"I'm not having this conversation, okay? You're not real. You're not even there. So just…go away and leave me alone."

//You've forgotten, haven't you? Has it really been that long since we have spoken?//

"Not listening."

//Such behavior is childish. Unbecoming in one so Chosen."//

"Still not listening."

//Don't you wish to save them?//

"Ummm…who?" Against her will, Emmy found herself strangely curious.

//For one who does not wish to know the answers, you have a great many questions.//

"Maybe. But if you don't tell me, I'm going to walk out of here and leave you talking in someone else's head for a change. How's that?"

//You are your father's daughter.//

"Thanks. I think."

//You've been having dreams.//

"Yes. Is this about them?"

//What do you think the dreams are about?//

"Some girl. I don't recognize her. But she's being held captive. In Section One, I think. I've never been there, but Chris says that it sounds like the same place."

//Are you certain the girl is being held against her will?//

"You mean she *wants* to be there? Umm…I don't think so."

//What does the girl look like?//

"You know, that's the funny thing. I can't remember. I wake up screaming. Something about there being two."

//Two what?//

"Funny. That's what Chris said."

//Do you want to help?//

"You mean I can? And here I was wondering when I could use my superpowers for good."

//You have been given the ability to see the future, but as you know, the future is not fixed. It can be altered by many things.//

"Do you have to talk like a ouija board? Honest, I liked you better when you sounded like Denis Leary. Sarcasm is much more your thing."

//That was not me.// The voice sounded vaguely hurt, and Emmy, compassionate to a fault, immediately regretted her temporary lapse of good humor.

"Sorry. Force of habit. Comes from living with so many boys."

//You live with boys?//

"You're really not the same voice, are you?"

//Does it matter?//

"I guess not. Listen, what do you want me to do?"

//We will let you know when the time comes.//

"Until then, what?"

//You have the impatience of the very young.//

"I'm not a little kid, you know. I'm 17."

//And we have been around for centuries.//

"Then I guess you don't need me, right? Since you've got it all worked out?"

//You can be very trying, do you know that?//

"Wow. Is that some kind of mystical humor? That was almost funny."

//Be still.//

"Make me."

//You were easier to deal with when you were younger.//

"Yeah, well, so were you. Or whoever the other you was. She knew when to lighten up."

//We will return when we have further instructions for you.//

"Ooh, thanks."

She heard the mental equivalent of a sigh, then nothing. All was quiet in her head again.

"Allo, Soleil."

"Hi, Chris," Emmy replied with a toss of her long curly red hair. She popped a piece of chocolate chip cookie into her mouth before continuing. "I had another visit from The Powers That Be."

"Were they able to help you with the dreams?"

"Nope. I think they expected *me* to tell *them* what this is all about."

"Hmm…are you sure you can't remember who the girl is?"

"Yep. I've never seen her before."

"What about the man holding her?"

"I'm not sure he *is* holding her now. The Voice said that—" She froze in mid-chew. "Holy shit."

"What? What is it, Em?"

"He's *not* holding her. She's…um…looking up at him like…"

"Like what? Em?"

"Like she adores him. That's just whacked."

"No clue who the guy is?"

"Sorry. I don't know who any of the Section types are, and I really can't see myself asking Da, By the way, do you recognize this former assassin from your past?"

"What makes you think he's a *former* assassin?"

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Sasha?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you hack into one of the government databases and see if you can track down someone for me?"

"Umm…not really."

"Not really, not really? Or not really, you don't want to?"

"Is it a matter of life or death?"

"Probably."

"I've got a paper due tomorrow."

"On what?"

"History. Something about Tudors and Stuarts. Hey, isn't that right up your alley, oh Celtic one?"

"It's not nice to make fun of your bloody sister, Sasha."

"You're so much more, Em." Sasha fluttered his eyelashes at his sister, and Emmy knocked his feet off the table. "Did you grow up in a barn?"

