Disclaimer: Some concepts and characters in this story belong to ABC TV, and no, ABC TV has no idea I'm writing naughty stuff about their characters. They didn't give me permission. I'm just borrowing them, in any case. Oh yeah. This story is just CHOCK full of SEX! EEK! Oh my! (*fan* *fan*) So, if you can't handle reading about people having sex, or you're under 18 and don't have parental permission, DON'T READ IT!! 

Oh, and I apologize to my faithful readers, I have succumbed to the vice of wanting to put plot in my erotica again. :-) Thanks to my Beta Readers, Tere Matthews, Julia Kosatka, Judi Hardin, Barb Phillips and Suzanne Vollmer for finding all the holes for me to fix. :-) -- Kellie

Kellie Matthews-Simmons matthewk@colorado.edu

Sloan sat in her apartment, staring at the broken door, and shaking. She didn't want to believe it, but she had to believe it. They'd taken Tom. At first she had assumed the Dominants were behind the abduction, but after having gone to the lab and found it closed she was now fairly sure that it wasn't them after all. The Dominants wouldn't have been able to do that, that order had to have come from Walter's shadowy superiors. And, she was sure the two incidents had to be related. The timing was just too close for coincidence. 

She felt adrift, all her lifelines were gone-- Ed was in the hospital, recovering from the tranquilizer Tom's captors had used on him. Turned out he was allergic to the damned stuff, and by the time she got up to her apartment he'd been in anaphylactic shock. The ambulance had barely arrived in time. Now Walter and Ray were missing. She had called Walter to see if he knew what was up, but he wasn't answering at any of his numbers. She'd tried calling Ray, and his wife answered at home, sounding worried and afraid. A few careful questions had elicited the fact that she hadn't seen Ray since early the previous morning. Sloan was scared. Very scared. 

Noise in the hallway outside her door made her tense, suddenly terrified that they'd come back for her, but the knock that came a moment later reassured her. Ninja-commandos wouldn't knock, she realized, thinking about the black-clad men who had stolen Tom. For a moment she was amused by her own nervousness, then she hurried to the door, hoping it was Walter or Ray. Halfway there she realized it wouldn't be. They couldn't get in the building without buzzing her first . . . or could they? Her 'secure' building suddenly seemed a lot less so. 

Cautiously she looked out the peephole to see a black man in his thirties holding a tool box in one hand, the other poised to knock again. She relaxed slightly, and opened the door. 

"Can I help you?" 

When his eyes met hers, she couldn't help but notice how striking they were. They reminded her of someone else's eyes, but she couldn't quite put her finger on whose. Shaven-headed, with a carefully trimmed van-dyke beard which made him look almost sinister, the man was also quite tall and powerfully built, though he dressed to minimize that impression. He gestured toward the toolbox in his hand. 

"Mr. Lopez sent me to fix your door." 

His voice was pleasant and unaccented. Sloan thought he looked too intelligent to be a maintenance-man. Maybe he was putting himself through college by doing odd-jobs. She stepped back and let him in. He put the toolbox down and examined the door, glanced around at the mess the ninjas had made of her studio apartment, and looked at her, eyebrows lifted. 

"Wild party?" he queried drily. 

"Burglars," she offered weakly. She couldn't exactly tell him a bunch of ninjas were to blame. 

He nodded wordlessly and Sloan watched perplexed, as reached into his pocket and took out a small object that looked rather like a TV remote control. Holding it away from his body, he slowly turned in a circle. She drew breath to speak, but he put a finger to his lips and for some reason she complied, wondering what she was getting herself into. 

Should she be screaming, about now? The irony of the fact that she wasn't in hysterics wasn't lost on her. Lately her life had become so weird that events like this were commonplace. She waited patiently, sensing no threat. Tom would probably be furious with her for relying on her 'intuition' again, but what else did she have? Her throat tightened as she thought of Tom, and she had to swallow down the lump that thickened her throat as she fought back tears. 

A small light on the device turned red and he frowned, then walked over to the standing lamp next to her sofa. He slid his fingers under the edge of the shade, and withdrew a small object, placed it on the floor and stepped on it, hard. The light on the device in his hand turned green. He did another scan of the premises, and repeated the procedure with something from underneath her phone, then a final scan appeared to satisfy him and he nodded, turning toward her. 

"We can speak now, at least until they figure out their bugs are dead and get a parabolic microphone set up. My name is Mark, Dr. Attwood asked me to speak with you." 

His use of a single name told her what he was, and she swallowed hard and stepped back. 

"What have you done with him? Where is he? Where's Ray? Are they okay?" 

He looked faintly amused. "Relax, Dr. Parker, I don't know where Dr. Attwood or Mr. Peterson are at this exact moment, but I do know how to contact them, and that they're currently well. However, since Dr. Attwood's superiors have proven less than trustworthy, he and Mr. Peterson are keeping out of sight until things are less volatile." 

Sloan studied him closely, trying to feel whether or not he was telling the truth. "You're not holding them prisoner? And what do you mean, Walter's superiors aren't trustworthy?" 

Mark looked at her solemnly. "To answer your questions in order, no, we're not holding them, their actions are completely voluntary. As for the other, I'm a member of a faction which believes in coexistence, not genocide. We attempted to engineer a truce, and acting in good faith brought our own leader to the meeting. Dr. Attwood was sent to represent your people." 

"Walter? Not the Bit . . . I mean, his superior?" 

Mark nodded. "We now realize that Dr. Attwood was chosen because, being ignorant of their true plans and sincerely interested in peace, he would be able to fool our empathic senses. However, when we arrived at the meeting, we were ambushed by gunmen who didn't care if they took out both sides." 

"Ambushed! Was anyone hurt?" 

A fleeting expression of pain passed across Mark's face, and he nodded. "Our leader was killed, as was his driver. I managed to escape, as did Dr. Attwood, with Mr. Peterson's help." 

Sloan stared at him, stunned. "I don't understand, why would our people want to kill Ray and Walter? Or your leader, for that matter? A truce is exactly what we've needed!" 

Mark looked at her in a way that made her feel decidedly stupid. "To discredit us, of course. If they could make it appear to humans that we were responsible, it would be just one more mark against us. And, they knew it would have the added effect of eliminating the leader of our peace coalition, and turning many more of us against the idea of peaceful cooperation. Unfortunately we were never a large faction, and now that Dr. Attwood's superiors have decided to provoke open warfare between your people and ours, the cause of coexistence will become even less popular." 

Sloan gaped as his words sank in. "Open warfare? Oh my God!" Sloan shook her head as pieces of the puzzle started to fall into place. She clenched her fists. "They used us. They used us to start their god-damned war!" 

Mark nodded. "Exactly. That press conference about our success in cloning techniques was the catalyst they needed." 

"And now they don't need us any more so they shut down the lab. But then, why take Tom?" 

Mark looked thoughtful. "I can think of several reasons. Whether or not they're correct remains to be seen." 

Sloan caught her breath as one potential occurred to her. She looked at Mark. "I guess since Lewis . . . died, they've been without a test subject for their experiments. Tom would have been a convenient target for them." 

Sloan shivered, and rubbed her arms, as if that could rid her of the sudden chill she felt. Test subject. Thinking of what Tom had allowed Ed to do to him, she wondered if they were any better than Tom's captors, testing something like that on him? It could have killed him, almost had, and still might. The gene-therapy had apparently failed, Tom had been reverting to Dominant, and there was a chance things might go even more wrong. Even if nothing worse happened, once the reversion was complete, he would once more be a useful lab-rat for the Bitch, as Sloan thought of Walter's superior. 

"That's one possibility." Mark acknowledged. "There are others." 

"Such as?" 

"Tom was a proponent of coexistence for us, much as you are for your own kind. In some ways he was quite important, because he was one of the Chosen." 

Sloan frowned. "He was what?" 

Mark looked startled. "You didn't know? It was planned that Tom would someday become one of our leaders. That's why his decisions on this matter were so closely watched." 

Sloan stared at him, trying to wrap her mind around that. "One of your leaders? He never said . . ." She shut up abruptly. Mark didn't need to know that Tom had kept secrets from her. If he had. Maybe it just hadn't occurred to him to tell her. Sometimes he had odd ideas about the relative importance of things. 

Mark seemed not to have noticed her slip and went on, unfazed. "So, by removing him, they removed an important potential threat to their campaign. In fact, that's why Dr. Attwood sent me to see you. He feels that you should probably go underground for the time being," Mark said quietly. "You may become a target for both sides, with things in flux as they are. You can take a few minutes to pack some of your things, then I'll take you to a safehouse and we can make arrangements for your protection from there." 

Sloan shook off the feeling of dread engendered by him talking about Tom in the past tense and thought sourly that if Walter was so concerned about her, he should have warned her earlier. Like before the ninjas broke in and took Tom. No, going into hiding wasn't an option. She shook her head. "I can't do that. I have to help Tom." 

Mark tilted his head slightly to one side, regarding her with a quizzical look that reminded her eerily of both Lewis and Tom. Was it a Dominant trait? 

"That's probably not a good idea," he said after a moment. "Perhaps you should talk to Dr. Attwood before making any decisions." 

Sloan shrugged. "I'll have to take that risk. I can't just leave him in their hands and not even try to help him." 

He studied her again, then shrugged. "It's your decision. If you change your mind, call this number and leave a message with some way for me to contact you." He took a business card out of his pocket and held it out to her. She took it, it looked ordinary enough, with the name 'Mark Jackson' printed on it, and below that the words 'household repairs' and a phone number. No one would think twice about it if they found it, even in plain sight. She smiled. 

"Nice cover." 

"Thanks," he said, smiling back at her. "We got lucky with that broken door. Speaking of which, I need to get that done or they'll be suspicious." He turned away and opened the tool chest. 

"You're really going to fix my door?" she asked incredulously. 

Mark nodded, and Sloan watched for a moment as he drew on a pair of work gloves, opened her door and walked out into the hallway to pick up several long pieces of molding, and lathe. Leaning them against the wall, he picked up a clawhammer and went to pry the ruined molding away from the door frame. She shook her head, laughing incredulously at the sight of a Homo Dominant doing 'This Old House.' 

"I can't believe you're actually fixing my door!" 

Mark turned and looked at her, amusement in his gaze. "It's my job, ma'am." 

Sloan started to reply, but he held a finger up to his lips. She frowned and lifted her eyebrows in query. For answer he tapped his watch and pointed toward the window. She understood. He was telling her that their audience had probably had time to rig a new system. Knowing that someone was probably listening in, she played to the audience. 

"Well, this has to be about the quickest the landlord ever got around to a repair since I moved in! I guess it pays to have things broken loudly and publically. Can I get you anything? Some coffee? A soda?" 

He shook his head, looking rather as if she'd offered him a nice big glass of antifreeze. "No, thanks, but a glass of water would be nice." 

She went into the kitchen and got him a glass of water. He took off the gloves and accepted the glass, draining it quickly. Handing the empty glass back to her, he frowned suddenly and made a wiping motion with his hands. It took her a moment, but then Sloan realized he didn't want his fingerprints to be available to anyone who might come looking. She wondered uncomfortably how often her apartment might have been searched in the past without her knowledge. 

