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“Why does that bother you?” James asked when Matt remained silent, just rubbing his forehead.

“Don’t know. In a way, it doesn’t. I mean, wanting that—to give up control and have someone else
make
me react—is kinda weird in the first place, right? So why should it bug me that I’m not as into it as I thought I was?”

“’S not weird, Matt. Just the way you’re wired. We have hot sex, and I think we’re both into it, so does it matter how we get there?”

“Why am I wired that way?”

“How would I know?” James was starting to sound a little bit irritated, but Matt was fixated on it now. “I can’t tell you where you got the desire to give up control. I think you’re way too focused on why. Maybe it’s just like being gay, maybe there’s a submission gene.”

Matt snorted out a laugh through his nose. “Like one of my parents gave it to me? Jesus, my money’s on my dad. I bet in the bedroom—Gah! What am I saying?!”

James laughed at Matt’s expression of revulsion and horror. “I thought it was kinda funny.”

“Yeah, you won’t the next time you see my dad.” Matt was annoyed with him for laughing. James swallowed uncomfortably, his amusement melting away.

Matt wasn’t ready to give up on the control discussion. “I wasn’t like, abused or anything. The only person in my life who ever really made me feel bad for my sexual preferences was you.”

Matt realized his mistake immediately. James stiffened and started to push off. “James, sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

James froze. “Like what? I can’t be the only guy in Weimer who gave you shit for being gay. It’s got to be one of the last pockets of homophobia left in Oregon.” He sounded annoyed, but not truly pissed.

Matt was more concerned about hurting James than whether he was mad. “You weren’t the only guy. It was just worse with you.” He could sense James’s confusion. “I don’t remember anyone else ever calling me a fag. I’m not saying no one did,” he added quickly. “It’s just that when you did it made me feel awful.” Matt’s turn to shrug. “You were the only guy who was my friend first.” The only guy he’d had a major crush on who turned on him.

“You had a thing for me?” James, of course, picked up on what Matt didn’t actually say.

He sighed. “Yeah,” Matt admitted quietly.

“You know I had a thing for you, right?”

“Um, yeah. Got that.”

This all seemed to settle things for James. He propped himself on his elbows over Matt again, waiting.

“What?” Matt finally broke down and asked.

“So, the control issue….”

“Good lord, what kind of guy are you? You want to
talk
while I’m offering you my ass?”

James laughed. When he sobered a little, he told a disgruntled Matt, “Yeah. You won’t have a good time if you’re worrying about how much control you’re giving me and whether that’s okay, and I won’t be able to
not
know you’re not having a good time.”

Matt rolled out from under him. Suddenly he was pissed. “Great. Now I’m fucking up the sex for you too.” He stalked over to his pack and started to dress.

“’S not your fault, Matt.” James was quiet, but Matt could hear him. “I
want
you to have a good time. I don’t care if you’re submissive or whatever. Doesn’t make me see you any differently.”

Matt made the effort to shut his mind down completely. It was too embarrassing. And made him vulnerable. Because he knew two things were worrying him, and he didn’t want James to know about either. First, how did James see him if Matt’s being submissive didn’t change anything? And second, did Matt’s hesitation to give up complete control mean he didn’t truly trust James?

He knew it was fucked up. If James saw him as weak and—shudder—slightly effeminate because he wanted to be dominated in bed, did that mean James saw him out of bed that way? And if Matt was worried about being seen as weak, why the hell did it bug him that he was afraid he wasn’t acting submissive (i.e., weak) enough?

It was all about trust. He didn’t know who he didn’t trust enough, James or himself.

“James. I just need to think.” He looked back at the bed. James was watching him closely. His expression was that blank, emotionless one he used to cut himself off from everyone. Matt wanted the guy who showed him how he felt back. Jesus, he’d just fucked everything up, hadn’t he?

He walked back to the bed and ran a finger along James’s jaw. “Sorry,” he whispered. He leaned down and kissed James’s cheek. When Matt stood up, he saw something in James’s eyes. Some kind of understanding. Of what, he didn’t know. James gave him a curt nod.

“’S’okay.” When Matt turned away to get his razor, James surprised him by giving him a pat on the ass. He looked back over his shoulder. James quirked a lip at him.