"No, I came from a really scary place that *you* don't want to get involved with." Suddenly Sasha's voice took on a more serious tone, and Emmy realized that he really wasn't happy about revisiting anything to do with Section.

"You think they could trace us if you hacked into one of the databases?" Emmy chewed on her fingertip nervously. She was defiantly her father's daughter, but if Sasha was scared, so was she.

"Maybe. How important is it to find out who these people are?"

"It might be *real* important, Sash."

He sighed. "I'll see what I can do."

"No heroics."

"Don't worry. I've got a lot to live for."

"Yeah, Skye would kill me if I let anything happen to *you*."

Sasha smiled. "I trained her well, didn't I?"

Emmy rolled her expressive grey eyes. "Spare me, please."

"You're just jealous."

"Of what?"

"You know."

"In your dreams, boyo."

Sasha abruptly sobered. "No. In *yours*."

"I'm not going to the airport," Adam said, his voice still a trifle husky. "I'd…rather say goodbye here."

Jazz put down his bags and held out his arms, and Adam stepped into a full-body hug that he badly needed. "We don't have to say goodbye, if you don't want to," Jazz whispered, his lips trailing a series of light kisses down the side of his lover's face.

Adam closed his eyes and tried to be stoic. He'd seen his father do it time after time. He was damn good at it, too. But then, he'd had way too much practice, a fact that wasn't lost on his son.

"Just…don't forget to call me when you get there, okay? I don't care how late it is."

"I will." Jazz held his breath for fear that he was going to break down, and he didn't think that would help Adam at all. Adam's fingers slid through his hair, and Jazz stifled a sigh. This was so much harder than he expected. "I'll be back before you know it," he whispered.

"I know," Adam agreed, but Jazz could hear the pain in his voice. He had to go, but Adam was holding him so tightly that he didn't dare move.

As if he read Jazz' mind, Adam reluctantly relinquished his hold on the younger man. "Guess it's time, huh?"

"Yeah. I'd better go."

"Call me," Adam murmured, but his mind was clearly a million miles away. His fingertips reached out to caress Jazz' face one last time, and Jazz turned his head so that he was able to kiss them. That got Adam's attention, and he looked vaguely startled for a moment.

"I love you," he said hoarsely, unable to take his eyes off his lover.

"I love you, too," Jazz whispered brokenly.

"I won't say goodbye, Nick."

"I'm coming back, Adam."

Adam started to say something, but he was dangerously close to losing control. He didn't want Jazz to feel guilty for pursuing his dream. God knows he was entitled to dream after the hellish life he was subjected to before he met Adam. Adam refused to add to his obvious ambivalence in leaving him.

He waved and stepped back from the door, and Jazz had all he could do not to rush back into Adam's arms. It was safe there. It would always be safe there. But that was why it was okay for him to fly. Just a little bit. Because he would always have this place to come back to.

He was scared.

He was literally on his own. For real. He didn't count living on the streets. That wasn't quite the same thing, and he knew it. Living on the streets, having to survive day to day, gave him a unique perspective on life, but he didn't know anything else existed. He didn't know what having a family was like. Before Jamie and Pete. Before *Adam*.

He belonged to them, and they belonged to *him*.

And now he was leaving them all behind. Just for a little while. But…

…scary.

He stared out the window and chewed anxiously on his bottom lip, his fingers playing with the fine silver chain around his neck. He was going to be okay. Just as soon as the plane landed. Just as soon as he could get to a phone where he could call Adam. Hear his voice.

Someone sat down next to him and fastened his seatbelt. Jazz didn't even notice. He was lost in thought, and he wasn't coming out till the plane was back on the ground again.

"Are you going to London?"

Oh, God, the man next to him wanted to talk. Why couldn't he leave him alone? "Umm, yeah."

"Me, too. I love London. It's a great town."

