![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fufarawMORE THAN US
chapters 3-4
three
Jared saw him coming this time. Most likely because Whitfield allowed him to see, but still.
Tonight's gathering was under a rarely-used overpass. There was a fine mist falling, and a little shelter was welcome. Someone had found an empty oil drum and others had scrounged for paper trash and firewood. There were streetlights, though the one nearest their spot was broken. Still, there was enough light for the people gathered to see each other, and to watch the face of tonight's speaker. He stood on a milk crate to raise him enough to be seen, and maybe heard, a little better.
"Hey, I'm Jervis."
There was a murmur of acknowledgement before he continued. "My only son was taken as a ceiver. He…he's adapted to the life, which I guess I'm glad of, for his sake, you know? But he's not the same boy I raised. And he doesn't want to have much to do with his family any more."
Again, a murmur ran through the crowd, of sympathy, fellow feeling.
"Most of us here, if not all of us, have given up somebody to Repro. Or we're worried we'll have to."
Another shifting movement and murmur of assent.
"We know all about how birth rates aren't doing too good--how mankind may be losing in the extinction sweepstakes. Our good scientists are working on ways to turn that around. The ceiver program has been a big part of the government's attempts to increase the birthrate, to prevent population numbers from falling any further, any faster. I think all of us are aware of the problem. And most of us are pretty invested in continuing to exist."
There was a shuffling of feet, and a chuckle passed among the crowd.
"They're saying now that they're getting closer to identifying fertility among girls, so we’ll know which of our daughters and sisters are able to get pregnant, and will be likely to carry to term. They're saying this is a good thing, and I guess it is."
People fell silent, waiting for Jervis to continue.
"But, well, I don't know. While our fertile boys have been a valuable resource in this time of trouble, we haven't done so well with them in other ways, now have we? I mean, we take good care of them, we see that they have the best of things, that they get excellent care. But none of them ever gets asked if this is something they want to do. They get tested, they get trained, they get assigned. And all their other choices are just immediately gone to nothing--they have no choices. Is this what we want for our kids? For our neighbors' kids? Is this the way things are supposed to be?"
He paused then, not looking out at his audience, rather appearing lost in his thoughts. The crowd waited, still and quiet, until he raised his head and spoke again.
"They tell us this is how it has to be--that we need every baby, and every ceiver capable of having babies. That we need them paired off and pregnant as often as possible. Oh, they make sure they're healthy and looked after, that they don't want for food, or shelter or warmth. Physically harming a ceiver is unheard of, because the punishment for it is instant and harsh. Ceivers are a treasure, and in this country, they're treated like valuable property, with a specific use. A whole culture of rules and behaviors has risen up, been cultivated, around these precious ceivers. It has come to seem, in the six decades since the first ceivers and the first days of the program, that these traditions are necessary, and inflexible."
He swept the crowd with a fierce and unflinching gaze. "The surrendering of a person's choices in the face of the the nation's dire need is seen as something both noble and necessary. And all of us have just accepted that this is the way things have always been."
"But when you stop for a minute and look at your history, the history of this country, and the whole world, the truth becomes clear.
"This is not a time honored custom, this is something new. We in this country have been led to accept that this is the way things have to be. One generation, that’s all it takes to not remember what freedom is, and who it belongs to. We're taught and encouraged to forget how things used to be, how they're supposed to be. And when we forget, we keep sliding deeper into darkness and injustice."
Jared listened, and found himself nodding. He glanced around at the people assembled tonight, spotting some familiar faces, though he couldn't put names to them. Mac and Sophie were to his left, Mac's arm around her shoulders as her eyes were rapt upon Jervis' face.
Jervis didn't have the charismatic speaking style of the speaker at the first rally Jared had followed Mac to, but there was an honesty about him, a restrained passion, a bedrock sense of right and wrong. What he said had the ring of truth, and as he watched the faces of the listeners, Jared felt a tug of kinship, a sense of purpose, of rightness.
He'd started this to keep an eye on his son, to pull him out of harm's way should the need arise. He'd had no intention of getting involved himself. Jervis' words helped put a new light on things for Jared: his family, the foundation it was built on, what cost had been paid, and by whom. He couldn't help the memories that rose of his and Jensen's early days together, and this new perspective wasn't very flattering to Jared.
Deep in thought as he was, Jared still noticed when Mac eased Sophie toward the edge of the crowd and away, down the street. Jared gave them a half-block's lead, and followed.
* * *
The set was fun, Jason was in fine form. He grinned when he saw Jensen and Shannon at a table near the stage, and tried to call both of them up to sing with him. Jensen shook his head, but raised an eyebrow at his daughter. She blushed, but at Jason's urging, and her dad's gesture of, "up to you," she hopped up onstage to sing harmony on Crazy Love. She and Jason had sung it often and, in spite of a sudden attack of the jitters, by the chorus she settled in and did a fine job. The crowd was welcoming and appreciative, and Jason pecked her on the cheek before she left the stage. She returned to the table flushed and excited at having performed well.
It was his last set, so Jason joined Shannon and Jensen afterward. He hadn't eaten, and the cookout was long past. They were all hungry, so when Jason mentioned a small family-run Italian place nearby with a manicotti to die for, it sounded great. Jason and Shannon were arguing the merits of cannoli vs. tiramisu for dessert when they exited the club, Jensen just a few steps behind.
His casual glance across the street fell on a young couple who reminded him of--no, it was Mac and Sophie! What were they doing in this part of town--? His attention was momentarily distracted by the sound of sirens down the street, and the flashing lights of police cars a couple of blocks away. As he glanced toward the commotion, a tall figure walking in this direction stepped between buildings and was gone. He looked back at where he'd seen Mac and his girl. They were gone, too.
The hell--?
"Dad?"
His attention snapped back to Shannon and Jason, who were waiting for him to catch up.
"Yeah, guys," he flashed them a grin. "Coming." He moved in their direction, but not before throwing another searching glance at the commotion down the street. Whatever was going on, he was damned sure he'd find out later. But for now, he put his game face on and strode out for dinner with his best friend and his daughter.
JJ and Jared were watching TV in the living room. Mac was on his way home from Sophie's, Jared told him. Jensen hugged his kids and told them goodnight, and went upstairs to his studio. He was too unsettled to try and do any work, but he picked up his old acoustic and played some chords, just strumming idly to try and settle his nerves. He left the door open, though, so he heard when Mac came home, and shortly afterward, when they all headed up for bed. He heard Jared's footsteps down the hall, and he wanted--and he didn't want--to confront him. His husband lounged in the open doorway, watching Jensen with the guitar. "Hey."
Jensen lifted his chin in answer, not breaking the melody he was fingering.
"So, Shannon had a really good time." Jared grinned at him.
"Yeah," he answered, and let his fingers still on the strings. "It was good to see Jason. She tell you she got up onstage?"
"Yeah, she did." Jared's grin got even wider. "She was all stoked about it."
"You and Mac and Sophie should have stopped in." It wasn't the way he'd meant to bring it up. He'd meant to ease into it, but it just blurted out on its own.
"What?"
"I saw you. Mac and Sophie across the street from the club, and you following them, about a block back. Walking away from some scene with lots of flashing lights and sirens."
He watched Jared from the corner of his eye, not meeting his gaze. And he saw how his weight shifted, saw the hand come up to scratch the back of his head, saw the changing expressions cross his features as he scrambled for something to say.
"It was a rally, wasn't it? Our kid and his girl and you at a goddam anti-Repro rally." His fingers were too numb to feel the strings, and he carefully laid the guitar aside before his tight grip on the neck damaged the wood. He walked to the far end of the studio to get some distance, and turned to face his husband. "What the hell were you thinking?"
"Mac went with Sophie," Jared began. "I went--just to keep an eye on them. Just in case."
"In case? In case of what, Jared? In case Repro swept in and arrested everybody there? Because that's what they do."
"It was a peaceful gathering. There wasn't any trouble--at least not until after we'd left."
Jensen was pacing now, shaking his head, his lips in a tight line. "How could you be so stupid? How could you let our boy be that stupid? Don't you know what could happen? How could you just ignore..?" He trailed off, clearly agitated.
Jared hadn't any idea he would be so upset. "Listen, it's fine, we're fine. What are you so afraid of, Jensen? I know--"
"You don't know, Jared! You weren't there!"
Everything stopped for a moment, Jensen clearly in more distress than Jared had expected. And then he realized: this wasn't just about tonight. "Jensen, I know you had a hard time of it, I was there for some of it--"
"People disappear, Jared. People who try to fight Repro, people who disagree, they can just be wiped out, like they never even existed."
Jared huffed out an exasperated sigh. His husband was over-reacting, as he always did whenever the subject of Repro came up. "Jensen--"
"Don't. Just don't. You don't know. When--when." His voice faltered. His knees had been shaking since he'd gotten to his feet, and now they finally gave out; he sank to sit on one end of the couch. When he swallowed and continued, it was in a near-whisper, as if he couldn't, even now, speak such things aloud.