Maybe it really was okay. Matt went in to shave and think about it.

P
EARL
came back at 2200. An hour before they were supposed to leave for check-in. She came not only with supplies to work on Matt’s shoulder, but with miscellaneous tech, a DEW pistol for James and, most ominously, Carmella.

“I need to check how far along you are. I’m going to put a dermaweb on your shoulder and seal it. It looks like you need to leave tonight.” Pearl started talking in a low voice before Carmella had cleared the door.

“What happened?” James wanted to know, instantly alert.

“Mother Superior told us that we’re going to have to billet a government militia strike-team. The advance detail should be here tonight to sweep the convent. The rest should arrive sometime tomorrow. Apparently they’re looking for RIA fugitives.”

“Oh. I suppose that would be us.” Matt had half been expecting this. Really, they’d had more time here than he’d hoped.

James packed quickly for them while Pearl fixed Matt up for hard travel. He’d have to have the dressing opened up once he was out of Idaho, but for the time being his shoulder was all but bomb-proof.

“Can you make me a ballistics suit out of that?”

Carmella hooted, but Pearl seemed to find his humor out of place.

“C’mon, Pearl!” Carmella cried, slapping Pearl on the back so hard Matt had to catch her shoulder to keep her from pitching over the side of the bed. “If you can’t find humor in life-or-death situations, when can you find it?”

James was done long before Pearl was, and Matt thought he actually looked… antsy. Probably tired of shifting his weight by the door, he slipped out to see what was going on.

Pearl started readying injections. “I’m giving you an extra dose of time-release NSAIDs. Then James should again tomorrow evening when you head out. No more nano-menders, though.” She also gave him anti-bionanos, and a nutritive energy boost.

Matt sighed when it was all over. By then he could feel the blood pumping the adrenaline through his veins. He was in a state of hyperawareness. Not the kind he got in the middle of a fight, but the expectant, waiting kind.

This was when he felt the most like a secret agent, half-assed or not. When he was leaving unexpectedly, in the middle (fine—beginning, whatever) of the night, staying one step ahead of enemies, trying to reach that goal line where friends waited to grab him as he raced by, hell for leather.

It made him itchy inside. Made his body hum, excitement soaking into his tissue. Restless, ready to move. “Let’s go.” He got up off the bed before Pearl could finish looking over her handiwork. “It’s fine, Pearl, thank you.” Some impulse made him kiss her on the cheek. He turned to Carmella.

“Don’t touch me.” She was clearly serious about it.

Hands up in front of him, Matt denied he’d even been thinking about it. As they walked out the door, he felt like whooping with his freedom. Finally out of that fucking room—although the fucking had been nice—and headed home.

The trip to the kitchens was sedate as hell. James seemed to vibrate with energy, and Matt thought it was almost killing him to fake the pleasant nighttime stroll. Matt kept one hand wrapped around his forearm to keep him steady. And wondered if it worked.

Before they got there, they had a clear view of the entry courtyard, and some decrepit old nun pulling the faux-aged wood door back, wide open. Three militia members rode in on personal skimmers. Matt felt more than saw James’s attention strung taut. No one paused in their sedate walk.

“Ha!” Carmella exclaimed quietly. “Could go try and distract those boys a bit, but Sister Mary Dementia is the best stall we could hope for.”

“Who’s Sister Mary Dementia?”

“The crazy old bat who answers the door,” James answered him. Matt looked at him in surprise. “Met her earlier.” James rolled his eyes.

Matt was sure there was a story there. He made a mental note to ask about it later.

Carmella led them in to the kitchen, and then into a huge pantry area, which had moveable shelves for food storage. The last shelf was immobile, flush against the wall, until Carmella tripped a lock up high on the unit, hidden above the top. It swung open, revealing a bolt-hole.

Benigna was waiting inside. Her habit and wimple were missing, replaced by all-weathers and boots. “Hi!” She smiled brightly at Matt and James.

Matt just barely kept himself from groaning. Shit. He’d forgotten all about her. Suddenly he wasn’t anticipating the trip so much.

“
M
ACHO
, high-handed prick,” Matt muttered as James slipped out of the bolt-hole and left him in there.

