Newsgroups: alt.tv.quantum-leap.creative From: khaight@netcom.com (Kyle Haight) Subject: STORY: Circles (QL/Equalizer crossover) 2/2 Message-Id: Organization: NETCOM On-line Communication Services (408 261-4700 guest) Date: Mon, 20 Feb 1995 04:32:12 GMT This is part 2 of 2 of the story "Circles". Control's house, New York City, 25 Feb 1990, 4:09pm: Al and Control had left, leaving Sam to contemplate the empty house from the silence of the living room sofa. After some while, he set to building a fire in the fireplace to try to drive away the eeriness of the house. He wasn't sure if it was the house itself or the gray rain outside that made him feel that way, but the fire helped, casting a warm glow in the room and across the bare wood floor. Before leaving, Control had shown him how the house's security system worked, and given him instructions for arming and disarming it. Control also forcefully warned him to never leave the house without arming the system, no matter how many seconds it added to his departure. He was also told about the security alarm in Control's car, and how to deal with that also. While the theft of the car, a BMW, was not meaningful except as a simple vehicle theft, Control asked that Sam try to protect it, since it was one of his possessions. Sam agreed to do as Control told him. Control's level of education, self-taught or otherwise, had never been one of the things they had talked about. But perusing Control's collection of books made him rethink -- yet again --his opinion of the man he was trying to help. There was not a great deal of actual literature, and what there was of it seemed carefully selected. The authors George Orwell and Mark Twain seemed to be favorites. But also on the shelves were a large number of books dealing with complex and esoteric subjects. He found volumes on criminal law, psychology, anatomy and physiology, metaphysics and even aerospace engineering. The psychology texts seemed to focus on abnormal psychology and discourses on sexual perversions. The metaphysics books covered everything from astrology to Zoroaster, and dealt with such topics as the qabbalistic Tree of Life, alchemy, dreamworking, numerology, and something called "the enneagram." He pulled out one book; a guide to herbal and homeopathic medicine. There were several paper scraps marking sections of the book. One of these that he opened to was entitled: "Extreme Sex Drive, How to Inhibit." Another of the marked sections was: "Anxiety", and still another: "Anger", and another: "Nightmares." Sam closed the book. He wondered if it were enlightenment, or merely desperation, that had led Control to seek out such remedies. Regardless of the motive, however, the sections Control had marked suggested a more troubled soul than Control had admitted to. He wasn't surprised by that, either. Other books also yielded bookmarked pages and chapters. The anatomy texts had been marked by Control at sections dealing with the circulatory system; the locations of major blood vessels, and the structure of the nervous system. Much of the psychology books had sections marked on rape, torture, mutilation and lust murder. One particular page had had a paragraph highlighted. It read: "Self-mutilation is not uncommon in patients seeking escape or relief from their own inner torments. Sometimes that torment is not merely the original feelings of pain and frustration, but also the knowledge of either violent wishes or actual violent acts. The self-injury is merely another form of hate, this time directed at the patient himself. He hates what he does, hates himself for doing it. In the sadist it is, literally, self- sadism." Sam closed this book also, this time thoughtfully. He pulled up the sleeves on the shirt he wore, and after carefully examining his arms, found evidence of long-healed scars; slash marks on his wrists; delicate, precise incisions in his forearms. He pushed the sleeves down again, and sat down on the couch heavily. He could not imagine being tormented enough to inflict wounds on himself. Attempting suicide also seemed alien, but Sam realized belatedly that the scars on his wrists were perpendicular, and a man who had researched such things so carefully was surely aware that to truly kill oneself in that manner required parallel cuts deep into the flesh... He was startled out of his imposed reverie by a knock on the front door. "Who is it?" he called out. "It's me, Robert McCall," came the voice back through the closed door. Sam opened the door to a dignified, handsome man in his late fifties. He was dressed in a long, cashmere overcoat and a finely tailored business suit. Sam realized immediately that the call was not social, and that McCall resented, in some fashion, having to make it. The man's gray eyes were hard and unreadable. "The information you wanted on my last client," McCall said, holding out a manila envelope stiffly. Sam took it from him, wondering what the basis for the hostility was. "Thanks." "I suppose you'll also be wanting the stuff locked up in my head that should, for the betterment of all concerned, be given to you verbally?" McCall said. Sam paused. "If you think I should have it," he said finally. McCall sighed, a sound of resignation and self-discipline. "Please come in." Sam held the door open for him. McCall entered the house, giving Sam a look that suggested Sam had said something unkind, though Sam couldn't imagine what it was. //He's going to reveal information to me so classified that it can't even be transcribed,// Sam realized suddenly. //I can't let him do that. I'm not the one who should listen and there are plenty of things I'm better off not knowing.