"They came for me that day. I drove home, and they were in my driveway. They shoved a letter at my dad, and two cops grabbed me, forced me into this van, and nobody would tell me what was going on. They wouldn't tell me, and they wouldn't let me say anything to my folks--I couldn't even hug my mom, Jared."
Jared stepped closer, reached out to him, but Jensen flinched away. "They took me to that building downtown. I'd never even paid attention to it enough to wonder what it was. The cops had me by each arm and they marched me along like...I was nothing, like nothing I said or did would stop them. And you know what? It was true.
"They had all the power, Jared. They still do."
Jared eased to sit beside him on the sofa, but refrained from touching him. "But you don't belong to them anymore, Jensen. They have no power over you now."
Green eyes met his, swamped with tears. The full lips were pinched, pulled tight, as if Jensen could hold back his thoughts and not let them out, even now. "You don't get it. You still don't understand."
"Then tell me. This is eating you up, man. You have to let it out. And I need to know."
Jensen shook his head, and even though he ducked to try and hide it, Jared saw him bite his lips, saw the tears spill. Jensen swiped at them angrily, took a breath, and sat a little straighter.
"They threatened my family, they've done it to lots of others before. Take my father's business and ruin his reputation, my brother's too. Put them both in prison if I didn't do as I was told, leave my mom and Josh's family with nothing, and everybody knowing they'd tried to keep me away from Repro. They'd be shunned and nobody would be willing to help them--not if it meant standing up against Repro."
The news Jared was hearing was no less chilling because of the monotone of Jensen's voice. He was reciting facts, taking a step away from the experiences he'd lived through, attempting to protect himself from the effects, even now, years later. Jared wanted to touch him, to gather him into a reassuring hug, but he restrained his impulse. After all this time together, he knew Jensen well enough to realize he needed to get as much of this out as he could. A moment's sympathy would destroy the hard-fought-for control he was managing so far, so Jared restricted himself to a soft-voiced, "I had no idea. I'm so sorry, Jensen."
Jensen nodded, but didn't look up as he continued. "They threatened to have my sister kicked out of university, give her place to someone who wasn't related to a reluctant ceiver. They told us that if I fought, or ran, tried to make it out of the country, that they would have no mercy, no compunction about destroying the lives of anyone I was close to, anyone I cared about. Anyone who cared about me."
"I wasn't the first. And I'm certain I wasn't the last. It's still going on." Jensen looked up then. "They are invincible, Jared." It was Jensen's hand that reached to clasp Jared's wrist, and the look in his eyes was something close to hero-worship. "I have never been prouder of anything in my life than I was of you when you had my status reversed. Nobody has ever petitioned Repro for anything before, that I know of, and won." The expression faded, reverting to the grim blankness of earlier. "But they don't surrender ceivers. And they won't change their tactics."
He let go of Jared's wrist and drew back into himself. "They know who we are, Jared. They know me. If we do anything--anything--to draw their attention, if Mac gets in trouble for being involved with the anti-Repro movement, we're screwed. We're all screwed." His voice faltered, and when he continued it sounded like he could barely choke out the words. "They know who we are. They'll come after us, take everything, arrest us, arrest our families..."
And Jared couldn't hold out any longer. He moved closer and wrapped Jensen up in his arms, tucking the tearful face into his chest to hide, a hand cupping the skull as his other hand stroked Jensen's back, firm, deliberate contact meant to ground and comfort. They sat like that for a while, until Jensen shifted, raised his face and sought Jared's mouth in an urgent kiss, which Jared returned with equal urgency. The fierce gentleness of the hug turned to something else, and Jensen was insatiable, demanding, hands on Jared's skin beneath his shirt, kissing Jared like he was starving and Jared was his sustenance. They stumbled down the hall, hands grasping, groping, mouths sucking and licking at whatever skin they could reach. They got the bedroom door shut before the clothes were ripped away and there was nothing but hot, smooth skin beneath their grasping hands.
Jared pushed Jensen back onto the bed and fell on top of him, scrabbling in the bedside drawer with one hand. The click of a cap was all but lost in the gasps and half-murmured words as Jared licked a burning trail down Jensen's neck, tasted each nipple before licking down to his navel. His tongue explored its shallows before, his eyes locked on Jensen's, he swallowed him down without a teasing lick or nibble. Jensen cried out, his hips bucked hard, and Jared threw a forearm across his belly to pin him while his other hand, slicked and ready, opened Jensen up: one finger, two.
"Ngah!" Jensen gasped, writhing. "Enough. Come on, come on, I'm ready!"
Jared stalked on his hands up the length of his husband's body, the eyes of both of them locked on each other, sharing the heat and the need, till Jared nudged his dick against Jensen's opening and began to push inside. Their eyes slammed shut, both of them, at the intensity of it, but they found and locked their gaze again as Jared sheathed full-length.
"Move. Dammit, move." It came out somewhere between a command and a plea, and Jared grinned and moved. Jensen's fingers clawed at his back, and he knew there would be scratches--he didn't care. He intended to earn them. He thrust hard, again, and again, shoving Jensen up the bed each time he moved. Jensen wrapped his legs around Jared's hips, but Jared leaned up and hooked them over his arms. When he slammed back in, he lifted Jensen's hips onto his thighs, and Jensen's legs slid up over Jared's shoulders.
There was no control left, no attempt to tease or torture, no drawing this out. Jared pounded away, and Jensen clung on, both of them gasping curses and endearments interchangeably, until Jared wrapped his fist around Jensen's dick, stripping it to the rhythm of his thrusts. Jensen yelled, tightening down impossibly on Jared's cock, and Jared came like a geyser seconds after.
They lay side by side, breath slowing, coming down. Into the quiet, Jensen spoke. "We can't risk it, Jared. Mac can't risk it. It has to stop."
Jared didn't answer, and Jensen rolled onto his side, facing away from Jared.
* * *
Things were strained the next morning. Jensen announced he had plans to meet Jason and work on a couple of songs, and he packed up his guitar and left the house. JJ called and said he had that project to work on after school at his classmate's house, and he'd be home later. Shannon had debate practice and would be at school for a couple of hours. She'd call if she needed a ride. Jared wasn't really expecting to hear from Mac. Unsettled because of the argument, and the sex that hadn't really resolved anything, Jared admitted he wasn't getting any work done. He stepped outside armed with a basketball, and attacked the hoop, charging and doing layup after layup from different angles. They kept bouncing off the rim, and he was getting madder, and then suddenly things clicked and he settled into the rhythm and the ball started swishing through the hoop without touching the rim. He made another goal and started forward to grab the ball on the bounce, but a blur ran in front of him and grabbed it, dodged nimbly, sank a basket, retrieved the ball and spun away--all before Jared recovered from his momentary surprise.
"Just so you know?" Mac grinned at him. swish! "You suck at stealthy."
Jared's steps faltered and stopped. "What?"
"Did you think I wouldn't notice you? Eight feet tall trying to hide in the shadows?" Mac bounced the ball half-heartedly once or twice. "You've been following me. I can keep myself out of trouble, you know." The green eyes slanting up at him from under a tousle of dark gold curls were clear and certain. "You don't have to protect me. That's why you're doing it, right?"
Jared struck quickly and slapped the ball out of Mac's hands. "Started that way," he agreed, spinning and shooting. The ball slipped through silently and he caught it on the bounce.
"And now?" Mac shadowed his steps, preventing him from getting to the basket again. A lucky slap loosened the ball and Mac turned and took his own shot. Score!
Jared stopped still, regarding his eldest child, who paused and returned his gaze openly, honestly. Mac was already Jensen's height, and he probably wasn't finished growing. He had Jensen's eyes, but the curls in the fairer hair were Jared's. Jared recognized traits and attributes both physical and in Mac's personality he had inherited from Jensen or from from Jared. But much more than a blend of both his parents, Mac was his own person, with his own thoughts and opinions. He deserved the truth. "I think…I think it's more than that now."
Mac nodded.
four
"...Government troops moved in on another demonstration last night, at a closed high school in the southern part of the city," the newsperson spoke over footage of a bonfire and silhouettes of a moving crowd of people, arms raised and chanting. Cries of, "Down with Repro! Save our sons! End sexual slavery!" could be heard in the background as the anchor continued. "This is the fourth such gathering this week, and city officials have been in meetings with federal representatives of the Department of Reproduction to discuss stronger measures in preventing such rallies..."
Hearing footsteps along the upstairs hall, Jared clicked off the TV. He'd been listening and half-watching from the kitchen while he finished getting dinner together. Jensen's jeans-clad legs appeared on the stairs, followed by the rest of him. He came into the kitchen to retrieve plates and cutlery from the cabinets, and Jared bent to kiss his husband's neck, just behind his left ear, the spot that made him hiss and give a ticklish jerk in response. Jensen grinned and sidestepped, hands full, and went to set the table. "Kids all home?"
"Mac's finishing up his history paper. Shannon's working on that rights debate she has coming up next week. JJ's at Glenn's. They're still working on that astronomy project."
Jensen nodded. "Do we know Glenn?"
"He's new, his family just moved here, I forget from where. We'll probably see him in the next few days."