Taking the glass to the sink, she washed it carefully and put it on the dish-rack to dry, then went and sat on the sofa to watch him work. Unconsciously she found herself holding the blanket that Tom had been using at night until he had begun sharing her bed. Somehow it was comforting, it made her feel his presence a little. She blinked back tears and tried to find home repair interesting. It occurred to her suddenly to wonder just how Mark had known that Tom had been kidnapped. Frustratingly, she couldn't ask, not with someone listening in. Mark finished refurbishing the doorframe with quick efficiency, then replaced the door's knob and lock mechanism. That done, he moved over to where she sat, and handed her a new set of keys. 

"There you go, ma'am. All finished." 

"Thanks," she looked at the keys, then back at him. "Um, what do I owe you?" 

She saw his lips twitch as he almost smiled, then he shook his head. "Nothing, the super paid me." 

"That cheapskate? Ha! At least let me give you something for coming so promptly and doing such a nice job." She dug in her purse and got out a twenty, trying to hand it to him as she played her role to the hilt. He put his hands up, refusing the money, shaking his head and looking puzzled. Sloan rolled her eyes. No maintenance guy would ever turn down a tip. She grabbed his hand and stuffed the bill in it. 

"Thank you again. I feel much safer now, with that door fixed." 

Mark looked at the bill, at her, and she saw understanding light his eyes as he realized she was trying to preserve his cover. He smiled. "Thank you, ma'am. I appreciate it." 

He gathered his tools, and the broken molding, and left. Sloan closed and locked the door behind him and sighed. It would be nice if he'd left that remote-control thing behind so she could see if she was being spied on. Thankfully whoever was listening in on her couldn't read her mind. 

Sloan went to the stove and put water on to heat, then got out a mug and a tea-bag. She wasn't really thirsty, but it gave her something to do besides pace, and she figured the caffeine couldn't hurt. She had no illusions that finding and rescuing Tom was going to be easy. In reality, she didn't even have the slightest idea where to start. Her only real clue was the fact that The Bitch was probably responsible for his abduction. Unfortunately since Walter was on the outs with the woman, Sloan had lost her only potential source of information about Tom. 

Or had she? The Dominants must have a pretty effective spy network. After all, Mark had already known that Tom had been taken. Though it had probably been more effective when Lewis had been heading it, clearly it was still good enough to be useful. She took out Mark's card and looked at it, reaching for the phone, then stopping herself. Stupid. They were listening. Or someone was, at any rate. She would have to go out and use a payphone or something. She stood up and grabbed her purse, then stopped in her tracks. Mark had referred to Tom in the past tense. Did that mean . . . 

No. She refused that thought. If he had known for certain that Tom was dead, Mark would have told her, if for no other reason than to keep her from going after him. No, there was still a chance, a good one, that Tom was alive. That was all she needed to know. But now that she thought about it, she realized that going after him alone would be worse than useless. She wasn't equipped for anything like this, she was a scientist, not a marine. She needed someone with the skills she lacked, someone who could do all those military-ish things like infiltrate and fight and rescue, someone who wouldn't be deterred by anything. She needed someone like . . . Lewis. 

As soon as she thought it, Sloan knew exactly what she had to do. There were obstacles, of course. First, she wasn't entirely sure he was alive. Second, even if he was alive, she had no idea if he would even be willing to help her. His agenda was as impenetrable as his psyche. As if those things weren't enough to put her off, there was the thought that he might find her presence a threat to Carlie or the babies . . . Sloan shivered. She didn't even want to think about what he might do then. She could hardly believe she was even considering this, but she had to try; she had no choice. 

Sloan put down her purse and picked up her phone, dialing. She didn't care if the listeners overheard this, she even wanted them to. The number connected and was picked up on the third ring. 

"Hello?" 

The familiar voice was too much for her all the sudden, and she found herself crying. Clearing her throat, she answered. "Hi, mom." 

Her mother was too sharp for that, though. "Sloan? Are you okay? What's wrong baby?" 

The tears fell harder at that, of course. Sloan dashed the back of one hand across her face and spoke again. "I'm okay, mom, but things aren't very good for me right now. I, um, I was wondering if you would mind if I came up for a little while?" Her voice broke on the last word and strangely, she hoped that whoever was listening had noticed. It would help convince them she was losing it. She wasn't, of course, but it wouldn't hurt them to think that. 

"Of course not, honey, you know you're always welcome. But what's wrong?" 

"Well, among other things, I think I'm out of a job, but I'd rather not talk about it on the phone. I'll tell you everything when I get there." 

Her mother was quiet for a moment, Sloan knew from long experience that she was trying very hard not to pry, then she sighed. "I understand, Sloan. Come on up anytime. Are you flying or driving?" 

"Flying." Sloan answered almost without thinking. It was the fastest way. 

"Then I'll be at the airport to pick you up, no matter when you get in." 

Sloan closed her eyes, letting her mother's voice conjure a familiar feeling of safety around her. It was very nice, even if it was an illusion. "Thanks, mom. You're the best." 

Her mother laughed. "Of course I am. I'm your mother." 

Sloan laughed at the corny old line that was her mother's standard reply to that comment, and felt oddly lighter. "Gotta go call the airlines. I'll call you back with the flight information as soon as I have it." She paused a moment, and then spoke more softly. "Mom, I love you." 

"Love you too, baby." 

Sloan smiled as she hung up, thinking that not long ago she would have been irritated at being called 'baby.' Now, somehow, she didn't mind. She grabbed out the Yellow Pages and pulled her credit cards out of her purse, grateful for small favors. The banks wouldn't have had time to figure out she was unemployed yet. 

Tom lay on his side in an almost fetal curl. It was one of the few comfortable postures his surroundings afforded him. Of course, pretty soon whoever was watching the monitors this shift would notice and come around to poke at him with one of those damned electric cattle prods and make him move. They never let him stay comfortable for long. Still, things could be worse. In fact, they had been worse, when they'd first brought him in. 

Between the tranquilizer, and the residual effects of Ed's gene-therapy experiment, he'd been nearly out of his mind, terrified past rationality until the fever and the sedative wore off, leaving him lucid again. Though at the time the isolation had been excruciating, now he was glad that they'd left him alone for those first few hours. 

Had they been observing him closely they might have realized that by recreating those circumstances they would have a far greater chance of breaking him quickly. If they had any idea how difficult sensory deprivation was for him, they would be using it even more than they already were. Fortunately the camera which sent video of his activities to some remote viewing station had not been set up until his second day in captivity, by which time he'd been back in control of himself. 

Tom reviewed what he knew about his situation. He was not being held by fellow Dominants, of that he was certain. These were humans. So far they had not given him any idea as to why he was being held. He had to admit to some confusion. He had been cooperative with them, so why would they need to hold him here? It made no sense, which in turn implied a change in circumstances. 

Tom had not seen Sloan, Ed, Ray, or Walter since he'd been taken. He had confused memories of his captors drugging Ed as well as himself, of seeing Sloan's horror-struck face as they pushed him into a vehicle. Unless his empathic abilities had been totally subverted by the gene-therapy, which he doubted since they had been working just fine before that, neither Ed or Sloan had known what was happening. He was not so sanguine about Attwood. Sloan and Ed had both complained about him being out of touch. He might have known what was about to happen and made himself scarce before the proverbial shit hit the fan. 

Clearly, a shift in power and politics had taken place, from one that favored Attwood's slow, scientific process of discovery and Sloan's preference for coexistence, to one more radical. He suspected military or paramilitary involvement, because of the nature of his abduction, and because he was being held in a place which spoke of someone familiar with many facets of war, from the physical to the psychological. In Southeast Asia, such 'tiger cages' had often been used for prisoners of war, especially those whom the people in charge wished to break. 

Unfortunately, none of his intellectual exercises helped him deal with the reality of his situation. Cold, half-naked, unable to sit or stand comfortably, given food and water only at his captor's whims. He wasn't even able to relieve himself except on the rare occasions in which they let him out and gave him access to lavatory facilities, under armed guard the entire time. He wondered if they had done this to Lewis when they'd had him. If so, he began to understand how his mentor might have changed, as Sloan asserted that he had. Even a mind and body trained to resist stressful circumstances couldn't hold out forever. Anyone could be broken, eventually. Anyone. 

Lewis quietly closed the door to the nursery, and turned and padded down the stairs, looking for Carlie. She'd been broadcasting wickedly erotic hints at him for most of the morning, focusing her teases precisely, so they didn't impinge on the babies. She was getting very good at that. Too good. It had been incredibly difficult to concentrate on the task of getting his offspring down for their nap with her doing that. He stopped for a moment at the bottom of the stairs to locate her, and moved toward her study, stalking her, but shielding so she wouldn't sense him coming. 

Stopping at the door, he looked in, finding Carlie sitting at her desk poring over a textbook for one of the correspondence courses she was taking. A pencil held her hair up out of her face in a loose chignon, leaving the back of her neck exposed, tempting. Lewis itched to taste it, to drag his teeth lightly across it, and feel her shiver. He'd learned that she had just as many erogenous areas on her back as she did on her front, which made her incredibly easy to arouse. 

Of course, at the moment, he didn't think he would need to do much of that, not with the teasing she'd been putting him through. He inhaled slowly, tasting the air and her scent on it. He smiled slowly. No, not much at all. His eyes confirmed what his nose had told him. He could see the warm bloom of reds and oranges in the aura around her body, knew her temperature was slightly elevated, and knew why, as well. He eased into the room silently, both irritated and pleased that he could sneak up on her like this. Irritated because it meant she was still far too innocent for his liking, pleased that her vulnerability left her open to him. He lowered his hands to her shoulders, gently. 

Carlie jumped and let out a tiny shriek of surprise. As soon as her 'startle' reflex had been completed, he bent his mouth to her neck, letting her feel his teeth against her skin in a way she'd once compared to a mating tomcat. He liked the possessive way it made him feel, and she did too, judging by the shudder of sensual delight that went through her. He lifted a little, using his tongue to trace the line of her spine, and she moaned arching, reaching a hand back to stroke his hair. He let his hands slide down her shoulders to cup her breasts, feeling the hard thrust of her nipples beneath the soft, russet and black printed fabric of her dress. 

Funny, he had once considered dresses to be impractical. Now he wondered why he had ever thought that. They were extremely practical, for some things. Especially when worn with nothing beneath them, as Carlie was wont to do around the house. He teased her nipples with his fingers until she was panting, then he straightened, turning her chair so she faced him, and went to his knees in front of her. She watched through half-closed eyes, her lips parted, her body tense with expectation. He eased the hem of her dress upward, noting how she shifted her legs apart slightly in anticipation. 

Her scent strengthened, the hot, earthy scent of an aroused female. His female. He remembered how long she'd teased him, and considered returning the favor. He got her dress up to the tops of her long, sleek thighs, then stopped and sat back, studying her, taking in the taut peaks of her nipples, the way her stomach moved with the rapidity of her breathing, the way her lips were parted, and moist. No. He didn't want to tease her. That would involve waiting. He was tired of waiting. 

In one effortless move he picked her up out of the chair and headed for the stairs. He didn't want to play in the office with her half-clothed. He wanted her on their bed, comfortable, naked and fully accessible. She curved her arms around his neck, holding on, and the flooding surge of her excitement heightened markedly. Gaining their bedroom, he placed her on the bed and set about unfastening each of the long line of buttons that closed her only garment. She reached to help, and he caught her hands, moving them to her sides, shaking his head in negation. 

