More Than Ever | J2 AU NC-17 | Chapter 2

[fufaraw]

More Than Ever Chapter Two

[Warnings on Master Post]

The office was clean, bare, nondescript, and that could be said for the building it was in, as well. Anonymous, Malik nodded to himself, and reserved further judgment until he'd finished the interview.

He'd heard about the job through the movement's grapevine. The underground was still active with information, even though a higher profile in the press and the greater awareness the public had now meant that meetings and rallies were fewer and farther apart. There was very little provocative activity these days. Those involved with the movement were lying low, and waiting to learn if the shifting political climate would actually lead to change, real, legal procedure and policy change. He thought of it as 'don't poke the lion when it's finally headed in the direction you want it to go.'

Months ago, he'd seen a couple of photographs online; Morgan was mentioned as Brown's choice to head up an untitled "task force", depending on the outcome of next year's elections. There wasn’t much elaboration on the purpose of the task force, or its goals, and awareness of its existence faded into the background in all the political posturing and lightshow.

So he recognized Morgan when he walked in, flanked by an older man. Malik stood to shake the offered hand.

"Mr. Whitfield," Morgan glanced at the folder in his hand. "Charles?"

"Malik, sir," he replied, shaking hands with the other man.

"Jim Beaver," he introduced himself.

"If you come to work for me," Morgan told him. "You and Jim will be working together."

Malik flashed a quick dimple. "Nice to meet you, Jim."

"Remains to be seen," grunted Beaver. But there was a little glint in his blue eyes and a softness around his mouth that might be the suspicion of a smile.

"Says here," Morgan took a seat at the table and gestured for the other men to do the same, flipping through the folder. "You've been on the force for a while, coming up on qualifying for detective? Is this the time for you to be leaving the force to take another job?"

Here was the hard sell. Malik took a quick breath and met Morgan's gaze. "I've already turned in my resignation with the department," he said. "There are rules and practices in place there...I just can't work like that any more."

Morgan shot a glance under his brows at Beaver, who nodded in return with no change of expression. "You realize we're going to check out everything you tell us here today?"

Malik nodded.

"And we've already checked you out," Beaver added. "Seems like you've been involved in some pretty sketchy extracurricular activity, according to your bosses' evaluations of your performance."

Malik met Beaver's cold, assessing gaze and nodded again. "That's one of the reasons I'm ready to move on. I had a choice to make, and I followed my conscience. And my personal beliefs. I got tired of setting those aside to follow the letter of the law."

"You've given up family to Repro, is that right?" Morgan was paging through the papers in the folder again, but he paused to fix Whitfield with an opaque stare.

"My nephews." He didn't elaborate, and after a beat or two, Morgan declined to pursue it.

"Seems you stuck with the PD for a pretty long while after your nephews were taken," Morgan mused. "And we know you were involved with the underground most of that time. Why'd you stay as long as you did? And what changed?"

Malik leaned back in his chair and ran a hand over his close-clipped hair, taking a moment before he answered. "I thought I could do some good, at first. Just a cop, you know?"

Both men nodded, and he went on. "I had no idea there was any kind of organized resistance to the law of the land – I just thought everybody obeyed because it was the law. Then I stumbled into a couple of rallies. And rather than arresting people, I started listening. I got into activism gradually."

He sighed, and leaned forward again. "I tried to do some good, with what authority and access I had. Information, so I could warn people of planned raids. Reroute escapes, change rally locations and times. Even spring some people who'd been arrested by losing or screwing up the paperwork."

"They started suspecting you," Beaver stated. It was a fact, and Malik nodded.

"It got harder to help. And it got harder to stay when I couldn't help." He met Morgan's gaze. "And then I got word of what Brown is putting together, and I want to be a part of that. It sounds like something I have some background in. I can be effective, and I can do the work and still sleep at night."

Morgan and Beaver exchanged another expressionless glance, and Morgan tapped the papers into order, tucked them back into the folder and stood. He offered a hand to Whitfield again. "Thanks for coming in," he said while Malik shook Beaver's hand as well. "We'll be in touch."

