Under lock and key. That's where I always kept my deepest, darkest secrets. I never wanted anyone to know how I really felt. Wouldn't be…um, for lack of a better phrase, politically correct.

There's a lot of that here. Politics, I mean. If I've learned one thing in all my time in Section, it's whose ass to kiss. Oh, I know what people think about me. They think I don't know that they talk behind my back. Even leaving Section One for Oversight and a second-in-command post at George's side didn't change that.

They hate me.

I'd be lying if I said that didn't hurt. Not that they'd ever see that written on my face. I don't give anything away. Okay, I can't do a poker face like Mikey. But I've learned to hide behind cutting-edge sarcasm.

I exploit every opportunity that comes along. I use everything and everyone.

That's my fucking job.

But no one told me that it would pit me against the one person I really cared about.

Nah, I know what you're thinking. Me and Birkoff go way back. Right to my first day in One. He didn't want me there. He saw me as the competition. Boy, was he psychic or what?

I *am* smarter. Faster. More creative. I *am* more than he'll ever be. Or could dream of being.

He reluctantly tried to help me. I don't think it was in Seymour's nature to be any other way, strange as that sounds. But I pushed him away. With words. With insults. Oh, yeah, and the occasional attempt on his life. What was I thinking?

I trusted no one. Especially not him.

He was the enemy. Do you think I didn't know that?

Ops and Maddy set me up. Bigtime. Think they cared what we thought of each other? Hell, no, they fueled the fire. Every chance they got. Cause it made our numbers better. Made us more effective at the job.

And we all know, the job is the only thing that counts here.

You're only as good as your last mission.

Shit, Seymour, why'd you have to go and die on me? That wasn't in the plan, man. I never got a chance to tell you.

Something.

It was just like you, though. To go out in a fucking blaze of glory like that. You stupid altruistic son of a bitch! What did you have to go and do that for?

You thought they were your fucking family! Hell, I guess if you grew up in One, they were. But they wouldn't have done the same for you.

They would have let you go in a heartbeat.

Even when I went to Oversight…I always thought I would see you again. I always knew you were there. Somewhere.

Now you're fucking gone, you pathetic loser.

And I can't see past the fucking tears in my eyes.

No one knew how I felt about Birkoff. I mean, shit, it's not the kind of thing somebody who wants to live shouts out in the middle of Section One.

Then *he* came.

The other. The brother. The twin. I tried to keep from feeling outraged that this piece of shit was still walking around on two legs when a decent human being like Birkoff was dead.

But I couldn't help but stare at him. The resemblance was so strong, and yet…they were completely different. Mirror twins. Polar opposites.

Looking at Jason Crawford was like looking at myself. The cocky half-smile. The relaxed posture. The mouth that promised everything but gave none of it away.

Once again, I was struck by the irony of it all. Why hadn't I gone to Birkoff and done something, *anything*, about this, this in stupifyingly bad taste attraction I had for him?

Maybe because he would have…laughed. I don't think I could have taken that.

So I stayed far, far away from the insouciant Jason with his "How'd you like to fuck this?" smile.

It would have worked. After all, we no longer worked side by side anymore. I didn't *have* to see him any more than I wanted to.

But dammit, I wanted to.

And somehow he *knew*. Arrogant son-of-a-bitch.

*He* came to *me*.

"Greg, my man, what *are* you doing, hiding yourself away in this here corner of the universe?"

"It's where I work, Crawford. Get lost."

Crawford rolled his expressive brown eyes. As if. The fun was just getting started. Christ, he couldn't help but want to play with Hillinger. He was such fun to tease, the little prick.

Hillinger sighed heavily. He wasn't going to go away. He was going to stand there, looking like the ghost of Birkoff Past until Greg wanted to fucking scream.

"What do you want, Jason?"

"Not much. I was thinking how y'all would look damn good in black—"

"Leather, no doubt," Hillinger quipped with real frost in his voice.

"Naw, Greg, you ain't the type to carry off that kind of a fashion statement at all. You're more the…" There was a pause while Crawford pondered. "I got it. Black velvet. You would look positively scrumptious in black velvet, doncha think?"

"I think you took me for someone who gives a shit, Jason. Give it up. I'm fucking busy."