Jensen nodded, grabbing napkins from the drawer. "What happened to Robby?"
Jared shrugged, but before he could answer, Mac came down the stairs. Jensen snagged an arm around his neck and pulled him in for a loud kiss on the cheek. "Hey, kid."
Mac rolled his eyes and made a big deal of wiping his cheek dry. "Hey, Dad." He flicked a glance at Jared. "I got time to shoot a few before dinner?"
Jared nodded. "Don't get too sweaty," he told him. As Mac slipped out the sliding doors, Jared called after him, "Nothing worse than sitting down next to a sweaty kid at the dinner table."
Mac flashed a grin over his shoulder, and shortly the ponk-ponk-ponk sound of a basketball on concrete filtered through the glass.
"...and Grant says the Department has a history of repression and secrecy, which is against people's constitutional rights," Shannon delicately dabbed sauce from her lips before she reached for her glass. "He's really kind of passionate about how wrong it is. I'm not sure how much is him, and how much he's just playing up for the sake of argument."
"And you're on the opposing side?" Jared and Jensen exchanged a shuttered glance, one that gave nothing away. "You're debating in favor of Repro?"
"Well," her head tilted and she gestured with her fork. "World population is still falling. It hasn't reached critical point yet, but any advantage humans have to slow, or even reverse population decline--well, we have to use it. We can't wait till we're in danger of extinction before we act!" Her nod was emphatic, as was her tone.
"But what about individual rights, Nonni?" Mac asked. "What do you think--aside from the debate, how do you feel about Repro?"
Her expression settled into a slight frown while she thought through her reply. "I keep going back to that old saying, 'the good of the many vs. the good of the few'. Ceivers are less than four percent of the US population, but right now, they produce almost fifteen percent of all babies born in this country, the ones that survive past a year, that is. Female fertility hasn't increased--it hasn't even stabilized," her frown deepened momentarily before she continued. "Most scientists believe it's going to continue to decline, unless there's a breakthrough in finding the cause. And then it'll be years more before they discover how to reverse it.
"The country--the world--depends on the offspring of ceivers to continue to populate the planet." She took a sip of her water, and set the glass back down. "I just don't see how one person's rights can be more important than rescuing and preserving the human race."
Mac's frown deepened. "Sis, you don't have any idea what they put those boys through."
"The ceivers, you mean?"
"Shan, they're still boys. And--" He flicked a glance at Jared, and his Papa shook his head minutely. Mac took a breath and relaxed his expression and posture from the confrontational attitude. "It's not right. They give up everything."
"But look at what they get in return!" Shannon wasn't backing off from her position. "They get taken care of. They get first priority for the best quality healthcare, and they get to have babies, and raise them to be the next generation. They don't have to compete for jobs, or worry about money, or getting into the right school, or who has the best car, the biggest house--none of that. Ceivers are the salvation of the human race, Mac. Don't you see that?"
Jared glanced over to see Jensen's eyes locked on his plate, his mouth in a straight line. He reached under the table and folded his husband's hand in his, with a steadying squeeze.
"Nonni, I think you may be simplifying things a little too much," Jared said. "Do you honestly think it's right and good to separate any segment of the population, to treat them differently, because of the way they were born?"
"But Pop," his daughter shot back, voice rising with her emotion. "They're the lucky ones! They get treated better! They don't have the same worries and hardships as the rest of us. Plus--" She stopped short, looking at each of the other faces at the table, and tears were very near the surface. "You're all guys. You just don't get it!"
She threw down her napkin and scraped back her chair. Jensen reached a hand to her, "Shannon..."
"It's okay, Dad. I'm sorry I got upset. I--I need to go work on my argument, okay? May I be excused?"
Jared glanced at his son and husband, and then nodded. "Sure, hon. If I can help, give me a holler."
Jensen and Jared were together on the couch in front of the TV when Mac brought down his finished history paper to have it looked over. Jensen left Jared reading and headed toward the kitchen. "Anybody hungry? Popcorn? Bring anybody a drink?"
Shannon came down to get a soda while he waited for the microwave to do its thing. He pulled her in and kissed the curls piled on top of her head. "You smell good. Mango shampoo?"
"Uh huh."
"Smells tasty." He pretended to gnaw on her head, and she pushed him away.
"You are so weird."
"Braaaaiiinnss," he responded, lurching toward the microwave. Careful of the steam, he ripped open the bag and dumped the contents into a bowl. "Come watch teevee with the family, little girl," he invited, and she snagged a handful of popcorn and followed him, plopping down in the recliner to eat out of her hand.
"Looks good, Mac," Jared handed the pages back to their son. "Here Jensen, read it. See if he made his points."
Jensen handed over the bowl to Jared and took the report. The TV went to commercial, and since nobody had immediate custody of the remote, they just ignored it, till the sound of a yelling crowd drew their attention.
"Police broke up another anti-government rally tonight at a closed middle school in the Preston neighborhood." Footage played of officers in riot gear advancing on a group of people seated on the ground, arms linked, singing and shouting. Jensen looked away from the screen in time to catch a glance pass between his husband and son. On the screen, cops began dragging protestors out of line and into waiting police vans, and Shannon spoke.
"Serves them right. They should arrest all of them. And prosecute. They keep getting more and more pushy with this stuff. We need to put a stop to it."
Jensen had no idea what to say. He waited, but neither Mac nor Jared said anything either. He watched both of them indirectly as he read Mac's paper, but there was no repeat of that look.
* * *
Jared looked at the address again; he was in the right place. It was a dry cleaner's in a row of small businesses on a slightly rundown street. There wasn't that defeated look of dying commerce about the place, but none of the shopfronts looked like gold mines, either. He mentally hitched up his jeans, took a breath, and opened the door. A man behind the counter looked up as Jared approached.
"Anderson," Jared said, as he'd been told. "I don't have my ticket."
The man inclined his head toward the hallway that ran down the left side of the shop, to a closed door in the back. Jared thanked him with a nod, and walked toward the door.
He found a small room, with high windows on the back wall. There was a table and a few chairs, and a handful of people drinking coffee from paper cups. Malik stood and came to Jared, clapping his shoulder before turning to address the others. "This is Tom," he announced, his hand tightening on Jared's shoulder before it lifted.
The others nodded as Malik went around the table: "Sally, Arthur, Gina, Mark, and Joe."
"Hey," Jared included them all in the greeting. He recognized Mark as the speaker at the first rally he'd followed Mac to. "Call me Charles," Malik grinned beside him, pushing him toward a chair, and Jared nodded.
"Tom, good to have you." Mark glanced at him. "Charles tells us you want to help. How's your driving?"
They gave him keys and told him where he'd find a van parked two days after the meeting. He drove two hundred miles north, Gina navigating with an unmarked map. She didn't make conversation, and Jared followed her example, only responding to her quiet directions with a, "thanks," or an, "okay." His passengers were quiet, whispering among themselves. Jared would have expected some roughhousing, some shoving and name-calling with boys their ages, but there was none of that. They looked out the windows, calling softly to each other when they sighted mountains in the distance, or a an old BigBoy figure still standing outside an abandoned restaurant, or a handful of deer moving out in the open.
It was well past dark when they arrived at the rendezvous, and there was a small car and two strangers waiting to meet them. Gina moved into the driver's seat of the van, one of the strangers got in beside her, and Jared was beckoned toward the car.
"Tom?" the man standing by the car asked.
Jared nodded.
"I'm Dave. I'll drive you home." With a glance and a farewell nod to Gina, Jared got into the uncomfortably small passenger seat of the car, and both vehicles pulled away in different directions: the car back the way Jared had come, the van on the next leg of its journey.
Dave let him out three blocks from the underground lot where he'd left his car. Jared pulled into a gas station and used the restroom to wash up a little bit and change the tee and overshirt he'd worn for a polo and a casual blazer. Eyeing himself in the mirror, he rehearsed the lie he'd told Jensen--overnight in Phoenix for an early morning meeting--and trying to believe it himself so he could sell it.
What was he doing? Jensen was the man he loved, he was closer to Jared than anyone. Jensen knew him better than he knew himself sometimes. How could he lie to this man?
The sounds of the soft boys' voices as they marveled over sights most people never even noticed echoed in his ears. Yes. He could do this. He met his own eyes in the mirror. He had to.
* * *
Jensen looked down at the woebegone face, and had to deliver unwelcome news. Again. "I'm sorry, man. JJ's not home."
Robby just stood there for a minute, and Jensen could see the tears welling. "Hey, buddy, you want to come in anyway for a few minutes? There's some peanut butter cookies that aren't going to eat themselves."
Robby perked up a little at the mention of cookies, and nodded his head. Jensen stepped aside for him to come in, closing the door behind him and leading the way to the kitchen. Robby climbed up on the stool at the breakfast bar where he'd often sat with JJ, and Jensen pulled the container of cookies from the pantry and poured a glass of milk.
"So, what's up with you guys lately?"
"I don’t know," Robby's face hadn't brightened much, even with the cookies. The eyes that looked up at Jensen would have done a basset hound proud. "He's always hanging out with Glenn."
