by Jane Seville
He’d debated it for a long time. Did he really love D? Or was he just grateful? Had he just fallen for him out of… some kind of proximity? Being holed up with somebody for weeks at a time could play tricks on a person’s feelings. Intense circumstances, fearing for his life, and D did have a certain mystery and sexiness in his persona that was undeniable. It was easy to imagine developing a crush on the man who was voluntarily standing between you and death.
But then he’d remember things. D smelling the sun on his skin. Telling him about the dead bunny. The look in his eyes when they’d kissed for the first time. And this week apart…. What was clear to him now more than ever was that he and D were scarcely two individuals anymore. Being back with him now, back in his arms, hearing his voice… his guts were twisting and he couldn’t sleep because he knew it was so brief, just this brief respite before….
Don’t think about it now. There’ll be plenty of time to think about it after.
Jack washed his hands, took a breath, and went back into the bedroom. He climbed back into bed and curled against D, who flinched and turned over. “Fuck, yer cold.”
“Just went to the bathroom.”
“Mmmm. Maybe better warm y’up, if yer gonna be in my bed.” He slid his arm over Jack’s stomach and kissed his neck, then down his throat to his chest. Jack sighed and stretched like a cat under his ministrations, shuddering as he sucked at each nipple in turn, heading south down Jack’s stomach.
D settled himself between Jack’s legs and rested his cheek against his abdomen, eyes closed, just lying there still and quiet. He lifted his head, resting his chin on Jack’s flank, and looked up at him in the faint glow of the city lights outside. Jack lifted a hand to his head; he loved the feeling of D’s short hair under his fingers. D was gently stroking the muscles of Jack’s stomach. “Mmm,” D said, an indistinct sound in his throat.
“What?”
“Nothin’, I jus’….” D sighed, resting his cheek against Jack’s skin again. “I love yer body,” he whispered, quiet like he was hoping Jack wouldn’t hear him, his hand now making long strokes up and down Jack’s side. “S’like strong ‘n’ solid, but soft too, and y’always smell so good.”
Jack watched the top of D’s head, feeling like he might melt. D had expressed tacit appreciation for his physical form but had never said anything like that before. The warmth of D’s body and breath so close to him relaxed all his muscles; he felt like it was all he could do to just touch D’s head with one hand.
D slid further down, his cheek now resting on the juncture of Jack’s hip and thigh. His hand moved into Jack’s thatch, stroking the skin there. He could feel D’s breath on his half-erect shaft, but he was so relaxed that he didn’t feel any urgency about the matter. D slid in a little bit and just let Jack slip into his mouth, still resting his cheek on Jack’s groin, sucking gently as one might suck a thumb. Jack felt himself hardening in D’s mouth; that slow, gentle suckling was maddening.
“Oh Christ, D,” Jack groaned. “God, that’s amazing.”
D sucked him to orgasm; Jack came with a sigh, his body pulsing, D swallowing and stroking his flank, letting Jack slide from his lips and resting his cheek on Jack’s stomach again. He turned his head a little and placed a kiss near Jack’s belly button, just one.
~~~~~
“Who’s ‘we’?”
D frowned. He cast his mind back, trying to imagine what Jack could possibly be referring to. Whatever it was had been hours ago, as it was now five a.m. and they were lying sprawled amidst the tangled sheets, practically head to toe, D’s head at the foot of the bed and Jack’s head resting on his thigh. “Huh?”
“You said when you were looking for that other one who was supposed to kill me, that ‘we’ couldn’t find them. Were you working with somebody?”
The light went on. “Oh yeah. Jesus! Cain’t believe I fergot ta tell you. I met X.”
“X? Your Deep Throat?”
“Somethin’ like that. Yeah, she came ‘n’ found me soon after I—”
“She?”
“Yep. Her name’s Megan. Damn good ta finally see her face.”
Jack sat up and crossed his legs Indian-style. “Did she tell you why she’s been looking out for you?”
“No, not yet. She hinted she might do.”
“So… who is she?”
“Secret Service. But she ain’t no agent. She’s one a their shadow operatives.”