* * *

There is daily life to get on with, expecting they'll hear something this week, that Jared will be found, that Jared will be back with them the week after, next month, tomorrow. There's the normalcy of grocery shopping and laundry and trying to get stains out of the carpet so they can let the baby crawl on the floor. Because the baby's crawling now, figured out how to get those arms and legs working together, and man, can he haul butt. Jared would – Jared will laugh when he gets a load of this kid.

Jared's already missed so much: the first time Seamus rolled over, the first smile, sitting up, the first tooth. He pulled up on the playpen rim the other day, but only wavered for a minute before plopping down on his butt with a thump. And now he's crawling, fast as he can, growing by leaps and bounds and Jared's not here, he's missing it. There's not any place Jensen can send the video recordings he faithfully makes for Jared.

Jensen takes a deep breath and stuffs it all down again and leans over Seamus where he's tucked into Shannon's shoulder and blows a raspberry on his pudgy little neck, before giving up with the spot cleaner and going to the building center to rent a steam carpet cleaner.

Jensen stays busy, and he stays cheerful. It's hard not to laugh at Seamus, and the kids are happy, but they miss their Pop, he knows. They all work at being positive for each other. But they're all clued in to each other, too, and if one of them falters, face crumpling, the others are there, arms reaching and holding, and patting on the back. Some mutual sniffling and "I miss him, too," before wiping the tears away and stepping back, squaring the shoulders and summoning a smile. "We'll hear something soon. They'll find him." And nodding, nodding agreement, shoring each other up in mutual hope and reassurance.

And Jensen shops and writes music, or really, what he does is rework old lyrics and melodies and then discard them when they all turn out either sad or angry. He talks to the guys in the band and parents and in-laws on Skype and searches the Internet for news, and shares the cooking and laundry with his kids and laughs at the baby and has a busy, productive life with people he loves. And he goes to bed at night and sinks into the mattress, the covers tight around him, the extra pillows lined up at his back for the illusion of warmth, and he recalls the ghost of weight and breath and warmth against his skin, of the mattress giving under movement other than his own, and he reaches for the memory, but even as he does, it pales to nothing and slips away, leaving him cold and alone. And he shakes with fear for his husband, in whatever awful place he might be, and aches with missing him, and though he tries to abstain until he has Jared back, his hand slips down to fold around his aching cock and jerk himself to some minor, fleeting, bitter relief.

* * *

From its earliest days, the underground movement against Repro was a secret. Family members, friends, conscientious objectors to Repro's methods met in secret, in living rooms, in basements, until fear of discovery and punishment of the rest of their loved ones drove them into more anonymous, usually abandoned public places. News of meetings was by word of mouth, by coded messages over phone trees – no more than a contact on the level of the tree above and the one below known to any individual – or cryptic notes left at pre-arranged drops. Their focus was utter secrecy and the aiding of walkaways and escapees, first to escape from their situation, and then to find safe ways out of the country. There was no unified or organized rebellion; each small local group worked alone, in full expectation of discovery, and in confidence and determination that if caught, one would not betray those few individuals one had worked with. This was how the underground worked for generations, for decades. It was surprising how many had been spirited out to freedom, and how few, overall, had paid the cost.

News coverage was supervised and controlled by the government, and any reports of activism were presented as attacks against the government, as threats to the American way of life, as attempts to sabotage the Department of Reproduction's heroic efforts to stem the falling birth rate, and bring ruination to the populace. Rebels and activists were enemies of the state, and of the people.

The Internet was the thin end of the wedge against public opinion. Articles and opinion pieces appeared on obscure websites, got picked up and repeated on more mainstream ones. Arguments broke out in comments, and hit-and-run posters had the technological knowhow – or the help of those who had it – to abandon and obscure ISP addresses and server trails. Code and shorthand evolved to identify fellow sympathizers, to inform of rally points and rescues. The network of sympathizers grew, most of them still unknown to each other except through the Internet's facility for them to remain deliberately obscure.

As public awareness began to awaken to the fact that Repro's tactics and methods were as destructive and draconian as they were productive, public opinion turned, agonizingly slowly, it seemed for those who had been in the resistance for years, for decades. Viewed from a historical perspective, however, the transition was blindingly fast. Rallies and rescues were written about and the articles avidly read and shared, rather than condemned and disapproved of, now that the public was beginning to follow and cheer, quietly and circumspectly, for the underground and its efforts.