// McCall availed himself of the couch with an air of possession that led Sam to believe that he visited the house regularly, and that Control never held to formalities. There was something else, something in McCall's body language that made Sam think he should recognize it; it was familiar. An emotion of some kind... "I was just getting ready to make some coffee," Sam said. "Do you want some?" McCall gave him an indecipherable look, then waved his hand. "Oh, if I have to play one of your games," McCall said irritably. "Might as well." //McCall is supposed to be Control's closest friend,// Sam thought as he went into the kitchen. //Something happened between them and McCall's upset and angry about it.// "Are you going to release Folor?" McCall asked bitterly from the living room, his voice carrying easily across the hardwood floor. Sam wondered if their entire conversation was going to be like this. "I haven't decided yet," Sam replied neutrally. He heard McCall make a derisive noise. "No, of course not. Not that you'd tell me anyway regardless. We can conveniently ignore the fact that he was a man who had nothing whatsoever to do with your operation although you keep telling me otherwise." Sam came back into the living room, leaving the coffee to drip. "I already know you don't trust me," Sam said. McCall glared at him. "I'm doing what I have to." McCall's expression was penetratingly observant. The look said something like: //There's something wrong with you but I'm not sure what it is yet.// "Don't you always," McCall replied in a sepulchral tone. //I'm obviously supposed to know why he's angry,// Sam thought. //Or am I? He strikes me as the uncommunicative type, and so does Control. Maybe this is a communication problem.// Sam sat down in a chair across from the sofa where McCall lounged confrontationally. "Am I supposed to know why you're angry at me?" Sam asked finally. McCall perceived it as crass to end all, not to mention condescending. Both of his eyebrows raised incredulously, and then he leaned forward on the couch to hold Sam's eyes with a look of utter contempt. "Did you invite me in here to provoke me? If you did, you'd better know straight away that I am not in a good mood and I just might decide to take exception to your rudeness." It was an interesting threat. Sam got the impression it was rarely made, and that it was unwise to annoy McCall too deeply. "I'm not trying to provoke you," Sam said. He saw the sincerity hit McCall like a slap across the face. "I just want to know what I'm supposed to do." McCall sat back, obviously not expecting a naked appeal like that. His anger faded to reveal pain and sadness. "There's an interesting thing to say," McCall murmured. "Asking me what you're supposed to do." His anger flared again, from a pain too deep to cope with. He stood up suddenly. "I think I would rather not stumble around in your moral gray areas," he said angrily. "Your own cowardice is something I refuse to address." He moved toward the front door with a determined stride. Sam got up quickly and intercepted him, holding his arm. "Robert, please, I'm trying to work this out." He realized as soon as he touched McCall that it was the wrong thing to do; McCall jerked out of his grasp and fixed a glare on him. But in the next instant the anger was gone again, replaced by confusion and wonder. //Who are you?// "You haven't called me Robert since that night," McCall said quietly, staring at him. //Don't ask him "what night?"// Sam reminded himself. //Just shut up and let him talk it out.// Sam gazed at him calmly, holding the gray eyes. Meeting the stare was difficult; McCall's soul was in it, every dark night, every death, every heartache and regret and night alone in bed wondering why he was doomed to a life by himself. "What is it about you," McCall said, frustrated beyond the ability to keep his feelings in, "that you can pretend that nothing happened, that you can even act like I'm making it up?" The rejection was clear in the shaking voice, the unendurable loneliness and confusion and hurt making Sam want to do something to help him. But he wasn't even sure yet what was going on, and he needed the information badly. "I suppose it was my own bloody damned fault for letting it happen in the first place, but I didn't suspect anything! What was I supposed to think after the way you acted all day, the way you looked at me and spoke to me? I'd given up hope we could ever have anything like that together! And then...five months ago..." The astonishment McCall had felt that day came through now with fresh clarity, giving light to his eyes and an awful, tense longing that made Sam's stomach wrench in empathy. "You came to my room that night and changed my sadness into unimaginable joy..." McCall looked away, still in awe of the events. "My God," he laughed, "my God, nobody is ever blessed like that. I know that what we had that night was no deception on your part, and