"Tell me about this Glenn." Jensen wanted to know more. JJ had been mentioning Glenn kind of a lot, recently.
"He's new. His family moved here about a month ago. He's…"
"What, dude? Tell me. Is he a bad person? Is he mean?"
"N-no." Robby didn't sound entirely sure. "I mean, he shoves other guys around sometimes. He's loud. I think he played football at his old school."
"And he's hanging out with JJ?" That didn't sound like the kid Jensen knew. His youngest was more interested games and books and movies, and in figuring out how things worked than he was in sports. And Jensen knew JJ didn't have it in him to shove other people around. Why would he be spending time with someone like that?
"Yeah." Robby's sense of defeat was obvious.
"And you and JJ didn't have a fight, or anything?" Robby shook his head no. "Well, man, I'm sorry. I don't know what to tell you."
"'S all right," Robby told him, sliding off the stool. "I'll catch him at school tomorrow."
"You want me to tell him you came by?"
"Sure," he nodded. "And thanks for the cookies."
Jensen watched Robby let himself out, wondering what JJ was thinking. He and Robby were best friends, they had gone through a lot of experiences and changes together. They'd been close since Robby befriended the new boy trying to fit in here, after years in Irish schools. They hadn't had a falling out, so why was JJ cutting Robby out? This new kid must be something special, if JJ was neglecting his best friend to hang out with him. Jensen made a note to find out more about this Glenn.
* * *
"So, how was your run?" Malik wanted to know. He'd asked Jared to meet him at a bar, a small place tucked away in a quiet block downtown.
"It was fine." Fine, for the value of being haunted ever since, both by guilt for lying to Jensen, and by the soft voices of the boys he hoped he'd helped.
"Having second thoughts?" Malik gestured at the bartender to bring Jared a beer.
"No." It came out definite, sure. "I believe in what we're doing."
Malik peered at Jared's expression as he took a pull at his longneck. "Well, something's got you twisted up. You wanting to back out?"
Jared took another pull, and looked down at the bottle in his hands. "I hate having to lie." When Malik didn't answer, Jared went on. "My husband. He's had--dealings--" he left it at that. "with Repro. It scares him to even think about resisting them."
Malik said nothing, just nodded and took another drink of his own beer. Finally, he spoke.
"My brother and his wife, they couldn't, you know?" He glanced up to check that Jared followed his meaning. "Their ceiver gave them three beautiful boys, such smart and handsome kids. Always laughing and carrying on. The eldest, Martin, played Pop Warner football. Gifted. That boy had gifted hands. He could throw the ball and hit a dime at forty yards. Ran like a deer, too. We all expected him to play high school varsity, maybe earn a scholarship. We hoped he'd play in college, and if he wanted to, only if he wanted to, go pro when he graduated."
Jared watched the reminiscent smile play over his companion's face as he talked about his nephew, and he saw the expression bleed away and blankness replace it.
"Repro took him at twelve."
Jared didn't have to say 'I'm sorry.' None of them really did, it was an understanding in common; it was why each of them had gotten into the movement. Malik continued. "The second boy, Ronald, was a musical genius. They got him a piano when he was five, and he just inhaled everything he heard. They started him on lessons, and he mastered everything his teachers threw at him. And then he started making up his own music--every style. Jazz at first, and then a little classical." Whitfield turned toward him and Jared saw the rare flare of dimples. "Can you imagine an eleven-year-old bringing the blues? That boy had it, deep down." He didn't continue, and Jared had to ask.
"Repro?"
Whitfield nodded. "Yep. Nearly killed my sister-in-law, and my brother both." He raised his empty so the bartender would bring him another, and when it was in his hand, he went on. "So you can imagine how close they held the third boy. Eddie wasn't especially good at anything, but he was a sweetheart, a joy to have around. Never met anybody he couldn't strike up a conversation with." Malik didn't say any more, he just turned to face Jared, and the rest of the story played out on his face. After a little while, he took another sip of beer.
"Their ceiver was so despondent he tried to commit suicide. None of them wanted it, they wanted to stay together, they were family now. But my brother didn't have the heart to try for more kids, and Repro said they couldn't keep the ceiver in that case, and they took him. I guess he's been reassigned by now."
He finished his beer and set the bottle carefully on the bar, shaking his head at the bartender's inquiring look, to refuse another.
"My brother and sister-in-law are still together, but they've sold their house and moved into a one-bedroom apartment. She works at the university library, where she never sees a kid under eighteen. And my brother works two jobs, just so he doesn't have time to think. It's not fair." He met Jared's eyes. "And it's not right. So that's why I'm here."
Jared nodded. He guessed he ought to share his own reasons for wanting to help. But it was Jensen--Jensen's story, and he didn't feel he had the right to share it without Jensen's knowledge and consent. So he gave Whitfield the truth--just not all of it.
"My older boy--his girlfriend's little brother was taken. Sam had a problem communicating when he was little, and Sophie, who’s four or five years older than he is, worked out a code system so they could talk to each other." It was Jared's turn to take a drink. "I understand the boys aren't allowed to communicate freely with their families."
Whitfield nodded.
"Well, Sam's been using their code, and he got messages to Sophie that he was unhappy and he wanted to come home. Sophie's parents can't do anything anyway, so they're ignoring it, and Sophie's distraught, so she turned to Mac."
Jared sighed. "My kid wants to be a hero, so he started checking around to see what he could do, and I started checking up on him. And here we are."
"So you got into it just to keep an eye on your son?" Whitfield wasn't buying it, not completely. There had to be more to the story than he was being told.
Jared nodded. "Mainly." He hesitated, and finally said, "There are other reasons, too. But that story's not mine to tell, so forgive me if I don't share it. I will, when I know it's okay."
Malik gave him a hard look, and a long one, and finally smiled a little, relaxed and let it go. "Sure. I'll be interested to hear that story, when you feel like you can tell me."
"You'll be the first," Jared assured him.
* * *
The usual muted pounding of rock music filtered from upstairs, along with the voice of his daughter challenging her brother on his music tastes. There was brisket in the slow cooker and from-scratch yeast rolls from his mom's recipe in the oven. Shannon had put the salad together before she'd gone upstairs, and the green beans were ready to steam. JJ was in, for a change, upstairs in his room, and Jensen was downtown discussing backup for a local gig with Christian and Steve. He was expected home within the hour, and dinner would be ready when he came through the door. Jared was perhaps a little overly happy to have his entire family home for a meal together, all at once. It had become a rarer and rarer occasion. He sat down to check the DVR and see what could be purged without watching, what needed to be watched and erased the soonest, how much room was left, what shows were coming up that needed space. It was often a juggling match.
The upstairs voices rose, and the music flared loud for a couple of minutes and then suddenly shut off, Mac sounded pissed--no, he sounded angry, and Shannon's voice topped his in both volume and heat.
"Guys?" Jared called out. "What's going on up there?"
There was no answer, but the voices escalated, and he could pick out individual words now: stupid, and nearsighted, and ignorant, and…. And then it degenerated into name-calling.
Jared was off the sofa and up the stairs in a flash. Mac was in the doorway of his sister's room, red-faced and yelling. "You don't give a rat's ass about anybody else! All you care about is 'the way it's supposed to be,' and everybody else can just suck it up--"
Shannon was out in the hall now, backing her brother away, arguing just as hotly. "Well, sometimes people have to step up and do things they might not want to do. It's for the good of the country, for the existence of the human race, brother! You have to think past the boundaries--"
Mac wasn't giving in. "That's bullshit and you know it. They're just kids, and they're being kidnapped--"
JJ stood in the doorway of his room, gaze following the argument back and forth between them, like a tennis match. Jared called to them, "Guys--" But each intent on their own point of view, they didn't pay him any mind.
"No, they're not!" Shannon insisted. "They're being trained. To do a job nobody else can do--"
Jared stepped a little closer. "Guys, come on--"
"They're kids! Just little kids, and they're exploited, sis, used, assigned like whores--"
"They--"
"Okay, that's enough!" Jared bellowed, and Shannon and Mac both looked at him in surprise.
Mac whirled on him. "Dad, she--"
"I said enough, Mackenzie." He gave his eldest a stern, quelling look, and Mac huffed and glowered a bit, but he subsided.
"Now, if you guys want to discuss this like civilized people, we can do that at the table after dinner. Your dad can join in, if he wants. You too, JJ." He shot a look at his youngest, who shrugged, his disinterest plain.
"Missy, you wash your face and see if you can't cool down," he told his daughter.
"Don't call me that!"
He just raised his eyebrows at her, and she blew out a frustrated breath and turned to do as he'd instructed. "Mac, if my mama's yeast rolls are burnt, I'm telling your dad it's your fault."
"My--!" At Jared's stink-eye, he shut up, and started downstairs to check on the rolls. Jared pinned his youngest with a no-nonsense, "JJ, wash up. Downstairs in five."
"Hey," the boy complained. "What did I do?"
"I don't know," his Papa said in a gravely serious tone of voice. "Do you want me to find something?"
