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***
I will love across the borders, I will wait until it's dark,
I will fly, and you'll be with me--my wings, your heart.
Then our memory may fail us, and our language will go too,
But the shooting stars will catch our celestial view.
Ten-cent wings, I'll take two,
Pin them to my sweater and I'll sail above the blue.
Ten-cent wings, tried and true,
Orbiting like satellites, I'll sail away with you.
But I'll never tell,
I'll never say.
I'll never be that brave.
Jonatha Brooke, "Ten-Cent Wings"
***
The flash of the camera startled us both, jolting me out of my horrified reverie and Jim out of his imminent zone. I felt a pang of guilt. I should have been paying closer attention to him, should have realized that he'd zone on the smell, but I'd been too caught up in my own reactions to the crime scene. There was blood everywhere--blood and worse. It mixed with the smell of the humid night outside to create an almost unspeakable stench.
A uniformed officer walked up to us, already launching into his brief as he nonchalantly stepped over the blood pooled on the floor. "Looks like a pretty clear-cut case, Detective. We got five bodies--two parents, three children. A neighbor called 911 when the screaming started, but by the time the patrol car got here, everyone was already dead."
"Cause of death?" I could hear Jim taking shallow breaths, trying to avoid inhaling the smell of the carnage surrounding us.
"Gunshot wounds on all of 'em. Looks like the mother killed the kids in their beds and shot the husband when he came running. Then she turned the gun on herself." He shook his head almost bemusedly.
"Motive?" Jim asked distantly. It seemed like he was asking the usual questions out of force of habit. I didn't like the deadness in his voice, so I shifted imperceptibly closer, hoping to reassure him. He wasn't usually like this at crime scenes. Professional, yes. Distant, no. Something had gone wrong within him.
"The wife left a note, if you can believe that." He snorted. "Apparently the husband had been having an affair. The wife found out and decided to kill him. She killed the kids to make him suffer before he died."
"Oh, God..." I heard Jim's nearly inaudible plea, choked off almost immediately.
"A modern-day Medea," I whispered, shocked. Jim nodded in agreement, but the uniform looked at me blankly.
"It's a Greek myth," I explained. "Medea killed her children in order to make her husband suffer for divorcing her." And as much as we wanted to believe ourselves a "civilized" society, it had happened here. Safe little suburbia, shattered by gunshots and screams.
The officer shot Jim a typical "what the hell is the hippie doing here?" look, then continued as if I hadn't said anything. "Anyway, all the details match. We got a .38 caliber Smith & Wesson in the wife's hand and powder burns on her clothing. There's no sign of forced entry and no one else's prints in the house." He flipped shut his notebook and gazed at Jim expectantly.
"It does look pretty open-and-shut," Jim said wearily. "Just to be sure, we'll check on the mistress and talk to some of the family."
As the officer walked off, I turned to Jim, placing a hand on his arm. "Hey man, you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine." Under my hand, his muscles were tense and unyielding, belying his words. Fine, my ass.
"You zoned on the smell of all the blood, didn't you?"
"Back off, Sandburg," he snapped. "Either make yourself useful or get out of the way." He stalked off to one of the bedrooms, where the M.E. was crouched next to the bloody body of a small child.
Strangely, that little outburst didn't bother me. It might have, before Alex, but by now I was very familiar with that tone of voice. Jim wasn't angry at me. He was freaked, and he didn't know how to handle it. Lucky for him, I was here to help him handle it. Whether he liked it or not.
***
Simon's characteristic bellow boomed through the bullpen. "Ellison! Sandburg! In my office!" He didn't sound happy.
Jim got up from his desk to answer the bellowed summons, and I fell into step right behind him. He pushed open the door to Simon's office, dimly lit in the gathering gloom of the storm clouds that threatened outside.
"Jim, where are we on that multiple murder-suicide?"
"Everything checks out, sir. We tracked down the husband's mistress. Turns out she was a friend of the wife's from way back. She admitted the affair--she and the husband had been fooling around for almost a year before the wife found out."
Simon snorted derisively at that and puffed his cigar. I noticed he was still pretty sensitive about the subject. No surprise, considering that Joan had been fooling around on him before their divorce.
"Ballistics matched the slugs pulled from the bodies to the gun found in the wife's hand, and the M.E. says that as far as he can tell, the deaths all occurred at roughly the same time." Again, Jim was strangely detached while reciting the details of this horrible tragedy. I'd never seen him like this before, not even when Danny Choi or Lila had died. It wasn't like him, and it really worried me.
