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arfic-l-digest          Sunday, March 4 2001          Volume 01 : Number 007




----------------------------------------------------------------------

Date: Sun, 25 Feb 2001 19:53:41 -0800 (PST)
From: Worlds Away <[e-mail]>
Subject: (arfic-l) FIC: Worlds Away (16b/??)

Title: Worlds Away (Part 16b/??)

Author: M. Bumbarger

Email: [e-mail]

Fandom: New Series Tomorrow People

Rating: PG-13/TV-14

Summary: The Tomorrow People are swept away to a
different world, where they must take up the lives of
their alter-egos and try to find their way home . . .
which won't be easy.

Dedication: To Mandi just because I enjoyed "Slow
Night" so very much!

Disclaimer: The Tomorrow People (Adam Newman, Ami
Jackson, Megabyte Damon, and Jade Weston) are the
property of Roger Damon Price, Thames Television, ITV,
Tetra Television and Nickelodeon. They are used here
without permission, but not for profit. The lands,
countries, customs, deities, and original characters
are mine and mine only, springing from the depths
of my imagination and should not be used anywhere else
without my permission. Please do not repost this to
any list or archive it anywhere else without my
express permission.

Previous parts at
http://www.alternate-realities.net/worldsaway

*****

Chapter Sixteen (continued)

Sitting down at his desk -- and after truly asserting
himself as Lord Marmion today, Megabyte didn't see any
reason not to think of the things in this world as his
- -- Megabyte opened Marmion's journals. It was past
time that he started keeping a record of his own, it
might be the only way to keep himself sane; and, if
they should ever be back on earth it would be a record
for Lord Marmion Ruele to know exactly how much
Megabyte had managed to turn the man's life upside
down. The changes, from ending that disgraceful affair
with Sarena to the public building of a friendship
with Lady Jadina, were for the better, but Megabyte
didn't think that Marmion would ever see it that way.

Jade had been nearly as surprised as Legan, Sarena,
and the poor bewildered groom by the turn in events
that afternoon. He'd had to wait nearly half-an-hour
for her to arrive at the stables, because she
absolutely had to change into her riding habit, and
then it had been another nearly half-an-hour before a
kitchen girl appeared with a sack containing
provisions for the afternoon and water sacks. Even he
didn't know why he had decided to pull Jade away from
her duties as lady of the Keep, and the scowls that he
received from his mother when Lord Marmion and Lady
Jadina arrived for dinner told him that it had not
been appreciated. But he had done it, and all in all,
it had not been a bad afternoon.

At first, however, Jade had to dress him down by
informing him, quite primly, "You do realize that the
entire kitchen staff thinks that you've gone quite
mad? By dinner time, it will be all over the Keep that
Lord Marmion has taken leave of his senses."

"Jade, ask me if I care," had been his laughing
retort. That had been the end of that, and for a few
hours they had put aside their names and titles and
simply been Megabyte and Jade.

Quill in hand, dipped in the inkwell, Megabyte paused.
He caught himself on the verge of chewing on the
feather end of the quill and smiled at the almost
action. At least some things did not change, even
here. Where to start? What to write? The past few
weeks would require a lot of words, and he didn't
pretend to know where to begin.

From the beginning, a little voice whispered in the
back of his head, and that sounded good enough to
Megabyte. He would start with the first day, the first
moment that he arrived here and go forward from there.
Although it sometimes seemed hard for him to remember
what was the first day, sometimes it seemed like there
were thoughts and memories just beyond his reach that
didn't belong to him, but would if he could just wrap
his fingers around them. The fine line between
Megabyte Damon and Marmion Ruele was becoming less
fine and the sooner he put the words to paper the
better.

He was just preparing to write out the first words
when a knock sounded on the door.

Megabyte looked up in annoyance, wondering who would
be knocking at his bedchamber door at this late hour?
He had already bid Legan good-night and Sarena . . .
well, if the look on her face this afternoon was any
indication, the woman had finally gotten the message
and would steer clear of Marmion until 'his lordship'
was ready to deal with her. Which, if Megabyte had
anything to say about it, would be never.

"What?" Megabyte snapped out, his attention turning
towards the door. He had no intentions of getting up
and answering it, and hopefully he sounded annoyed
enough that any foolish servant would simply scamper
away unless it was a matter of life and death.

"Marm?" The door opened a narrow crack, Jade's blonde
head peeking inside, "Can I come in for a minute? I
mean, if you're not too busy?"

"No, come on in." Closing the journal, Megabyte put it
aside. His thoughts would keep, but it was pretty
clear that Jade had something on her mind. He could
think of no other reason that she would be here,
coming into his bedchamber this late at night. "What's
up?"