Jack rolled his eyes. “Does everybody have shadow operatives? At this point I’d hardly be surprised to find out that the Office of Management and Budget kept a secret squad of black-ops accountants.”
D chuckled. “She works anti-assassinations, which brung her in a lotta contact with folks in my business… oh, s’cuse me, my former business,” he added, off Jack’s look. “She’s real smart ‘n’ strong. I been real glad ta have her help.”
“Was she with you last night?”
“No, I didn’t get ta tell her ’bout the whole field trip ta the bar. She’s tryin’ ta track who’s been diggin’ in my military record, and I think she drove down ta DC—”
“Somebody’s been digging in your military record?” Jack exclaimed.
D sighed. “I’m sorry, darlin’. I keep forgettin’ who knows what and when, and who told me what and whether or not you were there. Ya been there fer everythin’ else, hard ta remember you ain’t been privy ta some a these chats.” He would have gone on but Jack was gaping at him, open-mouthed. “Whut?”
“Did you just call me ‘darlin’’?”
D blinked. “Uh… yeah, I guess I did,” he said, color slamming into his face. Jack was still speechless. “Sorry ’bout that; it’s what I usedta call Jill. Just kinda… slipped out.”
“No, no… it’s fine,” Jack stammered, recovering his composure. He was playing it off casual, but D could see that it had affected him. Damn, why’d I hafta go’n do that? Shit. “You were saying? Military records?”
“Right. Was Churchill told me this. Last April some person or persons unknown accessed my record. Means they know my name, my history, lotsa stuff that’s been buried awhile. Dunno if anythin’ got traced ta me.”
“You think this is connected to the people blackmailing you?” Jack asked, all seriousness again.
“Cain’t be a coincidence. Anyhow, Megan said she’d look into it. Hopin’ she calls today. I know she’d love ta meet you too.”
“Yeah, I’d like to meet her,” Jack said, that last pronoun slanted slightly.
“I might hafta run ta her place this morning real quick, and get my stuff,” D mused.
Jack’s head snapped around. “You’ve been living with her?”
“Treasury has apartments that she uses. Why, what’s….” D sighed. “You ain’t jealous, are ya?”
Jack pulled himself up. “No… well, okay, yes. I mean, you’ve got this long intimate history with her, and she’s saved your life and you somehow saved hers, and now you find out she’s a woman, and—”
“And how’s that affect me, the queer hit man, huh? Don’t that make me less wanna sleep with her?”
~~~~~
D groaned behind Jack and thrust one last time before sagging against his back. Jack hung onto the headboard for dear life, gasping for breath and holding both of them up for a few seconds before losing out to gravity and falling onto the bed, not caring much that he was right on his own wet spot. D slipped out and rolled off. “Holy mother a God,” he said.
“Yeah,” Jack gasped. “Damn.” He turned over onto his back. “Think you buried the needle on that one, stud.”
D was silent for a moment, then started to chuckle.
“What?”
“Stud,” D repeated, growly and low.
Jack snorted. “You got a better word for a guy who’s swept my chimney five times in one night?”
At that, D burst out in honest-to-God laughter, which was an extremely rare occurrence. Jack sat up to watch D laugh. “Swept yer chimney!” D howled. “Aw s
hit, that is fuckin’ rich!” Jack couldn’t help but join in D’s laughter. He felt giddy, like a kid at an amusement park, finally meeting his favorite cartoon character, just wanting to run up and get a big hug and be carried away to a place where no one ever cried and the world was bright colors and sunshine.
D was calming himself down. “Anyhow, was you doin’ the sweepin’ a coupla them times.”
“Not the point,” Jack said, stretching out again with his hands behind his head. “Neither of us is gonna be able to walk tomorrow.”
“Who needs ta walk? Dunno ’bout you but I ain’t plannin’ ta leave this bed.”
“What, we just lie here naked all weekend?”
“Somethin’ wrong with that?”
“Might scandalize the marshals when they bring in my food.”
“Aw, who the fuck cares.”
