November

November 22: Tuesday

Michael was standing outside of the general's office, twisting his hands together, waiting for his walk-along. He'd been out there for an hour already this morning, and frankly, was beginning to wonder if he really didn't have better things to do. But the conversation was too important. The opportunity was too important, and he knew his father had worked hard to set this up. He'd have to wait. He examined the dark wood walls around him, looked at the portraits of former leaders of the Department of Human Interests. They stared flatly out at him from behind slabs of thick and heavy glass. The silence was rather relaxing, actually. Gave him time to think. About what? About Jesse...maybe not. Too complicated. He didn't have enough privacy for that. About work, then. He felt his blood pressure rise just a smidgen. Too aggravating. Maybe not work. About his father. Ah, just time-consuming enough. His father and Joseph had been in residence at base for a little over two days now, and he was already a little bit ready for them to leave. His father had pestered him non-stop about what he was going to say on this damn walk-along with the general, and Joseph had been too drunk most of the time during the day to notice or stop him. In between the drunk, however, Joe was ubiquitously semi-helpful, reorganizing 3 out of 5 drawers in his armoire before losing interest, washing exactly one load of the many piles of laundry that had built up in his quarters, restocking certain, random things in his bathroom, and folding seven shirts before wandering off to scare up some carrier friends of his for a poker game.

Despite all this, Joey had made himself incredibly useful by managing to distract his father on walk-along day, by tasking him with arranging a celebratory dinner for them all, Jesse once again included.
"The breed boy's joining us?"
"Dad, please don't call him that."
Michael rifled through a pile of clothes for an undershirt.
"In my day, that was a term of endearment!" the admiral puffed out his chest. "He should take it as a compliment."
Michael tried to envision Jesse doing that. He sniffed a shirt, then pulled it on.
"Dad, I know you're just being difficult."
"Are you going to breed him?"
Michael felt a surge of annoyance.
"This conversation isn't happening right now."
"Your old man can do it if you're not up to the task, you know."
"That's not funny."
"I like the black-haired ones."
"Joey!"
The Admiral laughed until Joey came in and ushered him away, and both of them went off for the day, which meant that Michael finally got a few minutes alone. Which gave him just enough time to worry about whether he'd done the right thing with Jesse, worry about whether or not he was beginning to go gray (he was), and then worry about not fucking up his walk-along.

Suddenly, the door to the office blew open and Michael snapped to attention just as the general, tailed by three or four important-looking men, came storming out.
"And that's the last damned conversation I want to have about it, Dawson. Make it happen, and make it quick!"
The shortest of the three men set his jaw, nodded, and scampered off to Michael's left. The general turned to him.
"At ease. You my walk-along?"
"Yes, sir. Lieutenant Michael O' - "
"I know who you are. Let's get this moving."

~:~

Vichy knocked again on the door.
"Come on, Jess, it can't be that bad."
No answer.
"Jess, we know you're in there."
No answer.
"You're going to get hungry eventually."
A scoff.
"Dammit, Jesse, this is my room, too. Let me the hell in."
The door cracked.
"Crack even one smile and I swear I'll hit you."
"Hit me and I'll tell Michael you need new meds."
"Bite me."
"Whatever, man, just let me in."
Vichy shouldered his way into the room, Sai and Ortega closely in tow. They spread out as they passed through the door, but as all three caught sight of what lay before them, they pulled up short.
"Holy - "
Despite his best efforts, Vichy began to laugh.
"I hate you all. I really, really do."
Jesse poured himself a drink from a small silver flask into a paper cup he held in his right hand.
"I suppose Michael's making you do this."
"Of course. Why would I do it if he wasn't?"
Vichy, wiping his eyes and trying to calm down his giggles, nodded to the flask.
"And was contraband part of the deal?"
"I asked him if he could just beat me instead. We compromised with whiskey." Jesse looked down into the cup. "It was a good choice."
"You don't look bad, you know." Tega prompted, shifting Torréon under his arm.
Jesse leveled hatred and annoyance equally in his glare.
"I look like an asshole."
"Some people like those."
Vichy began to laughed hysterically all over again.
"So how long do you have to do this?" Sai asked.
"I don't know. I have a feeling Mike will do this until I start 'behaving better'."
Tega cocked an eyebrow.
"Why, Jesse - what did you do?"
Jesse pointed, exasperated, to his head.
"Aw, Jesse, you promised me he wasn't going to care!"
"Hey, I didn't know for sure. We took a gamble. We lost." Jess poured himself another drink.
"Anybody want one?"
Everyone shook their heads.
"Suit yourselves."
Vichy had himself under control again.
"So he made you wear a natori."
"He's making me wear a bunch of natoris."
"What happened -" Vichy burst into laughter again before controlling it. "What happened to your pants?"
Jesse sighed, and in a very tight, controlled voice, answered,
"He took them all away."
"He took your pants - "
Vichy almost fell over, collapsing into peals of laughter.
"It's not funny."
"Boy, Jesse, I tell you - he's really got your number."
"What do you mean?"
"A regular old restriction wasn't going to do it - if he says don't leave your room, you'll do it the second he's gone. If he says be on your best behavior, you'll inevitably get into a fight. But if he says wear a natori, then pride will keep you restricted to sitting alone with your knees together in your room. Clever man, that one. I like him already."