She stepped fully into the bedroom, pulling the door
closed behind her. Jade wore only her nightdress over
which was thrown a robe, her everyday shoes peeking
out from beneath the hem of the pristine white night
clothes. Megabyte was surprised by the brief stab of
surprise that she would actually wander the keep
corridors barely dressed, and then checked himself at
the thought. Jade was perfectly well dressed and
covered for their world, but perhaps he was becoming
more a part of this world than he had previously
thought.

"I was just," Jade shrugged, and sank to the couch,
holding her robe tightly closed in one fist and
smoothing the layers of her nightdress with the other
hand, "I couldn't sleep."

"Join the club," Megabyte leaned back in his chair,
stretching his legs. "What's bothering you?"

"This!" Jade threw one hand up in the air, the action
indicating not only Megabyte's bedchamber, but the
entire Keep and probably the entire world as well. "I
mean, what are we doing here? I know, I know we keep
talking about it and we don't have any answers, but -
are we still us?"

"Well, kid, last I checked I was still me."

Jade gave him her patented this-is-no-time-for-jokes
stare, tilting her head ever so slightly as she did.
"You know that's not what I meant, Marm. I know that
we're still us, but à well, sometimes, it feels like
I'm really Jadina. I mean, it's like I know her, and I
know who she was and how she felt and . . . " Jade
looked away, clenching her fists in obvious
frustration, shaking her head, "I don't know how to
put it into words to make you understand."

All pretense of jokes aside, Megabyte nodded. "I do
understand."  He crossed to the couch to sit beside
her, raking his hands through his hair and pretending
not to notice the look of wary disbelief that shot out
from Jade's blue eyes.

"I mean it, Jade. I get it. Sometimes it's almost like
you can remember something, but it's not quite your
memory."

Relief banished the wariness and Jade nodded
excitedly. "Like we really are them, only we aren't
because we can still remember earth and the Ship and
things like chips and ice cream and computer games,
but it seems so far away at the same time."

"But it's not, it's only been four weeks," Megabyte
hesitated a moment before reaching out to wrap his arm
comfortingly around her shoulder. "And you're still
Jade Weston and I'm still Megabyte Damon and we'll get
home someday and everything will be normal again."

"But you don't know that," Jade leaned into him,
tilting her head back to look into his face. "You and
Adam keep saying that, but you don't know that. We
could be stuck here forever. We could never go home
again."

"Or, we could go home tomorrow. There's no way to
know, Jade."

Jade looked away, lowering her head to his shoulder,
"I hate not knowing."

"Me too, kiddo." Before he quite registered what he
was doing, Megabyte had dropped a kiss onto the top of
her head. It was chaste, it was platonic, but it
startled them both, Megabyte could tell by the shiver
that ran through Jade's body, could tell by the way he
suddenly caught his breath. He waited, waited for her
to look at him - all hopeful and adoring, but she
never did. She simply sighed quietly against him,
drawing her feet onto the couch and settling more
comfortably against him.

[Can I stay here awhile, Marm?] She wasn't reassured,
Jade was far from reassured, Megabyte could hear it in
her mental voice, could feel the sadness and confusion
that played through her. [I just don't want to be all
alone right now.]

[Sure. Stay as long as you want.]

[Thank you.]

This time he knew exactly what he was doing when he
parted her hair and let his lips linger on her scalp.
Not a romantic endearment, or suggestive flirting of
any sort, just a gesture of comfort and affection
shared between friends. [You're welcome.]

Half an hour later, she was sleeping soundly.

And that was precisely where and how Legan found them
in the morning.

****
TBC. . .

=====
*********************************************
Worlds Away
http://www.alternate-realities.net/worldsaway
*********************************************

__________________________________________________
Do You Yahoo!?
Get email at your own domain with Yahoo! Mail.
http://personal.mail.yahoo.com/

- -
 To unsubscribe to arfic-l, send an email to "[e-mail]"
 with "unsubscribe arfic-l" in the body of the message.
 For information on digests or retrieving files and old messages send
 "help" to the same address.  Do not use quotes in your message.

------------------------------

Date: Sun, 25 Feb 2001 19:55:13 -0800 (PST)
From: Worlds Away <[e-mail]>
Subject: (arfic-l) FIC: Worlds Away (16c/??)

Title: Worlds Away (Part 16c/??)

Author: M. Bumbarger

Email: [e-mail]

Fandom: New Series Tomorrow People

Rating: PG-13/TV-14

Summary: The Tomorrow People are swept away to a
different world, where they must take up the lives of
their alter-egos and try to find their way home . . .
which won't be easy.

Dedication: To Mandi just because I enjoyed "Slow
Night" so very much!