certainly not on mine." The voice hardened suddenly, filled with rage. "If you were going to feel guilty about it you should have thought of that beforehand and at least had the balls to not leave my bed before morning and then pretend for ever after as if nothing had happened!" The accusation was a vicious hiss. "Good night, Control, and I hope you have pleasant, guilt-free dreams!" He left the house before Sam could recover from his shock enough to stop him. The front door closed with a slam. Sam rubbed at his face. "Oh, boy," he whispered. "This just got real complicated," came Al's quiet voice from behind him. Sam whirled around. "How long have you been here?" he asked. "I heard McCall's little speech," Al said, still solemn. He looked down at the handlink and punched a few buttons on it. "I think Control and I are going to have a little talk." "Al," Sam said. "Go easy on him, will you? I know you're not wild about homosexuality..." Al gazed at him, eyes dark. "I know the difference between love and lust, Sam," Al said quietly. "Control will be making the biggest mistake of his life if he lets his relationship with McCall go down in flames. That's why you're here." Sam looked away. "I know. But it looks like you're the one who needs to fix it." "Don't kid yourself, Sam. We have to do this together. McCall is going to take some gentleness before he'll warm up to the idea that Control might be able to get serious. They've both been hurt a lot by this. Control needs me, but McCall needs you." "See if you can find out for me where McCall lives," Sam said. "I don't think Control will be forthcoming." Al spent a few moments on the handlink. "That's easy to find; he's a private citizen. Lives in TriBeCa. Lemme pull up the number..." Project Quantum Leap, Stallions Gate, New Mexico, 12 Jul 1998: Control had gone outside again, out on the observation deck to lean on the stone walling and look out over the desert. It was dark now, the sky clear and black like the blackest ink. The stars were thick and sharp like a fine splattering of light across the heavens, the brightest constellations blazing in the night as if recounting a history older than man's comprehension. He heard the door to the facility open, and the footsteps that came out to him. Al leaned up against the stone next to him. "We know why Sam's here now," Al said quietly. Control looked at him. "A little while after you and I left the Imaging Chamber, McCall paid a visit to your place. Sam didn't know; he was so ignorant that even his own sincerity and innocence weren't enough to keep McCall from getting angry at him -- at you." Control looked away. "I don't know what you're talking about," Control said. "It's not gonna do you any good to hold out on me now," Al said, his voice firm. "I _don't_ know what you're _talking_ about," Control repeated, giving Al a look so vicious that it should have ended the matter. Al, on the other hand, was no stranger to vicious looks. He'd gotten plenty of them in Hanoi as a prisoner of war. With Sam, it was generally enough for Al to be persistent in getting his point across. But Control was not so malleable or compassionate a person, and he knew that Control would only respect and respond to the forcefulness and fire that Al showed so seldom. Al reached over swiftly to grab a fistful of Control's shirt and jacket, pushing the man around to face him. "Five months ago, for whatever reason and out of whatever feelings, you seduced McCall. The next day you acting like nothing had happened. Since then you've refused to talk about it and you engage in sadistic mind games with him because you don't have the guts to admit you love him!" The doe-brown eyes flamed at him, threatening something far worse than violence or brutality. Control let out a rough growl and looked away. "Don't act like you understand my position," Control said in a low, edged voice. "It's insulting." Al let go of him. "I know you're ashamed of how you feel," he said. "It's probably normal, considering your circumstances." "You don't know how I feel," Control spat. "You consider yourself a heterosexual man, don't you? You love women, you love having sex with women?" Al nodded. "Sure I do. I mean, who doesn't..." He closed his mouth when he realized what he had said. Control sneered at him. "That's what I used to think about myself," Control said. "I denied what was happening between McCall and me for a long, long time. But the truth can only be suppressed for so long, and one night, when I was lonely and horny and in a mood that has characterized my life before -- playfully dangerous -- I went to him and took what I wanted." His jaw worked silently for a moment, and Al was silent, riveted by the bright, almost feverish glitter in Control's eyes. The man's voice was guttural and deep; a voice he remembered. "You and Sam have a friendship like few others. You share a profession, an intelligence, a sense of matching that makes your lives complete and full. Robert and I have that -- used to have that. Try to imagine waking up one morning and realizing that you are in love with Sam and you want to, you have to, have him or you know you'll go insane. It's been haunting you for months, years, in dreams and nightmares, disrupting your work and your life to the point that you can barely get