Anonymized stories of walkaways and their reasons for leaving their government-formed families behind, of families who had been torn apart and devastated by the loss of their children, garnered sympathy and outrage in those who read and shared such stories. Discussion in the comments following such stories raised more awareness of the consequences and results of the government's implacable methods. Argument and rebuttal fired opinion and emotional commitment to change – and firm resistance to change, as well. But the tide was turning.

And after decades of silence and repression, the subject was finally becoming an open enough public concern to influence the political climate. From civic to national, incumbents and potential candidates began to coin a new language to indicate where their sympathies lay, and how far they were prepared to commit to change. Dissention was still against the law, rebellion was still a crime which brought charges of treason, so while some politicians and their constituents wished to bring about change, it was understood that arrest and imprisonment was no way to accomplish that goal.

But the movement was an open secret now, even as its workers and its plans still clung to secrecy as an effective tactic.

* * *

Donna and Alan made time to come celebrate Seamus' first birthday. Shari and Megan came as well, and after hugging Shari tight, Jensen patted Megan's belly and hugged her too, more gently. "He would be so happy for you!" he whispered.

Mackenzie's new daughter was too young to travel so far, so Mack and her husband were at home with her. Neither Josh nor Jeff was able to take time off work, and they were reluctant to organize traveling with their families at the moment. Gerry continued to work for Jared's release, and Mac stayed so he would be on the ground if anything new came to light. No matter how Jensen argued, everyone would not be here for Seamus' first birthday.

Jensen moved among the ones who had come, the neighbors and the kids from Seamus' play group and their parents, threading a path among the balloons and streamers and the piles of wrapped presents. JJ sat bouncing Shay in his lap, and Jensen smiled, and took video and smiled some more, and chatted with everyone.

He ached inside, so much he wished his heart would burst and kill him and get it over with. Where was Jared, in all this? Why wasn't he here?

Oh look – Seamus swimming in a huge plastic bib, his cake set in front of him with a single candle flickering. Jensen brought up the camera and hit REC. The baby looked intimidated at all the singing, all the eyes on him, waiting to see what he would do. JJ blew out the candle and everybody laughed and clapped. Shannon swiped a finger in the frosting and wiped it on Seamus' lower lip; he tasted it, and his eyes lit up. He lunged for the cake, one starfish hand splatting right on top of it, then going straight for his eager, open mouth. The party burst with laughter and chatter, and Jensen hid behind the camera and recorded it all.

* * *

There were quite a few up and coming candidates for office at local, state, and federal levels who disagreed with the present state of the union, and were ready for change. Their constituents were unhappy and growing more dissatisfied with the Department of Reproduction and the laws that protected it and gave it such sweeping power. A growing number of legislators and politicians favored change in the laws that empowered the Department of Reproduction, that kept their dealings secret from the public, and free of oversight. Successive amendments over time to those original laws had expanded and increased their influence and control, and the Department had lost any transparency it once may have had regarding its methods and procedures.

The demand for accountability was growing, and the public was tired of being kept in the dark about what types of research their taxes went to fund, and what progress that research was making. The resistance, funded by contributions, continued to produce print, television, and online ads, essays, and interviews aimed at increasing public awareness that perhaps Repro's iron tactics weren't the only way to solve the population problem. Further, that the the rights and liberties of those people whom Repro deemed vital in keeping population numbers from falling any lower were certainly brushed aside as less important than Repro's program. Families who had given up sons to Repro were beginning to give voice to the distress, and protested that they had been forced, by law and by public custom, to keep silent. And the general public was listening.

Defying Reproductive law was still illegal, so political candidates and their staffs and advocates gave carefully worded speeches, crafted responses to questions that came up again and again in post-speech question-and-answer sessions. Coded phrases and understood language became commonplace, and the political climate moved inexorably toward change. Workers for the resistance continued to provide information by mostly discreet, or at least untraceable means. There were even a few rallies, but most of those were dying out; it was too much of a risk. Repro was fighting back, using the law of the land as the tool and the weapon it had been crafted to be. Even so, and though still cautious, hope was the growing mood of the voting public as their attention and loyalty shifted from the old guard to the upcoming elections, and hope for a new administration.

