November

November 26: Saturday

In his dreams, he was always in India. India was bright in his dreams; it was beautiful and orange and pink and blue and brown. It was a place with space for him - a place of love, of his parents, of his childhood and playing in the marketplace, and the sun rising over their home in Cairo. But Cairo was dead. India was alive. India was a place of happiness, of freedom and the crisp excitement with which he could look forward to every new day. In his dreams, India was home.

But they were only dreams. Brian wasn't dead in them, (that was the first clue) and he'd never run away, never been captive, had never smelled the blood and felt the sting, had never cried through his teeth and sworn revenge while his husband fucked him raw. In his dreams, he'd gone straight to India after his parents had left; he'd never bothered with the Union or all its silly rules. In his dreams, he'd stayed on his half of the earth.

But those were only dreams.

~:~

Michael had arranged for three days off, counting the weekend, but that had been all he could manage with his new position just starting the week before, and so he had promised Jesse a proper vacation as soon as they got settled. James Irvine had offered them his guest house for the weekend, but Michael thanked him and elected to take Jesse to his family's small stone house by the shore instead. They took the train out, necking like teenagers in their compartment most of the way down, and in between they told riddles to each other and Michael teased Jesse about carrying him over the threshold of the house.
When they arrived, it had been night time, very late, but they had managed to have one good go at it in the living room and another good double in the bedroom before they spent the rest of the night fast asleep in Michael's father's four poster bed.

In the morning, they made love and shared a shower, then Michael sat on the counter and watched, entranced, as Jesse brushed his hair.
"Stop staring."
"I've never seen you do this."
Jesse snorted.
"You make it sound like I never try to look nice."
"Well..."
Michael left the pause there and laughed when Jesse hit him with the brush.
"I looked nice enough for you."
Michael grinned and pulled Jesse into a kiss.
"Perfect for me."

Afterwards, they put on sweaters and walked down to the local trade shop for foodstuffs and extra blankets. A cold snap was coming in from the north, and its presence made the breeze feel icy where it slipped in through the stone from the water. After shopping, it was breakfast, then sex, then a mid-morning nap and Michael got up and sat down in his father's blue poster chair to read the news.

Halfway through the classifieds, he rustled the paper to get Jesse's attention.
"So they've given me a house. A place on base. Next week, they want us to move."
Jesse nodded from the bed.
"OK."
Michael flicked his eyes to him, then back.
"You OK with that?"
Jesse shrugged.
"Might be nice to have a house. The Centre's not much of a place. I'll miss the boys, though."
Michael turned a page in his paper.
"You can still go to see them. You've got classes to finish, anyway, and there's always activities for carriers going on there."
Jesse made a muffled noise of accord, flipped onto his stomach, and focused on going back to sleep.
"It's got four bedrooms."
Jesse turned over in bed.
"What?"
"The house. That they gave me."
Michael's expression was calm, schooled.
"Who're the four bedrooms for?"
Michael watched him for a moment, fingering the edge of a smudged page.
"You and me. And a family, maybe. In the future. And Soria."
At the mention of his mother's name, Jesse woke more fully.
"Soria?"
Michael lifted the mug of tea in front of him to his lips to drink, blowing away the steam that rose from the top.
"They suggested that Soria might want to come and live with us."
Jesse leaned up on his elbows. Adrenaline surged.
"Who is 'they' and why are they interested in Soria?"
Michael shrugged and swallowed a mouthful of Earl Grey.
"There seems to be a renewed concern for her well-being."
Jesse's heartbeat sped up.
"Why? Why do they care? Who cares? Who is they? Nobody cared before. Nobody asked any questions before all this. They said she was as good as dead to them. They said she was an invisible. They said they would leave her alone."
Michael folded the paper and set it down, stretching his fingers out across the table on either side of his pale blue porcelain mug.
"Well, then Jesse, I suppose it appears that things have changed."