The man had a slight accent that Jazz couldn't place. Then he turned to face him and nearly gasped out loud. He was the epitome of tall, dark and handsome. Not quite the most stunning male specimen that Jazz had ever seen, but close.

"Umm, I've never been there. It's my…first time."

"Then I hope you'll allow me to show you around." The stranger smiled warmly, and Jazz returned the fond look.

Maybe London wouldn't be so bad.

The stranger looked up at the flight attendant and asked, "Could I get a very dry martini, please? Oh, and something for my friend here."

"Oh, no, I don't drink," Jazz hastened to say, blushing for some inexplicable reason. He wasn't attracted to the man. He would never jeopardize his commitment to Adam by indulging in casual sex with anyone. Much less someone he had only just met. But there was something niggling at the back of his mind.

It would only be a matter of time before he figured it out.

"Are you sure you won't have a drink with me?" the stranger purred.

Jazz shook his head. "Thanks, but I'm kinda tired. I think I'm going to take a nap." He smiled, but the smile didn't quite reach his eyes. He couldn't explain it, but he felt like he needed to keep his distance from the older man. He was a bit…distracting.

With a barely concealed sigh, Jazz slipped his headphones on and turned the music channel to low volume. He missed Adam more than ever, and he closed his eyes and tried to think of something else.

He was just starting to drift off to sleep when he felt it. The hand on his thigh. He pretended not to notice at first, hoping that the touch was accidental. But a moment later, the hand crept stealthily upwards.

Jazz' bright green eyes flew open. "Excuse me," he growled.

The stranger peered at him curiously. "Oh, come on, aren't you the least little bit interested?"

"No."

The man blinked. "That's a trifle rude, don't you think?"

"No. Rude is putting your hands on me while I'm trying to sleep. Rude is trying to come on to me when I made it very clear that I'm *not* interested. That's what rude is."

"Okay, okay. I won't touch you again."

"I hope you mean that."

The stranger shrugged. "I promise."

Jazz turned towards the window and pressed his face against the glass. It was going to be a long flight.

True to his word, the man never approached Jazz again. He seemed more uncomfortable than anything else, and Jazz assumed that the man was probably worried that he was going to tell someone about what happened. He stood up and stretched before taking his place in the long line flowing slowly down the aisle to exit the plane.

Jazz picked up his bags at the carousel and proceeded to wait in yet another line, this time to go through Customs. It didn't take long. Jazz brushed his hair back with one hand and wondered if he had really changed all that much. Once they would have thought that he fit their profile perfectly. Young, long-haired, looking vaguely guilty about something. Now he was the quintessential student. He had to smile at that.

As soon as he cleared Customs, he searched for a phone that wasn't in use. He put his bags down between his feet and started to tap out Adam's number. But no sooner did his bags hit the floor than someone grabbed them and ran. "Hey, wait! Those are mine!"

Without thinking, he pursued the thief, not realizing that he was going deeper and deeper into the bowels of the airport. Away from other people.

Suddenly the thief stopped right where he was and glanced into the shadowy corridor to his left. What was he looking at? A man stepped into the dim light and handed some money to the thief. "That'll be all."

The thief gave Jazz a look that could have been some kind of a warning and took off at a breakneck pace in the opposite direction. "You again," Jazz whispered, realizing that it was the very same man who had accosted him on the plane. "What do you want?"

"You."

"Why? There are hundreds of kids like me."

"Not…exactly like you."

"I'm nothing special."

"Oh, but you underestimate your importance in the general scheme of things."

"I don't get it."

"You will."

"There are people expecting me. If I don't show up, they'll know that something's wrong."

"I've already called them for you. They think your plane was late. No one will miss you. No one knows you're here."

"Adam's waiting for me to call," Jazz muttered under his breath.

The stranger's dark eyes seemed to gleam at the mention of Adam's name. "Ah, the lover. Will he come for you?"

The man stroked a finger along the side of Jazz' jaw. "I would. I would come for you in a heartbeat," he said seductively.