Walker Dane Elgin and Sterling K. Brown won their party's nomination for the Presidential and Vice Presidential race. Long before the campaign began in earnest, Elgin sat Brown down for a strategy conversation. When the ceivers' existence and ability was first discovered and the program developed, research into the possible causes of declining pregnancy and live birth rates had all been gradually allowed to fall aside as the Department focused and directed funding toward detecting and training ceivers, and the re-education and indoctrination of the public as to the benefits of the ceiver program. Both Elgin and Brown intended and prepared to reactivate that research, to actively work to heavily fund it, even while research into detecting fertile girls was also ongoing.

Dismantling Repro's stranglehold was high on Elgin's agenda of reform, and on Brown's, as well, but there could be no overt campaigning on that platform; dissent was still illegal. Until they won, and could engineer and enact changes in the laws, they would have to tread carefully.

Elgin gave Brown the job of assembling a task force to prepare the groundwork for the eventual takedown, learning everything possible about how Repro had operated over the years. There were so many questions to ask, and so much to be held accountable for. What had happened to people who tried to oppose the Department? Very few of those taken into custody actually reached a courtroom, or a federal penitentiary; so what had happened to them? How were ceivers no longer capable, through age or injury, of childbearing and no longer wanted by their peres handled? Were they released as full citizens? Returned to the custody of their families, if such remained and could be found, and actually wanted them back? Were they kept in private, Repro-supervised facilities, and if so, where were the facilities located? Why was there no record of them? Were there ceivers who never settled to the life, or who rebelled later on in life? How were they handled – were they punished and kept imprisoned, impregnated against their will, the babies given to adoptive parents eager for children to raise? What happened to them when their reproductive years were over?

There was so much to find out, and no stone must be left unturned. They'd need all possible information and ammunition to win against the megalith. Brown was to begin assembling his team even before the election, and get them working on this, quietly. They could go public once the election was won, once Elgin had been sworn in and officially held office, and they had friends in both houses, as well as at every level of government.

* * *

Gerald Padalecki attended an election fundraiser where Elgin and Brown were the guests of honor. Having met each of them before, he said hello, and renewed his promise of support in getting them elected. He inquired if there was anything more he could do to help the investigation into finding his son. Brown agreed to look deeper into the situation, and Elgin indicated an interest he couldn't publicly acknowledge until after he was elected. But after Gerry moved away, Elgin asked Brown to keep him informed, and updated with any progress reports from Morgan.

* * *

Morgan's primary task was discovering facilities Repro had been less than forthcoming about: training and residence facilities, and in particular, detention centers which Repro kept hidden and secret. Agents collected and confiscated any and all records and documents they found, removing them to the task force office in DC to be sorted through and analyzed. The task force had a list and was adding names as they were discovered, uncovered, or recovered, of those arrested, or detained, for opposing Repro, either for trying to prevent a ceiver son being taken, or for activism with the movement.

And they had a list of questions that needed answers. They had no information on whether Repro had ever detained women – mothers, aunts, sisters of ceivers. Were they usually "pardoned" to care for any family remaining at home? Or had they been tried, convicted and sentenced to a term in a federal prison? If so, any trials must have been held in private, in a closed courtroom, because no record could be found of such trials. If trials had been held, and people convicted, were sentences ever served to completion? Was there a possibility of parole for these people, eventual release? Was there any sort of visitation program for Repro offenders in prison?

And similarly, were detainees ever released? Or was detention permanent?

There was a lot to do, and Morgan was just the man to organize and supervise the effort.

* * *

"I had a meeting with the candidate for Vice President this morning," Morgan told his staff, assembled around the conference table. "He's fidgety about getting things into gear, set up and ready to go before the election, with a public launch the morning after the inauguration."

Everyone sat up to attention, and Morgan continued. "So, are we good?"

Nods all around the table, and Beaver spoke. "It'll be nice to finally get to act on some of the information we've put together. I'm tired of sitting on it, waiting for the time to be right."

Morgan swept them all with a glance and a half-smile.