~:~

Sai chewed his eggs and watched the man sitting at the table across from him. His movements were elegant, refined - courtly might even be the word one would choose to describe. Sai reflected on this as he made a triple-decker bite-sandwich out of egg, toast, and sausage on his fork. He tried to subtly look up as he assessed the man opposite. Broussard was quietly cutting a waffle into bite-size squares and politely ignoring Sai staring at him. Nice manners for someone who still fetched his own coffee. How old was he? Mid-thirties, Sai would place him, or older. You couldn't always tell when other things clouded it. His hair was short, a brown color - kind of mousy, same as his eyes - and lightly curled around the nape. He was tall, slim but not skinny, and his fingers echoed the build. Sai watched as he cut up his food, his movements like a little on-plate ballet. He spoke French, English, a passable Hindi (Sai had heard him on the phone), and some dialect that had sounded like French at first but quickly veered off into the realm of the incomprehensible. Sai guessed it was some kind of pidgin. It seemed like he'd been born well, educated, was fit and certainly not the worst-looking Sai had seen around these parts. All in all, he made an intriguingly nice package, which left Sai with a number of burning questions, not least of which was 'What the hell does he want with me?'.

He dropped a piece of egg from his fork and picked it up with his fingers. Broussard raised one brow. Sai dropped it in his mouth, swallowed, added in the leftover bite, and put down his fork.
"So let's chat."
Broussard was chewing and only inclined his head in indication that Sai should go on.
"Certain things...have happened, between us."
Broussard blinked at him.
"I'm just saying let's not get carried away with what they are. Let's not go getting all crazy with the forms and papers and the involving all types of people in uniforms and suddenly there's cake and presents, you know what I mean?"
Broussard frowned and swallowed his bite, then picked up another and began to chew.
"I mean, I know that's kind of the vibe, that's kind of how things work around here, but I just really don't think it's fair, I don't think any one person should get to decide for somebody else, and honestly, I'm not ready, you know? I mean, I'm not ready to be mommy, I'm not even ready to be wife, you know? I'm still getting busted for weed; I can't be spending all my time planning dinner parties."
Broussard nodded slowly, swallowed his bite and lifted his napkin to his mouth.
"I'm just saying I know it's a little more your call than mine, but I don't want to marry you."
Broussard took a sip of his water, then set it down carefully on the table.
"Well, I suppose that is fortunate, because I don't want to marry you, either. I did want a fuck, and you most marvelously did deliver."
Sai could feel himself turning red. Broussard took another bite of waffle.
"I'm sorry, what?"
Broussard chewed and swallowed, then went in to pick up another piece.
"I said I'm not interested in marrying you, bebe. I was interested in other things, and most of my curiosity has been deliciously satisfied."
Sai furrowed his brow. This guy wasn't making any sense.
"What? No, man, you missed the memo. Everybody wants to get married around here."
Sai watched for a reaction, but Broussard largely ignored him.
"And I'm an A Bloc carrier. That pretty much tells it all right there. We're premier. That's a fact, you know. Everybody wants one of us!"
Broussard made a little moue with his mouth.
"No' me, cher."
Sai was befuddled.
"But...carriers are good. If you had a carrier, you'd go up sooner for promotions."
Broussard shrugged.
"Don't need one. I like my job. I like my house. No assistant or secrétaire has ever been able to burn a coffee exactly the way I like it. And I have another carrier, already in line. He's a beau little angel, in love with me madly. Tidy little thing, love to play the madame. I couldn't leave 'im besides."
Sai sat back in his chair.
"I'm sorry, I really don't understand."
"Well, yes, I'm sorry, my terminology -" Broussard looked up and noticed the expression on Sai's face.
"Oh. Oh, coco, I didn't realize. But you look so sad..."
Broussard took his napkin from his lap and set it down on the table, then reached forward for Sai's hands. Sai jerked them away.
"Oh, now don't go getting all fâché about it. It's alright to have a petit crush on me. It'll pass in time."
Sai shook his head.
"I'm not getting 'fâché', and I don't have a crush on you, I'm just - I mean, I feel like you coulda fucking told me!"
Broussard cocked his head.
"Was I your first, petit?"
Sai reddened magnificently.
"No!"
Broussard eyed him.
"I just - I mean, I had a reasonable expectation of your - OK, whatever, man." Sai threw his arms up in the air. "I don't care."
"Petit. What are you so upset about? I kept you clean, didn't I? Precaution is always used by a responsible gentleman."
Sai crossed his arms across his chest.
"I just don't like being lied to."
Broussard looked surprised.
"Who lied to you, cher? I simply never answered a question that you simply never bothered to ask."
Sai gaped at him for a second.
"OK, man, you know what? You're right. I didn't ask, and that's fine. That's easy, in fact. Clean break, no problems. No charges, no attachments. I get out of jail, you get out of me, and I don't have to care about your life. That works great."
Broussard looked pleased and began to go back to eating his waffle.
"Still kinda feel like you shoulda told me."
Broussard sighed and set down his fork.