Disclaimer: The Tomorrow People (Adam Newman, Ami
Jackson, Megabyte Damon, and Jade Weston) are the
property of Roger Damon Price, Thames Television, ITV,
Tetra Television and Nickelodeon. They are used here
without permission, but not for profit. The lands,
countries, customs, deities, and original characters
are mine and mine only, springing from the depths
of my imagination and should not be used anywhere else
without my permission. Please do not repost this to
any list or archive it anywhere else without my
express permission.

Previous parts at
http://www.alternate-realities.net/worldsaway

*****

Chapter Sixteen (continued)

Legan recalled a time when he had not disliked his
lord. He recalled a time when he had been quite fond
of the boy, a laughing and exuberant child who had
once been horrified to watch a groomsman end the life
of a lame horse and who had insisted that groomsman be
dealt with harshly for his actions. It had taken Lord
Bial, Lady Margot, Queen Carrina and King Martine to
convince the boy that it had been the best they could
do for the poor beast. Of course, stubborn Marmion
hadn't believed it until his cousins had a bout of
fisticuffs to beat the idea into his head.

Often times Legan wondered what had happened to that
young man. Perhaps it had been over indulgences of his
parents, Lady Margot had lost so many babes before
bringing Marmion into the world, and he was the sole
heir to Elspera Keep, the sole male to pass his name
and heritage on to keep House Ruele alive and strong.
His mother and father had both doted upon him far too
much, and when he was being honest with himself, Legan
would admit that he had done it as well, and perhaps
together they had doted all the sweetness out of the
child.

Somehow that didn't seem entirely possible, however.
His Highness was still well mannered and had the same
strong, good heart that he had possessed as a child
when he and Marmion and Hagen had nothing better to do
with their time than practice sword fighting with
large sticks and peek under the dresses of the kitchen
maids. And while Lord Hagen's interest in women was
well known, he was still looked upon fondly and did
not have the sour disposition that Marmion did.

But these days, it seemed that something was happening
inside that thick skull of Marmion's. The boy actually
seemed to be re-developing the conscience that he had
lost at some point in time, and he seemed to be
growing into the personality that would make a fine
lord and House Head when that day came. Perhaps Lord
Bial and Lady Margot had been correct, perhaps getting
Marmion away from the Keep where he spent so much time
with his head above the clouds, and forcing him to get
to know his wife, all under the pretense of doing
business for the king, had forced the man to get more
in touch with himself.

Or maybe he had merely slipped and hit his head too
hard at some point in time.

Still, while surprising, it had been good to see him
dismissing that two-faced tart and spending some time
with his wife. While it was true that the two might
never be married in anymore than name only, it made
Legan think there was hope for Marmion that he would
actually befriend his wife.

And he felt that it was past time that it had been
done.

The Lady Jadina may have come into her own since
moving into Elspera Keep, but there were times when
she still showed herself as the shy, na∩ve first
daughter of House Zentil. Raised to be the perfect
lady, and probably the prettiest of the Lord Gunter
and Lady Penelope's daughters -- although there was
still time for the other girls to grow into their
looks -- this had been her parent's plan for her since
birth. Jadina, unlike her sisters, would not be
married into one of the lower houses, but into a House
with influence, a House with blood more closely tied
to the Lion Throne. What Lord Gunter lacked in
ambition, his wife made up for tenfold, and so it was
that Lady Jadina had come to them. Come to a man who
did not wish to be married to girl he considered no
more than a child, with blood barely thick enough to
be considered royal by Marmion's standards.

But, by the same token, Lord Bial and Lady Margot
would have taken no girl from any of the higher
Houses; a threat to their rank among the Houses was
not something they would abide by. Contrary to what
Marmion thought, he had always been destined to marry
a daughter of House Zentil; he was lucky that he had
gotten the prettiest of the bunch.

As was his tradition, Legan knocked twice before
throwing open the doors to Marmion's bedchamber. He
didn't care who or what company the young lord was
keeping; if it was not the young woman chosen to bear
his heirs, then it was of no consequence. Although he
could only hope that his lord had truly decided to be
done with Sarena once and for all.

Few things surprised Legan. Even fewer caused him
embarrassment and left him at a loss of words. What he
saw upon entering Lord Marmion's bedchamber did both.

On the couch in the outer sitting room, sleeping as
though she belonged there, was the Lady Jadina. But
that was not what caused him surprise; that was not
what caused him to feel suddenly as if he had walked
in something that he should not have, that left him
gaping for his voice and the words to say. No, what
caused that effect was the remainder of the scene
spilled out before his eyes. Lady Jadina was not alone
on the couch, but rather she lay beside her husband,
Lord Marmion's body spooned up behind hers, his arm
wrapped around her waist and his face buried in her
hair.