"No, Pop! I'm going!"
go to part three
chapters 3-4
Jared saw him coming this time. Most likely because Whitfield allowed him to see, but still.
Tonight's gathering was under a rarely-used overpass. There was a fine mist falling, and a little shelter was welcome. Someone had found an empty oil drum and others had scrounged for paper trash and firewood. There were streetlights, though the one nearest their spot was broken. Still, there was enough light for the people gathered to see each other, and to watch the face of tonight's speaker. He stood on a milk crate to raise him enough to be seen, and maybe heard, a little better.
"Hey, I'm Jervis."
There was a murmur of acknowledgement before he continued. "My only son was taken as a ceiver. He…he's adapted to the life, which I guess I'm glad of, for his sake, you know? But he's not the same boy I raised. And he doesn't want to have much to do with his family any more."
Again, a murmur ran through the crowd, of sympathy, fellow feeling.
"Most of us here, if not all of us, have given up somebody to Repro. Or we're worried we'll have to."
Another shifting movement and murmur of assent.
"We know all about how birth rates aren't doing too good--how mankind may be losing in the extinction sweepstakes. Our good scientists are working on ways to turn that around. The ceiver program has been a big part of the government's attempts to increase the birthrate, to prevent population numbers from falling any further, any faster. I think all of us are aware of the problem. And most of us are pretty invested in continuing to exist."
There was a shuffling of feet, and a chuckle passed among the crowd.
"They're saying now that they're getting closer to identifying fertility among girls, so we’ll know which of our daughters and sisters are able to get pregnant, and will be likely to carry to term. They're saying this is a good thing, and I guess it is."
People fell silent, waiting for Jervis to continue.
"But, well, I don't know. While our fertile boys have been a valuable resource in this time of trouble, we haven't done so well with them in other ways, now have we? I mean, we take good care of them, we see that they have the best of things, that they get excellent care. But none of them ever gets asked if this is something they want to do. They get tested, they get trained, they get assigned. And all their other choices are just immediately gone to nothing--they have no choices. Is this what we want for our kids? For our neighbors' kids? Is this the way things are supposed to be?"
He paused then, not looking out at his audience, rather appearing lost in his thoughts. The crowd waited, still and quiet, until he raised his head and spoke again.
"They tell us this is how it has to be--that we need every baby, and every ceiver capable of having babies. That we need them paired off and pregnant as often as possible. Oh, they make sure they're healthy and looked after, that they don't want for food, or shelter or warmth. Physically harming a ceiver is unheard of, because the punishment for it is instant and harsh. Ceivers are a treasure, and in this country, they're treated like valuable property, with a specific use. A whole culture of rules and behaviors has risen up, been cultivated, around these precious ceivers. It has come to seem, in the six decades since the first ceivers and the first days of the program, that these traditions are necessary, and inflexible."
He swept the crowd with a fierce and unflinching gaze. "The surrendering of a person's choices in the face of the the nation's dire need is seen as something both noble and necessary. And all of us have just accepted that this is the way things have always been."
"But when you stop for a minute and look at your history, the history of this country, and the whole world, the truth becomes clear.
"This is not a time honored custom, this is something new. We in this country have been led to accept that this is the way things have to be. One generation, that’s all it takes to not remember what freedom is, and who it belongs to. We're taught and encouraged to forget how things used to be, how they're supposed to be. And when we forget, we keep sliding deeper into darkness and injustice."
Jared listened, and found himself nodding. He glanced around at the people assembled tonight, spotting some familiar faces, though he couldn't put names to them. Mac and Sophie were to his left, Mac's arm around her shoulders as her eyes were rapt upon Jervis' face.
Jervis didn't have the charismatic speaking style of the speaker at the first rally Jared had followed Mac to, but there was an honesty about him, a restrained passion, a bedrock sense of right and wrong. What he said had the ring of truth, and as he watched the faces of the listeners, Jared felt a tug of kinship, a sense of purpose, of rightness.
He'd started this to keep an eye on his son, to pull him out of harm's way should the need arise. He'd had no intention of getting involved himself. Jervis' words helped put a new light on things for Jared: his family, the foundation it was built on, what cost had been paid, and by whom. He couldn't help the memories that rose of his and Jensen's early days together, and this new perspective wasn't very flattering to Jared.
Deep in thought as he was, Jared still noticed when Mac eased Sophie toward the edge of the crowd and away, down the street. Jared gave them a half-block's lead, and followed.
* * *
The set was fun, Jason was in fine form. He grinned when he saw Jensen and Shannon at a table near the stage, and tried to call both of them up to sing with him. Jensen shook his head, but raised an eyebrow at his daughter. She blushed, but at Jason's urging, and her dad's gesture of, "up to you," she hopped up onstage to sing harmony on Crazy Love. She and Jason had sung it often and, in spite of a sudden attack of the jitters, by the chorus she settled in and did a fine job. The crowd was welcoming and appreciative, and Jason pecked her on the cheek before she left the stage. She returned to the table flushed and excited at having performed well.
It was his last set, so Jason joined Shannon and Jensen afterward. He hadn't eaten, and the cookout was long past. They were all hungry, so when Jason mentioned a small family-run Italian place nearby with a manicotti to die for, it sounded great. Jason and Shannon were arguing the merits of cannoli vs. tiramisu for dessert when they exited the club, Jensen just a few steps behind.
His casual glance across the street fell on a young couple who reminded him of--no, it was Mac and Sophie! What were they doing in this part of town--? His attention was momentarily distracted by the sound of sirens down the street, and the flashing lights of police cars a couple of blocks away. As he glanced toward the commotion, a tall figure walking in this direction stepped between buildings and was gone. He looked back at where he'd seen Mac and his girl. They were gone, too.
The hell--?
"Dad?"
His attention snapped back to Shannon and Jason, who were waiting for him to catch up.
"Yeah, guys," he flashed them a grin. "Coming." He moved in their direction, but not before throwing another searching glance at the commotion down the street. Whatever was going on, he was damned sure he'd find out later. But for now, he put his game face on and strode out for dinner with his best friend and his daughter.
JJ and Jared were watching TV in the living room. Mac was on his way home from Sophie's, Jared told him. Jensen hugged his kids and told them goodnight, and went upstairs to his studio. He was too unsettled to try and do any work, but he picked up his old acoustic and played some chords, just strumming idly to try and settle his nerves. He left the door open, though, so he heard when Mac came home, and shortly afterward, when they all headed up for bed. He heard Jared's footsteps down the hall, and he wanted--and he didn't want--to confront him. His husband lounged in the open doorway, watching Jensen with the guitar. "Hey."
Jensen lifted his chin in answer, not breaking the melody he was fingering.
"So, Shannon had a really good time." Jared grinned at him.
"Yeah," he answered, and let his fingers still on the strings. "It was good to see Jason. She tell you she got up onstage?"
"Yeah, she did." Jared's grin got even wider. "She was all stoked about it."
"You and Mac and Sophie should have stopped in." It wasn't the way he'd meant to bring it up. He'd meant to ease into it, but it just blurted out on its own.
"What?"
"I saw you. Mac and Sophie across the street from the club, and you following them, about a block back. Walking away from some scene with lots of flashing lights and sirens."
He watched Jared from the corner of his eye, not meeting his gaze. And he saw how his weight shifted, saw the hand come up to scratch the back of his head, saw the changing expressions cross his features as he scrambled for something to say.
"It was a rally, wasn't it? Our kid and his girl and you at a goddam anti-Repro rally." His fingers were too numb to feel the strings, and he carefully laid the guitar aside before his tight grip on the neck damaged the wood. He walked to the far end of the studio to get some distance, and turned to face his husband. "What the hell were you thinking?"
"Mac went with Sophie," Jared began. "I went--just to keep an eye on them. Just in case."
"In case? In case of what, Jared? In case Repro swept in and arrested everybody there? Because that's what they do."
"It was a peaceful gathering. There wasn't any trouble--at least not until after we'd left."
Jensen was pacing now, shaking his head, his lips in a tight line. "How could you be so stupid? How could you let our boy be that stupid? Don't you know what could happen? How could you just ignore..?" He trailed off, clearly agitated.
Jared hadn't any idea he would be so upset. "Listen, it's fine, we're fine. What are you so afraid of, Jensen? I know--"
"You don't know, Jared! You weren't there!"
Everything stopped for a moment, Jensen clearly in more distress than Jared had expected. And then he realized: this wasn't just about tonight. "Jensen, I know you had a hard time of it, I was there for some of it--"
"People disappear, Jared. People who try to fight Repro, people who disagree, they can just be wiped out, like they never even existed."
Jared huffed out an exasperated sigh. His husband was over-reacting, as he always did whenever the subject of Repro came up. "Jensen--"
"Don't. Just don't. You don't know. When--when." His voice faltered. His knees had been shaking since he'd gotten to his feet, and now they finally gave out; he sank to sit on one end of the couch. When he swallowed and continued, it was in a near-whisper, as if he couldn't, even now, speak such things aloud.