out of bed in the morning." Control moved close to him, causing Al to back up one step, and Control continued the slow, pressing advance. "I'm talking about fucking, Al, I'm talking about making love to him, kissing him, touching him, wanting to know and taste every inch of his body and suck his cock until he comes hot and wet into your throat. That's what I'm talking about and _don't_ pretend you understand it!" Control turned away from him tensely, stalking over to the end of the observation balcony. He looked down at his hand, reminded again of the bond he shared against his will. He cursed viciously and put both hands on the stone wall, his back to Al. "You sound like you speak from experience," Al commented neutrally. "I speak from wanting," Control spat. "From imagining, from dreaming and aching..." He paused to collect his breath. "But the experience is there, too, yes." He bowed his head. "That night five months ago was complete...it was everything I'd wanted, everything I could have asked for. Every pleasure, every delight...the warmth of him against me, inside me..." He made a pained noise. "His astonishment was so bright in his eyes when he realized why I had come to his room. I never saw anything like it before...and haven't since. When I kissed him it was the fulfillment of his own lonely, aching nights alone in the darkness, the blinding days of emptiness and cold reminders that love could never be ours." His voice softened. "But in that night there was no tomorrow, no daylight, no sun telling us to wake up from our dreams. Nothing but the bed and the warmth and the eternal moment of being together." Al approached him quietly, moving up to stand beside him at the wall, saying nothing and watching Control move through a lifetime's regret in a few seconds. It clutched at him like a living creature trying to hold onto its existence, but the pain was too great and it broke through. Control lifted his head up, eyes tightly shut. His face was wet, tears streaked down his cheeks. "I made a mistake," he sobbed angrily, defeatedly. "I made a mistake and I want my life back to live over again. Oh, God, how could I have done this?" "It's not too late," Al said intensely. "That's why you got us. You helped this Project come into being, and now it wants to repay a debt to you. You just have to trust. Trust us; Sam and me. Trust yourself. I know you're strong enough to do this." "Obviously I wasn't before if you're here now," Control said softly, his eyes open now and gazing up into the star-flecked darkness. Control's house, New York City, 25 Feb 1990, 7:34pm: Sam had intended to go to McCall's house, to try to do something to heal the rift between him and Control. But he was still sitting on the sofa where he had sat down three hours before. There was something gapingly missing in his understanding of the situation; he wasn't Control. He didn't feel the man's true intent, couldn't empathize with him enough to ever hope to persuade a man as keenly intelligent and fiercely stubborn as Robert McCall. McCall had known Control for decades; knew his voice and his mannerisms and his demeanor. Knew when he was lying, and when he was not. Sam needed Control's help to do this. The approach had to be Control's, the words had to be his. The plea had to be his. But then why did Sam have to be the one here, in Control's life? Was Control so afraid, so anguished, that he didn't have the strength to do it himself? Did he need the support of Sam to act for him, and Al to be his confidante? Control and Al already knew each other, though Sam didn't know how deeply. This Leap had already told him that the relationship was more complex than he had originally assumed. Control had loved McCall for a long time, loved him fiercely and completely. It had been a pure emotion, bound in friendship, affection and sensuality. But the sexual bond was impossible for Control to reconcile. He could not cope with the shame and fear it brought him to realize suddenly and eternally that he was bisexual, and that the joy of sexual union with another man was part of his nature and his destiny. And yet he had not been able to escape the sweetness of dreams about Robert, either. Nightmares, too, tormented him. Nightmares of abandonment, of betrayal and death. Nightmares of being alone. Loneliness. The unexpected ache of it made Sam gasp softly and close his eyes. Oh, that feeling he was too well acquainted with. In that loneliness, in that love and heartache, Control had visited Robert in a hotel room during the night, surprising the other man with his presence and then shattering his reality in a matter of seconds. The night that followed had been the indulgence of a fantasy, the fulfillment of a dream for both of them, everything sweet beyond words until blessed sleep claimed them. When the dawn broke the next morning, McCall had awakened to find himself alone again. Sam shivered, wondering what he was waiting for. It was as if he expected some kind of sign, an event, an appearance of the breakthrough that would mark the place where Control's life diverged from its original path and finally achieved freedom. The Imaging Chamber door opened in front of him, a moment of blinding blue-white light in the shape of a rectangle. This time the dark silhouette was of two people