~:~

"Tega. Tega, sweetheart."
James tapped his shoulder. Torréon growled fiercely and snapped at James' fingers, then nestled back into the crook of Tega's arm to go back to sleep.
"Oh, come on, now. Don't be grumpy. Wake up."
James picked up the black-and-white fuzzball, who only protested sleepily, and tucked him under his arm. Torréon began to chew idly on his sleeve. James smoothed Ortega's hair back from his face and Tega opened his eyes and sat up, his curls mashed on one side where he'd been sleeping. James smiled at him.
"Hey. Cris and Andy called to say they have breakfast waiting for us at the house. Let's go for a drive. I have something I want to show to you."

~:~

Yavisk fucked him from behind, his right leg propped up awkwardly on the officer's thigh. Havar cried the whole time, half because it hurt more than it should have and half because he was so fucking tired of fighting Yavisk off that he hadn't even resisted, or bothered to say anything. It was just like he wasn't there. It was like Yavisk wasn't there, Havar wasn't there, there were just two bodies, isolated in silent capsules, and this meeting in between them where they were both busy fucking each other. It was a spectacular silence that fell over them after he was done. The light felt bright in his eyes. Yavisk noticed he was still crying and shoved him away, roughly.
"Go get yourself something to eat."
When he stood, Yavisk's cum ran down his thighs and Havar just kind of froze there for a minute, watching it trickle down towards the rug, not really sure what to do.
"Go wash up first, Havar. Then get dressed."
Yavisk sounded weary and annoyed.
"Then take yourself downstairs."

As if he had been waiting, the doctor was in the kitchen again. They made eggs and cinnamon apples.
Yavisk watched them from the stairs.

~:~

"So I know it's not much, but...it's yours. I promise you bigger and better in the future."
Tega cocked his head and frowned.
"Why?"
"Why?"
"Why are you doing this for me?"
James laughed.
"You're my carrier. I can't keep you cooped up in such a state. I know being just between the Centre and the house all the time, you're starting to go a little bit crazy. Being inside probably gets a bit stuffy and with the wedding coming up - well, hey, there you go. Consider it a wedding present."
Ortega smiled wanly.
"It's so nice, James. I love it."
James frowned.
"Are you sure? We can get you something else."
"No, it's fine."
Tega walked over to it, put one hand on the glossy black finish.
"It's nice."
James glanced at Ortega, then followed him over to the car. The driver, an older man in a dark suit and cap, stood neatly by its side. James introduced him as Hawthorne. Cris, Andy, Sinclair and Kenneth all watched from the edge of the grassy lot.
Hawthorne tipped his hat at Ortega as he walked past, dragging his fingers along the body of the vehicle, smudging the shine. James trailed along after him, trying to catch his interest.
"Hawthorne's deadly in four arts, a sharp shot, and adept at pursuing on foot."
Hawthorne smiled from beneath his moustache.
"So don't worry, Mr. Ortega. No one will be getting you away from us."
Ortega nodded and turned silently to go back into the house.
"Thank you, James. It's very nice."
James watched him go, his heart feeling torn into very small pieces inside.

~:~

It had happened so fast, Sloane felt like he'd been in a train wreck. But he'd woken up and his sheets were red where he'd been bleeding, so he went to the infirmary and they said it was just a little reaction - to what, they didn't know and then they X-rayed him and took blood and ran a few little tests and told him he was pregnant.

And he didn't have anyone to walk home with, just had to go all alone through those awful cold blue hallways and let himself into his room which was dark because he always turned off the light when he left and then into his bathroom which was the only place in the world where he was positive nobody could hear him if he cried.

He sat down alone on the closed lid of the toilet bowl and didn't look at himself in the mirror and just sobbed because now what was he going to do?

He fell asleep in the bathtub and when he woke up, he saw Vichy there, standing over him.

He helped him go to bed and climbed in beside and said he hadn't meant to intrude, he'd only just come in because Aniston had called to say he'd been reassigned and he wanted Vichy ready to leave by the afternoon. So they left the blinds closed and curled up together and just spent some time. Vichy wished for Jesse; Sloane wished for a way out.