"They came for me that day. I drove home, and they were in my driveway. They shoved a letter at my dad, and two cops grabbed me, forced me into this van, and nobody would tell me what was going on. They wouldn't tell me, and they wouldn't let me say anything to my folks--I couldn't even hug my mom, Jared."
Jared stepped closer, reached out to him, but Jensen flinched away. "They took me to that building downtown. I'd never even paid attention to it enough to wonder what it was. The cops had me by each arm and they marched me along like...I was nothing, like nothing I said or did would stop them. And you know what? It was true.
"They had all the power, Jared. They still do."
Jared eased to sit beside him on the sofa, but refrained from touching him. "But you don't belong to them anymore, Jensen. They have no power over you now."
Green eyes met his, swamped with tears. The full lips were pinched, pulled tight, as if Jensen could hold back his thoughts and not let them out, even now. "You don't get it. You still don't understand."
"Then tell me. This is eating you up, man. You have to let it out. And I need to know."
Jensen shook his head, and even though he ducked to try and hide it, Jared saw him bite his lips, saw the tears spill. Jensen swiped at them angrily, took a breath, and sat a little straighter.
"They threatened my family, they've done it to lots of others before. Take my father's business and ruin his reputation, my brother's too. Put them both in prison if I didn't do as I was told, leave my mom and Josh's family with nothing, and everybody knowing they'd tried to keep me away from Repro. They'd be shunned and nobody would be willing to help them--not if it meant standing up against Repro."
The news Jared was hearing was no less chilling because of the monotone of Jensen's voice. He was reciting facts, taking a step away from the experiences he'd lived through, attempting to protect himself from the effects, even now, years later. Jared wanted to touch him, to gather him into a reassuring hug, but he restrained his impulse. After all this time together, he knew Jensen well enough to realize he needed to get as much of this out as he could. A moment's sympathy would destroy the hard-fought-for control he was managing so far, so Jared restricted himself to a soft-voiced, "I had no idea. I'm so sorry, Jensen."
Jensen nodded, but didn't look up as he continued. "They threatened to have my sister kicked out of university, give her place to someone who wasn't related to a reluctant ceiver. They told us that if I fought, or ran, tried to make it out of the country, that they would have no mercy, no compunction about destroying the lives of anyone I was close to, anyone I cared about. Anyone who cared about me."
"I wasn't the first. And I'm certain I wasn't the last. It's still going on." Jensen looked up then. "They are invincible, Jared." It was Jensen's hand that reached to clasp Jared's wrist, and the look in his eyes was something close to hero-worship. "I have never been prouder of anything in my life than I was of you when you had my status reversed. Nobody has ever petitioned Repro for anything before, that I know of, and won." The expression faded, reverting to the grim blankness of earlier. "But they don't surrender ceivers. And they won't change their tactics."
He let go of Jared's wrist and drew back into himself. "They know who we are, Jared. They know me. If we do anything--anything--to draw their attention, if Mac gets in trouble for being involved with the anti-Repro movement, we're screwed. We're all screwed." His voice faltered, and when he continued it sounded like he could barely choke out the words. "They know who we are. They'll come after us, take everything, arrest us, arrest our families..."
And Jared couldn't hold out any longer. He moved closer and wrapped Jensen up in his arms, tucking the tearful face into his chest to hide, a hand cupping the skull as his other hand stroked Jensen's back, firm, deliberate contact meant to ground and comfort. They sat like that for a while, until Jensen shifted, raised his face and sought Jared's mouth in an urgent kiss, which Jared returned with equal urgency. The fierce gentleness of the hug turned to something else, and Jensen was insatiable, demanding, hands on Jared's skin beneath his shirt, kissing Jared like he was starving and Jared was his sustenance. They stumbled down the hall, hands grasping, groping, mouths sucking and licking at whatever skin they could reach. They got the bedroom door shut before the clothes were ripped away and there was nothing but hot, smooth skin beneath their grasping hands.
Jared pushed Jensen back onto the bed and fell on top of him, scrabbling in the bedside drawer with one hand. The click of a cap was all but lost in the gasps and half-murmured words as Jared licked a burning trail down Jensen's neck, tasted each nipple before licking down to his navel. His tongue explored its shallows before, his eyes locked on Jensen's, he swallowed him down without a teasing lick or nibble. Jensen cried out, his hips bucked hard, and Jared threw a forearm across his belly to pin him while his other hand, slicked and ready, opened Jensen up: one finger, two.
"Ngah!" Jensen gasped, writhing. "Enough. Come on, come on, I'm ready!"
Jared stalked on his hands up the length of his husband's body, the eyes of both of them locked on each other, sharing the heat and the need, till Jared nudged his dick against Jensen's opening and began to push inside. Their eyes slammed shut, both of them, at the intensity of it, but they found and locked their gaze again as Jared sheathed full-length.
"Move. Dammit, move." It came out somewhere between a command and a plea, and Jared grinned and moved. Jensen's fingers clawed at his back, and he knew there would be scratches--he didn't care. He intended to earn them. He thrust hard, again, and again, shoving Jensen up the bed each time he moved. Jensen wrapped his legs around Jared's hips, but Jared leaned up and hooked them over his arms. When he slammed back in, he lifted Jensen's hips onto his thighs, and Jensen's legs slid up over Jared's shoulders.
There was no control left, no attempt to tease or torture, no drawing this out. Jared pounded away, and Jensen clung on, both of them gasping curses and endearments interchangeably, until Jared wrapped his fist around Jensen's dick, stripping it to the rhythm of his thrusts. Jensen yelled, tightening down impossibly on Jared's cock, and Jared came like a geyser seconds after.
They lay side by side, breath slowing, coming down. Into the quiet, Jensen spoke. "We can't risk it, Jared. Mac can't risk it. It has to stop."
Jared didn't answer, and Jensen rolled onto his side, facing away from Jared.
* * *
Things were strained the next morning. Jensen announced he had plans to meet Jason and work on a couple of songs, and he packed up his guitar and left the house. JJ called and said he had that project to work on after school at his classmate's house, and he'd be home later. Shannon had debate practice and would be at school for a couple of hours. She'd call if she needed a ride. Jared wasn't really expecting to hear from Mac. Unsettled because of the argument, and the sex that hadn't really resolved anything, Jared admitted he wasn't getting any work done. He stepped outside armed with a basketball, and attacked the hoop, charging and doing layup after layup from different angles. They kept bouncing off the rim, and he was getting madder, and then suddenly things clicked and he settled into the rhythm and the ball started swishing through the hoop without touching the rim. He made another goal and started forward to grab the ball on the bounce, but a blur ran in front of him and grabbed it, dodged nimbly, sank a basket, retrieved the ball and spun away--all before Jared recovered from his momentary surprise.
"Just so you know?" Mac grinned at him. swish! "You suck at stealthy."
Jared's steps faltered and stopped. "What?"
"Did you think I wouldn't notice you? Eight feet tall trying to hide in the shadows?" Mac bounced the ball half-heartedly once or twice. "You've been following me. I can keep myself out of trouble, you know." The green eyes slanting up at him from under a tousle of dark gold curls were clear and certain. "You don't have to protect me. That's why you're doing it, right?"
Jared struck quickly and slapped the ball out of Mac's hands. "Started that way," he agreed, spinning and shooting. The ball slipped through silently and he caught it on the bounce.
"And now?" Mac shadowed his steps, preventing him from getting to the basket again. A lucky slap loosened the ball and Mac turned and took his own shot. Score!
Jared stopped still, regarding his eldest child, who paused and returned his gaze openly, honestly. Mac was already Jensen's height, and he probably wasn't finished growing. He had Jensen's eyes, but the curls in the fairer hair were Jared's. Jared recognized traits and attributes both physical and in Mac's personality he had inherited from Jensen or from from Jared. But much more than a blend of both his parents, Mac was his own person, with his own thoughts and opinions. He deserved the truth. "I think…I think it's more than that now."
Mac nodded.
Hearing footsteps along the upstairs hall, Jared clicked off the TV. He'd been listening and half-watching from the kitchen while he finished getting dinner together. Jensen's jeans-clad legs appeared on the stairs, followed by the rest of him. He came into the kitchen to retrieve plates and cutlery from the cabinets, and Jared bent to kiss his husband's neck, just behind his left ear, the spot that made him hiss and give a ticklish jerk in response. Jensen grinned and sidestepped, hands full, and went to set the table. "Kids all home?"
"Mac's finishing up his history paper. Shannon's working on that rights debate she has coming up next week. JJ's at Glenn's. They're still working on that astronomy project."
Jensen nodded. "Do we know Glenn?"
"He's new, his family just moved here, I forget from where. We'll probably see him in the next few days."
Jensen nodded, grabbing napkins from the drawer. "What happened to Robby?"
Jared shrugged, but before he could answer, Mac came down the stairs. Jensen snagged an arm around his neck and pulled him in for a loud kiss on the cheek. "Hey, kid."
Mac rolled his eyes and made a big deal of wiping his cheek dry. "Hey, Dad." He flicked a glance at Jared. "I got time to shoot a few before dinner?"