Legan's first thought had been that Lady Jadina slept
as though she belonged there, and from the looks of
things, perhaps she did.

As the shock slowly faded away, Legan realized that
perhaps standing in the entryway gaping was not the
wisest move. He moved to back into the corridor, to
announce his presence a bit more loudly, but it was
not quickly enough to stop one of the other servants
from sweeping inside the chamber, not quickly enough
to warn the woman away before she gave a surprised and
startled yelp, the water pitcher she carried crashing
loudly to the floor.

Lord and lady jerked suddenly awake, both of them
bolting upright at the sound. Legan caught Marmion's
blue eyes focused accusingly on him, until the serving
woman began to babble apologies, trying to mop up the
spilled water with the hems of her skirts. Lady Jadina
bolted away from the couch, away from her husband,
looking like a startled animal, her face flushed
redder than her husband's hair.

"Leave it," Legan barked at the serving woman, "Go get
another pitcher."

The woman did even wait for Marmion's nod of dismal
before she darted out, Legan closing the doors behind
her. Closing them just in time to catch Lady Jadina as
she tried to flee out of them as well.

He properly averted his eyes, but his body remained in
her path of escape. "My lady can not wander the Keep
halls this morn dressed like that."

"Oh." The voice was the tiniest of squeaks, reminding
Legan again of the youth and naivete of Marmion's
child bride. "But I have to --"

"Here," Marmion spoke up, his voice followed by a
rustling of material, the loud shuffling of feet as
bodies moved about.

Legan blinked in surprise as Lady Jadina was placed in
his line of sight, fully covered in one of Marmion's
cloaks. "See that she gets to her chambers, all right,
Legan?"

"Certainly, my lord." Legan nodded to Marmion,
although the young lord had already turned away from
him, his attention on his wife.

Because they spoke no words, the smile that suddenly
broke out across Lady Jadina's face seemed to have no
place and no reason. But she did smile and as she did
so, Marmion turned away, dismissing Legan with a nod,
"And be quick about it. I need to meet with the Duke
of Rigora very shortly."

Legan felt his eyebrows rise clear to his hairline, a
thousand unasked questions forming in his brain. But
it wasn't his place to ask them, at least not in the
presence of Lady Jadina, so he simply turned and did
as he was told.

Her equilibrium recovered, Lady Jadina walked with her
head held high, although Legan did notice that some
splotches of pink still clung to her cheeks.

"My lady!" Sarena rushed up to Lady Jadina, her eyes
widening in shock and disdain as she took note of the
clothing - or rather lack of clothing - worn by the
girl. "Where have you - you are -"

"Cold," Lady Jadina supplied with a rueful smile.

"You were not in your chambers -"

"I slept elsewhere," tiny splotches of pink dotted her
cheeks again as she said the words, but she kept her
head held high. She gave Legan a smile and nod before
turning and walking away, "Thank you for your
assistance, Legan. But I'm certain my husband wants
you back, and I am safely in Sarena's capable hands."

Legan didn't share Jadina's belief when he saw
understanding and the implications of her words dawn
in Sarena's eyes. He certainly discounted any use of
the word safe as Sarena's face drained of all blood,
her eyes growing hard as she glared at the back of her
lady's head.

With a firm grip on Sarena's shoulder, Legan hissed in
her ear. "She is the lady of this keep, and you are
her servant. If you wish to keep your place here, you
best keep your lips sealed and tend to her as you
should."

"Sarena, are you coming?" Lady Jadina paused, looking
back, somehow managing to look bored and annoyed even
when wearing a ridiculously large cloak in the early
morning hours.

Legan released Sarena and turned away, hoping that the
implied threat would suffice. While Marmion may have
earned Sarena's venom, Jadina did not deserve it and
he would not let the girl be hurt or upset because of
her husband's indiscretions.

And if there was any hope at all for that marriage, he
would do everything in his power to encourage it.

*** End of Chapter Sixteen


=====
*********************************************
Worlds Away
http://www.alternate-realities.net/worldsaway
*********************************************

__________________________________________________
Do You Yahoo!?
Get email at your own domain with Yahoo! Mail.
http://personal.mail.yahoo.com/

- -
 To unsubscribe to arfic-l, send an email to "[e-mail]"
 with "unsubscribe arfic-l" in the body of the message.
 For information on digests or retrieving files and old messages send
 "help" to the same address.  Do not use quotes in your message.

