A/N: Heartfelt thanks to Wuchel1 for reviewing this story. Thank you for being there when I lose all objectivity where John and Harold are concerned, which is all the time.

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Never Let Me Go

Chapter 1

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A squawk went up from the terns as Bear plowed into their midst, scattering the birds and sending spray from the Indian Ocean into the air. A familiar voice whispered "I love you, Harold," and soft kisses were trailed down his neck and throat, deepening when they reached his mouth. The sand was hot against his naked skin and the tide eased in and out around them, but only John filled his senses as they made love on the private beach of their Seychelles retreat…

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Still half asleep, Harold lay enveloped in the happiness of his dream for a few blissful moments before consciousness fully returned.

Then reality pushed in, and with it the crushing awareness that life would never again offer him such sweetness.

He willed his eyes open, and looked around the empty loft. He hadn't been able to let it go after John departed, and this was what his mornings were like now - cold and silent and still.

It hadn't always been so. Not long ago mornings were warm and tender, with John unable to resist the temptation of kissing or caressing him awake so that they could continue exploring their love in every way they could imagine - until mornings had become afternoons had become sublime luxurious nights once again.

And there had been playful mornings here too, when John would summon Bear into bed for a sneak attack and Harold would be awakened by dog breath and sloppy licks and John's affectionate laughter at his partner's startled countenance. The Malinois would snuggle between them but John would lean around, still reaching for him over the sleeping dog with a gracefulness only the younger man possessed.

Bear…

He had hoped at first that the dog would bring him comfort. Instead the Malinois was a too-painful reminder of the life he had loved and lost, and Harold had asked Leon to care for the animal until he could bear to lay eyes on him again. That hadn't happened yet. He shivered in the loft's cold silence and wondered if it ever would.

On such chilly mornings Harold had sometimes feigned sleep as John pulled the covers up and tucked them under his chin - afraid to admit even to himself how much he had come to love being cherished and cared for by the other man. John would wrap his arms around him then and fall back asleep with a contented sigh, and Harold knew full well that he had never fooled his partner at all.

But most precious of all were those wondrous mornings when they would simply lie in each other's arms after a glorious night together, stunned by the miracle that they were now so entwined, so whole and healed by each other.

Harold looked over at the abandoned side of the bed - John's side of the bed - for that's what it would always be.

Always…

It was over now. Those rapturous times were gone forever because John was gone, having chosen to leave rather than give them their chance to heal each other once more.

And Harold was alone again.

Before John Reese had become his world Harold had grown accustomed to loneliness. It threaded through his life in much the same way that anti-virus programs ran on his computers - invisibly in the background and just as reliable, just as accepted.

But he had recklessly allowed a singular man to fill the void he hadn't acknowledged - he had allowed himself to experience fulfillment beyond his most outrageous dreams. And now John's desertion had left him with whatever it was that existed beyond loneliness. Emptiness? Hollowness? Meaninglessness?

Harold struggled to put a name to the feeling before deciding he simply didn't care, and let his head fall back listlessly on the pillow.

He had never expected to be known on such a profound level as he had been with John. And he wondered now if he had been wrong to reveal himself so vulnerably, if it would have been better never to have known such intimacy - and then lose it.

But he already knew the answer - that he would rather live with the pain of his loss than give up the memory of John slipping a protective arm around him while he slept, of John ruffling his hair and kissing him good morning, of John touching him and taking command of his body, bringing him to the edge of forever before shattering all his senses and-

A shuddering sob escaped him at the finality - at the never again - of it all.

Harold stroked the empty side of the bed and tried to imagine John beneath his hand - the handsome teasing face, the strong battle-scarred chest, the magnificent manhood that had once belonged to him alone. But the sheets were too cold, the mattress too unyielding and he couldn't summon the images to his mind's eye.

But there was another bed - a low bed sheltered by palm trees on the warm secluded deck of the Seychelles home where they had made love for the first time. Those sweet memories beckoned, as strong and seductive as the laudanum he took for his back, as enticing as a Siren's song he had no desire to resist.

Harold closed his eyes and let the sensations return to him, as vivid now as on that first night.

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Moonlight reflecting the need in John's eyes. The reverence of his touch as he gently removed Harold's clothes, and their trembling explorations as new lovers. Whispered devotions meant to endure for a lifetime, John's tender kisses and his soft moan as Harold had taken him. His naked body curled around Harold's when they were spent, as the Indian Ocean lulled them to sleep and a sultry breeze whispered the fragrance of wild orchids.

A thousand bright stars filled the midnight sky, and John was in every one.