"Declan?" Birkoff called after him, but it was too late. He was already gone. Birkoff stifled a sob.

"I’m okay, I’m going to be okay," he kept muttering to himself, abruptly dissolving into tears. "Oh, fuck, who am I kidding?"

He sat down on the bed, hard, splaying his soft, well-formed hands over his face. "What am I going to do?" He strained to drag another breath into his lungs, feeling the tension mounting in his chest.

Oh, crap, he thought. In Section, you couldn’t call in sick. They sent someone after you. He couldn’t fake a death in the family. He had no family. He couldn’t fake the death of a friend. He had no friends. Unless he went out and strangled Hillinger…hmm…that might almost be worth it, but no…

No one would ever believe that he was distraught over Hillinger’s death.

Somehow he had to pull himself together. He just wished he knew how.

It was the thought of Hillinger dying that saved him. It lightened his spirits so much, he was able to pass for being reasonably intact. If anyone found him unusually quiet or lacking his normal attitude, they didn’t say so.

He sat down at his monitor, working on finding out exactly where in Section Seven they had sent Declan. Finding an office allocated for Declan’s use, Birkoff patched into the computer there, leaving a hidden message that could only be activated by Declan. If he remembered anything that Birkoff had taught him. He might need prompting.

For the next few days, he checked his computers, searching for a response to the message he had sent. Now he knew how Michael had felt, all those months that Nikita was missing, presumed dead. No reply. No reply. Oh, and…no reply.

Birkoff was suffering. Part of him wanted to get over Declan. Not so much to go on with his life. What life did he really have? But just to get past the pain of wanting him, needing him, loving him…

The other part of him clung to the hope that Declan would find a way to make contact with him. He prayed that he would. "Please…" he murmured out loud.

Hillinger glanced at him. "What did you say?"

"Not a goddamn thing, Greggie."

When Declan did contact him, it was via the secure link that Birkoff had set up. Nevertheless, Declan was unconvinced that anything related to Section could ever truly be secure. So he kept his comments strictly impersonal, which frustrated the hell out of Birkoff.

"Are you okay?" Declan asked, keeping his voice just as blank as his face, in case he was under surveillance.

Birkoff understood what Declan was doing, but his heart was aching. Painfully so. "Yeah," he barely managed to squeeze past his seemingly immobile lips.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to shout, ‘I love you, goddammit!’, but under the circumstances, it was neither appropriate nor wise.

Finally, his brain clicked into gear, and Birkoff almost fell off his seat. "Um, Declan? Do you have a secure mailing address I can have?"

He couldn’t send it through Section correspondence. Someone would see it. Someone would know what it was. He would have to sneak out to a perfectly ordinary post office and mail his package to Declan.

Declan gave him the address, puzzled at Birkoff’s sudden burst of enthusiasm. "What’s up?" he asked, taking great care not to use any of Birkoff’s pet names.

Birkoff leaned back in his chair and smiled. "Let’s just say I’m glad I didn’t cut my hair this morning."

Birkoff was a new man. A man on a mission. He bustled about Section enthusiastically, anxious to finish his tour and stop by to see Walter. He had a plan that would keep him and Declan on the same wavelength. Literally. He knew how to design the appropriate software, but he needed someone like Walter to bring his design to life as hardware.

He whisked into Walter’s workshop the moment his work was completed, and Walter smiled in welcome. "Hi, Birkoff. How’s it hanging, lil buddy?"

"It’s hanging just fine, Walter, thanks," Birkoff commented dryly.

"Sheesh, I’m sorry to hear that, Seymour," Walter said with a twinkle in his eye.

Birkoff blew a raspberry at Walter. "Yeah, yeah, yeah…"

"Listen, Walter, I need something done on the QT, and I need it done quick. Can you help me?"

"That depends, Birkoff. What exactly did you have in mind?"

"Oh, and one more thing. You can’t ask me any questions about what it’s for."

Walter frowned. "If I’m risking my neck, I deserve an explanation, Sey-mour."

