Jared Banks noticed the sway of the ocean beneath him, and the play of the harbor lights reflecting off the water and rippling along the ceiling in his darkened stateroom. These were things that, living on his boat, the Giovanni, for so long, he’d begun to take for granted and barely even notice anymore. Tonight, lying on his back in the master stateroom’s queen bed, his head sinking slowly into his pillow like a jungle adventurer into quicksand, he seemed acutely aware of everything around him. This sense of clarity nicely matched the metaphor for what he was feeling, the sensation of coming down from some kind of narcotic high, of coming back to the real world after a manufactured euphoria had blocked everything else out. Everything including reason, and maybe even sanity.

This was the heightened state of perception of a man contemplating having done something very stupid.

He put his hands over his face rubbed the stubbled flesh there up and down.

“Bad, bad, bad, bad,” he muttered into his palms and fingers.

“Not the word I’d use,” another voice said somewhere past the foot of his bed. “And definitely not four times.”

Jared rose up slowly on his elbows. The girl stood in the doorway, barely more than a silhouette, leaning against the doorjamb. Her hair, full and lengthy, framed her nearly visible face and fell down over her shoulders…down onto his favorite tee shirt—his Glen Frey & Joe Walsh “Party of Two” shirt, a gift given to him by a buddy who worked security at the Riverfront Amphitheater show in Little Rock in June of 1993. It was a limited print given out only to Mr.’s Walsh and Frey, the band, and working personnel. It had just happened to be handy when the girl crawled out of bed to make a run to the kitchen. And even in the dim light, she looked fantastic in it.

And both thinking about being an Eagles fan and about how young the girl smiling at him was made him feel very, very old.

Thirty-eight last month. Good God.

What the hell was he thinking?

Samantha Parker stepped over her Nightsable costume, still in a tangled lump on the carpet, and slipped into bed next to him. He steeled himself for the touch of her probably ice-cold feet, but she kept them, mercifully, at a slight distance. Her knees did touch him as she curled up and propped herself up on a couple of pillows, and they were quite cool. Next time, he thought, he’d remember to leave out a longer tee shirt.

Up on one elbow, she passed him half of her kitchen findings and a spoon.

“Snack Pack,” he nodded, taking the plastic pudding container from her. “Interesting choice.”

“You need to go shopping,” she laughed. “You must eat out a lot.”

“Actually, I do. I’ve gotten lazy.”

“Are these your son’s?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said, happy to be able to see her face better up this close, to see the sparkle of the window light off her eyes. “I like to have them around for his weekends.”

“I’ll replace them. Honest,” she smiled, and laughed a little as she pulled the top off her container.

“I’ll replace them,” he grinned back. “You’re right. The shopping trip’s overdue.”

She dipped her spoon in and fed herself a little off the top. “Mmmmm,” she cooed. “Perfect.”

“Sounds like I’ve been missing out.” He pealed the foil top off of his own and set the top on the nightstand on his side of the bed. He thought for a moment about how long it had been since they hadn’t both been his side. He rolled back around to face her. Smiling, she dipped her spoon into her Pack again, this time feeding pudding to him. He cleaned the spoon and nodded approvingly. “You’re right. Hits the spot.”

She spooned out some of his and ate it herself, watching him as she did. She slowly leaned forward and started to kiss him. Again, the euphoria, and for those few seconds he could scarcely recall what had been bothering him minutes before. She tasted warm and new and exciting, and mixing that with chocolate was a very nice touch. He thought it might make a nice ice cream flavor. Samantha and Chocolate. Or Chocolate and Samantha. The marketing boys would have to decide which sounded better.

She made a satisfied, peaceful sound on the last kiss, and then they were smiling and were back to their pudding.

“Now what about this would be the ‘bad’ part, I wonder?” she asked, cocking her head and studying him carefully.

He winced and dropped his face into his pillow, feeling a sudden need for self-suffocation.

She laughed and nudged him. “Relax, will you? I’m just teasing you.”

He sighed heavily into his dark green pillowcase and raised his head again. Sitting up a little more, he rested his jaw on one of his hands and kept his eyes level with hers.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean anything by that.”

“I know,” she grinned.

“I don’t want you thinking…” He stopped and thought about his words carefully, clenching his brow. “Tonight, tonight was… You know when you’re looking for that perfect word and it’s just out of reach? You know?”

“Yeah,” she said quietly.

“It’s a very good word, whatever it is I’m thinking of. It’s anything but bad.”