Her mouth curved a little, and Lewis wondered briefly what amused her, but then the slow exposure of her pale amber skin distracted him from that. He finished opening the last of the buttons and spread apart the dress, slipping the short sleeves halfway down toward her elbows, effectively trapping her arms at her sides. He stroked one hand down the center of her body, starting at her throat, feeling her silky skin beneath his palm as he moved it slowly down past her breasts, her ribs, her navel, over the slight curve of her belly, finally coming to rest on the dark thatch between her thighs. 

Her arms might be trapped, but her legs weren't. Carlie shifted her thighs apart, and lifted her hips, pressing her mons into his palm, her invitation clear. Lewis slid one finger into the hot, wet cleft of her sex, stroking her lightly, feeling the lightning-pulse of her pleasure in himself. Lifting his hand, he stood and quickly removed his own clothing and joined her on the bed. Lounging beside her, he stroked her mouth with a fingertip, then leaned in to kiss her. She kissed back, her tongue tasting him, her mouth desperate for his. He drew back, then kissed her throat, her ear, and touched a finger to one of her nipples. 

"How do you want me?" He whispered against her ear. 

She shivered, and the erotic pang that went through her was delicious. It took her a moment to form the words. "Like you started," she managed, finally, her voice throaty and hot. 

Like he started. He thought for a moment, and understood. Carefully he tugged her dress free of first one arm, then the other, then he put his hand against her hip and shoulder, and urged her over onto her belly. She pillowed her head on her arms, and spread her thighs wide for him, her whole body taut with excitement. Ordinarily he'd take more time to rouse her, to make sure she was ready for him, but he knew she didn't need that now. Whatever fantasies had fueled her teasing earlier had already prepared her. He didn't have to touch her to know she was wet, her body fully receptive. He could smell it on her. The scent made him ache. 

Kneeling between her legs, he braced his arms on either side of her and slid down until his cock was against the warm softness between her legs. She moaned, arching back against him. He stroked upward, not entering, letting his hardness slide between her labia, in the sleek wetness there, against her clitoris. She whimpered, her hips moving against the bed, against him. He stroked again, again, never entering, just teasing. She flung her arms out, grabbing the pillows in her clenched fists, her hips moving faster. 

Lewis let her need, her pleasure flow through him, and decided he'd waited long enough. He wanted to be in her when she came that first time. He craved the way her body tightened around his, the pulsing of her climax all around him, and inside him. He reached down between her legs and guided himself to her, then slowly, very slowly, pushed inside. 

Carlie moaned, a long, sweet sound that didn't stop until he was fully seated within her. She was so hot, so wet, it was a test of will not to explode immediately. No. He wanted to feel her, first, wanted to drain the cup of her desire before filling her with his own. Slowly he withdrew, and pushed back in. She shuddered, gasping, arching. He repeated the movement, achingly, torturously slowly. 

Lowering his mouth to her neck, he started kissing, licking, nibbling at her neck and shoulders feeling her respond to each touch with a clench deep inside that made it even harder to be leisurely. It was good to go slow now and then. The urgency of his desire for her, and hers for him, hadn't tempered with their months together, though the level of intimacy had deepened substantially, to where there were times when they were joined that he honestly couldn't tell what he felt from what she felt. 

Now, unfortunately, was not one of those times. Something flickered along the edge of his senses, distracting him, bringing a harsh spark of reality to the sensual delight of pleasuring his mate. Lewis lifted his head, his mouth leaving the soft skin of Carlie's shoulder, and he would have looked around, but she chose that moment to tighten around him, her body clenching softly in waves, her voice gasping his name. 

He didn't sense danger, so whatever it was could wait. He moved, pushing deep into the pulsing heat of her, absorbing her pleasure into him, through him. Even as he did, his attention was caught again by that flicker which was becoming too profound a distraction to ignore. The aura was human and familiar, but out of place. It wasn't someone who belonged here. It was someone from Before. That realization was enough to bring him completely out of the moment. He sighed, and slowly withdrew, stroking her back in reply to her murmur of protest. 

"We have a visitor, I'll get it," he said softly. 

Carlie unburied her face from the pillows and looked over her shoulder at him, puzzled. "Did the doorbell ring?" 

He shook his head, and she frowned. "You felt them." 

It was a statement, but he answered it like a question. "I did." 

Carlie stuck out her lower lip. "I wasn't distracting you enough, then." 

He frowned thoughtfully. "No, you weren't. You really need to work on that. For instance, if you really wanted to distract me, you'd have been doing that little thing with your. . ." He ducked as she aimed a pillow at him, and chuckled, leaning down to kiss her pout away. "Carlie, love, my training is something even you may never be able to overcome." 

She sighed. "It better not be a door-to-door salesman." 

He sighed too. "It's not." 

Lewis headed for the stairs. He stopped on the landing, frowning. More than familiar. This was a human he had hunted. He knew the taste of her, the mental scent of her . . . How the hell had she found them? What was she doing here? He was slightly surprised that Carlie hadn't identified her as well, but then, she'd come late to her abilities and didn't have his experience with using mental patterns to identify people. He didn't sense his traitorous lieutenant anywhere near. That was interesting. The human woman come alone, and she was afraid, too. He smiled, pleased by that. 

He turned and padded back the way he'd come, past the room where Carlie lay sprawled in boneless afterglow, closing the door as he passed before going on to the rear stairway. Quietly he slipped out the side door and moved silently along the hedge, its green branches hiding him from her. A tall, slender woman with long spiral-curled chestnut brown hair was standing on the stoop, staring up at the window that faced the front stairs. She must have seen his movement behind the tinted glass when he'd paused a moment there. As she lifted her hand to touch the doorbell, he stepped close behind her, catching her hand with his to keep her from ringing it as he put his other hand over her mouth in a parody of earlier occasions. 

"Welcome, Doctor Parker," he whispered in her ear. 

He had to give her credit, he'd expected her to scream, and she didn't. Slowly he lowered his hand and stepped back. She turned and looked at him, her brown eyes widening as she realized he was naked. She swallowed, hard, her gaze snapping to his face and staying there, despite the surge of sexual excitation he could feel in her. He was amused by her reaction: fear, then interest, followed immediately by guilt. He smiled. 

"Lewis," she said, an acknowledgment, her chin lifting a little. "So I was right. You are alive." 

"As you see." He didn't bother to correct her to his new name as he swept his hand downward, knowing her eyes would follow. He couldn't resist twitting her a little. She was eminently tease-able. Color stained her pale cheeks as she jerked her gaze back up. 

"I had to come, I need to talk to you." 

Sloan's anxiety was palpable, and now that he had time to study her, he realized she looked extremely stressed. Given her fear of him, something must be seriously wrong to drive her to find and face him. 

"Very well, follow me." He was about to lead Sloan around to the unlocked side entrance when Carlie opened the front door. She'd put on her own robe and was holding his in her hand, wearing that exasperated expression she got whenever he flouted human conventions. 

Carlie looked at Sloan, her face registering surprise, then she smiled, and shoved the robe at Lewis as she grabbed Sloan and hugged her. The two women were close enough to the same height, and build that a stranger might have thought them related, though Carlie was more curvaceous, darker-skinned, more exotically featured. 

"Sloan, God, it's been ages! It's great to see you! Come in!" 

Lewis pulled his robe on and followed as Carlie ushered Sloan into the house, leading her into the kitchen. He never had figured out why, with so many 'official' places to receive visitors, Carlie invariably chose the kitchen instead. Something human, no doubt. He stood in the doorway, watching as Carlie got a pitcher of herbal tea out of the refrigerator and poured two glasses, chatting about nothing in particular until Sloan started to relax a little. 

That annoyed him. He liked making Sloan nervous-- it was a fair reward for her untimely appearance. Not only that, he was a little irritated at Carlie for welcoming the enemy into their home with open arms. He wanted to question Sloan, to find out if she represented any danger, and here Carlie was treating her like a long-lost sister. Carlie must have caught something of his emotions, because she shot him an admonitory look as she pressed the glass of tea into Sloan's hands. 

"Relax for a few, we need to get some clothes on," Carlie told her as she moved toward Lewis. 

Sloan nodded and lifted the glass to sip, then stopped. Her gaze went to Carlie, then to Lewis, back to Carlie, registering the fact that it was mid-day and they were both wearing nothing but robes. A blush flooded her face as it finally dawned on her that she'd interrupted something. She bit her lip. 

"Oh God, I'm sorry, I didn't . . ." 

Carlie smiled. "Don't worry about it, Sloan. It's not like it was the only time." 

Sloan's blush deepened, but she smiled through it. "No, I suspect not," She shot another glance at Lewis, her mouth curving in a knowledgeable smile. 

Interesting response, that. Though he had felt another flash of interest from her, it had been followed by another emotion, one harder to pin down. He realized suddenly that though she was interested, the edge of desperation was gone. Her need wasn't on the same level that he remembered. He understood her smile now. Tom had finally taken her. Before he had time to dwell on that, Carlie had him by the elbow and was urging him up the stairs. She didn't speak until she'd closed their bedroom door, but then she turned, hands on her hips. 

"Next time put something on. I thought she was going to pass out." 

Lewis eyed her for a moment, then his mouth curved. "So did I." 

Carlie crossed her arms and tapped her fingers on her forearms. He knew her well enough to know that was a warning sign. He waited, and she finally spoke. 

"So, how long has she been hot for your body?" 

He shrugged. "Since the first." 

She scowled. Lewis could feel anger in her, and braced, but then it faded, and she sighed. "Well, it's not like I don't understand why. But I don't have to like it." 

"She wouldn't act on it. She respects you, plus she has Tom." 

Carlie looked surprised. "Does she?" 

Lewis nodded. "Couldn't you tell? That smile, the way she looked at me. She knows now, she's had experience with one of us." 

Carlie rolled her eyes. "Oh, like you're all sooo special." 

Lewis caught her around the waist and pulled her to him, brushing his lips across hers. "The ones I trained, yes." 

Carlie responded so fully to his kiss that for a moment he thought she was inviting him to resume their earlier activities, which surprised him, with Sloan downstairs. He was perfectly willing, but their uninvited guest might be a little annoyed. Not that it mattered, he thought, amused. But then Carlie pulled away with a sigh. 

"Later, loverboy." 

She slipped out of his arms and walked over to the closet, sorting through clothes. He stared at her. 'Loverboy?' Slowly he smiled, realizing she was teasing him again. He wondered if he would ever get used to that. No one had ever teased him before. No one had been comfortable enough with him to tease him. He liked it, but half the time he didn't catch on until so far after the fact that he felt like a special needs child. Something else she'd said bothered him, though. The way she'd said "Like *you're*all so special." 

"Carlie . . ." 

She turned, holding a blue dress on a hanger. "What?" 

"You're one of us, not one of them. You're not human." 

She absorbed that, and sighed. "Us and them again, Llyn? You know how I feel about that." 

"It doesn't alter the facts, Carlie." 

She looked back at him evenly. "They're our parents, our brothers and sisters. Without them we wouldn't exist." 

"And with them, we may not continue to exist." 

"Enough!" she snapped irritably. "Get dressed." 