"Good. He brought up a couple of cases he wants special attention on, one of them in particular." He gestured to a man none of them knew who was also seated at the table. "This is Mr. Arthur Clark."

Nods were exchanged before everyone looked back to Jeff. "Mr. Clark is an attorney. He represents one of the major volunteers and contributors to the Elgin-Brown campaign, a personal friend of Sterling Brown, and of Mr. Elgin. The son of Mr. Clark's client was taken from a rally, nearly two years ago. There was no record of arrest, and no chain of custody. Police conducted the raid, under direction and orders of the Department of Reproduction, and then just handed off those protestors they'd picked up to officials from Repro, and nothing was ever seen or heard of them again. Mr. Padalecki is pushing the Vice President-elect rather urgently to look into what happened to his son, so we – "

"I'm sorry," Whitfield interrupted. "Did you say Padalecki? Jared?"

Clark eyed the younger man as Morgan glanced down at his notes. "Yes, Jared's his name. You know him?"

Whitfield nodded. "We worked together some, with the underground. Jared's a good guy. He's got kids – in fact, one of them's still in the movement, as far as I know. I haven't seen Mac in months. I don't know where he is, or what he's doing. I hadn't heard about Repro taking Jared."

"From what little there is on this case, it seems like a routine raid. I suppose they could have targeted this Jared guy, if they knew he was involved. But there's some eyewitness statements that indicate it was just a random raid." Morgan swept the table with a glance, and then came back to Malik. "I'll get with you later, in case you know anything that could help us track Jared."

Malik nodded and Morgan continued. "In the meantime, we need to find out what we can about what's happened to Mr. Padalecki. It's been more than a year and a half, where is he?" Morgan eyed each of his staff in turn as the Padaleckis' attorney looked on. "Why hasn't he been found?" Whitfield opened his mouth to respond, but Morgan continued. "They haven't even admitted to having him in custody – how long are they planning to hold him?"

Beaver shook his head. "As long as they want, at a guess. There's not been anybody, or any group or oversight committee to challenge Repro on – well, anything. Their policies, their methods, their tactics."

"For how long?" Morgan demanded.

"Since their inception," Beaver's reply was dour. "The country was so scared about the decline in birthrate and falling population, anything that promised some hope was welcomed. And when Repro appeared to be succeeding at halting – even possibly, someday, reversing – those numbers, nobody wanted to jeopardize that by interfering."

"Well," Mr. Clark interjected quietly, "some did try, early on." Everyone at the table turned to regard him. "There were some senators, some committees, who attempted to establish some checks and balances, some guidelines which Repro would have been required to respect." Encouraged by everyone's attention, he continued. "But when, soon after their creation and investiture as a government agency, an oversight committee attempted to call them on some of their practices, they pulled their ace – they were improving the birthrate statistics, and they needed free rein to accomplish their task."

There were nods around the table.

"So," Morgan asked. "The challenges just…dropped? The Department held – what? Our future, hostage in exchange for doing whatever they wanted?"

Beaver nodded and Art replied. "Yes, pretty much."

Morgan pressed the interoffice button. "Randa? You and Will get in here."

There was an answering garble from the speaker, and a moment later the inner office door opened to admit two more people to the gathering.

"Will, that research you were doing on legal challenges to Repro, what have you found, so far?"

"There are very few public records of anybody bringing a challenge against the Department," the younger man said, pulling a reporter's notebook from his pocket and flipping through it to check his notes. "None of the challenges I could find were resolved in favor of the plaintiff. Of the instances where parents or other family were defending against charges of attempting to keep a ceiver from Repro training, none were successful. All of those defendants were given prison sentences, and those who are still alive are still serving their time."

"Repro always wins, boss," Whitfield spoke softly into the quiet that followed Will's report.

Morgan stood unmoving for a moment, then gave a slight nod, including everyone assembled with an expression of dedication and commitment so fierce it smoldered at the edges.

"Not anymore," he promised. "Randa, we're going to need to play the press on this. They're hounds for anything that smacks of revolt and uproar, and we're going to get them on our side. Focus and hone them, and point them right at the public, working to get people riled up, aware of the facts, instead of the propaganda they've been fed all these years, and get them on our side. And then, we're going to blow the doors off Repro."