“Okay,” she smiled, trying not to laugh at his wrestle with vocabulary. “I believe you. And I know what you mean. I feel the same way.”

“I’m glad,” he said. He stared at her, enjoying the fact that he could tell she was blushing even in the dark. He spooned out some more of his pudding for her, and she leaned forward and accepted it.

After she swallowed and sighed, and after a moment of gentle silence, she said, “But…”

“But?”

“Come on,” she prodded, kindly. “Talk to me. It’s okay. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

Measuring her for a moment, and seeing that this was both genuine and safe, he did.

“I’m thinking…” he started. After a pause, “I’m thinking this is really great, but it’s really crazy.”

“Well, yes,” she nodded. “This is true. It was unexpected. It was impetuous. It was…heated.”

The blushing again. He liked that a lot.

“But,” she said, controlling her smile, “that’s not what’s bothering you.”

“No,” he agreed.

“You can say it,” she assured.

He exhaled and did. “You’re so damned young, Sam.”

“There you go,” she grinned. “Wasn’t so hard.”

“And I don’t mean that in the sense of me seeing you as young. I mean as in compared to me. As in I’m really old.”

She laughed at him. “You’re not that old, Jared. God.”

“I’m three years younger than your father, Sam.”

“Well, technically,” she said, scraping at the bared insides of her pudding urn, “my father would be about eleven years older now on my Earth. Don’t forget the time difference between the two worlds. So you’re really not even close when you look at it that way. Or, if you like, you can think of it like I’d really be twelve in this timeline…”

“Oh, God,” he moaned, and flopped back down again.

After more laughter, she said, “It’s not like I’m seventeen, Jared. I’m twenty-three. On either Earth, that’s called a consenting adult. No cradles have been robbed here.”

“See, that’s just it,” he said, rolling over to face her. “That number looks so much different depending on which side of the thirty line you’re on. You’re saying, ‘Hey, come on, I’m twenty-three’, and I’m thinking, ‘Oh my God, she’s twenty-three’.”

She shook her head at him in amusement. “And are you sure you feel this way about all girls in their twenties, or is just because you happen to be friends with my dad?”

“That doesn’t help,” he admitted.

“You know, being someone’s child doesn’t necessarily make you a child, Jared.”

“So says the girl eating the Snack Pack.”

She tossed her empty pudding, flung the spoon somewhere starboard, and jumped on top of him, pinning him on his back.

“Hey, hey, the sheets,” he said, trying not to spill what was left of his own Pack. She sat up atop him, took it from him, swirled the remainder of cool chocolate out with her finger, and slid the finger into her mouth, finishing it off slowly. No, it wasn’t hot in there. It was just him.

Pulling her hair back, she nestled down onto his chest. His hands slid up to her back and lingered there as she hovered close to his face, brushing her nose against his. He stared into her eyes and started kissing her, stroking her hair with his fingers, feeling her soft weight on him. As she kissed him back, she seemed, to him--or perhaps the moment seemed--to be moving in slow motion.

As her mouth parted from his and she breathed a small sound that gave him goosebumps, she laid down and put her head on his shoulder. He could feel her warm breath tickling his neck.

Still rubbing her back, he sighed, “You know, this is my favorite tee shirt.”

“Really?” she asked quietly.

“Yeah, Glen and Joe.”

“I didn’t even see what was on it,” she laughed. “It’s okay, me wearing it?”

“Oh, hell yeah. I’m going to like it even better now.”

“Mmmm,” she smiled aloud, and nestled closer. She was quiet, and then asked, “Glen and Joe…?”

“From the Eagles.”

“Oh that Glen and Joe. Frey and Walsh.”

“Yeah,” he marveled. “Wow, I’m impressed.”

“Thanks,” she said. “My dad’s a big fan of theirs.”

They were silent for a couple of seconds before she burst into laughter. He joined her.

She started to sit up a little, and he kept pace, shifting a bit so they faced each other, lying entwined on their sides.

“Hey,” she said. “I’m serious. You’re not that old. I’m not that young. This is okay, Jared. Tonight, I mean. No one’s saying it’s any more than that. It just happened, and I’m glad it did. It happens to people like this every day. Why should we be any different because we run around in costumes?”

“Because it is different,” he said. “It’s more complicated. We work together for one thing.”

“People who work together never have this happen?”

“And your dad could seriously kick my ass.” Bedding the daughter of Dr. Jackal. Was there such a thing as a negative I.Q. score?