"What about the neighbors?" Simon asked.
"Nobody saw anything unusual."
Simon sighed sadly. "Three little kids...unbelievable. Go ahead and close it, unless there's anything else you want to check out. You didn't sense anything unusual? Anything at all?"
"No, sir. Nothing out of place. Just five dead bodies." Was I imagining the hitch I heard in his voice?
Simon leveled his glare at me. "Sandburg, you've been uncharacteristically quiet. You don't have anything to add?"
Underneath all that sarcasm, there was something that sounded like actual respect. I recognized it, and it managed to cheer me up slightly.
"No, Simon, I've got nothing to add," I said in response to his question.
"Go home, gentlemen. I know you were up all last night working on this thing. Try to beat the rain, get some sleep." He waved us out the door. "And try not to have nightmares," he added under his breath.
That addendum made Jim check his stride for a second, but he continued out into the bullpen. I could tell he was hoping I hadn't noticed.
***
The ride home was...weird. Jim was actually making conversation. Discussing the case with Simon had obviously unnerved him. Admitting that it was closed, that there was no one to chase down and punish for all those deaths--it was tearing him apart. It was tearing me apart too.
I wondered if part of his sorrow was tied to memories of his own childhood. Nothing as horrific as those murders had happened to him, but his father had manipulated him and Steven, used them against each other, the same way that crazy woman had used her children against her husband. I knew Jim had worked through a lot of stuff with his brother and his father, but he hadn't forgiven them. And he certainly hadn't forgotten.
"Jim," I said, interrupting his patter about spare parts for the truck and cafe latte'.
He sighed resignedly. "Yeah?" He'd obviously been expecting me to pipe up with some anecdote, some bit of wisdom to help make sense of all this.
But I didn't know what to say. What can you say when you're confronted with insanity?
"There was nothing anyone could have done."
He glanced at me, unsuccessfully trying to hide the anguish buried deep in those sorrowful eyes of his "That's not true," he said slowly, regretfully.
His grief hit me hard, slammed into me with a physical force. I tried to regroup, wanting to help him. Needing to help him. "Okay, you're right. But there was nothing we could have done."
"That doesn't really help, Sandburg," he whispered almost inaudibly. I slumped down in my seat. That edge of despair was still in his voice, and I could see it in the tight lines of his posture.
"Yeah," I muttered hopelessly. "I know."
***
It wasn't a noise that woke me from my uneasy slumber. It was the silence.
He stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the backdrop of the gathering storm.
"Jim? What's wrong?" It wasn't like him just to stand there, saying nothing. "Jim? You okay?"
His voice was ragged. "I...had a nightmare. About the case."
I immediately understood what he meant, of course. As if either of us had thought about anything else since we got home. "It was the children, wasn't it?"
"Yeah. They were completely innocent, Chief. It had nothing to do with them. It was all about their messed-up parents. And now the kids are dead. None of them over five years old. And they'll never grow up." I fancied that I could hear him grieving not only for the children, but for his own lost childhood. He'd never really admit it, but his father had hurt him terribly by his inattentions and manipulations.
"I know, Jim. It's horrible. And it's unfair." It was true, but it was no help. I knew it was no help. But I didn't know what else to say.
He moved from his post by the doorway to come sit on the edge of my bed.
"I don't think I can go back to sleep."
I sighed. "Hey, I wasn't sleeping real well either. I can make us something to eat. Comfort food, you know? Maybe some soup..." I started to push aside the covers and get up, but he placed a hand on the center of my bare chest, stilling the motion. At that touch, a line of desire pulled taut inside of me, but I snapped it ruthlessly. The feeling was a familiar one--God knows I wanted Jim. I had wanted him for years. He hadn't come down here looking for a pass, though, and I wasn't about to take advantage of him.
But my thoughts and my good intentions were scattered when he leaned in close to me and laid his head on my shoulder. "Make me forget," he whispered.
God, the submissiveness, the supplication of that gesture--so out of character for Jim--it was shattering. He had to be hurting badly to expose himself like this. It made me want him twice as badly, and twice as determined not to push myself on him if he didn't want me.
I managed to get out a few words around the hunger that had leapt to life. "Uh, Jim? I don't exactly understand..."
He lifted his head and ran his lips along the curve of my jaw, biting and kissing. "Make me forget," he repeated. "And please don't make me ask again." His lips found mine, and my good sense was gone, silenced under a wave of longing.