------------------------------

Date: Sun, 4 Mar 2001 11:29:36 -0500
From: "Michele Bumbarger" <[e-mail]>
Subject: (arfic-l) FIC: Worthwhile Risks (1/1)

TITLE: Worthwhile Risks

AUTHOR: Renay Walker & Michele Mason Bumbarger

EMAIL: [e-mail], [e-mail]

TV FANDOM: New Series Tomorrow People (sort of)

SUMMARY: Allan thinks about things. (Trust us, that's all we can say without
giving it away!)

RATING: PG-13

ARCHIVE: Alternate Realities, anyone else please ask.

AUTHORS' NOTES: And it's another collaboration between us. Michele gets
quirky weird idea, needs Renay's character, and of course, we encourage one
another's madness. This is not related in any way, shape or form to any of
Renay's adult serials, however, it does borrow a character from the Crash
series. This is an alternate universe where things are different. Oh, just
read it. And yes, this is the start of another serial. (No, Renay hasn't
forgotten the other ones, but Renay's a busy bee right now, so give her a
break.)

DISCLAIMER:  If you recognize 'em, we don't own 'em :-)  Seriously, the
characters of Adam Newman and Ami Jackson do not belong to either of us.
They are the property of Roger Damon Price, Thames/Tetra Television and ITV.
They are used here without permission but not for profit. The characters of
Allan Darby, Bruce and Dr. Jones do belong to us, and we ask that you ask
nicely if you really have the urge to borrow or use them elsewhere.

****

Allan Darby could get fired over this. There were rules and there were
ethics and he had gone and thrown every single one of them out of the
window. He was risking his job, risking his placement in the Master's
program, risking filling the mold that his father had cast him into so long
ago, the mold that he would never do anything, never be anything, always and
forever a waste of space. All of it for the soft warm body that lay curled
up beside him, her head resting on his chest, one arm thrown possessively
over his waist. All of it for the soft rise and fall of her chest as she
slept, the glimmers of a smile on her face even in sleep. All of it for a
co-ed, barely twenty-one and barely tested, but with such intellect and
promise that only a fool wouldn't have noticed what she could become one
day, if she had the patience and the tutelage, if she decided that she
wanted it.

Barely twenty-one, barely experienced but still able to touch that something
inside of himself that he thought he had buried deeply, sealed away and
forgotten about. A single smile from her and he was blinded, a single glance
and the light from her eyes dimmed everything else in the room. He'd had
boyfriends; he'd had girlfriends. Allan had had lovers from one end of the
spectrum to the other, the shy and demure, the outgoing and outrageous, but
none of them, except Bruce and damn he tried hard not to think about Bruce,
packing the man away in one of those hermetically sealed compartments of his
mind where the memories of pain and feeling wouldn't touch him, none of them
got to him the way she did.

From the first moment when she turned too fast in the cafeteria, the corner
of her shoulder bag swinging out and knocking his coffee from his hand, and
down the front of his shirt, making him grateful for the first time in years
that the university was unable to make a cup of mouth scalding hot coffee,
something about her had caught his attention. Allan had been more than ready
to bite her head off, already having a terrible day, but something about her
stuttering apologies, the way she scurried around gathering up napkins and
clumsily attempted to wipe away the stain, before realizing that maybe
wiping at the chest of a man she didn't know was a terrible idea, which
immediately resulted in more stuttering apologies until she finally settled
on giving him money for laundry and buying him a new cup of coffee. He had
refused the money, but the coffee she foisted off on him and he was unable
to refuse.

He first noticed her eyes then, when she was attempting to absorb the coffee
stain from his shirt with the recycled brand generic napkins that couldn't
soak up tiny droplets of water nonetheless a full cup of coffee from a
cotton polo shirt, large and dark almond shaped orbs that sparkled with
light and life, even while reflecting her embarrassment and humility. It was
partially those eyes that made him stop before his tirade could begin, those
eyes that made him take stock of the situation, and laugh it off, attempting
to alleviate her awkwardness.

Allan hadn't gotten her name, but it hadn't really been that much of a
concern. She was a random face, albeit a random pretty face, in a sea of
co-eds, and she was clearly a danger to his morning pick me up cup of
coffee.  They exchanged words, hers full of repeated apologies, and he
admittedly continuing to talk only because he liked the sound of her voice,
a clear and crisp English accent on every single word. Then they had gone
their separate ways, with Allan having to endure the teasing of his peers
for a good portion of the afternoon.

She was almost forgotten by the time he saw her again, sitting in the front
left corner of the room when he looked up from calling the role, trying to
put names to the faces of the forty and some odd students that had decided
to brave Dr. Jones' Issues in Society class this semester, despite the
woman's reputation as a shark. Of course, it was always a distinct
possibility that they didn't know the reputation of Dr. Jones, and it was
with that tickling the back of his mind that Allan wondered why he was
taking the time to put names and faces together; wisdom dictated waiting
until the students had their first taste of Dr. Jones, until the ranks had
thinned some.