entering his world. Control and Al came toward him into the room, the door of light closing behind them. Control had his hand on Al's shoulder, keeping the physical contact that was required for Control to be included in the holographic transmission that was locked into Sam's electroencephalograph pattern. "We had our little talk," Al said, the flippancy of the words themselves robbed by the low voice they were spoken with. Control's eyes were haunted and feverish. It was a look that Sam could easily interpret; Control was utterly terrified by the thought of confronting his own shame and anguish, and was yet also euphoric at the notion of finally gaining Robert's love and companionship. "You have to help me," Sam said, directing this plea to Control himself. "Robert knows you intimately, and I can't possibly persuade him based on who I am. I have to learn how to be you. How to talk like you and act like you, to know what you know. More importantly, I have to speak with your words; you have to tell me what to say. And, somehow, I have to be able to understand what you're feeling, or the words will be empty." Control came toward him, his hand still firmly gripping Al's shoulder as Al accommodated his motion. Control knelt down on the floor in front of Sam, and Al also sank to his knees, a silent witness. "Al says sometimes you...mentally bond with the people you Leap into," Control said, "that you sometimes hold their memories and talents and skills as a byproduct of exchanging places with them. You...experienced some of my emotions when you first transposed with me, though I'm still not clear on what you felt..." Sam looked away from him, embarrassed to tell even the original owner of the emotions about their intensity. "I only remember them as pure feelings," Sam said. "Not memories exactly...not in the conscious sense. I felt...ashamed, overwhelmingly ashamed of something that was true about myself that I didn't want to be true. I felt aching regret for something I had done that I was too afraid to change. And...longing." Sam swallowed. "An empty, desperate longing for something I knew was beyond my reach forever and I couldn't live without. I wanted to die." Control sighed, trying to resist the impulse to crush his own response to the familiar anguish Sam was describing. He intended to heed Al's stern advice: //You can't rely on old habits. To break free of this you have to be willing to take emotional risks.// Consequently, he bowed his head in acknowledgement of the pain it caused him to remember, yet again, the wonderful night he had had with Robert five months ago and his subsequent decision to act as if that night had never occurred. "Al has explained to me how we can conduct allowing me to talk to Robert through you," Control replied, his voice subdued. "It's something I don't think I would be able to do by myself, but with you as the front, Robert won't actually be talking to me. And...with both of you here I think I can do this." He took a deep breath. "Tell me exactly what happened when Robert came over here today." He wanted to steel himself against it, but did not. He listened to Sam relate the conversation, the details of McCall's demeanor, his attitude and body language. Control could easily visualize all of it, could hear the resonant, English voice speaking to him with resentment and bitterness. // Sam got up quickly and intercepted him, holding his arm. "Robert, please, I'm trying to work this out." He realized as soon as he touched McCall that it was the wrong thing to do; McCall jerked out of his grasp and fixed a glare on him. But in the next instant the anger was gone again, replaced by confusion and wonder. //Who are you?// "You haven't called me Robert since that night," McCall said quietly, staring at him. // Control made a noise and closed his eyes. In his compassion and innocence, Sam had done something that Control never would have; reached out in a moment of vulnerability. The result also awed him; Robert had paused and -- for just a moment -- responded to the love in it. But Robert's outburst was more what Control had expected. The real horror in it was that it was influenced by Sam's kindness to him; it revealed a brutal honesty that Control had not seen in him since the night they made love. // You came to my room that night and changed my sadness into unimaginable joy. My God...my God, nobody is ever blessed like that. // Agony, searing agony at this revelation. //Robert! God, Robert I wish I had been there to hear you say that, but I know I would have just fucked it up like I did before.// // "If you were going to feel guilty about it you should have thought of that beforehand and at least had the balls to not leave my bed before morning and then pretend for ever after as if nothing had happened! Good night, Control and I hope you have pleasant, guilt-free dreams!" // Vicious, crushing shame burned him, making him hide his eyes from Sam and Al. Control's grip of Al's shoulder was tight, almost uncomfortable. Al realized another, newer reason behind the emotion. //He's ashamed of the way he's treated Robert,// Al thought. //He ought to be, too.