"Any other time, I’d agree with you, Walter. But not this time. Sorry." Birkoff looked dejected. His plan was all for nothing. Resisting the urge to cry, Birkoff turned and started to walk away.

Walter’s shout halted him in his tracks. "Hey!"

Birkoff turned a half step. Biting his lip, he waited.

"Does this have anything to do with the fact that you’ve been happier than I’ve ever seen you these past few months?"

Birkoff fretted. He couldn’t disclose his secret. Not even to Walter. But if he didn’t, he would lose Declan anyway.

"Yeah," he said, settling for the obvious answer, praying it would suffice.

"Okay then. Let’s rock ‘n’ roll."

Once the device had been implemented, which in itself took several days of hard work on every off hour that Walter got, it was a simple step to smuggle it outside of Section One. Birkoff mailed the device to Declan, hoping that Declan wasn’t kidding about his secure mailing address.

Pacing back and forth, he began the long wait. Real mail took so damn long. He didn’t know how anyone had coped prior to the existence of e-mail.

Almost ten days later, Birkoff lay on top of his bed, half-asleep, idly reflecting on the fact that with all his planning and plotting, he had virtually tricked himself into passing the nights without Declan without struggle. He fitted the headset into his ear, as he did every night, since the device had been sent to Declan. The device was a miniature field router, and it would give the sender the ability to monitor a select group of frequencies used only by Section One. As an added precaution, Birkoff routed the frequencies through several satellites.

It was untraceable. It was nearly foolproof. And it was working. His headset abruptly crackled into life.

Declan took a deep breath, bracing himself for the first sound of Birkoff’s voice in days. "Sey? Are you there?"

"Yes, Dec! Yes!" he cried worshipfully.

Declan almost wept. "God, I love you!"

Birkoff lay back on his bed, his hair fanning out on the pillow he once shared with Declan. Twisting his fingers restlessly together, Birkoff could hear the unspoken emotion in Declan’s voice. The connection was digital. Every pop, crack, and hum came across.

"I love you, too," Birkoff whispered.

"I heard that," Declan said gratefully, wondering how it was that this miracle could take place.

Birkoff rolled over onto his stomach, pressing himself as tightly to the mattress as he could. Half-dressed anyway, Birkoff felt himself becoming aroused at the mere sound of his lover’s voice.

"Declan?" he asked in a wistful tone.

"Yeah, puppy?"

"I wish you were here with me," Birkoff whispered ardently into his pillow. Clutching it to his abdomen, he wrapped both arms around it, pretending he was holding Declan.

"So do I, baby."

"I miss you so much." Birkoff closed his eyes, concentrating on the mental image he had of Declan.

Declan sighed loudly.

"I wish I was there to love you, Sey."

"Mmm…" Birkoff concentrated harder. He was getting more and more aroused. "Declan?"

"Yeah, puppy?"

"I wish you were here, touching me…"

On the other side of the connection, Declan lay back on his own bed, halfway across the world, raking both hands through his long red hair. If he’d thought he stood out like a sore thumb at One, here at Seven, he might have been dipped in neon.

Unable to resist touching himself, he slid a hand inside his pants, gently squeezing the bump that was rapidly growing into a major arousal.

"Sey?" Declan gasped as his tiny ache throbbed into life.

"Yes, Dec?"

"I want to be inside you, right now."

Birkoff shuddered, rubbing his groin against the sheets. "Oh, God, Declan…"

"Sey? Are you touching yourself now?"

"Um…sorta…" Birkoff replied, feeling guilty.

Declan unzipped his pants and released his arousal, his hard length springing forth from the midst of tangled dark red curls at his groin.

"So am I," came Declan’s whispered response.

Birkoff groaned. "Oh, Dec, I want to touch you so bad…"

"Tell me what you want to do to me, baby, please…" Declan said as he stroked himself.

"I want to…"

It had to be bad. Something that felt this good had to be bad. Gone were the negative thoughts about the most romantic chapter in his life ending before it really began. Some people might not find the way they were reaching out to one another healthy. Or constructive. Some people were wrong.