And yet, he did it every semester so far, with every class, and this one was
no different. Allan had not been expecting to see her, trying hard to look
nonchalant and unaffected as he glanced over to see which student responded
with a demure, "Present," to the question, "Miss Jackson? Ami Jackson?"

She approached him after class, under the pretense of asking a question
about the syllabus, and for once it was an intelligent question, not one
born of boredom and fear of not maintaining a high enough GPA. Question
answered, she lingered, idly fingering the strap of her shoulder bag, the
one that had been the cause of their earlier meeting, apparently torn
between saying something or simply walking away.

He took another question from a brainless co-ed, and when he looked back,
Ami was gone, having slipped out into the throng of milling students.

Two days later, she was back, and this time she mustered the nerve to
approach him after class. She asked if he would grade her objectively
despite the 'coffee-incident,' which later earned him a question and a bit
of ribbing from Dr. Jones, and he smiled and promised to try. Distracted by
other students, Allan hadn't noticed that she remained in the doorway,
instead of leaving the classroom, those dark eyes watching him intently.
Hadn't noticed until Dr. Jones brought it to his attention, simply inclining
her head in the direction of the young woman.

"Something else you needed, Miss Jackson?" Allan was detached, professional.
He was the grad assistant and she was the student. He'd been the target of
crushes of co-eds before, both male and female, he knew that the interest
was waning and that it would pass.

She didn't do the expected. She didn't fluster and stutter, trying to find
an excuse to meet with him outside of classes, no requests for advisement or
a tutoring session. No, she simply fingered the strap of her bag, her eyes
raking him over and making him feel like for a moment that he was the
proverbial bug under the proverbial microscope. "You look like someone I . .
. I knew." There was a catch in her voice as she said the last, a tell-tale
flickering of some deep pain that he knew would leave him forever curious,
but he would never know its cause because that wasn't something people
shared with total strangers.

"I get that a lot," Allan laughed it off, for some reason feeling the need
to banish the shadows that were clouding her eyes, but she wouldn't dismiss
it that easily.

"No, I mean it. You could be his twin."

And it was his turn to feel pain, to feel like the air was being sucked from
the room and from his lungs. She didn't know, she couldn't know, and yet her
words cut him anew, digging into another one of those little compartments
that he tried to leave unopened and untouched. This one had a name, like
they all did, this one called itself Adam, and it belonged to the man who
shared his parentage, and every ounce of his genetic material, a man, who
for all intents and purposes, and reasons that made sense to no one but
Adam, had fallen off the face of the earth.

"I need time," had been Adam's simple explanation as he stood in Allan's
apartment that day, staring off across the skyline. He blamed himself, for
what, Allan didn't know, Adam didn't share that detail, but buried it deeply
inside of himself to deal with, or not deal with, as he chose. "I'm going
away."

"How long?"

A shrug, never looking around at the only person who knew him inside and
out, or had thought that he did until that moment. "Until . until I find
what I'm looking for."

Adam teleported away that day, and out of Allan's life, and it had been two
years to the date since he'd disappeared, two years since that date that Ami
Jackson stood before him, stating with complete simplicity words that made
his blood run cold.

"Well," Allan had shrugged off the feeling of unease, the ghosts of the past
coming back to haunt him, "They say we all have a twin somewhere."

She accepted that, and why wouldn't she? Why shouldn't she? Only Bruce had
known about Adam, and Bruce was back in New York, living the life of the up
and coming artist in the Big Apple. Allan was a continent removed from that,
in a small town in California, at a small private college where he thought
he would just pick up and begin again. No strings, no attachments, nothing
holding him back.

No strings, no attachments, so he made his own. He was drawn to Ami Jackson,
and he couldn't begin to fathom why. He knew that she arrived ten to fifteen
minutes early to class each day, knew that she was always one of the last
students to leave. She had friends that met for breakfast in the morning,
but somehow she still seemed to be alone, even when surrounded by people.
Allan noticed her, noticed her because she wasn't simply in class to sharpen
her GPA, but she was a learner, a true student and he admired that. Her
questions were intelligent and well thought out, her contributions to class
discussion always pushed the discussion along.

Two weeks after the start of the semester, he saw her walking in the rain,
attempting to stay dry beneath the canvas of an umbrella, and offered her a
ride. She settled into the passenger seat of his Jeep, and Allan tried to
focus on the road and the rain, and not on the length of leg that peeked out
from beneath the hem of her skirt, soaked with rain and clinging to her
thighs. He tried not to notice the way the rain had managed to plaster her
blouse to her body, the outline of the lace of her bra and so much more
visible.