Jack arched one eyebrow at him. “Who are you, and what have you done with D?”
D sobered at that. “I dunno. Not quite sure ’bout that, doc.”
Jack watched D’s face, outlined by the gray pre-dawn light coming in the window, and wondered for the millionth time just what it would take for D to tell him his real name. Anson. I know it. I hear it in my head when I look at you. You’re still D to me, but I want to call you by your birth name. I want you to feel like it’s yours again. What will it take, D? How long will I have to wait? Unless you tell me in the next two days, I’ll have to wait a long time.
He turned on his side and rolled into D’s arms, where he was welcomed at once. They lay in silence for a time, something they’d been doing a lot. Jack knew there were many things they could be saying, but weren’t, and that was okay. Somehow, it was okay not to say things. “D?” he asked, as he sensed that D was drifting off again.
“Hmm?”
“Am I really going to be safe in Witsec?”
He felt D come to waking again. “How d’ya mean?”
“Well… these guys, they just seem like they can get to anybody, anywhere. If they really wanted to, couldn’t they find me in Witsec?”
“Maybe. If they really wanted to. But it’d be a big fuckin’ deal, and it’d take a lot, and it’d be real risky. They’d expose themselves t’all kinds a legal shit and it just ain’t worth it. After y’already testified, the only thing ta kill ya for is a warnin’. And they ain’t goin’ to all that trouble jus’ fer a warnin’.”
Jack sighed. “I know you’re blowing smoke up my ass, but I think I’ll let you.”
“Hey,” D said, giving Jack’s shoulder a little shake. “Yer gonna be fine.”
Something in his tone gave Jack pause. He turned his head and looked up at him. “What do you mean?”
“Jus’… nothin’s gonna happen ta you.”
“D, you’re usually the one preparing for the worst.” As soon as he said it, Jack knew. He sat straight up. “You are, aren’t you? You’re going after them, or something. You’ve got some kind of plan that you haven’t told me about!”
D held out a hand. “Now, Jack—”
“Don’t, ‘now, Jack’ me! Like you don’t have enough to worry about with blackmailers on your trail without taking on my problems too!”
“Yer problems is my problems, doc. And it ain’t what ya think.”
“What is it then?”
D sighed, and sat up as well. “All right, all right. Don’t get all worked up.”
“Too fucking late!”
“Will ya lemme talk?” Jack made himself shut up and listen. “Okay.” D took a deep breath. “I’m gonna fix it for ya, so you don’t hafta even be in Witsec no more.”
Jack’s eyes widened. “You can do that?”
“I think so, yeah.”
“You mean… I can go back to being Jack Francisco? Doctor Jack Francisco?”
“That’s the idea.”
“Without the being-killed part?”
“Yeah, that bein’ the most important bit.”
“How the holy fuck are you going to do that, D?”
“I got it worked out. Kinda.”
Jack drew back. “You’re not… no. I won’t let you kill them all.”
“Even if I could kill ’em all, it wouldn’t help. No, I got a different idea.”
“Tell me!”
“It’s best ya don’t know.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, you sure love deciding what I should and shouldn’t know.”
“I don’t fuckin’ love it, it’s jus’ the way it is!”
“You’re going to arrange it so that the brothers no longer want to kill me without killing anybody?”
“Yeah.”
“Because I don’t want you to kill anybody. Not ever again.”
D paused at that. “Really?”
“No. That was the you that was. You’re not that guy, not anymore. You’re my guy now, my D, and my D doesn’t kill people.”
D sighed. “No, he don’t.”
Jack hesitated. “Exceptions might be made if some horrible torture guy has a syringe to my throat.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” D said, with a wry smile.
Jack held his gaze. “I wish I could tell you that I don’t want you to put yourself in danger for this. Maybe it makes me a horrible selfish person, but I do want my life back. I don’t want to live in fear of those men forever. If there’s a way to make it go away—”
“I’ll take care of it,” D said, his jaw tight. “And this ain’t fer you, doc.”
“It isn’t?”