Randa nodded, but Jim and Malik exchanged a dubious glance.

"Boss?" Beaver had Morgan's attention. "Are you sure?" At Morgan's look of inquiry, he went on. "Everyone who's ever tried to take Repro on gets smacked down. Hell, they get thrown under the jail."

Whitfield and Morgan shared a swift expressionless glance as Beaver continued. "Most of them, if not all, are never heard from again. Repro's probably the most powerful independent agency in the government. No other agency has oversight, or the power to challenge them. They pretty much rule themselves, and they dictate other agencies' actions and responses, to implement and enforce Repro's policies."

Jim took a breath. "Are Brown and Elgin sure we want to take the Department on? It could be political suicide, not to mention, Repro could prosecute us all for treason. And they'd probably win."

* * *

After the meeting broke up, Whitfield stayed behind to discuss Jared's case. Malik shared what background he knew on Jared and his involvement with the movement, the fact that his husband had been a ceiver, and their elder son was deeply involved and very active at one time, though Whitfield had lost touch and didn't know how involved Mac was these days. Morgan mentioned again that Gerry Padalecki's fundraising, personal contributions, and volunteer work with the Elgin-Brown campaign had earned him special consideration with the task force, and Morgan had the green light from Brown to bump Jared to the top of the search list. Morgan directed Whitfield and Beaver to focus their resources on finding Jared, while pursuing their general search for documents, facilities, and other detainees like Jared.

Over the course of the next few weeks, Gerry and Arthur Clark met with Whitfield and Beaver several times. With the time all of them were devoting toward a shared goal, a good working relationship began to emerge, forged from mutual respect and trust.

Operating on good faith and belief in the favorable outcome of the election, the agents and staff put all their efforts into designing systems, hiring staff, making initial contact with agencies and individuals who would be helpful once the task force was official. The goal was getting as much as possible in place now, to activate immediately once the election was won, so as not to lose time arguing both in public and in private sessions whether or not it should be done, or how it should be done, and who should be in charge of getting it done. The task force would be an officially named and funded agency, responding directly to the Vice President. Brown would provide power, influence, and the protection of his office. Jeff Morgan would head the task force, directing investigations and supervising staff. Whatever authority Brown, and thereby Morgan and the task force, might be challenged on would be conferred on him by Elgin. The Presidential nominee was in complete support of this crusade. The important thing, as far as Morgan and his force were concerned, was that they had solid backing and support, once Elgin took office – if he won the election.

* * *

Jensen made a quick trip to the US, carryon slung in the back of his parents' SUV as they drove from the airport to their house. He relayed news of JJ and Shannon and Seamus, asked about his siblings and their families, and any news of Jared's family. He spent some time with Jared's parents, and met all his and Jared's nieces and nephews, the "old" ones, and those born since he had been in Ireland.

Election fever was winding up to voting day, all the news was analyzing and predicting and setting disaster scenarios if the incumbents won, or if the challengers won. Jensen knew how his vote would go, and he had little time for debate. It took him a few days, but he finally managed to get a moment alone with his elder son.

"You've been avoiding me."

Mac wouldn't meet his eyes.

"Mackie, look at me." When the young man – young man! This was not the teenager Jensen had last seen – dragged his gaze up, Jensen saw the sorrow there. He reacted on instinct, and dragged the broad shoulders and chest up against his own, reeling Mac in the way he had always done since he was little. There were a couple of dry convulsive breaths, and then the dam broke.

"'S all my fault," Mac sobbed, his face tucked into his dad's neck, his voice muffled by tears and by fabric. "Pop never would have gotten into trouble if he hadn't been looking out for me. I'm responsible for – "

Jensen took advantage of the gasp for breath. "Mac, stop it."

He shook his son a little, and set him far enough away to seek his eyes. Reluctantly, Mac's gaze dragged up to meet Jensen's. "This is not your fault," he insisted, hands on Mac's shoulders to shake him a little bit. "Your pop is a grown man, and he has always made his own decisions. You are not to blame, you understand me?"