// "What do I have to do?" Sam asked, gently breaking into the black chasm of Control's pain and grief. Control drew a deep breath and forced himself to look up into Sam's eyes. His own face stared back at him, yet it was not him. Sam's presence in the body had made it his own. Control wondered if Al had seen as much of him in Sam's body these past hours. "You have to remember what happened to me," Control said softly. "You've remembered my anguish. You can also remember what happened in that hotel room five months ago. You need to recall those memories, and learn what it was like for me." "How do I do that?" Sam asked, not at all daunted by the prospect of remembering a homosexual encounter. Al's eyes were wide; he didn't envy Sam this task. Control ignored Al's reaction. Control settled himself on the floor, focusing himself on Sam. He lifted his hand to gesture slightly. "Close your eyes." Sam obeyed. "Go back to the moment you Leaped into me. The pleasure of the masturbation, the flood of release, and the emotions after it. Go into them, embrace them, wallow in them until they become your own. Go back to another day, five months ago..." // ...Robert knew. He had to. The looks he had gotten back from the man; long, indulgent gazes of warmth and curiosity in response to his own longing and affection. There was no resistance, no confusion, no anger in Robert's reaction. Only fondness and sensuous heat. He was lonely, oh...He shivered, hesitating in his previously committed pace down the hotel corridor. Apprehension held him still. Could this be a mistake? Would he be destroying their relationship forever by doing this? No. That answer was obvious to him at this point. Robert's soul was in this, too. Control had only to act upon his own desire, his own love. And it was too strong now to go on denying. It hurt to keep it inside him, to try to pretend he didn't feel it. The ache was very physical; he could easily imagine Robert's mouth on his own, the warmth and power of the man's body against him. He wanted it all so desperately he was here now headed toward Robert's room with the intent of plunging right in. He resumed his walk down the hall. It was not far. Room 816. He knocked. There was a pause, then a call of "Come in" from inside the room. Control entered, finding Robert alone, sitting at the table reading by a single light. He closed the door and locked it, barely aware of Robert's puzzled expression. "What is it?" Robert asked. Control went toward him and Robert stood up, the book put down and forgotten on the table. "God forgive me for what I'm doing," Control whispered roughly as he moved closer. "I can't stop it any longer." McCall blinked, then suddenly knew why Control had come to him. He opened his mouth for an instant as if to say something, his eyes wide with the full, trembling clarity of understanding. Control reached out for his face with strong, shaking hands and pressed up against his body to kiss him hard on the mouth, devouring him with a lifetime of yearning... ...Robert was kissing his throat feverishly, his breath hot and quivering. Control writhed in the powerful embrace of the man's arms, completely lost in the ecstasy of the sensual attention. Robert bit him sharply, and he cried out in delight. One of Robert's hands came up to begin unbuttoning Control's shirt quickly. "I want to find out," Robert murmured, "if you really are as sensitive to being touched as I think you are." Control purred and started to help him remove his clothes... ...Robert couldn't get enough of touching him. The man's hands explored every feature of his body, every texture, every line and bone and muscle. Robert liked biting him, and he loved being bitten. "Thomas, I love you," Robert whispered. "I love you..." Robert's hands lingered around his cock, which was tense and aching. It twitched at the contact of Robert's fingers and palms, making him flinch. Robert stroked him gently, the pleasure of it flashing through him with waves of heat. "You do like that, don't you," Robert said, his amusement and love enriching his accented voice. Control held onto him desperately. He was flying, free on the wind of the bliss in Robert's hands on his cock. "Get down on the bed, love," Robert coaxed him quietly. "Down on your back." He obeyed, and Robert climbed over him to engulf his cock in the wet heat of his own mouth and tongue. He arched his back and howled... ...The touch of his hands yielded the firm curve of muscles in Robert's arms and chest. He felt the ripple of his pleasure flood down into his cock and he shifted his position on the bed so he could rub himself against Robert's thigh. They were both naked, the physical contact of their bodies like electric current running sharp in both of them. Robert purred gutturally, kissing him with leisurely affection. "Aren't you beautiful," Robert said softly as Control withdrew to nuzzle his throat and shoulder, fascinated by the strength of muscles there. "I want to make love to you," he whispered. Control went very still. "Are you sure?" he asked. "Do you not want to?" Robert asked carefully, sounding disappointed. Control kissed him fiercely. "I want to," he said eagerly, seriously. "I want to." Strong hands caressed up his back, making him shiver involuntarily... ...The pressure inside him receded from pain to become a presence, a sensation of being filled and protected and comforted all at once. He whimpered softly. Robert was on top of him, inside