And then when the silence had gone on too long, Sloane said that everyone was leaving, everyone he knew was leaving him and without Vichy or Jesse or Ortega around, he wouldn't know what to do. He was going to have a baby, and nobody was going to help him. Vichy rubbed his back and told him it'd be fine and asked him if he didn't have any family at all who were left. And Sloane said there had been only his father, who had disowned his abomination of a son when he had changed because he didn't believe Sloane was even a human anymore. Sloane said his dad had fired two shots and turned some wild dog loose on him, and so he'd just run. He'd ended up at the Centre because he didn't have anywhere else to go, no family to stay with, and not even a friend. He was all alone.

Vichy didn't know what to tell him after that, only to say that the baby would be his family now, and that all of them would be there for him if he needed them. And that he would be fine. The most important thing, he assured Sloane, that you need to remember, is that you will be fine.

Sloane fell asleep, and quietly, and without ceremony, Vichy got up and went back to his room. He wrote notes for all his friends, tucked them under doors and into notebooks, packed everything he owned in boxes, and when Aniston's car came for him at three, he left.

~:~

His cousins had gone away for the weekend, the kitchen was already stocked, he had informed the base that he'd be unavailable for any reason until Monday, and a cold front had brought the looming threat of a snowstorm in. All in all, Miljan decided, there was absolutely no reason whatsoever to go out today. Perhaps he would not even get out of bed. He woke up slowly with his nose nestled into the curls that licked at the nape of Tiger's neck. He smelled warm, a little bit sweaty, and a lot like vanilla, or maybe the scent of a cake just out of the oven. Experimentally, Miljan stuck his tongue out to taste. Tiger squealed.
"What was that?!"
"Go back to sleep."
Too late. Tiger rolled over.
"Did you lick me?"
Miljan nodded and buried his face in the pillows.
"And you were delicious. I want more."
Tiger sat back on his knees, scandalized.
"That is not a nice way to wake somebody up."
Miljan chuckled.
"That's true. I can think of nicer." he snaked one hand up between Tiger's thighs to cup his crotch. Tiger yelped.
"Stop! I haven't even had my shot this morning, you'll make me hurt."
Miljan retracted his hand.
"They're in the drawer. Give yourself one." Tiger shook his head as he dug around. He produced a syringe and handed it to Miljan.
"You do it."
"Tiger - "
"Please?!"
"Tiger - "
"I'm scared." Tiger pouted.
Miljan sighed.
"Fine." he dragged himself up from his nest of warm Tiger-scented pillows and took the hypodermic from his little mate, who was looking pitifully at him and folding his legs to sit on his butt. Already so early in the morning, but Tiger was full of expression and energy. He would never grow tired of this.
"Fine." Tiger smiled. "But I get to choose the location." Tiger stopped smiling and scowled instead.
"No. You always choose my butt."
"Yes, I do. Turn over."
"It's just an excuse for you to fondle me."
Miljan held both hands up in a shrug.
"I told you to do it yourself." he held out the needle. "You still can."
Tiger hesitated, then his expression became decisive, then smug.
"I'll just get Bos to do it."
Miljan's face reddened for just a flash of a second, then he adopted a haughty look.
"Just try. Bos is out of town."
Tiger narrowed his eyes.
"Fine. Well played, but the next round I'll win. Just you wait and see."
Miljan grinned and Tiger continued talking as he dropped his pajama pants and laid down on his side.
"- way I'm going to keep letting you - OW!"
"I was quick. You barely felt it."
"Yeah, I bet you say that to all the carriers."
Miljan had his hands busy putting the cap back on the empty syringe, and so he had to lean down instead to nip Tiger at the junction of hip and body. Tiger yelped, then made a weird noise and relaxed deeply. Miljan stared at him. Tiger took a few shallow breaths then cleared his throat.
"Oh, um, I meant 'ow'."
There was a pause.
"Because that hurt."
More pause.
"...when you bit me."
"Right."
Miljan set the syringe to the side then stretched out behind Tiger, one arm falling comfortably over the crook of Tiger's waist. After a moment, he leaned forward just a little and nipped the back of Tiger's neck.
This time, he didn't even try to pretend. He just moaned and arched his back into Miljan's chest. Miljan grinned. He knew there was no good reason to justify getting out of bed this morning.