Birkoff was already half-undressed. As he moved about the room, kicking off his pants, not caring where they landed, he talked to Declan. Sweet words. Hot words. Love words. He could sense Declan getting hot. It was driving both of them crazy to be apart like this. But they would make this work. Somehow.

Once his naked butt was exposed to the air, he began to have goosebumps, and not from the cold. All the quarters in One were on a closely-maintained temperature control system. He shivered. He wasn’t sick, and he wasn’t cold. He was addicted to Declan, and he needed another dose of him. Right now.

"Declan?"

Declan moaned in answer. His stroking was getting a little too enthusiastic, and he could feel his climax approaching way too fast.

"Umm…"

"Don’t come yet!" Birkoff shouted.

Declan pinched himself, which gave him quite a start, but it had the requisite effect on his libido. He felt considerably more subdued.

Birkoff dove nose-first into the bed they usually shared. He sighed at the feel of the sheets against his naked skin. He lay on his stomach, his arousal pressing against the bed. What a delicious feeling that was, to rub himself against the bed. Pretending that Declan was there. Near him. On him. In him.

"Oh, God, Declan, I wish you were here."

"We’ll just have to start over, puppy. I got a little carried away when you shouted at me, and my little pinch seems to be working too well now."

Birkoff snorted. "You’re just an insatiable beast, Declan, and you know it. You probably came already."

"No, no, Sey, I waited for you, love. I swear." Declan sounded so earnest, Birkoff’s heart ached.

"I believe you, Dec. So where were we?"

"You were telling me what you wanted to do to me," Declan all but growled.

"Oh, yeah…" Birkoff laughed, rolling over onto his back. He spread his legs as wide as they would go and drew his knees up to his chest, his hands reaching for his arousal. "Mmm…now I’m thinking about what I want you to do to me," he said with a smirk.

Declan’s voice grew dark, flavored like whiskey and smoke, though he never smoked, and he rarely drank. "Ha, I know what you like, baby. You’re such a sly little thing, all soft and cuddly, like a great teddy bear. But you like me to get rough sometimes. You like me to pull your hair…and ride your back."

Birkoff sighed pleasurably, his hand insistently rubbing his arousal now. "Mmm…more, please…"

Declan sounded as if he was in the next room, their connection was so clear. "Are you getting hard, Sey?"

"Mmm…yeah," he said, not without a little difficulty.

"You want me to lick you all over?"

Birkoff gasped sharply. "God, yes!

"Could I kiss that sweet little ass?"

"Pl-please…"

"Could I spread those sweet little buttcheeks of yours? And run my tongue down that cleft?" Declan groaned. He was starting to feel dangerously close to coming again. Without even touching himself.

"Uhh…" Birkoff’s hand moved faster. The tip of his arousal was wet to the touch. He was moments away from coming.

Declan turned over onto his side, pretending he was next to his lover. His hips twitching involuntarily, he would find release soon. "Could I fuck that sweet little ass, puppy? Do you want me inside you? Every inch of me inside you? So tight, so hot, so wet…"

That was the final straw. Birkoff’s mouth opened, but no words came out. Just a gush of heated breath and a shudder that sounded like it went from his ass to his ankles.

The love he had for Declan poured itself all over his heated skin, melting like honey in the sun. "Ohhh…" It was both relief and heartbreak. Because his lover was not with him, he felt that loss at the moment of climax most keenly.

"Did you come, baby?"

"Yes," his lover replied, half-inclined to cry now.

"Don’t you dare cry on me, puppy! I’ll come over there so quick, I’ll whip that sweet butt of yours till it’s red, and then I’ll slide myself inside you, and I’ll fuck you until we both come!" Declan sought refuge in the rough language of sex, knowing it was the only thing that was keeping him hard now. Just the mere thought of his puppy hurting, aching, crying over him was enough to make him limper than a wet noodle.

