A message was waiting when they arrived back at the cabin. Sam was winded from their walk, not feeling as invigorated as he had earlier. Meeting the security squad had taken energy from him, still not comfortable with strangers, but he felt close to Kyle, the man who had met him in the clearing. He seemed honestly concerned about him, asking only comfortable questions, smiling and friendly. Al had seemed pleased that he'd responded to someone, and that made it worth the trouble. As he slumped on the couch, he let his mind drift, feeling an old familiar ache in his temples. Wincing, he reached to rub at the annoying area, and felt warm hands take his, tenderly pressing over his head.

Leaning back, he let Al ease away the stress, his gentle fingers brushing and stroking through his hair. He caught one warm hand in his, brushing his lips against the smooth, careworn palm, cupping it against his cheek, closing his eyes. His touch stilled the trembling, barely visible in his hands. Sam felt weak and sick at heart, wanting it all to end and have peace restored, their lives simple again, uncomplicated.

"You're shaking, love." Al came around and pulled his kid close, trying to soothe the trembling shoulders. "What's in your head? Talk to me, tell me."

The couch was big enough for both men and Sam rolled over onto his side, allowing Al room to slide next to him, holding him like glass. After a moment, he spoke, keeping his arms around his lover's body, half hiding his face in one shoulder. "I don't know where to start. I did good for people, and we can't tell them that. This is like Leaping, in a way, trapped by my own invention. We can't go anywhere, outside of this place, and I'm pissed about that, Al. When I got home, and we found each other, I wanted to experience everything with you, all of life that we couldn't share when I was Leaping. My God." He sighed, wanting to sink into the cushions beneath him and hide. "They want to kill me, and take me away; for what? There's nothing I can give them. You know what they'd have to do to make me say anything, and it won't happen. I'd die first."

"Don't talk like that," Al returned harshly. "Damn it, Sam, they'll never get near enough to do a thing."

"You don't understand. I don't want to live like this, Al. I'm going to ask you to do something that will be very hard, but must be done. Promise me."

"What, Sam?"

"Send security home. You can keep two or three, like Kyle, but get rid of the rest. I can't, just can't, live like this. I don't know these people. At least, at the Project, I know the guys, and understand what they're there to do. It's a secured place, and safe. Like this, with you."

"You really trust the shit out of me, don't you, kiddo?" Al was nose to nose with his love, seeing the determination and belief in him in those eyes. "All right," he acquiesced. "I'll do it, but..."

The look on Al's face was hardening, and Sam eased up from his position on the couch as the other man went upstairs for a moment then returned. The object in his hands made the younger man's stomach twist. "Oh, no," he moaned, shaking his head.

Quietly, without a word, Al slid the well oiled, rarely used Beretta on the coffee table in front of the couch where Sam sat. "You know how to use this. I brought it, kid, not anticipating trouble, not wantin' it, but..." His face was still grave, meeting the gaze of his friend soberly. "I'll use it, if I have to. It's been a while, but I can manage, when it. comes to you. If something should happen, you might have to use it, yourself."

"I don't think..."

Instantly, Al cut him off. "You save yourself, Sam. That's damned important, and I don't want you to forget it." His tone was business-like, his soft gaze deceptive of his true feelings. "Damn, kid, you'll use it. I'll kill those bastards if they lay one hand on you, and it won't be pretty."

Taking the weapon in his hand, Sam hefted it, feeling the cold steel in his hand, nearly dropping it from his shaking fingers. Smoothly, Al took it from him, laying it back on the table. "I... I was just getting the feel of it," Sam said softly. "It's not easy. I never wanted to kill, Al." Shaded eyes lifted, sober with indecision.

"I won't ask it of you, but just so you know the gun is here, Sam." He sat back in the armchair, surveying his friend's face, taking in the indecipherable emotions that lay under the ever changing surface. There was always something stirring just under those hazel eyes, now, after the Leaps, more than ever. He saw the shadows of all the men Sam had killed haunting his gaze, all the deaths that he carried. Whether or not they had been in self-defense, he'd killed them, and felt the weight of each one on his shoulders now. Those Al had strafed from his plane were faceless strangers, and he never dreamed of them, or thought twice about what he'd been duty bound to do. "Don't think too much about using it, Sam."