~:~

Tiger made breakfast in exchange for a phone call to his dad and a long walk alone through the grounds of the winter home. Miljan, Anton, Bos, and the two cousins ate it; Havar was ill and still sleeping, and the other carrier was nowhere to be found. After breakfast, Tiger dumped the dishes in the sink and stomped in to meet Miljan in his study.
"I'm ready to go."
Miljan took his time looking up from what he was doing.
"Give me your wrist."
Tiger stuck it out, and Miljan used it t pull him closer and fit him with a thick, black latex wrist band.
"Do you know what will happen if you go outside of the gates, Tiger?"
Tiger shook his head.
"Well, firstly, I will beat you. But second to that, you will be tracked. That is what this thing on your wrist is for. And you will want to be tracked, Tiger, because outside of our home's gates, you will also get lost. The woods are treacherous and confusion comes swiftly here. Do you understand, mladunče?"
Tiger nodded. Miljan seized his jaw in one hand.
"And if you were to escape the forest, little one - "
"I know, I know. Where would I go? Someone else would find me, a criminal or a drifter, or at best an officer who wouldn't hesitate to turn me in. Nobody else will be as gentle as you. Nobody else will treat me so nice. I know the speech. I'm not stupid, Miljan, and you have me sufficiently frightened, so I'm probably not going to run away. Far. Today."
Miljan smiled.
"He learns well."
"I learns well. Let me go."
Tiger tried to pull his jaw free. Miljan tightened his grip.
"Say it."
Tiger blinked at him, his memory failing.
"Vol - "
"Volim te."
Miljan let him go, kissed his cheek.
"I love you, too, little cub."

~:~

Havar shook his head over the toilet, his knees imprinted from being crouched so long on the cold little white tiles below.
Not true.
Not true.
Couldn't be true.
Not true.
Please, not true.
Please God, please mother, please anyone, please make it not true.
Not true.
Not true.
Another wave of sharp nausea hit him. He retched into the bowl.
True.

~:~

Michael walked slowly towards his parents' room in the guest suite. His mind was racing with thoughts about Jesse, his family, his life. He pulled out his key card and slid it in the slot. He opened the door. His eyes widened and he turned to look away, but suddenly realized exactly what he was seeing.
"What the fuck?!"
Joey was half-turned, sideways on the couch, and Michael's father was pounding into him from behind. At Michael's shout, they broke apart and both leapt backwards, away and behind the sofa.
"Michael!" his father roared, face red. The shouting didn't faze him. He knew what he'd seen.
"Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit."
"Now, Michael, this isn't what it looks like."
"No, no, it definitely is. Holy shit, it definitely is."
"Mikey, it's not what you think it is! Honest!" Joey piped in.
Michael shook his head.
"Oh my god, you're not a carrier. You're not a carrier. Holy shit, you're not a carrier."
"Michael - "
"You told me you were barren."
"I kind of am."
"But you're just not a carrier."
"Michael, that's enough now." the Admiral scolded him.
Michael was sitting down now, shaking his head.
"I can't - what the fuck happ - I mean, I really don't - how the fuck are you not a carrier?!"
"I am a carrier!" Joseph cried indignantly. "Just not in the traditional sense!"
"You have your balls!" Michael hissed.
"Michael, lower your voice right now."
The Admiral was standing now, his pants up but still unzipped, and a look of stern control on his face.
"Unless you want to bring this house crumbling down on our heads, you'll shut your mouth now and you'll never talk about what you've seen in this room."
Michael met his father's stare evenly.
"If I'm going to shut up, somebody better start talking."