It was an old conversation, and one that invariably had no satisfactory ending. It was the only thing they ever really argued about. Everything else had a way of working itself out. 

Sloan sat at the kitchen table, enjoying the wooded view out the large back window and sipping her tea, grateful for the cool minty liquid that settled her nervous stomach. She wondered where the babies were. Napping probably, which explained why their parents had been stealing a few moments of privacy to indulge in a little intimacy. Which she'd interrupted. She sighed. Not the best foot to start off on here. 

Sloan heard someone coming down the stairs and looked up as Lewis came into the kitchen in jeans and a crisp blue oxford shirt, though he was still barefoot. She sent a silent thanks heavenward that he was fully clothed. She had no business thinking the kind of thoughts she'd been thinking about him earlier. They were downright embarrassing. But she couldn't help it . . . Tom and that damned 'Program 43' story had put these *images* in her head that popped up when she least wanted them to. 

Funny, how she always remembered Lewis as being taller than he actually was. Granted, he had an inch or two over Tom and herself, but he wasn't a giant. She guessed it was just his 'presence' that made him seem so imposing. That, and that damned ice-eyed stare that flirted with that fraction of a second difference between intent and psychotic. Avoiding his gaze, Sloan looked past him, expecting to see Carlie, but she wasn't there. Lewis caught her at it and nodded toward the stairs. 

"She'll be down in a minute. Why are you here, and perhaps more importantly, how did you know I was alive?" 

His bluntness shouldn't have surprised her, but it did. She took a deep breath, trying to find the courage to speak. Just as she was about to do so, Carlie came down and moved to stand beside Lewis, who put his arm around her waist and pulled her closer to him with the kind of thoughtless intimacy that married couples often shared. Sloan felt her eyes fill with tears as she thought that she might never have that with Tom. It hurt, with a deep, stabbing pain that was physical enough to double her over. 

Carlie was by her side immediately, bending down, a hand on her shoulder. "Sloan? Are you okay? What's wrong?" 

Sloan had been able to handle Lewis' brusqueness, but Carlie's sympathy was her undoing. She lost what little control she had, and hid her face in her hands, sobbing. She kept trying to talk, to explain, but nothing would come out except choked syllables and finally Carlie hushed her attempts by the expedient means of pulling her close and patting her back like she probably did with her babies when they were wailing. Sloan felt about that old. 

Gradually she ran out of tears, the sobs dying to hiccoughs, then to sighs. Finally it was over, like a fire that had consumed all its available fuel and left nothing but embers in its wake. She felt drained, sick, and embarrassed. How could she help Tom if she couldn't even tell them what had happened without bursting into tears? Carlie drew back a little and looked at her. 

"Better?" 

Sloan nodded, not trusting her voice. Carlie looked over her shoulder. "Llyn, get her a cold washcloth please." 

Sloan watched in stunned amazement as Lewis uncurled from where he'd been sitting cross-legged on one of the kitchen counters watching the scene with a faintly puzzled frown. After he disappeared around the corner, Sloan looked at Carlie incredulously. 

"He actually does what you tell him to?" 

Carlie laughed. "Occasionally." She shot a look at Sloan, and lifted her eyebrows. "What, you thought it would be me up here barefoot and being the subservient little woman?" 

Sloan nodded sheepishly. "Um, something like that." 

Carlie laughed again, shaking her head, and stuck out a foot. "Notice who's wearing shoes and who isn't? Turns out my people are matriarchal, or sort of anyway. It works out to be pretty egalitarian, actually. Of course, our males have these defensive instincts that you have to smack out of their heads periodically, but I've never felt less subjugated in my life. Come on, tell me that's not one of the things you like about Tom? He treats you as an equal, even if he does tend to throw himself in front of you if he even thinks a dog is looking at you funny." 

Carlie was right of course, and Sloan couldn't help laughing at the image her friend had conjured until thinking of Tom almost made her tear up again. As she willed back her pain, Lewis reappeared with a wet washcloth and held it out. Sloan took it from him and plastered the wet cloth over her face, letting the coolness seep into her flushed, swollen skin, feeling her control returning. She groped for her glass of tea, and someone put it in her hand so she could lift the bottom edge of the washcloth and drink it, the cool liquid easing her aching throat. Finally she felt calm enough to face them again, and she peeled the washcloth off her face and looked up at them. 

"I'm sorry. It's been a tough few days. I really didn't intend to come up here and fall apart like this." 

Carlie shook her head. "It's okay, Sloan. You were there for me when I fell apart, the least I can do is return the favor." 

Lewis looked at Carlie oddly for a second, as if he were just understanding something important, then his expression smoothed out again and Sloan wasn't really sure she'd seen it at all. He looked at her, studying her face, and spoke for the first time since she'd broken down. 

"Has something happened to Tom?" he asked evenly. 

How the hell did he know that, Sloan wondered, then answered her own question. What else would have brought her here to them, then caused her to disintegrate into a puddle like this? She nodded. 

"Is he dead?" 

Trust Lewis to be blunt. Sloan took a deep breath, shaking her head. "No. At least, I don't think he is." 

"You don't know for sure?" 

"No. I saw him taken away, but I don't know what they've done with him since then." 

Lewis' face was expressionless, but his eyes were blazing. "Go back. Who took him? How did they take him?" 

"He was staying at my place. Ed was there keeping an eye on him, and I had to go to the lab to get . . ." She paused. Oh shit. She couldn't tell him about the gene therapy. It was too important. She went on, stumbling over her words a little. ". . . to get the, I mean some medication he needed. The lab was closed up when I got there, though, my security codes didn't work, and there were these guys in suits who told me the project had been closed down." She paused, gulped down some tea so she could continue talking, and went on. 

"I went back to the apartment, and got there just in time to see a bunch of men in black military-looking clothing pushing Tom into a van. Tom looked drugged. I don't know who the men were, but I think they might have something to do with Walter's superior. Ed was in the apartment, they'd drugged him, too. He's still in the hospital over that one. About an hour after the ambulance left with Ed, this guy showed up at my door. A black guy, he said his name was Mark. At first he told me he was there to fix my door, which the guys had broken down to get to Tom. Except he turned out to be like you, a Dominant." 

Lewis frowned. "A Dominant?" 

Carlie laughed. "She's not telling you you're a Dom, Llyn. Remember, that's what they're calling us now, Homo Dominant." 

He grinned. "Well, the other. . ." 

Carlie put her hand over his mouth. "Sloan doesn't need to know that, dear," she said blandly. "Besides, anyone with half a brain could figure it out anyway." 

Sloan was fascinated by the byplay. She had never in her life imagined that Lewis would let anyone talk like that to him, or act that way with him. She also realized that Carlie was calling him by another name. The first time she'd done it, it had slipped past her, but this time she noticed. Llyn, not Lewis. Sloan didn't think she'd ever be able to think of him with any other name, though. Lewis caught Carlie's hand in his and kissed it, then moved it away and shifted his attention back to Sloan, instantly serious again. 

"This 'Mark,' Was he in his early thirties, a little taller than me, shaven head, goatee?" 

"That's him." 

Lewis nodded. "I know him, then. Go on." 

"He took out some kind of electronic device and waved it around, it found a couple of bugs which he got rid of. Then he told me what had happened to Walter and Ray." 

"Which was?" Lewis prompted. 

"There was some kind of meeting arranged, between a group of Dominants who favor coexistence, and our side. Walter was sent as our representative, but there was an ambush at the meeting site. The guy from the Dominants was killed, and Walter only got away because Ray helped him. Mark said the ambush was arranged by Walter's boss, to provoke open warfare between humans and Dominants." 

Lewis moved a few feet to look out the window, then turned. "That makes sense, it's what I would have done in her position." He was silent for a moment, thoughtful, then he spoke again. "How did you know I was here?" 

"I guessed. I had wondered when Carlie moved up here if there wasn't some reason she hadn't told me, but I never really put it together until a couple of weeks ago when I told Tom about talking to you the night we got Carlie out. He's the one who figured out you might be alive, and it wasn't hard to put two and two together after that." 

Lewis didn't move, but Sloan got the impression he had just gotten a whole lot more focused. "You didn't tell him before that? Why?" 

Sloan thought about that and couldn't answer it. "It just never came up." 

Lewis studied her for a moment, and she thought she saw a slight smile curve his mouth. "I see." 

There was a wealth of implication in his tone, an annoying suggestion that he understood something that even she didn't. Before she had time to bristle, he was speaking again. 

"Does anyone else know?" 

Sloan shook her head. "No." Then she remembered the bugs that Mark had found in the apartment, and realized, aghast, that she couldn't guarantee that. If the devices had been there the night she and Tom had . . . She knew she was blushing, thinking of someone listening in on all that. Struggling for composure, she amended her denial. "Well, I don't think so, anyway. We didn't tell anyone, but if the listening devices that Mark found in the apartment were there earlier, I suppose someone else might know." 

Lewis' jaw went tight, and he turned and left the room. Sloan looked at Carlie, questioningly. Carlie shrugged. They sat in silence until Lewis returned a few moments later. In response to Carlie's lifted eyebrows, he waved a hand at the window. 

"I've turned on security system, activated the infrared fence and called in Paul and Daniel. I don't want you or the babies at risk." 

Carlie looked distressed. "Do you think that's really necessary?" 

Lewis nodded. "I do." He turned his back, staring out the window. "Is there anything else you would like to tell me, Dr. Parker?" 

Sloan thought about it, and knew there wasn't. "No. I think that's it." 

He walked over to stand between her and Carlie. "You haven't left out anything I might need to know?" 

Of course she had, but she couldn't tell him. She couldn't. She tried to look innocent, tried to project confusion. "Nothing, I swear!" 

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she realized she'd given herself away. Her denial was too strong, too vehement. Lewis smiled slowly, the predatory smile of a man who knows his prey has just made a fatal error. He lifted an eyebrow. 

"Haven't you learned you can't lie to us, Dr. Parker? Now, you've left out something important. I need to know what that is." Lewis put a finger under her chin and tipped it upward, leaning down so his eyes were only inches away. "You want my help, Dr. Parker, why else would you be here?" His voice was a raw silk whisper, somehow more threatening and frightening than a shout. "You're not in a position to bargain. If you want my help, you have to tell me everything. Why was Ed was watching Tom, and why did Tom need medication? How were the men able to approach the apartment without Tom sensing them?" 

"Llyn, stop it, you're scaring her." Carlie said quietly. 

Lewis flashed a look at Carlie, scowling. "Leave," he snapped. 

Carlie looked shocked, and hurt. "Leave? Leave you alone here to intimidate my friend?" 

Lewis straightened and turned toward Carlie, Sloan couldn't see his face, but his voice was strangely gentle. "I have to have the truth here, Carlie. I won't allow a lie or an omission to put you in danger." Without waiting for her to answer, he turned back to Sloan, and all semblance of gentleness disappeared from his voice. "You have a choice, Dr. Parker. You can tell me, or you can get out of here. Now." 

His gaze locked with hers, refusing to let her turn aside. She swallowed heavily, knowing he wasn't joking. If she wanted his help, she had to tell him. She spoke, slowly. "Tom was sick. Well, that's not quite the right word, but I don't know how else to describe it." 

"Sick? How?" 

She bit her lip. "Well, you see, Ed was . . . um, did you know that he had worked with Dr. Ian Copeland?" 