Jared nodded. "Don't get too sweaty," he told him. As Mac slipped out the sliding doors, Jared called after him, "Nothing worse than sitting down next to a sweaty kid at the dinner table."
Mac flashed a grin over his shoulder, and shortly the ponk-ponk-ponk sound of a basketball on concrete filtered through the glass.
"...and Grant says the Department has a history of repression and secrecy, which is against people's constitutional rights," Shannon delicately dabbed sauce from her lips before she reached for her glass. "He's really kind of passionate about how wrong it is. I'm not sure how much is him, and how much he's just playing up for the sake of argument."
"And you're on the opposing side?" Jared and Jensen exchanged a shuttered glance, one that gave nothing away. "You're debating in favor of Repro?"
"Well," her head tilted and she gestured with her fork. "World population is still falling. It hasn't reached critical point yet, but any advantage humans have to slow, or even reverse population decline--well, we have to use it. We can't wait till we're in danger of extinction before we act!" Her nod was emphatic, as was her tone.
"But what about individual rights, Nonni?" Mac asked. "What do you think--aside from the debate, how do you feel about Repro?"
Her expression settled into a slight frown while she thought through her reply. "I keep going back to that old saying, 'the good of the many vs. the good of the few'. Ceivers are less than four percent of the US population, but right now, they produce almost fifteen percent of all babies born in this country, the ones that survive past a year, that is. Female fertility hasn't increased--it hasn't even stabilized," her frown deepened momentarily before she continued. "Most scientists believe it's going to continue to decline, unless there's a breakthrough in finding the cause. And then it'll be years more before they discover how to reverse it.
"The country--the world--depends on the offspring of ceivers to continue to populate the planet." She took a sip of her water, and set the glass back down. "I just don't see how one person's rights can be more important than rescuing and preserving the human race."
Mac's frown deepened. "Sis, you don't have any idea what they put those boys through."
"The ceivers, you mean?"
"Shan, they're still boys. And--" He flicked a glance at Jared, and his Papa shook his head minutely. Mac took a breath and relaxed his expression and posture from the confrontational attitude. "It's not right. They give up everything."
"But look at what they get in return!" Shannon wasn't backing off from her position. "They get taken care of. They get first priority for the best quality healthcare, and they get to have babies, and raise them to be the next generation. They don't have to compete for jobs, or worry about money, or getting into the right school, or who has the best car, the biggest house--none of that. Ceivers are the salvation of the human race, Mac. Don't you see that?"
Jared glanced over to see Jensen's eyes locked on his plate, his mouth in a straight line. He reached under the table and folded his husband's hand in his, with a steadying squeeze.
"Nonni, I think you may be simplifying things a little too much," Jared said. "Do you honestly think it's right and good to separate any segment of the population, to treat them differently, because of the way they were born?"
"But Pop," his daughter shot back, voice rising with her emotion. "They're the lucky ones! They get treated better! They don't have the same worries and hardships as the rest of us. Plus--" She stopped short, looking at each of the other faces at the table, and tears were very near the surface. "You're all guys. You just don't get it!"
She threw down her napkin and scraped back her chair. Jensen reached a hand to her, "Shannon..."
"It's okay, Dad. I'm sorry I got upset. I--I need to go work on my argument, okay? May I be excused?"
Jared glanced at his son and husband, and then nodded. "Sure, hon. If I can help, give me a holler."
Jensen and Jared were together on the couch in front of the TV when Mac brought down his finished history paper to have it looked over. Jensen left Jared reading and headed toward the kitchen. "Anybody hungry? Popcorn? Bring anybody a drink?"
Shannon came down to get a soda while he waited for the microwave to do its thing. He pulled her in and kissed the curls piled on top of her head. "You smell good. Mango shampoo?"
"Uh huh."
"Smells tasty." He pretended to gnaw on her head, and she pushed him away.
"You are so weird."
"Braaaaiiinnss," he responded, lurching toward the microwave. Careful of the steam, he ripped open the bag and dumped the contents into a bowl. "Come watch teevee with the family, little girl," he invited, and she snagged a handful of popcorn and followed him, plopping down in the recliner to eat out of her hand.
"Looks good, Mac," Jared handed the pages back to their son. "Here Jensen, read it. See if he made his points."
Jensen handed over the bowl to Jared and took the report. The TV went to commercial, and since nobody had immediate custody of the remote, they just ignored it, till the sound of a yelling crowd drew their attention.
"Police broke up another anti-government rally tonight at a closed middle school in the Preston neighborhood." Footage played of officers in riot gear advancing on a group of people seated on the ground, arms linked, singing and shouting. Jensen looked away from the screen in time to catch a glance pass between his husband and son. On the screen, cops began dragging protestors out of line and into waiting police vans, and Shannon spoke.
"Serves them right. They should arrest all of them. And prosecute. They keep getting more and more pushy with this stuff. We need to put a stop to it."
Jensen had no idea what to say. He waited, but neither Mac nor Jared said anything either. He watched both of them indirectly as he read Mac's paper, but there was no repeat of that look.
* * *
Jared looked at the address again; he was in the right place. It was a dry cleaner's in a row of small businesses on a slightly rundown street. There wasn't that defeated look of dying commerce about the place, but none of the shopfronts looked like gold mines, either. He mentally hitched up his jeans, took a breath, and opened the door. A man behind the counter looked up as Jared approached.
"Anderson," Jared said, as he'd been told. "I don't have my ticket."
The man inclined his head toward the hallway that ran down the left side of the shop, to a closed door in the back. Jared thanked him with a nod, and walked toward the door.
He found a small room, with high windows on the back wall. There was a table and a few chairs, and a handful of people drinking coffee from paper cups. Malik stood and came to Jared, clapping his shoulder before turning to address the others. "This is Tom," he announced, his hand tightening on Jared's shoulder before it lifted.
The others nodded as Malik went around the table: "Sally, Arthur, Gina, Mark, and Joe."
"Hey," Jared included them all in the greeting. He recognized Mark as the speaker at the first rally he'd followed Mac to. "Call me Charles," Malik grinned beside him, pushing him toward a chair, and Jared nodded.
"Tom, good to have you." Mark glanced at him. "Charles tells us you want to help. How's your driving?"
They gave him keys and told him where he'd find a van parked two days after the meeting. He drove two hundred miles north, Gina navigating with an unmarked map. She didn't make conversation, and Jared followed her example, only responding to her quiet directions with a, "thanks," or an, "okay." His passengers were quiet, whispering among themselves. Jared would have expected some roughhousing, some shoving and name-calling with boys their ages, but there was none of that. They looked out the windows, calling softly to each other when they sighted mountains in the distance, or a an old BigBoy figure still standing outside an abandoned restaurant, or a handful of deer moving out in the open.
It was well past dark when they arrived at the rendezvous, and there was a small car and two strangers waiting to meet them. Gina moved into the driver's seat of the van, one of the strangers got in beside her, and Jared was beckoned toward the car.
"Tom?" the man standing by the car asked.
Jared nodded.
"I'm Dave. I'll drive you home." With a glance and a farewell nod to Gina, Jared got into the uncomfortably small passenger seat of the car, and both vehicles pulled away in different directions: the car back the way Jared had come, the van on the next leg of its journey.
Dave let him out three blocks from the underground lot where he'd left his car. Jared pulled into a gas station and used the restroom to wash up a little bit and change the tee and overshirt he'd worn for a polo and a casual blazer. Eyeing himself in the mirror, he rehearsed the lie he'd told Jensen--overnight in Phoenix for an early morning meeting--and trying to believe it himself so he could sell it.
What was he doing? Jensen was the man he loved, he was closer to Jared than anyone. Jensen knew him better than he knew himself sometimes. How could he lie to this man?
The sounds of the soft boys' voices as they marveled over sights most people never even noticed echoed in his ears. Yes. He could do this. He met his own eyes in the mirror. He had to.
* * *
Jensen looked down at the woebegone face, and had to deliver unwelcome news. Again. "I'm sorry, man. JJ's not home."
Robby just stood there for a minute, and Jensen could see the tears welling. "Hey, buddy, you want to come in anyway for a few minutes? There's some peanut butter cookies that aren't going to eat themselves."
Robby perked up a little at the mention of cookies, and nodded his head. Jensen stepped aside for him to come in, closing the door behind him and leading the way to the kitchen. Robby climbed up on the stool at the breakfast bar where he'd often sat with JJ, and Jensen pulled the container of cookies from the pantry and poured a glass of milk.
"So, what's up with you guys lately?"
"I don’t know," Robby's face hadn't brightened much, even with the cookies. The eyes that looked up at Jensen would have done a basset hound proud. "He's always hanging out with Glenn."
"Tell me about this Glenn." Jensen wanted to know more. JJ had been mentioning Glenn kind of a lot, recently.
"He's new. His family moved here about a month ago. He's…"
"What, dude? Tell me. Is he a bad person? Is he mean?"
"N-no." Robby didn't sound entirely sure. "I mean, he shoves other guys around sometimes. He's loud. I think he played football at his old school."