“Why’s he going?” Benigna whispered. Loudly.

Left him in there
with Benigna
. Fuck, who cared about their physical safety? His mental health was at stake here. “Benigna, what did I say—”

“Call me Beni. I’m Beni, now,” she insisted for the nth time that night.

“Whispers
carry
!” Matt whispered vehemently.

“Then why are you whispering?” she asked him in a very low voice. She almost had the subvocalizing figured out.

He was gonna fucking kill her. “Just shut up,” he muttered. She leaned sulkily against the wall. But she shut up.

Fucking James had left. To protect them. Did he think Matt was incapable of protecting himself? If the guys searching the kitchen with chip-radiation sensors
did
find them hiding behind this wall, he’d kick ass if he had to. His martial arts instructor was a fucking ninja. Or whatever the Chinese equivalent was.

Benigna might be a liability, granted. Maybe she could just talk them into a stupor. She’d nearly done it to them before they’d convinced her to shut the hell up.

Matt turned his mind back to James. James leaving them because it was the best way to protect them. Okay, he may be
right
, but that was beside the point. Yes, the militia was hoping to pick up the trace radiation signal from James’s Red chip. Yes, James couldn’t—they both thought—affect the radiation signature with his mind. But James had argued that he might be able to affect how their sensors functioned. And if he couldn’t, he could jump the soldiers first if he wasn’t trapped behind this wall.

“Fucking macho, high-handed prick.”

“I think he’s being manly and protective.”

“That’s what
I’m
saying.” Matt thought over the “protective” comment. “Protective of what?” Him?

“The fairer sex. The damsel in distress.”

It took Matt a second to realize she probably didn’t think he was the damsel. Or the fairer sex. “You?”

“Well, he’s not being protective of you.” Benigna stuck out a pouty lip.

“If he’s being protective of you, then what am I doing here?”

She looked at him like he was simple-minded. “You’re protecting me if they find me. You’re the last line of defense. My God, do I have to tell you how to fight them too?”

Her voice was getting louder as she got her rant on. As Matt stared at her, she took a deep breath, as if in preparation to go on at length. He slapped a hand over her mouth. “I think they’re searching the shelves now.” He looked out the peephole. She’d never know they’d moved into the dining hall; she couldn’t see anything. Matt removed his hand, blocking the peephole to keep her from checking.

Jesus, James was right. She did have a twisted little mind. Someone had read her one too many fairy tales.

He heard one of their sensors beeping, suddenly. “Sarge, I think I—” The shout was cut off with the smack of something hitting flesh. Shit, he was so outta here. Matt hit the latch that opened the bolt-hole and stepped out.

“What?” shrieked Benigna. He rolled his eyes. A shriek wasn’t helping anything. He glared at her. It had no visible effect.

“Stay here, and be quiet. I’ll be back,” he ordered in his best imitation of Lance’s command voice. Then he took a step outside the door. She stayed put, hands on hips, but quiet.

Huh. It worked. Matt left his pack and grabbed his pistol, shutting Benigna inside.

J
AMES
was getting his ass kicked. This guy must have some serious martial arts training. He fought like he’d been professional MMA. Extensive SF hand-to-hand training?

The first guy had gone down without a sound, but this guy’s chip sensor had warned him. And there was a third person, hiding out. Why they didn’t join the fight was beyond him. Probably because he was having his ass handed to him.

He’d been doing all right, holding his own, but then he’d heard Benigna shriek, and his distraction had cost him. He could feel his left eye swelling shut, and he was mostly focused on the fight, but an alarmingly large part of his mind was worried about what might be happening with Matt and the nun.

In spite of being on the short side of average, James had a few centimeters and a dozen kilos or so on this guy. His opponent was whip thin, flexible as hell, and had reflexes that didn’t quite seem within the range of human. James wracked his brain, but nope, he was still sure genetic engineering of humans was illegal in Red states.

He took three shots in quick succession, two to the face and a kick in the kidneys, and it was all over for him. Except the guy took a head shot. From a laser DEW, judging by the way his head sorta just… cauterized his brain.

Blinking and swaying on his feet, James looked over toward where the laser must have come from. Matt stood up from beside an old gas cooktop and walked over to James, a little unsteady.