Lewis nodded, his eyes narrowing. "In graduate school, I believe." 

"Then, and also a couple of months ago. Dr. Copeland kidnapped Ed and forced him to help with a project up in Alaska." 

A flicker of recognition passed across Lewis' face. "I know of it. Go on." 

"Well, after Ed got away, he started using Dr. Copeland's techniques to develop a gene-therapy regimen designed to turn a Homo Dominant into a Homo Sapiens. He'd had some success in simian tests, so Tom asked Ed to test it on him." 

Lewis' only reaction was a slight dilation of his pupils. If her eyes hadn't been on his, she would have thought he had no reaction at all. He was silent for a long time. Finally he spoke. "Did it work?" 

"Yes, and no. It worked temporarily, but Tom had already begun to revert when they kidnapped him. He was back up to about a 1.4 differential when I went to the lab." 

"And the 'medication' you were looking for?" 

She swallowed. "The conversion serum. Ed was going to try a booster shot. Tom insisted." 

Lewis moved away, standing silent again, clearly lost in thought. Sloan glanced at Carlie to see what her reaction was. She was watching Sloan, her gaze concerned. 

"Tom volunteered to do it?" Carlie asked. 

Sloan nodded. "He did. I didn't want him to. I was afraid it might kill him. It did make him pretty sick. It ended up killing the monkey." 

Carlie's eyes widened. "And Ed went ahead and tested it on Tom?" 

Sloan sighed. "The monkey was still alive when they made the decision to test the serum on Tom." 

Lewis looked up sharply. "Animal testing hadn't even been completed?" 

Sloan flinched from the incredulity and accusation in his voice. "I know. I argued that too. But it wasn't really Ed's fault, Tom insisted." 

Lewis frowned, shaking his head. "I always thought Tom was just misguided, not stupid." 

Sloan stiffened, ready to defend Tom's decision, but Lewis cut her off. 

"I realize that's a matter on which we'll have to agree to disagree, Dr. Parker. So, what were your plans, if the serum had worked?" 

Sloan lifted her chin. "What were yours, with your serum? Conversion, of course." 

"Voluntary and involuntary, one assumes." Lewis said flatly. 

Sloan shrugged, trying to be as callous as he was. "By whatever means necessary." 

Lewis smiled, but there was no humor in it. "Very good. You're learning, Dr. Parker." 

"I can't believe you two!" Carlie's voice was horrified, as was her expression when Sloan turned and looked at her. "You're both disgusting. I can't believe you're actually sitting here talking about this like it was normal! My God, what is the matter with you? Have you lost your minds?" 

She glared at Lewis, then turned to fix her gaze on Sloan. "I thought you were my friend, Sloan, I thought you meant it when you said you thought coexistence was possible. Clearly I was wrong. If Tom hadn't been kidnapped, would you be upstairs right now, using that serum on my babies, risking their lives because you can't even be bothered to see if we can live in peace?" 

"Carlie, I . . ." Sloan started to defend herself, to protest that she wouldn't do anything of the kind when Carlie rounded on Lewis. 

"And you! Don't you dare get that smug 'I told you so' look on your face! You're encouraging her! You even think it's a good idea, because every move they make against us furthers your agenda against them. I am not stupid, and I know damned well that if you, and people like you, hadn't pushed them into a corner things would never have come to this!" 

Lewis scowled. "Carlie . . ." 

"No! Shut up, both of you. Not another word. I can't stomach either of you." 

Carlie dashed from the room and up the stairs, leaving Sloan and Lewis together in an uncomfortable silence. After a moment, Lewis started toward the stairs. Sloan spoke quietly. 

"I wouldn't. Not yet." 

He turned and looked back at her, eyes narrowed. "She's not your mate." 

Sloan smiled wryly, wondering why she was bothering. "No, but she's a woman. So am I. If it were me, I wouldn't want to see you for at least half an hour, and I suspect you'd better have chocolate when you show up." 

"Chocolate?" Lewis repeated with a puzzled frown. He looked at her for a moment, then a slow, sensual grin crossed his face. "Oh, I think I can do better then that." 

Sloan blushed and looked away, trying not to think about it. The man was impossible. He moved back toward her with that predator's glide of his, and stopped altogether too close for comfort. He leaned against the table, half sitting, perfectly at ease. 

"It's difficult, isn't it?" he asked in a sympathetic tone. 

"What is?" She made the mistake of looking up and was trapped by his eyes. 

"Having Tom taken away from you, just after you finally became . . ." He paused for a moment, smiled, and went on. ". . . intimate." 

"How did you--" Sloan cut herself off, aggravated. She had to stop letting him do this to her. "How would you like it if someone took Carlie away from you?" she asked, turning the tables on him. 

The expression that flashed across his face at that could only be termed a snarl, though it was gone so quickly she almost doubted she'd actually seen it. 

"Hurts, doesn't it?" Sloan asked, feeling an unexpected surge of compassion for him. Just like Tom, he had no idea how to deal with the more tender emotions. 

Lewis' eyes went cold. "I don't need your pity, Dr. Parker." 

She smiled softly. "But you have it anyway, Lewis." 

His expression was so icy she was surprised she couldn't feel a wave of cold rolling off of him. Finally he leaned back a little, giving her slightly more room. Sloan got the feeling she'd earned a touch of respect from him. 

"So, what now, Dr. Parker. What is it you expect from me?" 

She sighed. "I don't expect anything, Lewis. I want your help, but I have nothing to offer in return. As you said, I'm not in a position to bargain. All I can do is ask." 

"I find it odd that you would come to me for help. Explain that to me. Why me? Why not your own people?" 

Sloan met his questioning gaze steadily. "Strange as it sounds, I felt I could trust you. Also, you were the only person I could think of that could pull it off. And, to be honest, I hoped that there was still something left of what you felt for Tom that I could appeal to." 

He studied her a moment before answering. "What I felt for Tom? 

Sloan felt her face redden, but didn't look away. "Yes. It's just a guess, but I suspect you do feel something for Tom. Why else would you have gone to the trouble to try to get him back and reprogram him instead of just killing him outright? Plus, Tom told me a little about his . . . relationship with you." That was as far as she could go. She looked away, hoping none of those damned images decided to pop into her head right now. She started to recite the Periodic Table of Elements in her head to make sure. 

Lewis stared at her for several long, uncomfortable moments, and she wondered if she'd gone too far. He was so damned hard to read. Then, slowly, he shook his head. 

"I must admit, I wouldn't have thought Tom would tell you about those aspects of his past. I also would have thought you would find such confessions distasteful. Congratulations, Dr. Parker, you've managed to surprise me, and that doesn't happen often." 

Sloan smiled, pleased to have finally managed to score a point. "As I've pointed out to Tom, I may be a little naive, but I'm not closed-minded. I've always been a quick study. I know Tom still has some feelings for you. I just hope you still have some for him." 

Lewis' mouth went taut. "Oh, I have feelings for him. Definitely. Because of him I spent six months in a cage." 

Sloan eyed him sagely. "No, you spent six months in a cage because you decided to try to get him back. If you had simply had him killed, nothing would have happened to you." 

He didn't like that. The flicker in his eyes would have made her take a step back, had it been possible. She knew she was risking a great deal, but she pushed again. 

"Not only did you try to get him back, you left yourself vulnerable because of him." 

"Which he took full advantage of. He gave me to his human masters." 

"No, he didn't, and you know it. If you want to blame someone, blame me. I was the one who told Walter that Tom was going out to talk to you. I was afraid you'd be able to turn him again. Tom had nothing to do with it, he was as surprised as you were." 

"He would have shot me," Lewis countered coolly. 

"Would he? He had plenty of time. If he had been able to, he would have done so. You know that." Sloan was surprised by his statements. Had Lewis really misjudged Tom so badly, or was he just playing Devil's Advocate, trying to see if she had thought this through? She had. A million times since she'd first had the idea to come here. 

"You know I'm right," she said quietly. 

He pushed away from the table and moved to get a glass from the cabinet and fill it with water from the tap. He sipped it slowly, his gaze distant, thoughtful. Sloan had the distinct feeling he was playing for time, not an action she normally associated with Lewis. Finally he set the glass down on the counter and turned to face her. 

"I have to talk with Carlie before I can make this decision." 

Sloan stared at him. He was asking *Carlie* for permission? She'd suspected that he had changed, but clearly she hadn't had any idea how much. From what Tom had told her, the old Lewis would never have consulted anyone about a decision, he would just have made it. She felt a surge of trepidation. Carlie was angry with her right now, she couldn't count on her to go along with this. Especially not since it would doubtless put Lewis in danger. She didn't voice her concerns, though, simply nodded. 

"Thank you." 

"Don't." He started out of the room and toward the stairs, and then turned back toward her as if just then remembering she was there. "Make yourself comfortable." 

She nodded, knowing his talk with Carlie might take awhile. 

Lewis knew where Carlie would be. Not in their bedroom, but in the nursery. The threat she'd perceived toward their children would have sent her there to reassure herself. He moved quietly, projecting calm, knowing that Sorcha, Luke, and Arian were still asleep. Carlie had quickly learned to shield herself from them after he'd shown her the basics, finding it made things easier for her. 

The room was still dim, the shades drawn. Carlie was sitting cross-legged on the floor in the middle of the room, her eyes closed. He knew she wasn't asleep though, and she looked up as he came in, putting a finger to her lips. He nodded, and moved to stand beside her, holding out his hand. She hesitated a moment, then put her hand in his, letting him draw her to her feet. He tugged gently on her hand, looking his question at her, and she nodded, and moved toward the door. They couldn't talk in the nursery, not about this. Neither of them spoke until they'd reached their bedroom at the far end of the hallway and closed the door behind them. Carlie looked at him, waiting for him to start. He looked at her, a little sheepishly. 

"Dr. Parker said I ought to bring chocolate, but since we don't have any in the house, and I didn't want to wait and let this fester, I decided I would have to do that part later." 

It was a good opening salvo. Carlie smiled. "Sloan's an intelligent woman." 

He nodded. "Surprisingly so." 

Carlie gave him a look. "Don't be a snob, Llyn." 

He smiled, noting the emphasis on the nickname she'd given him. She was reminding him that he wasn't Lewis any more. "Sorry. Old habits." 

"So I noticed." She glared at him. "God, you make me so mad when you do that." 

He knew she wasn't talking about snobbery, and he sighed. "Carlie, I was Lewis for over forty years before I became Llewellyn Pryce. It's not an easy change to make. I'm still not even sure I should make it, at least not entirely. Especially not now. There are still times I may need to be Lewis." 

Carlie sighed. "That doesn't mean I have to like it. You and Sloan . . . Talking about genocide as if it made good sense! Insane!" 

"It does make sense, from either my point of view, or Dr. Parker's. However, just because something makes sense doesn't mean it's the right thing to do." 

He hadn't really intended to say that quite the way it came out, without qualification, but once it was out, there was no taking it back. Carlie stared at him, startled, and reached out to touch his face with gentle fingers. 

"You meant that!" she exclaimed softly. 

Lewis wanted to deny it, but couldn't. He nodded, feeling oddly conflicted. He could feel her delight in his response, but knew it was a weakness in himself to think that. Before he had time to dwell on it, though, he found himself being kissed very thoroughly. 