“I could seriously kick your ass,” she pointed out. “Armor boy. And what, you think I sit around discussing my sex life with my father? You think I plan on talking about tonight over dinner with him?”

He made a sound that was part hesitant, part apologetic, part contemplative.

“Jared,” she said, getting serious. She readjusted herself. “I like you. I find you very attractive, and have for a long time. I stare at your eyebrows sometimes when you’re not looking, because they’re really perfect.”

“My eyebrows?” he asked.

“It’s a girl thing. Well, it’s a me thing, at least. And tonight we were feeling the same thing, and we did something about it. I’m glad we did. Am I the only one?”

“No,” he said, pulling her closer. “You’re not.”

“Good.” She meant to go on, but decided to kiss him a couple of times first. “You’re right about one thing. It is complicated. So, we simplify it. No one has to know. Certainly not my dad.”

“I’m glad we’re on the same station on that last one.”

“It just…is. Okay? It’s only a big deal if we let it be. I don’t want you worrying about this. I like to hope this will be a good memory for you. I know it will be for me.”

“Oh, it will be,” he assured her. “I mean, it is.”

She nodded and smiled. “Then how about we just try to enjoy the rest of the night without you all freaked out, okay?”

He nodded back to her and laughed through his nose.

“Okay?” she asked again.

“Okay, okay,” he surrendered. “No more Mr. Old Guy. I promise.”

“Thank God.”

He stretched out on his back, and she curled around him, putting her head on his chest. She raised her head after couple of minutes, and pulled herself up to where she could look down on his face. A hard-to-decipher smile came to her lips, and she started running her index finger down his chest.

“You know,” she said. “There’s about six of those Snack Packs left in the fridge…”

The doorbell rang.

“Awwww, shit.” Jared threw his head back on his pillow like he wished it was a tabletop or a cement block.

“And we say good-bye to not freaking out,” Sam sighed, rolling off of him.

Jared jumped up and popped on the security monitor he kept in this room. It had been left on the camera facing aft from his boat, and he quickly clicked through the choices to the hidden camera on the dock outside his berth, where the chain link door stopped any visitors. There stood the figure that had just rung the bell. The man in the suit, sans tie, about Jared’s age, whose hair was rapidly abandoning him, looked at his watch, looked around the dock, and looked up right into the supposedly clandestine camera.

“It’s Cliff. Damnit.”

Sam was next to him now, looking at the screen, and the both of them were now lit by its glow. “Your old partner? F.B.I agent now, right?”

“Right, right. Cliff, what are you doing to me? Why tonight?”

“We could hide in the dark and see if he goes away,” she offered, only half-jokingly. She saw Jared’s face, though, and said, “Except…”

“Except he wouldn’t show up in person in the middle of the night if it wasn’t something important.” The sentence was one big exhalation as the hope drained out of him. “Shit.”

She wrapped her arms around his chest from behind and put her cheek on his shoulder, right where an old gunshot scar showed. “It’s okay,” she said. “I should get going anyway. I was planning on showing up at work tomorrow all bleary-eyed and half-awake and dopey, but maybe a little sleep is a good idea.”

“I don’t want you to go,” he said, putting his hand over one of hers. As he did, the doorbell rang two more times, and they both looked down at the sight of Agent Cliff Rohm letting off the button and giving the camera an exaggerated, impatient shrug.

Sam laughed, and kissed his neck. “I know. It’s okay. I’ll call you tomorrow. We’ll talk. See if things are weird between us.”

He turned around and looked into her eyes, wishing that last part were strictly a joke.

She saw the look, smiled, but didn’t have any more words on the subject. They embraced, and kissed passionately, both ignoring the doorbell that kept buzzing.

Finally, they pulled apart, and she crouched and reached down for her costume. He started looking around, checking out the different exits the boat had, suddenly a little panicked at how he was going to get her past Cliff. “Uh…” he said.

“I’m a teleporter, genius,” she said, reading his body language.

Jared rolled his eyes at himself and smiled. She shook her head and laughed.

Samantha suddenly threw him back onto the bed, onto his back. Still holding her costume in her left hand, she crawled on top of him. Before he could say a word, she kissed him deeply, one last time, and made it count.

Their lips pulled apart, and she put a final kiss on his forehead. She raised her upper body, her hands on either side of his head. She smiled down at him, and he drank in the sight of her hair dangling down around his face.