"Yes," Birkoff breathed, trying to help his lover achieve his own climax. "I’ll let you fuck me till I’m ready to come, and then…I’ll make you pull out of my ass…"

"Why?" Declan almost sounded hurt. "You want to torture me?"

"Nooo…I want you to turn me over and come all over my face."

"Wicked puppy! You’re making me come now!" Declan cried out his release, come coating his hands and his groin. Spasms shook him, and he quivered, imagining himself pouring into that honey mouth.

When Declan came back to himself, he realized two things. His groin was a soggy mess that required almost immediate cleaning, and his lover of six months and several hundred miles away was indeed crying.

"Oh, shit, Declan! I thought this was going to make things better, but I can’t do it anymore! I can’t stand being separated from you!"

Declan crawled on his hands and knees across the bed, as if he could somehow climb into the satellite connection and speed himself across the miles as easily. "Sey, you’ve got to get hold of yourself," Declan warned, fearing for what would become of Birkoff, if he could not.

He pictured his lover’s anguished face, and he wanted to cry himself. "Sey, I won’t be there to help you, you’ve got to hang on."

"Or what, Declan?" he sobbed. "Or they’ll cancel me? I don’t care anymore," he said, closing the connection between them.

Rolling onto his stomach, Birkoff punched the pillow furiously several times. "Dammit! Nothing ever goes the way it should in my life! What’s the point?"

As he said that, he suddenly grew still. He felt a chill fall over his already clammy skin. He hiccuped loudly. "Christ! What IS the point?" he asked himself, knowing he had finally reached bottom.

Birkoff stood up on shaky legs and walked into the bathroom. Avoiding looking into the mirror, he turned on both taps and ran some water into the sink. Splashing his face with water, he sighed heavily. His heart felt like it weighed two tons, and his chest ached from the unrelieved pressure inside him.

Is this how it’s going to end? I don’t think I’m strong enough to go on this way. A tiny sob escaped him, and he held onto the sink with both arms, willing the tears back. But I don’t think I’m strong enough to kill myself either.

Sniffling, he reached for a clean towel, absently rubbing at himself. He climbed into the shower, turned the water on full blast, and stepped into the spray. The force of the spray in his face triggered off the tears that threatened, and his chest heaved erratically as he wept. At least no one could see his pain.

Hillinger clicked off the surveillance monitor he’d installed inside his quarters. His cheeks were wet. He swiped carelessly at his face. He was crying? Shit, he was losing his edge, and for someone like his nemesis, too.

Greg sat back in his chair, tapping a pencil on the desk. He’d started the sub rosa surveillance program as a lark, just to see if he could do it, and once he knew he could, he found himself spying on Birkoff. After all, he was the enemy. It was always good to know what the enemy was up to. But somewhere along the way, he’d discovered Birkoff’s attachment to Declan.

The mystery to him was, why didn’t he report both of them? His surveillance would have been revealed, but he could have explained that somehow. His naturally glib tongue would have taken care of that. Greg shook his head. No, he would have gone on spying on the two of them for as long as he could get away with it.

They were happy, dammit. They were in love. In the middle of Hell. How did that kind of thing happen? He wished he knew. He’d been attracted to Declan, from the first, but it never went anywhere. Now he understood why. It wasn’t just sex. Declan actually loved Birkoff.

And that was when things changed. Suddenly he was watching the surveillance monitor for Birkoff. Oh, he knew he had no more chance of breaking up their affair than he had of escaping Section without reprisal. For one thing, Declan might kill him. For another, he truly cared about Birkoff.

Oh, he couldn’t say they were friends, not even in the remotest sense of the word. But he was a constant presence in his life, such as it was, and if he were gone…well, it didn’t bear thinking about.

"I’m not in love with you, Seymour," Greg told himself. "But I gotta do something, or I have a feeling I’m never gonna see you again."

But how could he explain that he’d witnessed Birkoff’s very private pain? That he’d seen the growth of the love between him and Declan? That he sympathized with the grief he felt at Declan’s loss? He would never believe that Greg actually cared about him.