Immediately he wrapped his arms around her and returned the kiss, his mouth moving over hers, tasting her, feeling her appreciation in the way she moved against him, her nipples hard enough to feel even through their clothing. His desire for her was instant, as if there had been no interruption of their previous lovemaking. He lifted her off her feet and tumbled her backward onto the bed, coming down over her, his hips between her thighs. She laughed, and her hands went to his jeans, working at the buttons as he pushed her skirt up her thighs. Her hands found him bare beneath the denim, and she chuckled. 

"Were you anticipating, or did you just dress in a hurry?" she asked. 

He slid a hand up her thigh, found her equally bare, and grinned. "Both, what's your excuse?" 

She grinned back. "Both." 

She lifted her mouth and kissed him again, slowly, her lips soft and warm against his, her tongue a maddening glide against his. At the same time her hand found him, fingers curving to hold the taut length of his erection, stroking, teasing. 

He returned the favor, his hand cupping the soft mound between her thighs, fingers searching out her most sensitive places, touching her lightly, just the barest of pressure, teasing her in ways he knew would send her need spiraling higher. She opened to him as he'd known she would, encouraging him to touch her more directly. He refused, just trailing his fingers through the gathering moisture, tracing the folds of her sex to their zenith, touching the slight nub of her clitoris with a fingertip, circling it. She gasped, hips lifting as she followed his touch, then he suddenly sensed a change in her and she pulled back, breathing heavily, her expression supremely frustrated. 

"Llyn! She's still down there!" 

He was so involved in what he was doing that for a moment he didn't know what she was talking about, then it sank in. He nodded. "I told her to make herself comfortable." 

Carlie looked exasperated and let go of him, pushing at his shoulder, "Sloan's waiting for us! We can't do this now!" 

He ran his nose along her jaw, and kissed her lightly. "Want to bet?" Deliberately he moved his hand lower, over desire-slicked flesh and up inside where she was fiery and tight. 

"No!" she gasped, shaking her head, clutching at his shoulders as his fingers stroked slowly in the wet heat of her. He could feel the pleasure suffusing her, the need, as she laid herself bare for him, body, and mind. 

"No what?" He queried, caressing her. "No, you don't want to bet, or no, don't do this? It won't take long, I promise," he coaxed, dropping his voice to a seductive, throaty whisper, knowing he could bring her to pleasure in seconds should he choose to do so. 

"No!" Carlie exclaimed, grabbing his wrist to keep him from moving his hand. "I mean, yes... oh, god, I don't know, just don't stop!" 

He loved giving her pleasure, and the way she responded to him without fear or reservation. Only one other person he could remember had ever done the same. 

Lewis pushed that thought away. He would think about that later, or perhaps not at all. Carlie tangled the fingers of one hand in his hair, pulling his mouth down to hers as her other hand slid down his chest, over his stomach. Her fingers found him again as she shifted her thighs wider apart and guided him to her. He held there, feeling her heat against him, testing her in his mind, waiting to surround him. Her readiness trembled on the edges of his consciousness, a coiling tension in her that demanded he free it with himself. 

He stopped resisting, and slid home. A long, slow glide. Home. A place he'd never had before, and never wanted to leave now. Making it quick just so they could go downstairs and deal with Tom's playmate suddenly seemed not only unimportant, but ill-advised. He wanted to stay where he was forever, moving just enough to keep his edge, just enough to bring Carlie to delight, over and over. He smiled. He had her now, her protests silenced by her need. He just had to keep her from thinking about Sloan. 

Carlie knew she should have stopped him, but she never could, it seemed. Thank god her species had a built-in three year infertility cycle after each birth, or they'd be in serious trouble, as often as this happened. His desire fed hers, sparking like wildfire in dry grass. Sloan could wait a little while. Carlie knew when she was this close, it wouldn't take long. He'd teased her, waiting until she was almost ready to explode, so when he'd entered her, just the feel of him inside her almost pushed her over the edge. He let her adjust to him, but she was so ready for him that took only seconds. Finally, at the urging of her hands on his hips, he started to move, in strong, smooth strokes that emptied and filled her again and again. 

Her senses were filled with him, the gleam of sunlight on silver hair, the harsh rasp of his breath in her ears, and the rich, unique scent of him. She kissed his shoulder where it was close to her mouth, and tongued the bitter salt of sweat from his skin. Solid and strong in her arms, his weight was almost uncomfortable as he bore down into her. Still, she couldn't imagine anything more perfect than the broad press of his thighs between her own and the way his weight pushed him deep into her. She put her hands on his hips, stroking his skin there, the only bit she could reach since neither of them had bothered to undress. She wished they had, she preferred the feel of his skin against hers everywhere, not just in the few inches bared by opened jeans and lifted skirts. 

On another level, though, he was much more bare, and that was even more erotic than the physical. It was shattering when he opened to her like this, allowing her to feel what he felt. It was a rare gift, precious. His excitement suffused her, augmenting her pleasure with his pleasure, her need with his need. He slowed suddenly, and then stopped. She shifted her hips, trying to find the cadence again, moaning a little in protest at the interruption. Why had he stopped? She sensed something new in him. Mischief? What was he up to? The feeling was quickly gone, though, subsumed in his desire. 

Carlie looked up into his eyes, eyes she'd once thought icy, but that were really as hot as the base of a flame. What she saw there reassured her as a slow grin spread across his face. He leaned down, feathering kisses across her face, closing her eyes with his lips. His hands cupped her bottom, holding her as he shifted onto his side, then pulled her upper leg over his hip. 

He left one hand splayed across her lower back as he resettled more deeply into her. The other hand came around to open the buttons on her dress until he could spread the sides apart and bare her. When she would have reciprocated, he caught her hands in his and moved them over her head, curling her fingers over the lowest bar of the brass headboard. For just a moment she thought about moving her hands back to him, then she decided not to. She'd go with whatever he had in mind. She tightened her grip, waiting. 

The metal was cool against her palms, a stark contrast to the heat of his hands on her, his body inside her. He touched her breasts, filling his palms with their weight, thumbs stroking across her nipples. She arched, wanting that touch again. He leaned down, and she felt the softness of his beard against the tight-furled flesh. She whimpered, her hands clutching tight around the bar. His closed lips brushed one taut peak; warm, dry, silky. She shivered, anticipating more, but he only repeated the caress at her other breast. She hoped he was feeling what he was doing to her, it was only fair that he share her frustration. 

Carlie rolled her hips against his as she sought the stroke of flesh in flesh. He moved his hands down to her hips, holding her still, and moved his mouth back to where he'd started, this time taking the hard crest between his lips, suckling. She moaned, feeling the clench inside her that always accompanied that tug. Though she had nothing to give now, she would always associate that touch with the first time they had made love after the babies were born. Trapped, terrified, and with nothing but him to hang onto, she had asked him for something he couldn't possibly give, and he had somehow found a way to give it. Not just sex, but caring. He would always have a lifetime's darkness at his core, but he'd found a spark of light inside himself for her. For that, if for nothing else, she loved him. 

She felt his hands tighten on her hips and he shuddered against her. She knew he was responding to what she'd just felt, the emotion, not the physical. "I love you," she whispered, bringing her hands up to cup his head, stroking his hair. 

He lifted his head and she saw bright fire in his eyes for a moment, then the blaze was hidden by his lashes as his mouth covered hers in a fierce kiss. He rolled her onto her back, and his teasing stillness inside her erupted into a deep, driving rhythm. She exulted in the change in his response, always jubilant when he trusted her enough to abandon his hard-held control. It goaded her to match him, and she braced her feet and met him thrust for thrust, urging him on, her need fueled by his until it exploded through her in a maelstrom of delight. She cried out, unable to contain her pleasure, and a moment later he shuddered and she heard the soft, hoarse groan that signaled his release. 

She held him tightly as her pulse began to slow, until he sighed deeply, and gave one last little push into her, as if unwilling to relinquish her, though they were both replete. She smiled, knowing exactly how he felt. She didn't want to let him go either. Let him go. Her mood suddenly darkened. He felt it, and pushed himself up so he could look into her face. With one finger, he touched the slight crease that had appeared between her eyebrows. 

"That's not what I expect to feel from you at a time like this," he said, sounding a little worried. 

She found a smile somewhere, and pasted it on. "I know, I'm sorry." She knew he wouldn't let it rest there, so she sighed, and explained. "It's not you, not at all. I just remembered. You're going to do it, aren't you?" 

He looked puzzled. "Do what?" 

A real smile curved her mouth as she realized he'd once again managed to completely forget Sloan, no doubt waiting impatiently downstairs. "You're going to help Sloan get Tom back." 

He touched her lips with gentle fingers. "Only if you agree that I should. I won't leave you again without your consent." 

Ah, God, she didn't want that burden. Carlie struggled not to let tears come, but it was useless. He turned back onto his side with her, holding her until she subsided, telling her what she wanted to hear without saying a word. Unfortunately, no matter how much she wanted to keep him here, and safe, she knew she couldn't. If the tables were turned she would want to know that someone would help. Sloan and Tom had helped her, they were her friends, but Lewis was her mate, her love. There was no contest. Still, she knew Sloan was right. There might not be anyone else who could pull it off. 

Though she was still mad at Sloan for her insensitivity, Carlie knew in her heart that the other woman would never have touched her babies. Still, the thought of anyone even looking at them without her consent made her hot with rage. He responded to that, pulling back with a little half-growl. 

"What?" he asked, looking around, trying to find the source of her anger. 

She shook her head, letting the anger fade. "Nothing. Just a little maternal instinct showing." She shifted in Llyn's arms until she could see his face, and most importantly, his eyes. "You could get hurt, or worse." She couldn't bring herself to say killed. 

He nodded. "On any mission such as this, injury or death is possible, though I know how they operate, and their weaknesses. I doubt I will have much difficulty with them." 

She smiled at his confidence, but remembered the time he'd come to her, wounded, exhausted. She knew he was neither infallible or invulnerable. 

"Do you think Tom is still alive, and if so, do you think you can get him out?" 

"He's alive. They would have killed him in Sloan's apartment had they wanted him dead. If I can locate him, I can probably get him out. I suspect my former associates will know where he's being held. They keep close tabs on Tom." 

"If you do this, will it put our children at risk?" 

Llyn frowned thoughtfully. "Probably not. I would die before I would reveal your whereabouts, but Dr. Parker would not be difficult to break, should she be caught. I can deal with that before we go, though. There are ways of making sure she could not reveal anything about you. If I were unable to return, Paul and Daniel have standing instructions on what to do to be sure you and the children are safe and taken care of." 

Carlie stared at him in surprise. "Since when?" 

Llyn looked at her evenly. "Since the day we arrived. I take no chances with you." 

A shiver traced its way down her spine. Sometimes Lewis looked at her out of Llyn's eyes, and she wondered how it was that he managed not to be that other person with her, or the babies. However he did it, she appreciated it. Living with Llyn was not always easy, but Lewis would be far more difficult. She had one last question, though, the one she hoped would make her decision easier. 

"If you get Tom out, will it help, or hurt us?" 

He looked thoughtful, weighing his answer, and finally spoke. "At this point, I can't see how it could harm us, but neither do I see any real potential for help. If the humans in power have made up their minds to hunt our kind openly, it's doubtful that Tom or Sloan have enough influence now to make a difference, if they ever did." 