His kiss was desperate and needy, his tongue plunging into my mouth as if seeking something. I got over my initial shock and kissed him back, lifting my hands to caress the sides of his face, feeling the tiny gut-level tremors that were shaking him. Shaking both of us.
I wanted to ask if he was sure about this, but I didn't want to make him say it again. I knew how hard it must have been for him to come down the stairs and ask for comfort. So I settled for another question, hoping he'd understand what I really meant.
"Jim, do you know what you're doing?" I ran my hands down his back in what I hoped was a soothing gesture.
He rested his forehead against mine and paused for a moment before answering quietly, "Yeah, I do. You?"
"Yeah. I've...once or twice." Was this really going to happen? Was it right for him? Was it even right for us?
"Good." He took my mouth again, blindly, hopelessly. Under my hands, his muscles were rock-hard and tense. I pulled back to look at him, and his eyes were the amazing, alive blue of arctic ice. They held no questions, no uncertainty, only need. I was familiar with need, both the need for comfort and the need for Jim, and now the two had intersected. If this was what he needed, I would give it to him.
Shoving the covers out of the way, he pushed me flat on the bed and stretched out next to me. "No more talking, okay?" I nodded and pulled his mouth to mine again, tasting his despair and his desire. I dragged my tongue along his lips and then pushed inside, licking at his tongue, his teeth, anything I could reach. I could feel him, hard against my thigh, and wondered if he could feel me.
Stretching out on top of me, he moved his lips down to my throat, licking and sucking. I shivered as he traced the length of my collarbone, biting gently, and then not so gently. He worked his way down to a nipple and bit down hard, rolling it between his teeth. I gasped, arching into him, rubbing my aching cock against his stomach, mutely begging for more. He returned to me for a hot, wet kiss, and until I heard the rain begin to fall, I couldn't decide if the sudden crash of thunder was only in my head
Everything began to blur together, and I wondered if this was anything like what Jim felt. I was unable to isolate one stimulus...the rain over our heads, Jim's mouth, the lightning, Jim's cock, Jim's skin pressed against mine...
He had returned to my chest and was worrying my nipples with bites and kisses, the feel of his mouth on my skin driving me wild. I wanted to return the favor, but the only part of him I could reach was his back, and so I ran my hands along his wonderful, smooth back until he moved out of my grasp. He slid further down my body, paused for a moment to shove my boxers down my legs and off, lifted away to remove his own boxers, and then returned to me.
The hunger built as he ran his tongue along my length and then took me in his mouth. I moaned loudly, helplessly, and wished that I could say his name, wished that I could let all the words pour out of me. I wanted to tell him how beautiful he was, how much I wanted him, that I would never let him be hurt again, that I would make up for all the injuries his father had ever inflicted.
His mouth was hot and frantic, his lips wrapped around my cock, his tongue searching out that perfect spot just below the head. My orgasm was fast approaching, but I didn't want it to happen this way. Jim needed to forget his pain, and I had promised to help him, so I unclenched my hands from the sheets and lifted his head away from me. The storm outside was building--it was time to find a way to release the storm inside of us.
I pulled him up toward me and rolled on top him. Aggressively, I kissed him, fucking his mouth with my tongue. Only a small whimper of desire escaped him, but it was everything I needed. I tore away from him and moved down to that beautiful, long, strong neck, kissed my way down one side of it and back up the other, taking everything he offered me. Fastening my lips and teeth onto the skin at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, I sucked hard and felt him buck frantically under me, his cock dragging along my thigh. My fingers sought out his nipple, and I pinched it lightly in time with the motions of my mouth. His moans were audible now, reaching inside of me and inflaming me further.
I kept up the suckling until I could tell that he needed more. The knowledge was instinctive, and I didn't stop to consider how I knew exactly what he needed. I just moved my mouth down to his nipple and began sucking on it, pinching the other one harder, still harder, raking my fingernail across it. His hands swept up my back and buried themselves in my hair, stroking my scalp.
I kissed across his stomach, mouthing my words of love into his smooth skin, licking the lines of his muscles, rubbing my cock against him. An eternity later, my lips were on his cock, softly nuzzling the length of him. His responsiveness was a wonder--I traced the big vein running down his cock, and he gasped. I flicked my tongue across the slit at the top, and his whole body clenched. I took him into my mouth, and he let out a sharp, wordless cry.
The lightning flashes illuminated his pale body underneath me, giving everything a sense of unreality. Flash--his back arching as he shoved his cock further in my mouth. Flash--his hands frantically pulling at his nipples. Flash--his face drawn tight with pleasure.