~:~

Sloane bit his lip to keep from crying out, but he couldn't seem to manage it. Clint had sworn he'd never do this, but somehow, right now, it seemed to be happening. Every nerve in his body felt individually focused on what he was feeling. He squeezed the edges of the table, knowing better than to move.
"Please - "
Clint half-grinned, looked up from between Sloane's parted thighs.
"Just wait for it, baby. I'll make it worth your while."
He dropped his head back down and dipped the tip of his tongue inside of Sloane, then brought it back up to lick the underside of his cock. The tip of his tongue laved the slit at its tip, and Sloane
bucked up, felt the resistance of Clint's hands heavy on his hips, holding him still, and felt himself slip incrementally closer to the edge.
"Please, baby, please, Clint, fuck fuck fuck, yes, Clint, please - "
Clint released his cock from his mouth with a sloppy wet sound and slid his tongue instead from Sloane's perineum, forward to dip back into his cunt. Sloane arched his back and came, hard, a few drops of clear, thin fluid oozing out of his pulsing cock. Sloane collapsed and just lay there for a long, few minutes, riding the afterglow high and feeling the cool air of the art room tickle his skin. Clint sat back, feeling self-satisfied, and wiped his mouth with his hand.
"See?" he said, helping a weak-kneed Sloane to stand and then to pull up his pants, "I can be nice sometimes."

~:~

"Look, do you or do you not have classification as a carrier with the Union government?"
"I do."
"Is it real?"
"Michael!"
"No, Eric, let him ask what he wants. Yes, it's real."
"Did my father falsify it for you?"
"Yes, he did."
Michael blinked. He was taking the whole not-a-carrier thing very much in stride now, doing a lot better than he was when he'd first opened the door.
"Were either of you ever going to tell me or my brothers?"
Joe glanced up at Eric.
"We...didn't have any plans to, no, not yet."
"So you were just going to let me live a lie."
"It's not your life that's involved here, Michael. It's mine, and it's your stepmother's." the Admiral pointed at him fiercely with his glass of scotch. Michael shook his head a little to clear it.
"You could go to prison for this - do you know that?"
the Admiral scoffed.
"Not with the sort of things I've witnessed, Michael, I don't think so. Joseph, even if he is discovered, is just a minor indiscretion, and one well disguised. I'm worth much more than that."
"But he's not a carrier! That sets you up for all kinds of blowback! Don't you understand that?"
the Admiral took a long swallow from his glass.
"I do understand that, Michael. And believe me - I've been thorough. I have very definitively covered our tracks. There are records, and testimonies, and classes, and medical exams. Joey's been on hormones for years now, and we've even looked into certain surgeries - just to avoid incidents like this, actually."
Michael wrung his hands.
"It's just that there's so much that could go wrong, Dad."
"I know, Michael. I know. But what else was I supposed to do? You do the things you have to do to be with those who you love."

~:~

Ortega had persuaded Jesse to shave his legs through a mixture of gentle coaxing, firm statements, and passive-aggressive jabs at his ego. He'd also convinced him that if he did something a little nicer with his hair, maybe the new cut wouldn't bother Michael so much and he could get his old clothes back. Jesse hesitated, but acquiesced and sat silently on the stool in front of the mirror while Vichy and Sai watched and Ortega slowly combed and pinned his hair into a passably fashionable style. He had to admit, he didn't look half bad. For a spineless defector. He wrapped himself in the navy blue natori with yellow detail that Tega had jealously eyed before handing over.
"You can have it if you want."
Tega rolled his eyes.
"Michael gave it to you. I'm sure he wants to see you wear it."
In a three-quarters sleeve white, fitted shirt and navy blue natori, his hair actually combed and pinned up and cologne on, Jesse looked perfectly the part of an ideal carrier boyfriend. So much so that even Sloane remarked to him on his way out, and he felt the envious glances of a group of new initiates as he made his way to the door to be picked up.