Carlie sighed. That meant she couldn't base her decision on that. She pushed away from him, sitting up, wrapping her arms around her knees. He lay back unspeaking, his gaze shrewd and sharp on her, letting her work through her feelings. Finally she sighed. 

"I don't want you to go, but I can't imagine not helping them. I don't know what decision is the right one. I want both, I want you safe here with me, but I want to help them, too. I know that's not possible, but it's what I want. What do you want?" 

"I want whatever you want," he said quietly, committing only to her. 

Carlie shook her head, not letting him take the easy out. "No, I want the truth. If this had happened in a world where you'd never met me, where Sorcha, Arian, and Luke didn't exist, would you go?" 

He didn't answer immediately, and a troubled frown creased his forehead. Since she'd expected an automatic 'no', his reaction surprised her. After several moments of silence he brought his focus back to her. 

"I would go after him. I probably shouldn't, it's unwise, but I would." 

Her surprise deepened. Llyn had always intimated that there had never been anyone in his life that he cared about, in any way, before he met her. If he cared enough about Tom to go after him, then that was wrong. She remembered that Tom had occasionally reminded her of Lewis, certain mannerisms, and ways of thinking. She'd put it down to species similarities, but perhaps it was more. 

Lewis had trained Tom from the time he was nine or ten. Those similar mannerisms were probably the result of Tom copying his mentor, like any human child would with his father-figure. She remembered how high Tom's emotions had run whenever he thought of Lewis. If that feeling had been reciprocal, it explained the depth of hurt Llyn had felt when Tom betrayed him to the humans. If any of that bond remained, it explained Llyn's reactions now. 

Carlie took his hands in hers, and looked into his eyes. "Do you want to go after him now?" 

Something flickered behind his eyes, and some strong emotion tried to slip from behind his shields, but he wouldn't let it, and all she felt was calm. Slowly, he nodded. 

"Yes." 

There it was. She took a deep breath, trying to ignore the pain, to ignore her own needs, desires and fears, and allow him to do this thing he needed to do. She squeezed his hands in hers. "Then you have to do it." 

He studied her, clearly feeling her conflict. She'd never learned to hide herself from him as well as he could from her. "I won't go if you don't want me to." He reiterated. 

"I know that. But I do want you to go." She tried to put conviction into her voice, into her heart; to let that part of her feelings come to the surface and push the others down where they couldn't be sensed. His gaze claimed hers for long, long seconds, so long she began to wonder if she could hold it, then finally he drew a breath, and nodded. 

"Then I go." 

Sloan wandered the first floor, being nosy, and wondering how much of the house reflected Lewis, and how much was Carlie's influence. It was a lovely house, open, with a lot of windows to let in light, and light oak floors which reflected it. While the kitchen was practical, it was also a very expensive one, with granite countertops, a butcher-block island, and a Jenn-Aire cooktop. Both the range and the refrigerator had a brushed-steel finish that looked very classy, but would probably be hell to keep fingerprints off of when the kids got a little older. The table and chairs in the breakfast nook were sturdy and practical but attractive too. The only odd note in the room were the three Graco high-chairs arranged along one wall. She smiled, guessing that no one had yet come up with designer high-chairs. 

In the foyer, the front doors were bracketed by angular stained-glass panels that even she recognized as school-of-Frank-Lloyd-Wright, and a couple of large, potted fan-palms softened the austerity of the area, seeming to flourish in the light from the large windows. Moving on to the 'formal' dining room, she noticed that the furnishings were expensive, but subtly so, nothing that screamed out how much money had been spent, unless you knew what to look for. A pale gray Berber carpet set the tone in the dining-room, setting off curtains of slubby ivory, silver and bronze shot silk that was matched by the upholstery on the chairs. The furniture was all real wood, not veneer, the lines clean and modern, though she didn't know enough about interior design to put a name to the style. A copy . . . at least she assumed it was a copy, of a Georgia O'Keefe 'Iris' painting held pride of place in the dining room wall, its subtle ivory, black and bronze shading coordinating perfectly with the rest of the room. 

Though she hadn't actually opened any closed doors, or poked into drawers or cupboards, she was intrigued by what she found lying out in the open. An open door led into an office which held a desk, generic office-store stuff here, though, nothing fancy like the dining room. The desk held a computer, phone, and printer/fax combination, and next to it was a slanted drafting board covered with architectural drawings. She noticed several faxes addressed to someone named Llewellyn Pryce, and figured that must be the name Lewis was using now, since Carlie had called him Llyn a couple of times. She studied the drawings carefully, but they just seemed to be buildings, nothing mysterious. 

Another room seemed to be more of a den, with an entertainment center that held a television, and CD-stereo system as well as a couch and coffee-table. These were well built, but comfortable, and homey, much less formal than the other rooms. Another generic desk was tucked into a corner of the room holding a second computer and printer, and a pile of textbooks and notebooks. Sloan recognized Carlie's handwriting on the papers that were scattered around and deduced that her friend must be taking college classes via the Web. A quick scan of the books identified psychology, anthropology (she smiled at that), and history. The history text was open to a section on Ancient Egypt, and Sloan picked it up. The page flipped, and photos of Tutankhamen's funeral mask and the famous bust of Nefertiti gazed serenely at her. Nice pictures, though the book itself seemed pretty generic, but then, what Western Civ book wasn't? 

Moving on, she started to smell the sharp scent of chlorine, and found a sliding glass door which led to the enclosed pool she thought she'd seen from outside. Very nice, about half Olympic-size. The door was locked, though. Probably a good precaution with kids around the house. Speaking of which, she wondered where they were. Was the nursery down here, or on the second floor near their parents? Silly question, she realized. Carlie would want them up there with her. 

A movement from outside caught her eye, and she watched out the window as a black four-by-four pulled up in front of the house and two men got out. They were dressed in jeans and flannel shirts, but from their alert, vigilant attitudes she was pretty sure they must be the guys Lewis said he'd called. They stood next to the vehicle for a moment, speaking, then each moved off in a different direction, walkie-talkies in hand. 

Sloan sighed and headed back toward the kitchen, wondering if they'd mind if she poked around in the refrigerator. She'd been too nervous to eat breakfast but now her stomach was complaining. She passed the stairs, and looked at her watch. Forty minutes had passed since Lewis had gone after Carlie. What the hell were they doing up there? If they were fighting they sure were being quiet about it. Of course, remembering the smile on Lewis' face when she'd suggested he take Carlie chocolate by way of apology . . . 

As if triggered by that thought, a soft and definitely not unhappy cry filtered through one of the closed doors upstairs. Sloan felt herself getting warm, and headed into the kitchen trying not to think about what they were doing. She looked at the refrigerator. Lewis had told her to make herself comfortable, and she decided to take him at his word. After all, they certainly were. She found cheese in the refrigerator, and a loaf of crusty bread in a mahogany breadbox on the counter. Cutting a slice of bread with a knife from the knife block by the stove, she topped the bread with the cheese and started to eat. 

Her mind returned, despite herself, to what they were doing upstairs. She was envious. Not of Lewis, not really. He was attractive, but he was scary. No, she was envious that they still had each other. It was terrible how much you could miss something you'd barely gotten used to having. She and Tom had been sleeping together for less than a week when all hell had broken loose. She missed the sex, but she missed him more, his quirky humor, his puzzled gaze when she did something particularly human, and the intensity of his care for her. She brushed irritatedly at a tear and bit ferociously into her snack. 

Five minutes later, she was in the refrigerator again, hunting for something else when she became aware that she wasn't alone. Startled, she turned around, and found one of the Flannel Shirt Guys standing behind her, eyeing her narrowly. 

"Who are you?" he asked, one hand behind his back, she suspected on the butt of a gun. She stared. Up close, it hit her that he looked almost exactly like Mark, only with hair, and no beard. He had the same eyes, dark, liquid. . . like. . . it dawned on her finally who they reminded her of. The picture in Carlie's history text. Nefertiti. That started her gears rolling. Could the Dominants have existed even then? Could they go that far back? Was it possible that the 'genesis' point in Mexico wasn't really the genesis point at all, but perhaps just a gathering place for a large group? 

"I asked who you were," Flannel Guy said again, more harshly. 

"It's all right, Daniel. This is Dr. Sloan Parker. She's a guest." Lewis spoke quietly from the doorway that led to the main hall. Sloan started, she hadn't heard him come down. Of course, she hadn't heard Daniel either. 

Daniel's expression reflected surprise, and recognition. "Parker? The one who . . ." 

Lewis nodded. "Yes. Did you bring the items I requested?" 

Daniel looked obliquely at Sloan before replying. "They're in the car." 

"Good. The house is secure at the moment, get Paul and set up in the monitor room, I'll be in to brief you shortly." 

Daniel nodded and left the room. Lewis looked at Sloan and nodded toward the open refrigerator. 

"You might want to close the door, it's not very energy efficient to stand there with it open like that." 

As she closed the door, Sloan struggled to suppress a giggle at being lectured on ecological correctness by Lewis. Somehow she didn't think he'd appreciate being laughed at. Instead she closed the door and nodded in the direction Daniel had gone. 

"He looks like Mark." 

Lewis nodded. "He should. They're twins." 

"That would tend to explain it," Sloan said, thoughtfully. Twins. How the heck did they manage to have twins when they already were coping with four babies per birth? Or by 'twin' did he just mean 'born at the same birth' not 'shared a uterus'? She really needed to know more about their reproductive systems. Maybe Carlie could help. Thinking of Carlie made her look at Lewis, worriedly. He'd gone up to talk to her, they'd ended up making love. Sloan had no idea what that meant for her. 

Lewis turned suddenly, looking up the stairs. A moment later Sloan saw Carlie start down the stairs. She was wearing a different dress, this one was green with a print of small flowers on it. In style it was similar to the other she'd worn, deceptively demure with a kind of Forties-effect. Her hair looked mussed. Interesting that Lewis was wearing the same clothes, and looked unruffled. How did men always manage that? As Carlie stepped into the room, Sloan got more worried. Carlie's eyes were faintly puffy and swollen, and her nose was a little red. Clearly, she'd been crying. 

Carlie glanced briefly at Lewis, and then moved her gaze to Sloan. The pain in her dark eyes made Sloan's heartbeat speed up, her breath coming fast. Was she hurting for Sloan's situation, or because she had persuaded Lewis to refuse? Sloan straightened, looking from Lewis to Carlie and back, waiting. 

"I'll need information." Lewis said suddenly. "I should be able to get it myself, but if my operative network has been compromised you may have to liaise with Mark to get it for me. I don't want anyone on either side to know I'm alive." 

The relief Sloan felt was so intense that she gasped, and had to lean against the counter for a moment against the weakness that surged behind the realization. "You're going to do it?" she asked, just because she couldn't quite believe it. 

Lewis looked at Carlie, who closed her eyes and nodded, her lips compressed into a tight line. For a moment Sloan wondered why Carlie was so clearly upset, then the realization hit her like the proverbial ton of bricks. Of course Carlie was upset. Sloan wasn't asking Lewis to pick up Tom at the airport, she was asking him to face an enemy who wouldn't hesitate to kill him. She was asking Carlie to let her mate go, knowing he might not return. Sloan had known the danger she was asking Lewis to face, but somehow she hadn't thought what impact that would have on Carlie until this moment. 

