt like I was submerged in you for so long…I didn't remember how to be me anymore. It feels sort of good to just-"

"Be you?" Adam took the pan out of Jazz' hand and placed it carefully on top of the stove. Jazz' bright green eyes flickered over Adam's face as the older teenager wrapped his arms around his neck. "I never meant for you to lose yourself, Nick. I want you to be…whoever you want to be."

"Same here," Jazz said, accurately reading Adam's intention to kiss him. Their lips met, softly at first, then more urgently as desire flared between them.

When they broke away, quite breathless, Jazz began to chuckle. "I'm not going to let my food get cold for you, Adam."

Adam sighed as he reluctantly let go of his lover. "Does this mean you don't want to do it on the kitchen table?"

"Was that supposed to be fucking romantic?"

"I'm a guy, Nick. I don't do romantic."

"Yeah, you do," Jazz whispered before he buried his face in Adam's damp hair. "That's one of the things I love about you."

"Guess I shouldn't change that part, huh?"

"Don't go changing any of your parts on my account, baby."

Adam's lips brushed Jazz' forehead. "Again with the 'baby'. You make me feel so fucking domestic."

"There are worse things."

"Yeah. I think I've been through most of 'em in the past three days," Adam said quietly.

"We can make this work, Adam." Jazz kissed Adam's ear, then slid his tongue along his jawline.

"You make me believe it, Nick."

Jazz felt his eyes water at Adam's admission. Things were changing. They could do this. "I'm glad." He cleared his throat. "Now go sit down. You made the food get cold. You're going to have to pay for that."

"Mmm, is that a promise?"

"Yeah." Jazz put the rapidly cooling sandwiches on a plate and placed it on the table. Quickly ladling the soup into two wide mugs, he set them next to the sandwiches. Seating himself across from Adam, Jazz studied his lover's face when he said, "I think I'll buy us a microwave. When I get a new job."

Adam gave him an enigmatic smile. "Just make sure it doesn't interfere with your school work."

"Yes, Mom," Jazz responded, taking a sip from his mug.

"Oh, before I forget…I called Sasha and he's going to bring over your assignments from school."

"Really? When's he coming?"

"He should be here in a couple hours."

"I hope he knocks real loud."

Jazz laughed. It was the most beautiful sound Adam had heard in a very long time.

"That reminds me."

"I should hope so," Adam said with an infectious grin. "It hasn't been that long."

"Not that," Jazz said. "This." With a flourish, Jazz produced a shiny new class ring in the palm of his hand.

Adam's mouth fell open. "When did you get that?"

"Pete insisted. I still didn't have enough money, but Pete said there are some things that just can't wait."

A lump grew in Adam's throat. Anticipation was choking him. "Why aren't you wearing it?" he managed.

Jazz looked amused. "Cause it belongs to you, baby."

"Oh."

Seeing Adam speechless was a rare treat, but Jazz was reduced to tears himself when he slipped the ring onto Adam's left ring finger. "There. That's where that belongs," he whispered.

"Shit. You do romantic so much better than me."

When they kissed, their tears mingled.