By the time he dropped her off in front of her dorm, he had given up
pretense of not noticing her and allowed his eyes to drink in the sight of
her running swiftly up the sidewalk and stairs. The wet skirt clung to her
shapely rear and the sight was gratifying.

The next day during class it had been impossible to keep his eyes off of
her. Ami had done nothing, nothing more than get caught in a rainstorm, but
that short time spent with her in his Jeep, with the briefest of
conversations, made a difference in his perceptions. She was more than
another student, she was a kindred soul; Allan felt her loneliness and
separateness because he had lived too long with that feeling himself.

After class, Ami made an appointment to meet with him to discuss her final
project. She was one in a long line of students to do such, but she was the
only one that he ended up meeting with in the local coffeehouse, buying her
a cappuccino and biscotti and listening to her project proposal while a
local band played. She was the only one he met with the next night, and
every night after that for a week, in the student commons, under the
pretense of further discussing her project, and whiled away the night
talking about anything but.

And Ami was the only one that he kissed goodnight a week later, standing in
the shadows outside of her dorm, each of them giggling and jumping whenever
the door opened or someone walked past.

So it had begun, his secret courtship of Ami Jackson, a relationship that
was wrought with risks and potential problems, but made worth it every day.
They found something in one another, something that she had needed as well,
and Allan wasn't prepared to turn his back on something that felt this
strong and this right and this good.

Ami twisted in her sleep, whimpering anxiously as she sometimes did. In the
morning, she wouldn't remember what plagued her or what her nightmares were,
but they did haunt her. She had her ghosts, those things that she could not
and would not talk to him about, but Allan couldn't fault her for that; he
had his own shades that he was as yet unprepared to deal with. Ami didn't
know about his colorful past, didn't know that his lovers had been men as
often as women had. She didn't know the real reason his father had tossed
him out of his house and disinherited him at the age of sixteen, didn't know
that somewhere out there he really had a twin whom he hadn't seen or heard
from in two years.

She didn't know, and Allan wasn't ready to share just yet. Lowering his
chin, he kissed the top of her head, smoothing a hand over her hair. He
whispered softly to her, words of comfort, smiling as she settled back down,
relaxing into an untroubled sleep.

Well worth the damn risk.

*** End



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------------------------------

Date: Sun, 4 Mar 2001 11:34:32 -0500
From: "Michele Bumbarger" <[e-mail]>
Subject: (arfic-l) FIC: Whispering Shades (1/1) ***NC-17***

I'm posting this for a friend. Send all comments to her at [e-mail]

Title: Whispering Shades

Author: Renay Walker

Email: [e-mail]

Fandom: New Series Tomorrow People (sort of)

Summary: Words spoken sow the seeds of doubt.

Rating: NC-17

Archive: Alternate Realities, anyone else please ask.

Author's Notes: Sequel to "Worthwhile Risks." This will make a lot more
sense if you read that one first. Also, thank you to Michele Bumbarger who
had the brainchild and helped me start and finish this thing up.

Disclaimer:  The characters of Adam Newman and Ami Jackson do not belong to
me. They are the property of Roger Damon Price, Thames/Tetra Television and
ITV. They are used here without permission but not for profit. The character
of Allan Darby, is mine and please don't use him without asking me first.

****

It began with a kiss. The lightest, teasing touch of velvet soft lips
gliding over his cheek, teeth tugging gently at his lower lip before full
lips fell flush against his. It started as a kiss, that even hovering on the
edges of sleep, his body responded to. His mouth opened, lips and teeth
parting to clear the way for the sweet questing tongue that nudged him to
consciousness. Arms and hands moved possessed by memory and wills of their
own to gather the warm, lithe body into his arms, pulling the heated flesh
against his own.

Not an unpleasant way to wake up at all.

Her hands, warm and soft, moved across his skin, touching and stroking,
pinching and scraping their way along paths that were as familiar to her as
the winding, caressing roads his hands traveled on the canvas of her skin.
In the dark of the night, only the moonlight, mingled with the white-yellow
of the artificial street lights penetrated the bedroom, dressing her form in
shadow and light that both hid and revealed. Not that he cared; he didn't
need to see her. His memory told him what he wanted to know, his mind's eye
had long ago burned the image of her, round breasts, flat stomach, curving
hips, into memory forever.