Greg sighed. Okay, he thought, so I’m a little in love with him, but I swear, I’m never telling him. They were too different. Oil and water. They could never be together, not the way Birkoff was with Declan.

"But I can do something about this, Seymour." It was probably the only time in his young life that Hillinger thought of someone else, instead of himself. It was as close to altruism as he would ever get.

Declan strode confidently into the office of the head of Section Seven. "You asked for me, ma’am?"

The head of Seven was a woman. A beautiful woman. Her name was Kwang Lo. Asian. Early 40’s. Black hair, brown eyes. Declan restlessly catalogued the extraneous details in his mind, knowing it was just another distraction from what he really wanted to do.

He wanted to go home. If he could call One home. He needed to go back there. Birkoff was falling apart. He was miserable without him. Worse than that, he feared that Birkoff might somehow find the strength to do something. Something stupid. Like…kill himself. Declan swallowed hard, knowing he was being observed carefully.

"Yes, McLaren. It seems you’re a very popular fellow back at One."

Declan blinked, uncertain whether he was surprised. "I am?"

The woman rose from her desk, holding a sheaf of paperwork in one hand. "They just cut you new orders, McLaren. We’ve enjoyed having you, but someone wants you back at One. Badly."

She smiled. Declan cringed. Birkoff wouldn’t. He couldn’t have.

"Who would that be, ma’am?" he asked, desperate for the answer.

"Why, Operations, of course. Who else?"

Declan shrugged. I’m not looking a frigging gift horse in the mouth.

Operations stood in Comm, talking to Hillinger. "They’re sending McLaren back? Did they say why?"

Hillinger glanced surreptitiously at Birkoff, who he knew was listening avidly to every word. "Not in so many words, sir. They weren’t displeased with his performance. I think it was just an Asian thing, sir."

Operations glared at Hillinger. "An Asian thing?"

"Well, McLaren *is* Irish, sir."

"So?"

"Well, it’s the red hair, sir." Hillinger was embroidering the truth wildly now, and it was all Birkoff could do not to laugh.

"The red hair?" Operations echoed.

"Yes, sir, it’s considered…bad luck."

"Bad luck…I see." Operations walked away, muttering to himself about how bright someone could be without having any common sense at all.

Birkoff whirled around in his chair, as soon as Operations left. "Greggie! Did you have something to do with bringing Dec—I mean, McLaren, back here?"

Hillinger sidled closer to Birkoff, his dark eyes curiously somber. He lay his hand on Birkoff’s arm, and Birkoff stared down at it for a moment, before returning his gaze to Hillinger’s face.

"I know about the two of you," Hillinger confessed quietly, keeping his voice so low, Birkoff had to strain to hear him.

Birkoff would have jumped up, but Hillinger’s hand remained clamped tightly to his arm. "Seymour! Please…"

Hillinger bent his head next to Birkoff’s, pretending that he was looking at something on the senior Comm operative’s monitor screen. "I don’t have time to explain everything right now," he whispered. "But I swear, it’s not a trap, or a trick, or a joke."

Birkoff resisted the urge to lapse into his usual verbal fencing with Hillinger. There was something almost sincere in his voice. He would swear that Hillinger did something nice. For someone else. But suspicious to a fault, Birkoff wanted to know what Hillinger got out of it.

Hillinger’s normally open face closed down. He would never tell Birkoff how he truly felt about him. Let him think he had an ulterior motive.

Declan was back in One several hours later, thanks to quick transport on the other end. Apparently anxious not to offend Operations at One, Seven made every effort to expedite his release.

When Declan walked into Comm, Hillinger saw Birkoff’s face before he carefully rearranged it into a blank mask. So it was love. He’d seen it with his own eyes. Maybe someday, someone would look at him that way. Maybe. He was still young enough to dream. To hope.

Hillinger crept behind Birkoff, placing his hands on his chair. "Go," he whispered in Birkoff’s ear. "I’ll take over here."

Birkoff turned around and stared into Hillinger’s enigmatic eyes. "You’d do that?" he whispered incredulously.

