Title: Declaration

Chapter 2

*****

"You're mad at me."

I turn my head to look at Clay.  He's sitting next to me, leaning his head back on the sofa, and gazing fixedly at me with those intense eyes of his.  Undoubtedly, he's trying to figure out what I'm thinking, and gauge how much trouble he's in with me.

Clay just got home from…somewhere.  He got called away to save the world, and in the process, managed to miss a date with me.

I sigh.  "I'm not mad."

"Sarah," he says.  "You're upset with me because we had plans and I was a no-show.  And you have every right to feel exactly the way you do."

Letting out a half-laugh, I say, "Clay, I'm not upset with you because you missed a date.  It happens."

"So," he says slowly, taking my hand, "you're upset because I didn't tell you I was leaving the country." 

I don't answer.  Instead, I lay my head on his shoulder.  I really don't want to talk about what I've been feeling lately.  I just want to enjoy a nice evening.

"Sarah," he persists.  "I had to leave suddenly.  I couldn't get a message to you." 

"Clay, it's all right."  I squeeze his hand.  "Can we not talk about this?"

We sit quietly, pressed against each other, enjoying the simple intimacy.  Clay smells good tonight.  But then, he usually smells good.  I nuzzle his neck, trying to drink in his scent. 

Pulling me closer, he says, "I haven't eaten all day, but I don't want to move.  This feels so good."

"I could cook," I say.

"But that would involve you moving."  He plants two quick kisses on my lips.  "I don't want that either."

Laughing softly, I pat his knee.  "Well, if you can pry one arm free to hand me the phone, I could order pizza."

Smiling, he feigns a long-suffering sigh.  "Oh, I suppose."

He's exhausted, and I wonder to myself how long he's been up.  Before Clay and I starting seeing each other, I didn't realize what he puts himself through.  It's not as if I've never pulled an all-nighter.  But Clay will go for two days without sleep, finally get into bed, and then the phone will ring, and before I know it, he's dragging himself out the door to get on a plane or meet a contact.

"You okay?"  He says. 

"I'm fine," I say. 

"You tensed up."

"I was just thinking how tired you look."  I take the phone from his hand.  "What do you want on this?"

He narrows his eyes.  "Ham and pineapple." 

As I order the pizza, Clay watches me intently, absentmindedly tugging on his bottom lip.  After I hang up, he stretches and pulls himself into a sitting position.  "Want to talk now?"

I let out a breath.  "Clay, I'm not mad."

"You do have something on your mind."  He reaches out to caress my cheek.  "I'm not going to let this go. So, you might as well tell me."

"You're stubborn."

"I'm tenacious.  Is it Harm?"

"Why does everything have to be about Harm?"

He shrugs.  "Because you've had this weird treading water thing with him for almost a decade."

"You have a point," I say, smiling guiltily. "But in this case, it's not Harm."

He nods.  "Then it's the job.  My job."

I hate his job, and he knows it.  I hate it because it could get him killed or hurt.  I saw that firsthand in Paraguay.  I hate it because it takes him away from me.  And I hate it because he can't share it with me. 

But most of all, I hate Clay's job because of what it does to him.  When I first met him, Clay was far from innocent. But there was still some part of him that was relatively untouched by the violence he saw everyday.  Some part of him that was almost naïve.  But when we were in Paraguay, Clay shot a man.  In retrospect, he had a good reason for doing it—the man was a leak, and could've gotten us killed.  But what bothered me was the off-hand way Clay went about it.  As if he was flipping off a light switch.  I hate knowing that this man I love can be so casual about the taking of a human life.

"It's the job," I confirm.

"Sarah," he says quietly. "you knew what I did for a living when you started to spend time with me."

"I know."  I take his hand.  "It's just—How has you mother done this all these years?  Waiting.  Not knowing. Seeing what it does to you."

He frowns.  "I honestly don't know.  She hates my job as much as you hate it. But I guess she learned to live with it after years with my father."  He licks his lips.  "Sarah, do you want me quit?  I will."

I stare at him.  I honestly believe Clay would quit if I asked him to.  But even though part of me does want him to leave the Agency, the rest of me knows how impossible that is. Clay's right.  I knew who he was when I got into the relationship.

"Clay, if I asked you to quit, I'd be asking you to become a completely different man.  I don't want that."

He leans forward.  "And I don't want to lose you over my career."

I kiss him.  "You're not losing me.  I'm just trying to learn how handle this."

"I love you," he says slowly, as if he's trying to make sure I comprehend the depth of the words.

Threading my fingers through his hair, I plant a kiss on his lips.  "I love you, too."

He pulls me into an embrace, and I can feel his breath becoming staggered.  Our relationship is new, and we're both still having some doubts about whether or not we're going to make it.  I hate Clay's job, but I do love him.  And I know Clay loves me.  Somehow, I have to figure out how to share the man I love with the whole country, and how to separate who is he at work with the man I hold in my arms at night.