Jazz was terrified. Not for himself, but for Adam. Adam *would* come to rescue him. No matter what the cost. He couldn't let that happen. Adam was *everything* that mattered to him. "You're not after me. You're after *him*," Jazz guessed. Correctly from the triumphant look on the other man's face.

"Such intelligence coupled with such passionate intensity. Does he appreciate you the way I would?"

"Shut up. I'm not interested in what gets you off."

"You should be. Considering Adam's life hangs in the balance."

"If that was a threat, it wasn't a very good one," Jazz bluffed. "We just broke up. That's why I came to England."

The older man frowned. "You're lying. You'd do anything to protect him."

"Sorry, but your information, wherever it came from, is wrong. Or should I say out of date? We had a fight. No one knows about it except us. Too bad you didn't know, too, huh?"

The stranger hesitated. Just long enough for Jazz to spring into a flying front kick. Taken by surprise, the man's head snapped back with enough force to hit the wall behind him. He slumped to the floor, unconscious, and Jazz sprinted down the corridor, completely forgetting about his bags.

I should go to the police, he thought, but hard on the heels of that thought came the knowledge that someone was after Adam. That took precedence. Over everything. Including his internship.

He had no luggage, but luckily for him, he still had his backpack. In it were his passport, his traveler's checks, and his hotel reservation. That man, whoever he was, would be expecting Jazz to contact the museum or the university. But Jazz hadn't known what kind of rooms he could get on such short notice. So he'd booked a hotel for the first two nights. So he could get his bearings in a strange town.

It wasn't luxurious, but it was decent lodging for the price. And now that someone was looking for him, it seemed the safest place to be.

He made sure that he wasn't followed up to his room. He searched the room thoroughly before he locked the door. Then he kicked off his boots and sat down on the bed. "I have to call Adam. But what do I say? This guy tried to pick me up, but *you're* the one he wants?"

He buried his face in his hands for all of two seconds, desperate to reassure himself that Adam was all right. He didn't trust the hotel phone, as paranoid as that sounded, and he thanked God that he still had his cell phone. He hit auto-dial #1 and waited, his hands visibly shaking.

Adam answered on the second ring, which made Jazz think that he had indeed been waiting up for his call. "Nick! You got there okay?"

"Oh, Adam…"

Adam took a deep breath. "What's wrong?" It was all he could do not to say to hell with school and jump on a plane in the middle of the night. The thought that Jazz might be in real trouble terrified him.

"I…I'm okay, Adam," Jazz whispered. God, he didn't like the sound of his own voice. If he couldn't convince himself, how could he convince Adam that he was all right?

"Where are you?" Adam demanded hoarsely.

"In…the hotel. In my r-room." Jazz shivered. Suddenly it didn't seem like such a good idea, after all, to hide out in his room. what if he *had* been followed? What if someone was waiting right outside his door?

"And?" Adam prompted.

"There was this guy—"

"Jesus! What guy? What did he do to you?"

"Nothing. At least…not much."

Adam stood up and started to pace. "You're not reassuring me here, Nick." Adam shifted the cell phone to his shoulder and contemplated how fast his father could make things happen if he asked. "You still there?"

"Yeah," Jazz acknowledged. He suddenly realized that he had gotten what he wanted. With a vengeance. He wanted to be independent. He wanted Adam to be able to rely on him the way he depended on Adam. But if this was payback, it was frightening.

"I wish you were here with me," Jazz murmured, more to himself than to Adam. But Adam heard him. Loud and clear.

"Me, too, Nick. I know you can take care of yourself, but…you need to tell me what's going on. Please."

"There was this guy on the plane—"

"You said that before. What did he do?"

"Just talked to me." Jazz blushed, remembering how he'd found the older man attractive. Apparently, that was the stranger's intention. To seduce Jazz, then use him as bait to get to Adam. "Well, more than talked."