"What do you expect me to think?" The words were soft, plaguing fears threading each syllable. "You know me better than to think that I'll even touch the thing. Don't bring it up again."

There was a finality to Sam's tension braced words. His friend was trembling again, worse than ever, and not from the cold, with his coat wrapped securely around him. "Let's say I make something hot to drink, and we light a fire..."

"First, you tell the guards to leave. Most of them, Al, or..."

The older man hated ultimatums; even from Sam. Reluctantly, he phoned the security station and sent most of the crew home, aware of Beckett's steady gaze and listening posture. As requested, he kept Kyle and a few others that he trusted, hanging up and resting his hand on the receiver for a moment before turning back to the man on the couch. "It's done," he said flatly, not liking any of it, losing the extra protection. Something niggled at him, making him know that it was necessary, but maybe a slight bit overboard. "Just for the record, let it be known I don't like this."

"I'll rest a lot easier." He was trembling from the inside out, and his head was splitting. All the danger signs, and he knew his best bet was to go upstairs and lay down and let sleep soothe his racking nervous system. Al's watchful, mother hen gaze on him wasn't helping matters much. He shrugged away from his bracing arm, dumping coat and gloves on a chair and going upstairs to the loft.

The boots were a struggle to get off his feet, the suede soaked through and tight against his ankles. He managed, his eyes coming up to meet Al's steady gaze at the top of the stairs. Sullenly, he flopped back on the bed and curled into a ball, pulling one pillow over his head.

So, Al thought. The kid needed a nap. He'd seen the flash of pain across the bitter face. "Sam?"

"I'm taking a nap. Leave me alone for a while."

"You're in pain. And pissed at me. I did what you asked. What more do you want?"

"To be left alone, for a while." He tugged the pillow tighter over his head, just wanting to bask in unconsciousness. If he slept, he wouldn't have to think about what was happening, or see the worry in his lover's eyes. The mattress swayed for a moment, then he felt Al's warm fingers on the back of his neck, soothing and massaging the cords of tense muscles. It didn't seem to excise the headache much, but the contact was welcome and loving.

"I won't leave you by yourself until I'm sure everything's all right." Easing the pillow from Sam's clenching hands, he pressed his fingers into the tawny waves of soft hair, knowing full well the cause and source of the hurt and knowing exactly how to help the kid get some rest. He played his fingers from Sam's brow to neck, pressing his temples and soothing to the curve of shoulder blade and back again.

"I didn't want to take another pill," Sam mumbled, fully relaxed, enjoying his lover's skilled touch. "What was the message when we came back?"

"You don't want to know," Al groaned, trying to make light of it.

Sam turned onto his back, his hands grasping Al's, halting his touch. "What was it?"

"Weitzman. I... well, he wants us to cut short our vacation, kid. We might have to leave in a couple of days." Nothing could come close to the disappointment that fell over Sam's face. "Sorry. They've called the press conference in three days. I told him, we'd see. You need the break, and..."

"I'm ready for it. Ready and willing." Turning onto his side, Sam felt his insides cringe at the thought of the reporters and their questions. "I'll write out a list of questions, and think of answers. We have time, Al."

"I'm asking for a week, Sam. We'll have a little time to prepare for this thing, and relax before taking on the lions. He owes us that much, at least."

The lean back trembled for a moment, Al smoothing his hand over the t-shirt Sam wore, the thin white material stretched over the overtense muscles. "Al, I want to rest now and think about things. Give me a little time, would you?"

"Sure, kid, anything you want." The older man turned the lights down and left his friend alone to sleep. It was time to call Weitzman with his ultimatum, and not give the man any options. Sam was deteriorating, and he didn't want him to turn into an invalid again because of all this.