"Ooh, maybe y'all will make a mistake or something. Then I'd just have to come back here and whup your ass, wouldn't I?"

Hillinger whirled to face the intruder, a snarl on his lips and incautious heat in his face. "You just got here, Crawford! What miracle of technology makes you think you're even remotely in *my* class?"

Crawford pouted, his full sensual mouth jutting forward. It was almost enough to make Greg cry.

"Why the fuck won't you leave me alone?"

"You can't forget him, can you?"

"Who?"

"You know who, Greg. Don't play games."

"You mean Birkoff? There was no love lost between us, Jason." There should have been, though. There fucking should have been.

"You knew him better than anyone else, Greggie."

Hillinger lost it then. "Don't fucking call me that!" he shouted, cords standing out in his neck.

Aghast at revealing so much to someone he considered an enemy, Hillinger turned back to his keyboard, clenching his teeth together as he choked back a sob of pure desperation.

Jason moved closer, his seductive drawl dripping over Greg's tortured senses, sweet as honey, slow as molasses. "I need your help, Greg."

"My help? No, you want information, you go straight to Quinn. She replaced him."

Jason huffed gently, clearly the prelude to a bemused laugh. "No one could ever replace him, Greg. Not *you*…and certainly not that snarky little bitch that works in Comm."

Hillinger turned to face Jason with a startled glance. "They want *you* to replace him."

"Yeahhhh…now you're getting the big picture, Greggie."

Hillinger winced.

"You want me to help you how?"

"Help me become Birkoff."

"What am I doing wrong, Greggie? The accent's relatively easy. But you keep telling me I don't sound like him."

Greg sighed. "Your voice is similar, Jason. It's just—"

"Just what?" Jason snapped in exasperation.

"It's your attitude," Greg managed to get out.

"So what the fuck's wrong with my attitude, Weasel Boy?" Jason drawled, the sarcasm so thick that you could cut it with a knife.

"That."

"What that?"

"*That*. What you just said. Birkoff would never say that."

"My brother was every bit as sarcastic as I am. Everything I've found out tells me that much."

"Not the sarcasm. It's just—you two come from two different places."

"We were both born here in Section, Weasel Boy. How could we come from two different places? Enlighten me, please."

"Birkoff had a—he was—oh, shit, man, I can't do this!" Hillinger abandoned all attempts at keeping his feelings a secret and buried his face in his hands.

Very, very slowly, Jason moved closer until he stood directly behind Hillinger. He placed his hands on Hillinger's shoulders and felt him flinch under his grip.

He bent his head and touched his lips to the nape of Greg's neck. "Please!" Jason smiled enigmatically and realized that it was impossible to tell if Greg was afraid of his touch or pleading for more.

Hillinger raised tear-filled eyes the color of onyx to Jason's. A sniffle escaped him against his will. There was no one in sight in the Comm area at Oversight. Row after row of empty computer terminals lay silent. Still one would need to be crazy to show any kind of personal feeling towards a fellow operative, no matter how confident one felt.

Jason was just crazy enough. Day after day he had stood perilously close to Hillinger, knowing the young operative had desired his late brother. He wasn't sure if Hillinger himself recognized the growing attraction between them. Even though Hillinger denied a physical relationship with Birkoff, Jason was certain that he had wanted one.

Hillinger's lower lip trembled as he gazed intently into the dark eyes of his opposite. "B-Birkoff never knew. He would—he would have *hated* that I—that I—" Even now, Greg couldn't say it out loud. His near-black eyes blurred with tears again.

Jason almost smiled as he reached out to stroke Hillinger's face. "Then we really *are* different. Because there's no way I could look at this face and *not* want you."

"But you've been flitting from girl to girl—"

"No better way to hide than in plain sight." The gleam in Jason's eyes was unmistakable. But Hillinger felt as if touching *anyone else*, but especially *Jason*, would be irreverent. It didn't matter that Birkoff never knew how he felt. He couldn't betray him by making love to his brother.

Wait, thought Greg, did I just say "making love"? Oh, shit.

"There's nothing wrong with being with me, Greg."

"I can't."

"He'd forgive you."

"I can't." But Greg's voice sounded less sure.

"You're beautiful."

"I—"

"You can pretend I'm *him*. Hell, if you can teach me how to be him, well enough to fool Oversight, you can certainly fool yourself for a half hour."