"Did he touch you?" Adam growled, his entire body tensed as if to bolt out the door.

"A little." He heard the angry noises that Adam was making and cursed himself for taking his time getting to the point. It was just that he needed to keep Adam talking. As long as he could hear Adam, things were going to be all right.

"Nick!"

"He put his hand on my leg. While I was sleeping."

"What?"

"Then he followed me after I left Customs."

"What happened? Are you okay?"

"Yeah. He hired someone to steal my bags and when I tried to get them back, well…I ended up getting cornered in the kind of place you always tell me to stay away from."

"Are you okay?" Adam whispered.

"You keep asking me that, Adam. I told you—"

"I know what you told me, Nick. But I know you. You're holding something back. Don't fucking protect me, dammit."

While he listened to Jazz' harsh breathing, Adam picked up the receiver to their regular phone and dialed his father's number. All of a sudden, the silence was broken by Jazz' urgent plea. "Adam? You're not calling your father, are you?"

"What do *you* think, Nick?"

The line went dead.

Adam's mouth went dry and he frantically tried to redial the number of the hotel room where Jazz was staying in London. Busy. That was good. If it was busy, maybe Jazz was trying to call him back. Maybe.

He swore loudly and repeatedly, only to hear his father say sleepily, "You *do* know what time it is, don't you?"

"Dad!" Adam yelled, the panic of not being able to reach Jazz coming home to him in that instant. "Jazz is in trouble!"

The langour vanished from his father's voice immediately. "What happened?"

Adam explained what Jazz had told him, alarmed all over again by the lack of real intel he had. That and the fact that Jazz had hung up on him. Or…the alternative was too awful to think about.

What if this man, whoever he was, had found Jazz? Adam squeezed his eyes shut and tried to breathe. He's all right, he's all right, he told himself, any minute now he's going to call you back and say, Fooled you.

"The two of you weren't fighting, were you?"

"Daddy!" Adam couldn't believe that came out of his mouth, but it was a sign of how genuinely troubled he was. "We didn't have a fight," Adam cried. "And he wouldn't hang up without telling me he loved me."

If he'd still had his wits about him, Adam would have been deeply embarrassed by what he'd just confessed to his father, of all people, but he was lost in a world too terrible to imagine.

"Where is this hotel exactly?" Michael was experienced at keeping his emotions hidden. Under normal circumstances, that wouldn't necessarily be a good thing, but in this case, it was. Because if Michael told Adam what he was really thinking, Adam would lose hope, and as Michael had finally discovered, hope was the last thing that anyone wanted to lose.

"Are you going to London? Take me with you," Adam pleaded.

"Dad? DAD! Take me with you!"

"Take me…"

"Take…"

The cell phone dropped out of Adam's nerveless fingers and onto the carpet with a soft thump. He woke up with a startled cry, but seconds later, he was grateful that it was only a dream. Make that a nightmare.

"That's what I get for waiting up till all hours for the phone to ring," Adam muttered.

"Nick is probably having the time of his life right now. Sitting for hours, watching the boring in-flight movie, standing on line for Customs. Oh yeah, that sounds like something *I* wouldn't want to miss," Adam commented sarcastically.

He pretended that his heart wasn't beating out of his chest at the thought of any single part of that nightmare coming true and put the cell phone on the kitchen table. Jazz must have gone to bed as soon as he got in, Adam thought. He'll undoubtedly call first thing in the morning.

Adam went to bed, his dark eyes dry and irritated, his body too overtired to sleep.

That was it. In the morning, Jazz would call him with amusing museum stories, and they would laugh their asses off.

"Are you the new intern?"

Jazz turned and brushed an imaginary speck of lint from his brand-new suit. He wanted to make a good impression his first day. But when he saw the man standing before him, he almost forgot his name.

"Umm…yes. I'm…" Who am I again?

"You're Nick Elliott. Right?"

"Yes."

"You're going to be working with me," the cultured voice continued.