“I wouldn’t want to take off with your favorite tee shirt,” she whispered.

With that, she disappeared into thin air. Her costume, in her hand, went with her.

His Glen and Joe shirt hung in the air above him for a moment, then draped down across his chest.

Jared closed his eyes and inhaled, taking in her lingering scent, and clutched his tee shirt. He really had to be out of his mind.

The doorbell buzz became a continuous thing, and he sat up, reached for his pants, and hit the button that would buzz Cliff in through the gate. Cliff was climbing through the starboard entry door into the salon by the time Jared was zipping up and leaving the stateroom.

“What’s happening, partner?” Cliff said. “You fall in or something?”

“Hey, Rohmy.” Jared tossed the tee shirt over the arm of his couch and clasped hands and exchanged a shoulder hug with his ex-partner from his Seattle Vice days. “Yeah, sorry about that. Nature calls.”

“Sometimes she calls collect,” Cliff said, stepping down a couple of steps into the galley and opening the fridge. He pulled out a beer and popped it open. “I thought your neighbors were going to call Kaffey and Sisko on me, tell them to come arrest some hustler trying to sell his ass on the dock.”

“You’re not what I’d call a best seller,” Jared said, sitting down on one of his swivel chairs and trying to force himself to act casual with all the stuff now swirling around in his head. “Besides, I hear Sisko just transferred to homicide.”

“Sisko? The king of squeam?”

“Maybe he got therapy,” Jared offered. He reached for his cigarettes and lit one up. “So what’s up?”

Cliff and his beer sat down on the couch opposite Jared, and he tossed another beer across to the boat’s captain. “Business. Got a little raid going on tomorrow. Got a lot of barrels of some very bad chemicals coming into Seattle. The kind that go boom in very bad ways.”

Jared carefully opened his beer. “Nice to see the F.B.I.’s doing their job. One step ahead of the bad guys.”

“Well, there aren’t enough super-heroes to go around, so we have to fill in from time to time.” Cliff toasted Jared sarcastically and took a swig. “Interesting trail on this shipment, though, amigo, if you follow it all the way back.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. All the way back to Hong Kong.”

Jared perked up.

Cliff grinned widely. “That’s the look I was waiting for.”

“Xue?”

“Your pal and mine, partner. Word has it he’s overseeing this shipment personally, making the deal himself.”

“No shit.”

“None whatsoever.”

“That crazy little bastard’s coming back to Seattle?”

“Aw, he figures the heat’s off him. Figures a couple of old vice cops like you and me are long gone or have forgotten all about him. Didn’t know we’d end up Bureau and Forte. Surpriiiise.”

Jared nodded and grinned, raising his bottle. Cliff raised his own, and they both drank.

“Tell me everything,” Jared said, suddenly very focused on work and happy to have the distraction.

“Still got that big Xue file?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s on the old laptop, though. Hang on, I’ll go down below and grab it.”

“I got nowhere to be and you got a twelve pack. I’m not going anywhere.” Cliff pulled out his own pack of cigarettes and pilfered Jared’s lighter as Jared climbed down the stairs to the massively converted engine room, where, among other things, his Seahawk armor was stored. And at least one old laptop.

Cliff took another drink of his beer and glanced at the tee shirt hanging on the couch arm next to him. He picked it up and checked out the front of it with a grin.

“Hey. Glen and Joe. I remember this.”

“What?” Jared called from somewhere below.

“Nothing,” Cliff called back. He turned the shirt around and looked at the back, too.

As he checked it out, it got close to his face, and he suddenly got a strange look. He pulled the shirt closer and took another whiff. Sure enough, it was perfume he was catching. And it was fresh.

He looked around the salon. He leaned forward and craned his neck to see back into Jared’s stateroom. Then he looked toward the front of the boat to the forward stateroom, the one Jared used as Gabriel’s bedroom. The door was open, but it appeared empty.

“Hey, Banks,” Cliff called. “You sure I’m not interrupting anything?”

“No, not at all,” Jared called back. “Don’t worry about it.”

Taking one last peer around the boat, Cliff did a facial shrug, got a big grin, and took a big, big sniff off the tee shirt.

“Nice,” he said quietly. He held it back from him and looked at the front again, reading the logo. “’Party of Two’,” he read, and nodded with a smirk.

“What?” Jared yelled up.

“I said I’m thinking of becoming a super-hero,” Cliff called back. Then, quietly, he added, “Lucky bastard.”

 

END.

 

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