She started to apologize to Carlie, but Lewis caught her eye and shook his head very slightly. Sloan reconsidered what she'd been about to say, and instead caught Carlie's hands in hers. 

"Thank you. This means more than I can say." 

Carlie's grip was almost painfully tight, and her eyes bored into Sloan's. "I want him back, understand?" 

Sloan nodded. "I understand." 

Carlie seemed willing to let it go at that, and she let go of Sloan's hands and stepped back. Lewis spoke into the tense silence. 

"How long ago was Tom taken?" 

"Three days." 

Lewis nodded thoughtfully. "It's likely that they'll have him in close confinement, under sensory deprivation conditions. When they had me, they learned neither physical pain or psychological manipulation are particularly effective, but they did eventually manage to figure out that being deprived of neurological input is far worse for us than their usual repertoire of tortures." 

Carlie's face went dead white and she put her hand on his arm. He reached out with his free hand and touched her face softly, and the smile that curved his mouth was startlingly warm and reassuring. Sloan knew exactly how Carlie felt. Thoughts of Tom being tortured had been wracking her since he'd been taken. 

Suddenly, both Lewis and Carlie turned almost as one toward the stairs. Sloan looked, but saw nothing. Carlie let go of Lewis and went dashing up the stairs, Lewis hard on her heels. Sloan wasn't sure what was wrong, but she intended to find out. She followed them cautiously, not knowing what the danger might be. The stairs were carpeted and her feet made almost no noise as she ascended the risers. 

A door toward the far end of the hallway stood open, and from within that room Sloan could hear Carlie's voice, scolding affectionately. The sound told her that whatever was wrong, it clearly wasn't drastic. She moved quietly down the hallway and looked into the room. It was a very large room, bigger than most master bedrooms. It was carpeted in a mottled sand-color that Sloan suspected had been chosen to disguise stains. The walls were painted a creamy white, and up near the ceiling a band of stars, triangles, squares, circles had been painted in bright primary colors-- fire engine red, cobalt blue, emerald green, solar yellow. Below the more ordinary shapes was an almost abstract pattern of lines, dots, and dashes that Sloan found disconcertingly familiar. She'd seen something like that before, but where? It came to her suddenly. The pillar they'd found in the desert. That's where she'd seen it before. Was it an alphabet? Numeric code? Or just decoration? 

As she wondered, Carlie reached into the crib she stood next to and picked up one of the girls, Sloan was pretty sure it was Sorcha, her hair had always been a little darker than Arian's, and the blonde toddler still in the crib had paler hair. Arian was standing, swaying a little, holding herself upright with one hand wrapped around a crib-bar, the other fisted in Carlie's dress. Now that Sloan could see them in proximity to their father, she was struck by how much the girls looked like Lewis, with the same shape of face and eyes and eye-color too, though their mouths looked more like Carlie's than Lewis'. 

She was a little surprised that they didn't look older. Their growth-rate must have slowed considerably from what it had been. That made a certain sense. With four simultaneous conceptions, there were physiological limits to the size of child a woman could deliver, even with the separate uteri. Rapid growth following birth would mean Dominant children would quickly attain a 'normal' birth weight, but if that rate were maintained indefinitely, it would probably lead to rapid aging, which didn't seem to occur. 

Wondering where the Luke was, Sloan looked around in time to see Lewis reach up to grab Luke from the top shelf of a built-in bookcase on one wall. Lewis held Luke out at arm's length for a moment and stared into his eyes. Luke, who'd been screwing up his face preparatory to a howl, stopped suddenly, and laughed instead. Lewis shook his head and moved Luke to the cradle of his arm, one hand moving over his Luke's small, squirming body as if to reassure himself that his son was in one piece. When he had done so, he looked up at Carlie. 

"We have got to get these damned things covered up. This is the third time this week." 

Carlie looked at him, grinning. "Didn't you tell me that at least once already? I said it was a good idea. What are you waiting for, someone to wave a magic wand?" 

Lewis looked distinctly annoyed. "I'll have Paul do it while I'm gone." 

Carlie laughed. "Oh, good call. When in doubt, delegate. For an architect you certainly aren't very good at building things." 

Lewis looked at Carlie narrowly. "The two skills are not interrelated." 

"So you keep telling me. Is he okay?" 

Lewis nodded. "Perfectly, as usual. Maybe we ought to just let him do it." 

He moved to the crib where Arian waited, and reached down to pick her up as well, holding both of them with practiced ease. The sight caused Sloan a moment of wonder. In her world view, Lewis and babies did not belong together. 

Carlie scowled at Lewis' comment. "Over my dead body!" she declared firmly. "He could fall and break his neck!" 

"Let him do what?" Sloan asked from the doorway, her curiosity outweighing her desire not to be noticed. Both of them turned to look at Sloan, and Carlie sighed longsufferingly. 

"My darling Luke is a climber. He's figured out how to climb out of his crib, and up various other things. Thankfully, either Sorcha and Arian usually lets us know when he's at it." 

Sloan stared blankly. "A climber?" She looked at the shelf that Lewis had retrieved Luke from, and her eyes widened. It was as high as her head! "He climbed all the way up there by himself?" 

Carlie nodded. "That he did. He never does it when we're in the room, of course. He seems to really like shelves. He's just like a cat, likes to curl up in little caves. Why he can't choose the *bottom* shelf is beyond me." 

Sloan refrained from commenting that Luke's father had distinctly feline characteristics himself. She figured it probably wouldn't be appreciated. Suddenly something Carlie had said hit her. "What do you mean, Sorcha or Arian let you know? Are they talking already?" Sloan hadn't heard anything while they were downstairs, but her hearing was nowhere near as sensitive as a Dominant's. Still, there was another possibility, one Sloan had wondered about in the past. If Dominants were empathic, could they be more? 

"No, they're not talking, they're still mostly pre-verbal, but they can all send . . ." Carlie paused, looking frustrated. "I don't know how to describe it." 

"Telepathy?" Sloan asked, putting her speculation out in public. 

"No, that's not it. Llyn?" Carlie looked at Lewis for help and he took up the explanation. 

"Definitely not telepathy, there's no coherency, no delineated thought. What they do is send us emotional pictures, things that we can identify based on previous events and reactions. There's a specific one they use that we've learned to associate with Luke's little forays." 

Sloan was fascinated. "Can they communicate other things? Hunger? Fear? Happiness?" 

Carlie laughed. "Of course they can, they cry and laugh just like other babies." 

Sloan shook her head. "No, I mean, more effectively. When a human baby cries sometimes it's hard to tell exactly what's wrong, whether it's wet, hungry, afraid, angry or just bored. Can you tell, with yours?" 

Carlie looked thoughtful, and nodded slowly. "Yes, actually. We can." 

Sloan felt a surge of excitement. This was the most interesting thing she'd learned about the Dominants in ages. "Is that true across the board? Is it something you all can do?" 

Lewis shrugged. "I have no idea. My children are the only infants I have any experience with." 

Sloan looked to Carlie, who shrugged. "Same here." 

Frustrating. "Do you remember anything from your own childhoods that might indicate one way or another?" Sloan didn't have a lot of hope, she certainly didn't remember much of her own early childhood, but Dominants had better memories in general, they might. 

Carlie shook her head. "I can't remember anything like that, but that's not surprising since I was raised by humans." 

Sloan looked at Lewis. "What about you?" 

Lewis and Carlie looked at each other, some silent communication occurring. Lewis looked as if he might protest, then finally shook his head. "I don't remember my childhood at all." 

Sloan looked at him, understanding immediately. "Like Tom?" 

He nodded. "Exactly like Tom." 

Sloan shivered. What kind of people brainwashed children? Whoever led the Dominants had a great deal to answer for. She sighed. "It's a shame you don't know. If this empathic communication ability is true of your species in general, then it's a huge positive development!" 

Lewis smiled. "Of course it is, Dr. Parker. Everything about us is." 

Sloan looked at him standing there with his arms full of babies, and decided he looked safe enough at the moment to risk a poke. "Well, except for that little ego problem, maybe." 

She wasn't sure how he'd take it, but to her surprise, he chuckled. 

"I think I've heard that somewhere before." 

"That's because you leave yourself open for it, love," Carlie told him, grinning. "Now, I've got to go make these three some lunch. You two watch them for a few, okay?" 

Carlie took Sorcha over to a pile of toys in the corner and put her down next to them. Immediately Sorcha began to look for something, picking up and discarding toys rapidly. In Lewis' arms, both Luke and Arian began to fuss and fidget, and he moved to put them down next to Sorcha, where Arian joined in the quest for the perfect toy. Arian picked up a distinctly Fischer-Price-looking rattle striped boldly in red and white, and began to bash it on the floor in a decent approximation of four-four time. Sorcha grabbed a soft-book and began to 'read' it. Left to himself, Luke tottered toward the shelves again with great determination. 

Lewis watched for a moment, then with a sigh he unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves, presumably so he could reach and grab without restriction. He stretched out on his side on the carpet between Luke and the shelves, using his body as a barricade to keep his errant son from accessing the forbidden fruit. Luke seemed to think that was a really good idea, and proceeded to use Lewis as a jungle gym. 

Sloan stared, amazed, as Lewis proceeded to play with his son with every evidence of enjoyment. She kept having trouble reconciling this Lewis with the one who'd kidnapped her, and shot a woman in cold blood not three feet from her. It was as if he was two different people. 

Lewis suddenly looked over at her, holding Luke in midair above himself. "Why does that surprise you so much, Dr. Parker? Aren't you two different people? One who loves a Homo Dominant, and another who said, less than an hour ago, that genetic conversion of Homo Dominant to Homo Sapiens should take place by any means necessary?" 

Sloan felt a chill run down her spine. God, she really hated it when they did that. They could swear up and down that they weren't telepathic, but she still had a sneaking feeling they might be. She took a moment to consider her reply, having come to the conclusion that he often said things simply to get a reaction from her, and so far she had played into his hands. 

"Yes, I said that. I also think you know I don't believe it. I said it because you provoked me, something you're very good at." 

He grinned. "Why thank you, Dr. Parker." 

"Call me Sloan. It seems silly for you to keep calling me Dr. Parker, especially when it sounds like you're making fun of me every time you do." 

He smiled at that, which made Sloan wonder if that meant she'd been right. He lowered Luke to the floor and nudged him toward the toys with a gentle hand on his diapered behind. 

"Very well, Sloan. If that's what you want." 

"I do." Sloan suddenly became aware that Luke had bypassed the toys and was headed for the open door behind her at an amazingly fast clip for someone on all fours. She quickly stepped between him and his destination, squatting down. 

"Oh no you don't, young man. There's no safety gate out there between you and the stairs." She looked at Lewis pointedly. "Which needs to be taken care of, I might add." 

Lewis scowled. "Is this something all females do, regardless of species?" 

Sloan nodded. "Pretty much." 

Luke had given up on attaining the hallway, and sat down about a foot in front of her, staring at her intently. He was a really beautiful boy, his skin the color of milk-laden tea, his blue eyes startling contrast to his nearly-black curls. Funny, the girls looked like Lewis, except for their mouths, and Luke looked more like Carlie, with the same exception. He had his father's mouth, with a bow-curved upper lip saved from absolute prettiness by the