Ignoring his moan of disappointment, I let him slip out of my mouth. At my urging, he spread his legs for me, with only a slight hesitation. He was nervous, but I knew he needed that feeling of vulnerability and surrender. And I planned to make him feel so good that his nervousness would be obliterated.
I paused for a moment; it had been a long time since I had done this. But the sight of Jim in the moonlight, his skin streaked with shadows from the rain on the window, erased any doubts I had. Fitting my hands underneath him, I tilted his body upward and lowered my mouth to his hole, licking delicately at it. He tensed for a moment, made an effort to hold himself completely still, and then relaxed, giving me his body, giving me his trust. Peppering the soft skin of his cleft with tiny kisses, I worked my way up to the base of his cock and back down again, then inserted the tip of my tongue into him.
There was a constant stream of moaning emanating from the head of the bed now, lacking the edge of soul-deep pain that had been buried in them earlier. I worked my tongue further into his body and then eased it out, gently fucking him with it. My own cock was suffering sorely from neglect, but I wanted Jim to find his release first.
I pulled my mouth away and inserted the tip of my index finger where my tongue had been. A wince crossed Jim's face, but it was from pleasure, not pain, and his body shuddered around me. Reassured, I pushed my finger in the rest of the way and returned to his straining cock, fucking him gently, intending to bring him off with my mouth.
Pressure on my shoulders stopped me.
I looked up at him, praying he wouldn't ask me to stop, promising that I would if he did.
He looked back at me, his eyes shimmering with need and faith. "Please," he whispered, barely audible over the pounding of the rain and the pounding of my heart. "Please."
And I knew what he needed.
As I leaned past him to reach into the nightstand, pulling out the necessary items, he pulled me into a kiss. He held me tightly, tenderly, and I actually felt the simple need for release evolve into promise and love. My Jim didn't need words. He never had.
Replacing my mouth on his cock, I slipped a finger back inside him, this time slippery and wet. It slid in easily, and I added another, gently working them inside him, stretching him, stroking him. His body was lifting to meet my thrusts, his breath hitching in his lungs. I gave his cock one final lick and pulled away, allowing him to turn over.
He positioned himself on his hands and knees as I prepared myself. The sight of him, open and waiting for me--it was the most arousing thing I'd ever seen, and it hit me then that I needed this as much as Jim did. He had his own way of forgetting, and I had mine. He needed to be vulnerable, I needed to be strong. He needed to lose himself in pleasure, and I needed to be the one who gave it to him. I would take him as far as he needed to go, and I'd be waiting when he emerged on the other side.
I placed the head of my cock at the entrance to his body and pushed forward, trying not to be tentative. I threw myself into him as his body swallowed me, completed me, shattered me. The dark, needy sounds spilling out of him completely overrode my control, and I thrust deep inside him, setting up a fast and desperate rhythm.
He felt like heaven, better than I had ever allowed myself to imagine. Leaning down, I bit him lightly in the middle of his back, soothing the bite with a swipe of my tongue. I moved my hand from his hip down to his cock and grasped it, stroking it, smoothing the moisture leaking from the head up and down the shaft.
He surprised me by slamming back to meet my next thrust, and the sensation arced through my entire body. I pulled out and slammed back into him, pounded into him mercilessly, hoping that I was hitting his prostate, hoping that his harsh gasps meant he was close to coming. I tightened my grasp on his cock and was rewarded with a loud moan as he thrust into my hand.
We writhed against each other for long minutes, both of us desperate for completion. I shifted position slightly and pounded into him again, twice, three times. He tightened around me and he let out a long, low moan, and he was coming, thank god, warmth covering my hand, shudders shaking him. It lasted forever, as he spasmed almost unbearably around my cock, caressing me, yanking my orgasm out of me as I took flight into the brilliant warmth of the storm outside.
I managed to pull out before I collapsed next to him, both of us gasping for breath.
He cradled my face in his hands and kissed me gently, thanking me. The tension in his body was gone, and his kisses were less needy, more loving.
"Better?" I asked hesitantly.
He nodded slowly and licked the outer rim of my ear. His warm, wet tongue was replaced with his warm, wet lips, and then he was speaking.
"Next time," he whispered, "it will be for you. For us." I pulled back to meet his eyes. There was still an echo of pain in them, but there was joy too. "Next time?"
He answered me with another kiss, this one a promise of life, not a remembrance of death. I pulled him close to me, wrapped my arms around him, and we drifted off to sleep.
Next time.