~:~

"Tell me what they want with her."
Michael sighed.
"Honestly, Jesse, I don't know. Maybe they've decided she's worth a second look. Maybe some lonely retired general has caught wind of a woman in our midst and is interested to try for her. I don't know."
Jesse put his hands on his hips.
"Find out."
Michael exhaled.
"I'm not Superman, Jesse. I can't just swoop in and start kicking asses and asking questions. These things take time."
"Soria doesn't have time if people are already looking for her!"
"She's going to be fine, Jesse."
Jesse was pacing.
"This is my fault. I never should have invited her. It was too open, too public. We should have done it at night."
"Jesse, Jesse, please." Michael stood up and enveloped him in his arms, then pulled him down to the bed.
"Nothing is your fault. There is nothing to blame yourself for, mostly because nothing has even happened yet. Soria is fine. Soria will be fine."
Jesse blew his breath out and tried to push his way free.
"Let go of me."
Michael's arms tightened.
"No. Not until you listen."
Jesse panicked a little and bit him, hard.
"Ow! Jesse! Fuck!"
he glowered from across the room.
"Well, I said let me go."
Michael stared at him in disbelief.
"I can't believe it. You still don't trust me. You still think I'm like them."
Jesse didn't answer.
"I'm not Kosin, Jesse, or James or Clint or any one of them! I'm me! Me! Here! Michael! And I care about you! There! Jesse! Why won't you believe that?"
Jesse just continued to glower while Michael exhaled roughly and got up to approach him.
"Might not want to come near me. I'm still a liability."
Michael rolled his eyes, swore, and sat down again.
"Fine. Then you come to me. Please, Jesse, it's our honeymoon. I really, really don't want to fight."

~:~

Sai stewed for most of the afternoon about the whole incident. Broussard had some nerve on him. He was lucky. He was so freaking lucky that Sai had chickened out about getting checked up last night. Otherwise bam! Sai would finger a culprit, the base would put pressure on him to settle the situation dow, and he could kiss his little carrier sweetheart goodbye. There was no way the Centre would tolerate that. Sai scoffed as he paced through the hallways. Lucky.

He decided he needed an audience with which to talk this over. Sloane was nowhere to be found, Jesse was off honeymooning, Ortega had gone to the family house with James, and Suleiman was off doing whatever it was Suleiman did most of the time. Vichy had been missing since breakfast. He went to watch a movie they were showing in the theater, but it was some dumb propaganda flick about a carrier who always dreams of having the perfect wedding, but gets into a lot of harmless-but-fun-and-not-at-all-threatening-to-the-dominant-power-structure hijinks along the way. In the first scene, the protagonist had a monologue about how he'd always imagined his perfect wedding. A group of young, giggly carriers sitting towards the front with their group leader all sighed. Sai decided the entire scene would only be acceptable if he was staggeringly high. Seeing as he wasn't, he decided to go read a book instead. Somehow, he found himself standing outside of Broussard's office.

~:~

"He's fading, James. He's too depressed."
James lifted his head up from his hands.
"And what am I supposed to do about that?"
Cris and Andy exchanged looks across the living room.
"He's suffering. Inside. Because of what you've done to him outside. He's like a flower planted in uneasy soil. He cannot grow. He can't live."
James slumped down in his chair and stared out of the window.
"Has he even come out of the room any more today?"
Cris and Andy exchanged another look.
"Once. We were making sandwiches. He said he wanted to help, he had Torréon in his arms. He seemed like he got very excited, then he got quiet, then he got excited again, but then too excited - he cut himself, then started crying and threw up in the sink."
Andy frowned thoughtfully.
"He went to bed after that."
They were all silent for a minute. Cris rubbed his belly.
"Do you really think he's going crazy?" James put his head back into his hands. "Maybe I am. Maybe it's me."
Cris cooed and patted his shoulder.
"I want to help him. But what can I do? I tried to give him more freedom, I got him the car. He didn't even seem to want it."
Andy shifted in his seat, tucking one leg up underneath him.
"Maybe you should take him home."
"No, he hates that, he hates the base."
Andy shook his head.
"No, home. To the South. To Villa Guerrero."
Cris nodded.
"He misses his family. He misses his home."
James stared out of the window for a long time.
"Take him to México. Give him some time." Cris prodded gently. "I think there, he will recover."