There was a heated conversation going on inside the private dining room that Jesse could hear through the door, but when he stepped in, the room went silent. Michael stared, transfixed, at him. Jesse crossed his arms over his chest self-consciously.
"Hey."
"Hey." Michael's grin broke over his face. "You look amazing."
Jesse shrugged, shook his head.
"Let's eat."

All through dinner, Michael fawned over him; grinning, sniffing his hair, and just generally behaving with singleminded devotion. Halfway through the first course, and in the middle of the Admiral's story about his early career, Jesse noticed Michael was sitting closer than he had been. By the time their plates were taken, they were side by side and Michael had one hand resting possessively under Jesse's natori, on his upper thigh. The hand was moving, creeping closer to making something of itself, when the Admiral asked quietly,
"So how did you do on the walk-along, Mikey?"
Immediately, the hand was gone. Michael took a sip of his water.
"I've been promised captain."
The Admiral applauded.
"Wonderful! Michael! That's my boy!"
Joey clapped as well.
"Is it the position you wanted?"
Michael took another swallow of water.
"That part is...negotiable. I might have to spend a year or more where I am before I can transfer into DHI."
Jesse raised an eyebrow.
"You want to transfer to DHI? Why?"
Michael looked at him, nodded, then looked away.
"DHI has jurisdiction over matters of carrier management. If I am under them, I might actually be able to make some kind of a difference. You know, do something nice for a change."
All eyes shifted to Jesse, who, feeling a bit on the spot, picked at his dessert.
"Oh. And here I didn't even think you cared."
Michael reached again for his glass of water.
"I do."
Across the table, the Admiral was furrowing his brow.
"Why take the time before, though, Michael? Why the delay?"
Michael took his time to answer.
"There are some concerns."
"About your level of experience? Leave that to me. I'll talk to - "
"Not about my experience, Dad."
"Oh. What about, then?"
There was a pause.
"About Jesse."
Both of Jesse's eyebrows shot up this time.
"What? Why me? What do I have to do with anything? How do they know me? How do they know who I am?"
Michael put one hand over his to calm him.
"They know you because they know me. You are my carrier, or so they say. You, naturally, would be of interest to them, too."
"So what are their concerns about me?"
Michael hesitated again.
"They're concerned I might encounter a conflict of interest."
Jesse frowned, turned all the way to face Michael.
"A conflict. Of interest. Because of me."
Michael felt around for a way to phrase it delicately.
"They seem to feel that your behavior, your attitude, and your rejection of your role as a carrier would undermine my ability to lead within the DHI team."
"What!"
"They think you're a liability."
Jesse blinked.
"They told me that unless things improve, which they highly doubt they're going to, I should probably move on to another carrier or explore other options in the pursuit of my career."
Jesse sat, just a little stunned, for a moment.
"I'm sorry it came out that way, Jess, please. I care about you, I really do. I don't want to give you up. I can't give you up. If I give you up, that's it - the Centre won't take you back. So you're stuck here, I guess, with me now. And I just wanted to make it easier on the both of us. If I can get this position...I mean, I know you hate it when I ask you to do things like wear a natori or not cut your hair, but I just really, really, really, need this to work. If I can make this work, then I can help you and Tega and Sloane and Vichy and Joey and all of them. If I can't, then I'm just another cog in the bulldozing machine. So please, Jesse, understand. I want to make this work. I want to make us work. I have to make us work, because if I don't, I'm going to drown trying to keep us both afloat. Don't you understand that?"
Jesse sat quietly for another moment, then picked up his napkin from his lap and dropped it in the middle of Michael's plate.
"Maybe you should get yourself another carrier wife, then, Michael, because this liability certainly didn't mean to drag you down."

~:~