Jazz could hardly believe his luck. An internship and he got to look at this exciting piece of eye candy, too?

Jazz nodded when he realized that the man was speaking again. "Excuse me?"

The older man smiled. "I said…my name is Carlos."

"You do that *very* well," Carlos observed.

Jazz blinked, momentarily startled by the closeness of the voice. "It's just…um…*filing*." Pause. "Do you have to…watch me?"

"But I *like* watching you, Nick."

"I…wish you wouldn't call me that."

Carlos frowned. "Isn't it your name?"

"Well, yeah, but…no one calls me that," Jazz finished hurriedly, feeling fierce red color burn his cheeks. That was a lie. He could hear Adam whispering that name. Like it was an endearment. Which, if he were brutally honest, it *was*.

Carlos gave him an inscrutable look before saying, "I suspect that *someone* has called you that at some point in your life."

"I just wish…you wouldn't, that's all." Now Jazz was hopelessly embarrassed, and he couldn't even explain why. It felt…wrong…to hear that name on someone else's lips. It didn't matter that Carlos couldn't possibly know what it meant to him. It simply resonated throughout his entire being like someone striking the wrong chord on a piano.

"Very well," Carlos said with a dismissive wave. "I shall have to call you *something*, however. Since 'hey, you' would be in rather questionable taste, perhaps you could point me in the right direction."

"Jazz."

"Pardon? I don't recall inquiring as to your taste in music."

"Not music. Just…Jazz. My name, I mean."

"Well, that's…unique." Jazz had a sudden inkling that wasn't Carlos' first choice of words at all. But he couldn't be bothered trying to figure out the older man's motivations. This was his first *real* job. He didn't want to screw it up by getting involved with anyone at work. Even if that involvement wasn't, and could never be, romantic.

"In the future, I suggest you try using *that* instead of *Nicolas* on your paperwork. It might save another awkward conversation like this one," Carlos declared with a distinctly chilly note in his voice.

"But I—" Jazz froze before he could utter another word. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Carlos that *he* started the whole thing, but that didn't seem like the politically correct thing to do, and he had a feeling that his so-called internship would disappear like a puff of smoke if he mentioned that.

"No need to apologize. I've already forgotten about it," Carlos said, switching gears so seamlessly that Jazz faltered in his attempt to keep up. He felt…unbalanced. Something that Carlos lost no time in exploiting.

"I…need to get back to work," Jazz said, worrying that he had already made some irretrievable error.

"Go right ahead. I'll just…watch."

"Okay," Jazz agreed, but inside he was a bundle of nerves. "I dunno why, though."

"You move very…gracefully…and your hands…are very…expressive," Carlos continued smoothly.

"I'm expressing myself *filing*?"

"You take me far too literally, Jazz. I'm merely noticing the way you…move."

Jazz shook his head, his silver stud earring glinting under the fluorescent light of the museum's main office. "I guess I never…um…watched myself."

"I could tell you *more* about yourself…if you would give me a chance."

That sounded decidedly unlike anything even remotely work-related to Jazz. But before he could say a word, Carlos smiled and added, "I meant over coffee, Jazz. What on earth were you thinking to put that delicious shade of pink on your face?"

"N-nothing," Jazz stammered, cursing his own runaway imagination. He just wasn't used to people like this. People who had little more to do than play with words…or their employees.

"You're such fun to tease, Jazz. I can see we're going to have an interesting summer."

"I'll…be right back."

"Did I say something to frighten you away, Jazz?"

Carlos *seemed* concerned, but Jazz couldn't trust his own feelings right now. He felt…out of synch. "I…need to make a phone call. I…promised."

"Your family? Surely you called them when you got into London last night?"

"Umm…actually, no."

"Tsk, that was dreadfully irresponsible of you, Jazz. I expected you to be more considerate of their feelings."

Were they still talking about the same thing? Jazz stared at the older man in confusion. He needed to get out of the office. Even if it was for a few minutes. He needed to think.