Hillinger nodded. "Go, before Operations comes back and demands to know where he is."

Without another word, Birkoff jumped up, removing his headset. He steered Declan back out of Comm, hoping that Operations hadn’t seen him, praying that Hillinger was as good as his word. Hillinger sat down at Birkoff’s monitor, sighing. God, if only someone loved him like that.

They walked to Birkoff’s quarters without speaking or touching. Birkoff didn’t have to strain to keep up with Declan’s stride, his own pace was far too quick for that.

Birkoff swiped the keycard through his door and tapped in his access code. When the door opened, he ran inside, turning only to close and re-lock the door.

"You’re really here," Birkoff said almost reverently.

Declan nodded, not trusting himself to speak. A moment later, curiosity got the better of him.

"Did you do this, Sey?"

Birkoff shrugged, shaking his head. "No, Dec. You mean you didn’t?"

Declan shook his head similarly. "We have a guardian angel then?"

Birkoff smiled mysteriously. "Something like that."

They were almost awkward with one another. Strange, given how much love and affection they held for each other. Stranger still, considering how much they yearned to express that love.

Suddenly they were both trying to speak at the same time. "Did you—?" "Were you—?"

Declan indicated that he would go first. "Operations is undoubtedly going to be tearing the place apart, looking for me, Sey. Maybe we can meet later."

Birkoff’s face fell. "Oh!…sure, sure…that sounds fine."

Birkoff turned away from Declan, and Declan watched his dejected lover walk away for several seconds before calling out.

"Sey!"

"Yes, Declan?"

"Come here, puppy."

"Yes, Declan!" Birkoff threw himself into Declan’s arms, and their mouths mashed almost painfully together.

Declan drew back, his beautiful mouth swollen from countless kisses. "When I come back, we’ve got something special to celebrate."

"Like what?" Birkoff asked hopefully.

"Like promising to be together the rest of our lives," Declan said hoarsely.

Birkoff looked as though he would cry. "Declan…"

"Don’t argue with me, boyo, you know what I’m like when I don’t get my way," Declan said, pretending to be cross. But Birkoff saw it for the act it was.

Birkoff kissed him, his mouth tender from their earlier frenzied kissing. "I love you, Declan."

"You bloody well better, honey boy. I’m choosing you over my career, and I’ve never done that before."

Birkoff smiled, realizing how important he was to Declan now. "Too bad we can’t get married and live happily ever after," he said wistfully.

"Who says we can’t?" Declan wrapped his arms around the younger man he called beloved. "I love you, Sey. And I’m going to give you a proper honeymoon. I swear."

"Just being here with you is enough, Declan."

Declan rubbed his mouth against his lover’s. "It’s never enough, Sey. I want you to have everything you deserve."

"As long as I have you, I do have everything. Everything that matters."

Birkoff paced back and forth, waiting impatiently for Declan to return. He’d meant for him to wait. Hadn’t he? Had he misunderstood somehow? What was taking so long? Hillinger’s favor wasn’t going to mean a thing if enough time passed. It could be morning before Declan came, and Birkoff had to sleep before returning to work.

As the hours went by, Birkoff lost heart. Suddenly the reunion he had dreamed of was not coming off the way it should have. Birkoff felt abandoned again. It was a feeling that, sadly, never went very far away where Birkoff was concerned.

He finally stopped pacing and pulled back the covers of the freshly made bed. He’d put clean sheets on the bed for him and Declan, but now it looked as if they wouldn’t be used. Throwing himself down on the bed, face-down, Birkoff rubbed his cheek against the pillow that was fast becoming his best friend.

"I love you, Declan," he whispered to the pillow.

"I love you, too," said a voice somewhere behind him.

Birkoff’s head swung around, his long, dark hair fanning out as he moved. "Declan!"

"Those had better be happy tears, baby," Declan growled.

"Come closer and see for yourself," Birkoff urged.

Declan sat on the edge of the bed, his thumb poised over Birkoff’s cheek to wipe away the tears there. "Did you think I wasn’t coming back, then, baby?" Declan asked softly, stroking his lover’s face.