Mac shook his head. His gaze fell, and Jensen read the resistance in him. "Mac, there has never been a time when anybody talked your pop into doing something he hadn't thought through and decided, on his own, to do. I've known him a lot longer than you, and I know what I'm talking about." He pulled the youngster back in, wrapping an arm around those impressive shoulders. "Pop made his own decision, and he wouldn't want you blaming yourself." Mac hiccoughed, and wiped at his face with one hand. Jensen squeezed a little harder, and let Mac ease away a bit, standing on his own. He didn't drop his arm, though, and Mac didn't move to shrug it off. "So stop it," he scolded. "Don't make this about you."

That got a flash of green from startled eyes, and then a slow nod. "Okay," Mac agreed. "You're right. I'm sorry."

"No need to be sorry. Just – stop feeling guilty and concentrate on what's next."

Mac did ease off then, after giving his dad a quick hug of thanks.

"So what is next?" Jensen wanted to know.

"How about we go vote in some people who're ready to kick ass and take names?" Jared's son asked.

* * *

Elgin-Brown won, with a wider margin than reformers had expected. Brown wasted no time in formally launching and authorizing the task force, announcing the tasks they planned to accomplish, only some of them a smokescreen to cover the fact that they are finally, helped by quite a few newly-elected House and Senate members, along with other members who have only been waiting for a more permissive climate, getting to the job of dismantling the stranglehold Repro had on the country and the attitude of her citizens. That attitude, though, had significantly changed in part, due to the constant influx of positive messages the movement continued to stream online and promote in every public venue possible while they were underground. They were still underground, and would remain so, until the new federal and state administrations got the more punitive laws amended, or struck down entirely.

* * *

Shannon and JJ and Seamus welcomed Jensen home with open arms and happy smiles. He settled back into routine pretty seamlessly, equally glad to be back.

One morning after breakfast, JJ held Seamus in his arms and pointed at the large, framed photograph that sat on a shelf well out of the toddler's reach. "Where's Grandad, Shay?" he asked, and his son grinned and pointed to Jensen's smiling face. It was a color shot, taken on a sunny beach. Jared grinned right at the camera, one arm slung around Jensen's neck, while Jensen squinted up at Jared, wearing a matching smile.

"Gah!" Jensen trained the camera on the little boy as he bounced in his daddy's arms.

"And where's Grampa?" JJ asked. Seamus bounced some more and reached to point at Jared in the picture. "'Pah!"

Shannon's and JJ's voices joined Jensen's. "That's right, Shay! Good boy!"

JJ nuzzled the baby's neck, making snuffling noises, and Seamus shrieked with giggles and flailed his arms and legs. But JJ had him tight and didn't let him wiggle free. "Who loves you, little man?" He made gobbling sounds into his neck and Seamus shrieked again and walloped him one, right in the nose. "Who loves you, Shay?"

"Pah!" Seamus shouted, pointing at the picture. "Dah!" he laid his head against JJ's face, hard enough to thump against his injured nose.

"Who else, Shay?" his aunt prompted. "Who loves Seamus?"

The grin was wide, and displayed eight teeth. "Nonni!" he shouted, leaning toward her.

"Who loves Seamus?" Jensen asked, from behind the camera. The little boy looked straight into the lens, then lunged, arms out, hands grabbing. "Gah!"

Jensen did a quick handoff to Shannon of the camera and grabbed the baby, holding him in a gentle bearhug and growling. Seamus shrieked and giggled, wriggling away from the growling even as he snuggled deeper into the embrace. "That's right, Shay. Grampa and Grandad love you, too."

"Gah!" Seamus clutched at his shirt with both hands and smeared an open-mouthed kiss on his neck as he climbed his shoulder to lay his head down.

* * *

Comments? Chapter 1  | Chapter 3

Comments

[maguie.livejournal.com]

one year and a half Jared has been lost?!!

:( this:

-Jensen: "You've been avoiding me."

Mac wouldn't meet his eyes.

-Jensen: "Mackie, look at me."

- "'S all my fault," Mac sobbed, his face tucked into his dad's neck, his voice muffled by tears and by fabric. "Pop never would have gotten into trouble if he hadn't been looking out for me."

[fufaraw]

Yes, it's hard on everybody in Jared's family.