The thought of being touched by someone who was willing and *able* to stand in for Birkoff made Greg's mouth go dry. "I—" Suddenly overcome by a very real wave of longing, Hillinger leaned forward and kissed Jason on the mouth.

Jason's eyes grew hot. "I want to fuck you, not take you to the Prom. Kisses are for people in love. Not people having sex."

Hillinger looked stricken. Angry at himself for forgetting that Jason seemed every bit as skilled a gameplayer as he was, Greg shut down emotionally. "You arrogant shit."

"Yeah. There is *that* aspect of my personality, I guess. I still want to fuck you, though, " he said amiably.

"People in Hell still want ice water. That doesn't mean they *get* it."

"Well, shit fire and damn the matches, Greg. Nice to see you getting into the spirit of things."

Hillinger looked up at the young man looming over him. His expression suddenly serious, Jason Crawford looked like the last man on Earth to tangle with. His tone unexpectedly bitter, Jason said, "Never should have started this with you. You're…not who I thought you were."

Hillinger would sooner choke than ask, but he couldn't seem to prevent the words from coming out of his mouth. "Who did you think I was?"

Jason made an impolite noise. "I thought you were a match for me, but at the last moment, you turn into some kind of…human. How's that sposed to make me feel, huh? Like I'm using y'all? Like I got no personal interest in y'all at all?"

"You don't," Greg stated flatly. "Why pretend?"

Jason reached out with one hand and cupped the younger man's chin, lifting his tear-stained face. "I never saw anyone as complicated as *you* are, Greggie. To look at y'all, I'd expect sarcastic one-liners right up to the moment you come. You seem hard-wired for that kind of thing. I don't believe you've ever given *anything* away before." Jason paused to reflect a moment. "And that makes you mad as Hell, doesn't it?"

Hillinger tried to jerk his head away from those warm, probing fingers, but Jason held him fast. "It does!" Hillinger made a sound then, screwing his face up as if he were struggling not to cry again.

"You don't like being on the receiving end of being fucked, do you, Greg?" Jason lowered his head until he could lick the side of Hillinger's face, his warm, wet tongue extended to its full length. Hillinger groaned, and his dark eyes abruptly opened, glittering like shiny black pieces of volcanic glass.

"You're not one of those guys who thinks he has to be in love with everyone he fucks, are you?"

Hillinger shuddered. But whether it was with need or with trepidation was anyone's guess.

"I told you before. I'm all for *fucking* you. But I don't do *love* affairs. They get…" The Comm op smiled crookedly as he searched for the right word. "…messy."

"I could never *love* you," Greg spat. They were the first words he'd spoken in several minutes, and the venom that colored his voice made Jason's close-cropped hair stand on end.

Jason shrugged carelessly. "Good. Then we understand each other."

Hillinger smiled faintly. "I would never make the mistake of thinking I could read you, Jason. You think you know something about me that gives you control. But it doesn't. Let me tell *you* something. I never *fucked* your brother. But I did *love* him. How's that for a surprise?"

When Jason's fingers suddenly went nerveless, they stopped holding Hillinger's face within their grasp. Greg wrenched his head away from Jason, his midnight eyes clouded with remembered pain. "He was worth *ten* of you! You pathetic piece of crap!"

"Mmm…" Jason murmured. "I have to wonder what he did for you that got y'all hot and bothered."

"He existed."

"Ohhh, I see…must've been true love then."

Hillinger mumbled something under his breath. Something too low, too unintelligible to hear.

"What's that, Weasel Boy?"

"I said I *wouldn't* know. Never been in love before."

"Woohoo! I got me a real virgin here, don't I?"

Hillinger's nostrils flared with impatience and residual anger. "I didn't say I never fucked anyone before. Just that I've never been in love."

"You wanna be, though. I can see it in your eyes."

"So what? You just told me that you don't *do* that kind of thing! And I'm not in the market for a pity fuck! So buzz off, fly away, or set yourself on fire! I could give a fuck!"

Jason leaned down and captured the younger man's face with a vise-like grip. His fingers digging in, it quickly became obvious that he would leave marks. Maybe that was his intention. Or maybe he simply got carried away. But there was one more thing that was becoming evident.

Jason was starting to take this personally.

Greg began to sweat.