He needed to talk to Adam.

"I…" Jazz turned and fled down the hall, completely unaware of the other man's continued scrutiny.

Carlos smiled again, but this time the smile didn't reach his eyes. He reached for his cell phone and tapped a key. "It's me. The target has been acquired."

Jazz stumbled into a stall in the men's room and locked the door. He wanted to talk to Adam. His hand was halfway to his cell phone before he realized something. If he called now, sounding scared and out of breath, Adam was going to think that he couldn't handle himself on his own.

What Adam thought…was more important than what Jazz was going through. On the streets at an early age, Jazz should have been able to cope with one potentially amorous male. But his senses were screaming that something was very different. Very wrong.

"Wow," Jazz murmured to himself, plunging both hands into his hair. Now his carefully orchestrated "look" was ruined. He didn't look sharp or confident any longer. He looked like what he was. A young man suddenly out of his depth.

He held the phone up to his ear with one shaking hand.

A few seconds later, he could breathe again. "Adam?" he whispered.

"I know. You missed me," Adam replied with a grin that Jazz couldn't help but hear in his voice.

"Yes, I did. How did you know?" Jazz concentrated on the familiar tones and struggled to keep the butterflies in his stomach from erupting into full flight.

"I always know. I know *you*."

The affection in Adam's voice was almost a tangible thing in the room with Jazz, and he sighed at the sudden longing that he felt.

"I wish you were here," Jazz whispered.

"Are you okay? You sound, I dunno, funny."

"Just…trying to be quiet so no one overhears me, that's all."

"How's the job?"

"Ummm…"

"Is there something wrong with the job?"

"No, it's just—"

"Did you just lie to me, Nick?"

Nick. The sound of that nickname abruptly brought tears to Jazz' eyes. He had to be overtired. There was nothing dire or threatening here. Just an overly cultivated boss with designs on his body. So why was he reacting this way?

"I wouldn't do that, Adam," Jazz responded huskily. He wasn't crying, he had better control than that, but tears weren't very far away in his voice, and Adam heard them. Just like he heard everything else that Jazz wasn't telling him.

Adam closed his eyes and leaned against the wall of the bedroom he shared with his lover. "You miss me," he repeated, feeling the certainty of it even as he said it.

"So much," Jazz barely managed to say.

"Me, too," Adam said quietly. He ran a finger along the edge of the bedroom door. He'd never felt so far away before. Like he couldn't reach Jazz.

"I'd…better get back. He'll be looking for me."

"Who?"

"My boss."

"Oh. What's he like?"

"He's…just a boss, Adam." Jazz squeezed his eyes shut. He had to hang up before Adam realized that something *was* wrong.

"Do you want me to come over there and beat him up for you?"

"What?" For a second, Jazz thought that Adam had guessed what was going on. But no. Adam was merely trying to cheer him up. Only even the thought of having Carlos beaten up failed to inspire anything but despair. Why couldn't he fight his own battles? What was so hard about standing on his own two feet?

"Nick? Are you sure there's nothing you want to tell me?"

Want to tell you? No. Need to tell you. Probably. Jazz caught his breath and said hoarsely, "I really have to go. I miss you like crazy. That's all this is."

"Nick?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

That made his heart ache. He wanted to be where Adam was with such ferocity that he almost said the words out loud. "I…love you, too, Adam."

"I'll talk to you soon."

Not soon enough. It could never be soon enough. When Adam hung up, Jazz continued to sit there and hold the phone to his ear. As if he could still hear Adam's voice.

All he had to do was wash his face, comb his hair, and smooth out the wrinkles in his suit. That was all. It was his first day on a new job in a new country. He had to stop letting his mind race ahead and think up new obstacles before he could face the old ones.

Nothing bad was going to happen.

He knew how to put a man like Carlos in his place.

So what if the internship hung in the proverbial balance?