him...inside him! He groaned, the awe of it overwhelming him suddenly. Robert's eyes were so open to him, so trusting, totally immersed in the incredible privacy of the moment between them. "Robert, oh Jesus," Control said, trying not to cry but the tears came anyway. "Oh, Jesus, I love you. God, I love you, I love you..." A gentle thumb rubbed the tears away, and Robert smiled down at him... ...The climax moved quickly toward him, and he slowed his thrusting. "I'll come if I keep doing that," Robert said quietly, a shudder rippling through him. Control's hands rubbed Robert's arms encouragingly. "I want you to," Control said. "Please. I want to feel you come inside me." "Are you sure?" Robert asked, his own tears not yet dry on his cheeks. The weight of love kept inside was too great; they had both wept tonight. "Yes." ...There was a howling cry, probably from both of them... ...Panting exhaustion and elation and love. Love love... ...Waking up briefly in the night to the soft, comforting sound of slow, relaxed breathing from his lover... ...The morning sun flared into his room, waking him up. He sat up on the edge of the bed, in his own room. The full recollection of his night with Robert left him with a chill of astonishment. He felt sick... ...A black weight closed in around him, engulfing him until he could not breathe or move or think without agony... // "Oh God," Sam whispered. "Oh God I remember..." He was crying, tears streaming down his face. He wiped the tears away, his own breaths trembling. Control put a hand over his eyes and was silent for several long moments. Al watched them, watched Control in his stillness, kneeling on the floor trying to keep himself from losing his sanity. Al hesitated, then reached up to put his hand over Control's where it rested on his shoulder. Control didn't react in any visible way, but Al felt the hand on his shoulder tighten in gratitude. "Is this...what it's like to be you?" Sam asked softly. Control drew a deep, carefully temperate breath. "I couldn't tell you," he said with a sigh. He dropped his hand away from his face. "I don't know how much you can really know without having been me for fifty-five years, and without having known Robert as I do. But that night was my greatest joy, and everything after it my greatest misery." There was a knock on the front door. Control turned sharply on his heels, almost losing his balance in his breathless startlement. Sam looked up and Al reacted swiftly to keep from losing physical contact with Control as the man stood up abruptly. "Who is it?" Sam called out. There was a short pause. "It's Robert." Another pause. "Can I talk to you?" "Holy Jesus," Control whispered softly. Too soon! Not enough time to prepare for this... Eternity could not have prepared him enough. Control turned back to look at Sam with a mixture of fear and intense admonition. "Remember," he warned. Sam only ducked his gaze briefly, then got up to answer the door. He opened the door to a very dejected looking Robert McCall. The gray eyes flicked up to make a naked appeal. "I think...I think I may have been a bit...hasty with, uh, what I said earlier." He shifted his weight nervously. "Um, may I come in?" "He never acts like this," Control said in the background. Sam glanced back at him, then stepped away from the door. "Sure," Sam said. McCall entered the house apprehensively. There was no anger in his manner, no tense resentment. He seemed...embarrassed. He moved into the room, toward the sofa close to where Control and Al were standing, watching intently. Control in particular could not keep his eyes off of McCall, who was completely unaware of his presence in the house. "I...realized after I left that I was the one who behaved foolishly. You were...trying to open up to me and I wasn't letting you. I'm sorry." Sam looked at Control, who moved closer. Time to let him take over the conversation. "I wasn't sure what I was trying to do," Control said. "I just know that I can't bear being hated by you anymore. I can't bear waking up in the middle of the night screaming your name and then realizing that I'll never have you." McCall looked at him. "I don't know what to think of you anymore. I don't know whether that night was a moment of weakness...whether you were just curious, or randy, or just insane." Control looked like he might scream. "Curious?" he exclaimed. "Do you think I could have acted like I did if I was just horny?" "I showed you my soul!" McCall said, his entire body emphasizing the ferocity and depth of his words. "I have to be sure!" Control went up to him savagely. "I was there, damn you! I gave you everything I was! I told you things I've never told another living soul! Everything I said to you was true! I love you. I love touching you. I love kissing you. I love lying in the darkness listening to your voice and I wish, God I wish I could have had the guts to stay and watch the sun rise over your body that morning." McCall looked at him for a long time. "Why did you come to me that night?" he asked quietly. Control sighed, rubbed at his face. "So many reasons. I...never knew I could love a man -- sexually, I mean -- until I fell for you. Even when it started happening I wouldn't admit it to myself. I didn't grow up with the possibility that I might be anything other