“No.” He reached out, tentative, and took Jack’s hands. “It’s fer us, kinda. ’Cause after that’s done, maybe I can finally stop. Jus’ stay still, and jus’ be that guy a yours, that one who don’t kill people.”
Jack smiled. “That guy I love?”
D’s answering smile, quavery and uncertain, nearly broke Jack’s heart. “Yeah. That guy.”
“You know that guy is you, don’t you? Right here, right now?”
“Is he?” D murmured.
Jack nodded. “Must be, ’cause I love you.”
D met his eyes and Jack saw a brief glint of moisture, but then he blinked and it was gone, leaving only D’s face, pried open a few more inches, blank without a response to offer, and that was all right. Jack pulled D into his arms and held him as the sun rose outside their window, hoping he’d done the right thing.
Chapter Twenty-five
“Yeah, gimme a bacon and egg biscuit, hashbrowns, and a large coffee.” Megan Knox was no believer in healthy food. Her older brother had been a lifetime healthy-eater, vegetarian and fitness nut, and had dropped dead of a heart attack at age forty-four. She tore into the greasy food (ahh, McDonald’s) as she drove up I-95 towards Baltimore, urgency spurring her to unsafe driving practices like eating at the wheel.
As soon as she’d finished, she took out her cell phone to call D. It took him longer than normal to pick up. “Yeah.”
“It’s me.”
“Where ya been?”
“I’m on my way back now.”
“Didja…hey now, cut that out, I’m tryin’ ta talk on the phone,” he said to someone in the room with him – someone who was giggling -- his voice taking on a softer, teasing tone she’d never heard before. “Didja find anything?”
“Oh, yeah. I’ve got whole bunches of stuff to show you.”
“Good. Whyn’t you…dammit, you gonna get it you don’t quit it!” he said to whoever he was with. She could guess who it was; the grin on his face was clearly audible in his voice.
“Are you with Jack, D?”
“Yeah,” he said, and his blush was equally audible. “Some shit happened here too, last night. Spent the night in his hotel room.”
Megan smiled, hearing more impish laughter in the background and what might have been an actual snort of mirth from D. “Well, it’s good you’re getting to spend some time with him.” No response. “Isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” D said, quietly. “Real good.” Megan could hear the understatement in his voice, and all a
t once she felt a lump rising in her throat. D had been the only constant presence in her life for nearly ten years. She’d followed him, watched him, helped him and been helped by him, and even though they had never met until a week ago, there had been times when he’d felt like her only friend. Exchanging their usual terse, cryptic text messages had at times been her only human contact for days on end.
All those years, she’d known that his detached manner covered a greater pain. She knew more of his past than he probably realized, and for so long she had watched him descend deeper into a dark pit of solitude to the point that she’d feared he’d never climb out again. That was something she couldn’t save him from, much as she might have wished to.
Luckily, someone else had come along who could. Upon discovering D’s forced acceptance of the hit on Francisco’s life, she had rushed to Vegas as fast as she could, her heart in her throat, praying she wouldn’t have to intervene to save Jack’s life. She would have shot D if she’d had to, but it would have struck her through the heart to do so. But he hadn’t been able to go through with it, as she’d hoped, and so she’d sat back and let things develop, praying for nothing more than for D to get Jack safely to the authorities and get the hell away from the situation.
And then…my God, how he had sounded when he’d called her for help after Jack had been taken. “They took Jack,” he’d said, and she had heard his emotion where she’d barely ever heard any before. Jack had become important to him. Now, here, what she’d known in her head, she had seen with her own two eyes.
D loved Jack, loved him so much that he’d lay down his life without a second thought. It hung around him like a cloak cut to fit another; it did not rest easily on his shoulders, as if it were stolen and he feared its rightful owner would appear and snatch it away again. He kept telling himself he didn’t need to wear it because he didn’t feel the cold, he could put it from him and trudge on unprotected, except that was no longer true. His skin had known warmth again, and it remembered, and it couldn’t take the bony chill anymore. The cloak would have to be made to fit, and if it couldn’t be taken in, D would have to grow to fill it.