"Yeah," Birkoff admitted.

Declan bent his head and kissed him. "I love you, puppy. How could I leave you?"

"You did," Birkoff said, trying not to succumb to tears again. "I thought…maybe you were trying to let me down easy. Maybe you didn’t want me anymore. Maybe you’d seen enough of me to know how needy I am. Maybe—"

Declan stopped Birkoff’s litany of self-deprecation with a finger to his lips. "Ssh, if you can’t convince yourself, you sure as hell aren’t convincing me."

Standing up, Declan pulled off his shirt, throwing it onto the bed. He unbuckled his pants, sliding them slowly over his well-sculpted thighs. Birkoff forgot about reciting the rest of his litany. It was all a moot point anyway. His mouth was as dry as cotton and twice as hungry for the touch of Declan’s lips.

"Are we going to make love?" Birkoff asked plaintively.

"Yes, puppy. All night long. Operations seems to have had a change of heart where I’m concerned. He likes my numbers, but he doesn’t like me. I told him he could go fuck himself."

"No, you didn’t," Birkoff said, quite beside himself, more from the idea of making love all night long than from the idea of challenging Operations.

"No, I didn’t, love." Declan began removing Birkoff’s clothing. "I want to be here a long, long time so I can keep loving you."

"You mean I’m your reason to live?" Birkoff brightened at the very thought of such a thing.

"Yeah…how do you feel about that, puppy?" By now, Declan had completely disrobed his partner.

Birkoff’s dark eyes watered. "You really love me…" he said shakily, pushing his hair off his face.

Declan hugged Birkoff, pressing his lover’s face to his shoulder. He could feel him trembling. "Please don’t cry, baby…"

"I’m not. I swear," Birkoff lied, squeezing his eyes shut.

"I’m not going to leave you again, Sey," Declan promised.

"Liar." Birkoff’s tone was sorrowful, but accepting. He knew the reality.

"I’m not," Declan said, holding Birkoff so close, his breath ruffled Birkoff’s dark, silky hair. "If they tear us apart again, I won’t go. Neither one of us could survive another separation like that one."

Birkoff drew back, his eyes horrified, his arms still clasped tightly around Declan’s neck. "They’d cancel you!"

"I don’t care. I’d be willing to die for you, baby." Declan’s eyes met his lover’s. He was dead serious. "But I can’t make that choice for you," he added sadly.

"Maybe it won’t ever happen again. Maybe…" Birkoff whispered, knowing he was living in an unreal world of wishful thinking, crafted from his own imagination.

"Why are we anticipating this, puppy? I want to make love to you. We have all night to be together. Isn’t that enough for now?" Declan’s eyes were moist, his beautiful face etched in tragic lines, as if he too knew it wasn’t enough to be together for one night. Where was their forever?

"It has to be," Birkoff agreed, though his heart was clearly breaking.

Declan pushed Birkoff back until he lay on his back on the bed. Staring up at his lover with those dark chocolate eyes that saw everything, Birkoff told himself to accept what he could get and be happy.

Declan settled himself against Birkoff’s slender frame, their arousals touching. "I love you, Sey. I’ll make you forget the pain. I’ll make both of us forget."

Declan buried his face against Birkoff’s hair, his lips moving soundlessly, and Birkoff closed his eyes, sensing Declan was pledging himself to him in an almost-sacred way.

"I love you, Declan…" Birkoff breathed.

Hillinger clicked off the surveillance monitor. He disconnected the link he’d made to Birkoff’s quarters, crushing the fragile cable between his fingers. He never wanted to spy on them again. But he was making sure that no one else could.

The knowledge of how to forge such a link was buried deep inside Hillinger’s brain, and he could not forget it. But he thought of the love that even now unfolded in that room, and he knew he didn’t want to forget any part of it. That the lovers themselves were so painfully aware of the tragic consequences of the lives they led made him grieve for them.

But at least, for the time being, they had each other. At least, he had given them that.

A solitary tear fell onto his hand.