than a ladies man. I learned to hate it, to fear it. But what I feel for you started years ago...a tiny seed of friendship that grew into something so magnificent that finally I had to bow down to it and embrace the reality of being in love with you. That day, that night, was the culmination of thousands of hours of wondering, of hoping, of terror and grief. Of longing. Of lust. I was...at a point in my life then that left me vulnerable to my desires. I was lonely and frustrated and I wanted your company, your friendship. On the way to your room that turned into something resolute. I knew what I had to do. "When it was over I was lying in the dark trying to comprehend what had happened. It was as if someone else had been in my body for those hours. As if the man I was left and the man I wanted to be came in and lived my dreams. I panicked. I left. When I woke up the next morning I realized what I had done, but I was too afraid to face you with it. So I ran away and hid. Denial was the only way I could endure it." McCall was silent for a long moment, gazing at him. It was the first time Control could ever remember seeing him look so completely despondent, his shoulders slumped, his gray eyes empty of everything save grief. "I supposed I can understand your reaction," McCall said finally. "But I wish it hadn't happened like that." Control made a frustrated, angry gesture in the air. "You didn't deserve it," he said fiercely. "You didn't deserve to be treated that way and I'm ashamed of myself for it." "I never expected you to be this open," McCall said softly. "Not about anything, ever." Control stared at him for several seconds, blue eyes fierce. "There is a very basic truth about me you have never known, except on that night five months ago," Control said in a low voice. "My emotional silence is not natural. It's learned. Being in the Company forced me to become this way. My greatest passion is passion. You've seen me when I let go. That's who I am, Robert! I am passionate. I am tempestuous and obsessive and sexually insatiable. I love. I _love_ you. I've been fighting my inner nature for so long, fighting the truth of wanting you, that I decided I don't want to hold onto the denial any more. It hurts too much. Lying in bed at night aching for you hurts too much." "Then let go," McCall urged him. "Let go of it and let me help you make this relationship what it should be." "Sam," Al said quietly. "Ziggy says it's time for you to Leap. Control has to go back to the Waiting Room." Sam turned his head slightly, then looked at McCall. He could feel a tugging at his consciousness; a promise. A reminder. "Could you...excuse me for a couple of minutes?" Sam asked McCall quietly. McCall nodded understandingly. He could scarcely blame the man for wanting a moment to sort things out. He needed a moment or two alone, as well. "Of course." Sam went back into the master bedroom. Al quickly punched into the handlink, opening the Imaging Chamber door, and in a moment they were gone. Project Quantum Leap, Stallions Gate, New Mexico, 12 Jul 1998: Al and Control strode down the corridors of the Project facility. Control was conspicuously silent and brooding. Al glanced sideways at him. "This means it's done," Al said. "Sam's helped you make the crucial turn in events. You can finish this now, and it's only right that you should." Control looked sharply at him as they walked. "Don't worry," Control said scathingly. "Sam's been spared the torture of having to go through with a homosexual act." "That's not what I meant," Al said. "Isn't it?" Control sneered. "You've worried about it from the moment you found out why I'm here." Al was quiet for a few steps. He hadn't realized his feelings were that wide open to the man. They turned a corner. The Waiting Room was just ahead. Control decided to keep his mouth shut, even though he wanted to get angry at Al for his bigotry. He could sense that there was a part of Al that wanted to get past the fear, get past the derisive condescension. But the disdain was still there, mocking him. Mocking who he was, what he felt, what he experienced in his love and desire toward Robert. He hated that, and he hated Al for thinking it wasn't as blindingly obvious as it was. The Waiting Room door opened at Al's command. They went inside. Control walked over to the mirrored table in the center of the main room and looked at himself again. He saw none of Sam in the face, especially the brown eyes. They were his eyes now, burning and sharp. "How's it going, Ziggy?" Control asked, still gazing at himself in the table surface. "Current Leap objective is completed. All indicators are positive for a Leap transference," Ziggy replied. "You should Leap within the next twenty seconds." Control turned to look at Al, who gazed back at him passively. "You will never understand what it is like to be me," Control said. "You will never understand why I love Robert, and why he loves me in return." He felt his consciousness fade, pulled into a white maelstrom of motion and suspension. A gentle presence reassured him he would be okay. Kyle Haight khaight@netcom.com ---------------------------------------------------------------------- This post was about war, racism, intolerance, | No it wasn't! 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