And yet those glimpses that he did see held him captive and gave him pause.
Pause as his eyes were teased with the glimpse of the orb of breast, the
puckering taut nipple before he took it between his teeth, drawing it into
his mouth. Her sharp intake of breath and whimper of pleasure as he suckled
were music to his ears, music which drowned out all other sound. The
tightening of her hands around him, fingers digging into his shoulders were
familiar, possessive touches that reinforced and fueled her need, her
hunger, and his own.

Her hands wandered and played, and he joined her in the moans and whimpers
when those hands closed around his hard shaft, stroking and flexing. Moving
up and down, up and down until his hips began to move in rhythm with her
hand, until he could no longer concentrate on the attentions he should have
been paying to her body and was forced to simply bury his face between her
breasts attempting to control the fire rising within his body and summon the
will to make her stop.

In the end, he didn't have to. As quickly as her teasing torment had begun,
it ended and he looked up in both surprise and disappointment. The
disappointment registered as a frustrated groan, but one that was quickly
dismissed as he recognized the all too familiar lustful gleam in his lover's
dark eyes.

Mouths met hungrily in the darkness of the night, and a gentle push upon his
chest sent him falling back onto the pillows, his delicate dark beauty
straddling his hips. She smiled down at him, her fingernails raking down the
length of his chest, left hand stopping to tug upon the closed loop earring
in his nipple. A ripple of fire and ice, pleasure and pain moved through his
body, and his hips bucked upwards instinctively, his groin tightening in
anticipation, in need, in want.

"Do you want me, Allan?" Her whisper was pure intoxication, as soft as silk
wrapping him in a cocoon as surely as her hand again wrapped around his
shaft. She licked her lips, shifting so that he could feel her, her heat and
wetness against him, so close and yet so very far away as she rocked ever so
slowly against him, raising his hunger. And from the soft shudder she gave
as he moved against her, raising her own as well.

He clutched her hips in answer, yanking her body against his, "Vixen." He
could have taken her had he wanted to, he could have flipped them over and
drove himself home to the place that he desired to be so very much. But he
didn't, because sometimes it was fun to play her games, sometimes it was fun
to let her have her way.

He would have his later.

"But you like it."

If he had wanted to answer her, he would have been unable to. Unable to
because as she spoke, she lowered herself onto him, taking him deep inside
of her tightness and wetness, taking him home to the burning heat that
devoured him body and soul. She settled onto him slowly, almost painfully
slowly, her body accepting all of him with a shudder and soft keening,
fingers digging into his shoulders and holding on as if she would sink into
him totally if she did not anchor herself.

Allan held onto her hips, guiding her, guiding himself, finding his own
anchor in the blissful sweetness of their union.

She rose above him, his Venus de Milo riding above the waves of his body,
open and uninhibited, pure sexuality meant for his eyes and his eyes alone.
Hundreds of tiny braids brushed her shoulders and caressed her back as her
head tilted backwards, her hands splayed against his chest as they moved
together in a natural of rhythm of desire and completion.  She rose up,
nearly parting from him before sliding back down to meet his thrusting hips,
over and over, the two bodies meeting somewhere in the middle time and again
as the entire world spiraled away from him, away from them both.

What started as slow and sweet became faster and frenzied as the heat and
passion between them rose. Allan clutched at her hips, unable to stop
himself and the furious rhythm of his own hips, losing more control as she
met his frenzied desperate pace, as she began to whine and keen in the back
of her throat, her muscles clamping around him. And he melted into her, the
two becoming one, as they fast approached that edge, that endless edge from
which there is no escape and only endless bliss.

In that half of a heart beat before, the world froze, and then -- ecstasy
followed like the wake of a freight train, and he clung to her as she clung
to him, her head thrown back as the tremors of pleasure wracked her frame,
her thighs and inner muscles clamping him like a vice. And it did not stop,
it just seems to go on forever and ever and until Allan was certain that he
might be torn apart from the intensity of it all.

But he was not torn apart, and as the world righted itself again, he found
her sprawled atop of him, their bodies still most intimately attached. She
heaved a sigh, he could feel the rise and fall of her rib cage as she fought
to control her panting, he could feel her heartbeat, as she snuggled in
closer evidently determined to not lose contact with him just yet. Her
breath tickled his throat, her hair tickling his nose.

"Love you - "

And at her words, the world froze again. The world came to complete and
total halt, and instead of feeling himself lulled into satiated contentment,
Allan found himself wide-awake.

Wide awake, with his heart pounding fiercely in his chest, the sound of it
echoing in his ears.

Because she could not have said what he thought she said.

"Love you Adam."

It was his imagination, all in his mind, shades of his past coming back to
haunt him.

There was no reason for her to say that name, to know that name -

His imagination. All in his imagination.

Allan held her and beat back the demons, waiting for the sleep that was long
in coming.

*** End



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------------------------------

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