"And he's hanging out with JJ?" That didn't sound like the kid Jensen knew. His youngest was more interested games and books and movies, and in figuring out how things worked than he was in sports. And Jensen knew JJ didn't have it in him to shove other people around. Why would he be spending time with someone like that?
"Yeah." Robby's sense of defeat was obvious.
"And you and JJ didn't have a fight, or anything?" Robby shook his head no. "Well, man, I'm sorry. I don't know what to tell you."
"'S all right," Robby told him, sliding off the stool. "I'll catch him at school tomorrow."
"You want me to tell him you came by?"
"Sure," he nodded. "And thanks for the cookies."
Jensen watched Robby let himself out, wondering what JJ was thinking. He and Robby were best friends, they had gone through a lot of experiences and changes together. They'd been close since Robby befriended the new boy trying to fit in here, after years in Irish schools. They hadn't had a falling out, so why was JJ cutting Robby out? This new kid must be something special, if JJ was neglecting his best friend to hang out with him. Jensen made a note to find out more about this Glenn.
* * *
"So, how was your run?" Malik wanted to know. He'd asked Jared to meet him at a bar, a small place tucked away in a quiet block downtown.
"It was fine." Fine, for the value of being haunted ever since, both by guilt for lying to Jensen, and by the soft voices of the boys he hoped he'd helped.
"Having second thoughts?" Malik gestured at the bartender to bring Jared a beer.
"No." It came out definite, sure. "I believe in what we're doing."
Malik peered at Jared's expression as he took a pull at his longneck. "Well, something's got you twisted up. You wanting to back out?"
Jared took another pull, and looked down at the bottle in his hands. "I hate having to lie." When Malik didn't answer, Jared went on. "My husband. He's had--dealings--" he left it at that. "with Repro. It scares him to even think about resisting them."
Malik said nothing, just nodded and took another drink of his own beer. Finally, he spoke.
"My brother and his wife, they couldn't, you know?" He glanced up to check that Jared followed his meaning. "Their ceiver gave them three beautiful boys, such smart and handsome kids. Always laughing and carrying on. The eldest, Martin, played Pop Warner football. Gifted. That boy had gifted hands. He could throw the ball and hit a dime at forty yards. Ran like a deer, too. We all expected him to play high school varsity, maybe earn a scholarship. We hoped he'd play in college, and if he wanted to, only if he wanted to, go pro when he graduated."
Jared watched the reminiscent smile play over his companion's face as he talked about his nephew, and he saw the expression bleed away and blankness replace it.
"Repro took him at twelve."
Jared didn't have to say 'I'm sorry.' None of them really did, it was an understanding in common; it was why each of them had gotten into the movement. Malik continued. "The second boy, Ronald, was a musical genius. They got him a piano when he was five, and he just inhaled everything he heard. They started him on lessons, and he mastered everything his teachers threw at him. And then he started making up his own music--every style. Jazz at first, and then a little classical." Whitfield turned toward him and Jared saw the rare flare of dimples. "Can you imagine an eleven-year-old bringing the blues? That boy had it, deep down." He didn't continue, and Jared had to ask.
"Repro?"
Whitfield nodded. "Yep. Nearly killed my sister-in-law, and my brother both." He raised his empty so the bartender would bring him another, and when it was in his hand, he went on. "So you can imagine how close they held the third boy. Eddie wasn't especially good at anything, but he was a sweetheart, a joy to have around. Never met anybody he couldn't strike up a conversation with." Malik didn't say any more, he just turned to face Jared, and the rest of the story played out on his face. After a little while, he took another sip of beer.
"Their ceiver was so despondent he tried to commit suicide. None of them wanted it, they wanted to stay together, they were family now. But my brother didn't have the heart to try for more kids, and Repro said they couldn't keep the ceiver in that case, and they took him. I guess he's been reassigned by now."
He finished his beer and set the bottle carefully on the bar, shaking his head at the bartender's inquiring look, to refuse another.
"My brother and sister-in-law are still together, but they've sold their house and moved into a one-bedroom apartment. She works at the university library, where she never sees a kid under eighteen. And my brother works two jobs, just so he doesn't have time to think. It's not fair." He met Jared's eyes. "And it's not right. So that's why I'm here."
Jared nodded. He guessed he ought to share his own reasons for wanting to help. But it was Jensen--Jensen's story, and he didn't feel he had the right to share it without Jensen's knowledge and consent. So he gave Whitfield the truth--just not all of it.
"My older boy--his girlfriend's little brother was taken. Sam had a problem communicating when he was little, and Sophie, who’s four or five years older than he is, worked out a code system so they could talk to each other." It was Jared's turn to take a drink. "I understand the boys aren't allowed to communicate freely with their families."
Whitfield nodded.
"Well, Sam's been using their code, and he got messages to Sophie that he was unhappy and he wanted to come home. Sophie's parents can't do anything anyway, so they're ignoring it, and Sophie's distraught, so she turned to Mac."
Jared sighed. "My kid wants to be a hero, so he started checking around to see what he could do, and I started checking up on him. And here we are."
"So you got into it just to keep an eye on your son?" Whitfield wasn't buying it, not completely. There had to be more to the story than he was being told.
Jared nodded. "Mainly." He hesitated, and finally said, "There are other reasons, too. But that story's not mine to tell, so forgive me if I don't share it. I will, when I know it's okay."
Malik gave him a hard look, and a long one, and finally smiled a little, relaxed and let it go. "Sure. I'll be interested to hear that story, when you feel like you can tell me."
"You'll be the first," Jared assured him.
* * *
The usual muted pounding of rock music filtered from upstairs, along with the voice of his daughter challenging her brother on his music tastes. There was brisket in the slow cooker and from-scratch yeast rolls from his mom's recipe in the oven. Shannon had put the salad together before she'd gone upstairs, and the green beans were ready to steam. JJ was in, for a change, upstairs in his room, and Jensen was downtown discussing backup for a local gig with Christian and Steve. He was expected home within the hour, and dinner would be ready when he came through the door. Jared was perhaps a little overly happy to have his entire family home for a meal together, all at once. It had become a rarer and rarer occasion. He sat down to check the DVR and see what could be purged without watching, what needed to be watched and erased the soonest, how much room was left, what shows were coming up that needed space. It was often a juggling match.
The upstairs voices rose, and the music flared loud for a couple of minutes and then suddenly shut off, Mac sounded pissed--no, he sounded angry, and Shannon's voice topped his in both volume and heat.
"Guys?" Jared called out. "What's going on up there?"
There was no answer, but the voices escalated, and he could pick out individual words now: stupid, and nearsighted, and ignorant, and…. And then it degenerated into name-calling.
Jared was off the sofa and up the stairs in a flash. Mac was in the doorway of his sister's room, red-faced and yelling. "You don't give a rat's ass about anybody else! All you care about is 'the way it's supposed to be,' and everybody else can just suck it up--"
Shannon was out in the hall now, backing her brother away, arguing just as hotly. "Well, sometimes people have to step up and do things they might not want to do. It's for the good of the country, for the existence of the human race, brother! You have to think past the boundaries--"
Mac wasn't giving in. "That's bullshit and you know it. They're just kids, and they're being kidnapped--"
JJ stood in the doorway of his room, gaze following the argument back and forth between them, like a tennis match. Jared called to them, "Guys--" But each intent on their own point of view, they didn't pay him any mind.
"No, they're not!" Shannon insisted. "They're being trained. To do a job nobody else can do--"
Jared stepped a little closer. "Guys, come on--"
"They're kids! Just little kids, and they're exploited, sis, used, assigned like whores--"
"They--"
"Okay, that's enough!" Jared bellowed, and Shannon and Mac both looked at him in surprise.
Mac whirled on him. "Dad, she--"
"I said enough, Mackenzie." He gave his eldest a stern, quelling look, and Mac huffed and glowered a bit, but he subsided.
"Now, if you guys want to discuss this like civilized people, we can do that at the table after dinner. Your dad can join in, if he wants. You too, JJ." He shot a look at his youngest, who shrugged, his disinterest plain.
"Missy, you wash your face and see if you can't cool down," he told his daughter.
"Don't call me that!"
He just raised his eyebrows at her, and she blew out a frustrated breath and turned to do as he'd instructed. "Mac, if my mama's yeast rolls are burnt, I'm telling your dad it's your fault."
"My--!" At Jared's stink-eye, he shut up, and started downstairs to check on the rolls. Jared pinned his youngest with a no-nonsense, "JJ, wash up. Downstairs in five."
"Hey," the boy complained. "What did I do?"
"I don't know," his Papa said in a gravely serious tone of voice. "Do you want me to find something?"
"No, Pop! I'm going!"
go to part three
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2014-02-22 09:31 am (UTC)I respect Jared for his involvement, hell I admire it but allowing his teenage son to be involved is unforgivable. Their kids are basing their opinions on facts spouted by two opposing factions but they have no personal understanding of the reality and that is dangerous. By keeping the truth from them to protect them, I think the Js are endangering them more. I have the sickening feeling that Shannon is going to inadvertently drop either Mac or Jared into a stinking pile of shit. Oh the angst!!