Title: Old Ghosts - 5/6
Author: Gillian Middleton
Characters/Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Total word count: 5200
Warning: Wincest.
Authors notes: AU story where Sam and Dean were adopted by different people and meet as adults. Sam's father makes his feelings known.
Old Ghosts
Part Five
by Gillian
Sam sat at the kitchen table, books propped all around him, cooling mug of coffee at his right hand. Nick had ridden into the shop with Dean to give him some advice about an old Lincoln. Sam suspected Dean and Gary could figure it out between them, but Nick enjoyed poking his head in at the shop now and again, checking in with customers and then wandering down to his favorite diner for lunch.
Sam half wished he could be with them. He glanced at his watch, thinking that he might grill some steaks for dinner before Dean and Nick arrived home, when he heard someone climbing up the back steps.
"Knock Knock," a familiar voice said and Sam jumped up and opened the back door, peering through the screen mesh.
"Dad?"
"I did knock out front but nobody answered."
Sam unlocked the screen door and pushed it open, staring in surprise at his father's rugged face. Nathan Fielding had boxed during his years in the marines, and as he got older his old broken nose seemed more prominent. He was tall and black and broad shouldered, and he smiled at Sam's surprise. "Dad? What are you doing here?"
"Hi, Sammy."
Nathan Fielding smiled slowly and Sam was so glad to see him he could barely speak. Joy filled him and when his father held out his arms he stepped into them, hugging him tightly. "I'm so glad to see you."
"It's good to see you too, Sam," his dad said, and Sam drew back and patted him on the shoulder.
"Why didn't you call, tell me you were coming?"
"I wanted to see you alone, Sam. Talk."
Sam frowned at the grave tone in his father's voice. "Everything's okay, isn't it? Mom? Lily?"
"Everything's fine. Your mother and Lily are out shopping for Christmas and running up my credit cards." Nathan Fielding glanced around the kitchen. "Maybe we could sit down?"
"Sure, uh, you want a beer? Or a soda?" Sam added hastily. "I could make coffee?"
"I'm fine." Nathan took a seat at the wooden table and laid down a black document bag. Sam eyed it curiously.
"I wish you had called me, Dad. Dean's at work and won't be in until after five." Sam broke off as his father looked away, big hands clenching on the black bag. Sam's happiness was draining away as he read the tension in his father's shoulders, the clench of his jaw. He sank into a chair opposite and laid his own hands on the table to still their trembling.
"Why did you come, Dad?"
"I was worried about you," Nathan said quietly. "After Thanksgiving when your mother told me... I wish you'd told me yourself, Sam, and not left it to your mother to do your dirty work."
"Hardly dirty work," Sam protested "And I wanted to tell you, both of you. That's what I intended to do that weekend. But Mom talked me out of it, said you'd be upset, and that it wasn't the right time with a houseful of guests. And she was right, Dad, wasn't she?" Sam said shrewdly. "You are upset. Maybe even more than Mom knows."
"Hell, yes, I'm upset," Nathan exclaimed, cool mask slipping away. "Nineteen years old and you show up one day and tell your mother you're gay? That you've let some guy pick you up, moved in with him for god's sake! How the hell do you expect me to feel?"
"I guess I expected you to trust my judgment," Sam said, chest clenching with pain at the disappointment in his father's voice. It had been bad enough hearing it from his mom, but this was a thousand times worse. All his life Sam had striven to please his dad, to live up to his expectations. To earn his praise. And all his life he'd been blessed with it, a natural athlete, good at school, popular and friendly. For the first time he'd let his father down.
Sam hated to admit it, but it stung like hell.
"I do trust you, Sam," his father said earnestly, leaning forward. "You're my son, and I love you. Nothing could ever change that."
"But?" Sam said quietly.
"But I have to admit I'm struggling to understand what's happening now. Is this some kind of phase you're going through?"
Sam huffed a laugh, although there was nothing remotely funny about this conversation. "Jees, Dad, a phase?" he appealed. "I'm nineteen, not nine."
"But you dated girls," Nathan said desperately. "All through high school you dated that Hooper girl. And junior high there was that blonde girl, Suzy, Shirley."
"Sherry," Sam corrected. His father never remembered the names of his friends. "And yeah Dad, I like girls. But I was looking at guys too."
His father looked appalled. "You were?"
Sam shrugged. "I was," he said simply. "But I never met anyone I liked enough to make it an issue." He shook his head, looking down at his hands on the table. "I was kind of scared, if you want to know the truth."
"Of what?" his father said cautiously, but he knew, and Sam knew that he did.
"Of this," Sam said anyway, and had the dubious satisfaction of seeing his father turn away. "Dad," he said urgently, wanting all of a sudden to end this bitter conversation. "Dad, if you just met Dean, got to know him, then you'd understand why it's different with him. Why I love him."
But his father was shaking his head before Sam even finished his sentence.
"Dad-"
"No, Sam, I don't need to meet him. I saw the pictures you left with your mother, I can see why he turned your head." Nathan heaved a deep sigh and fingered the zip on the document bag. "But you need to learn you can't always judge someone by a pretty face."
Now Sam shook his head. "There's so much more to Dean that that," he protested.
"I wish it hadn't come to this," Nathan said bleakly. Then he unzipped the bag and pulled out a manila folder.
Sam swallowed hard, intuition stinging the back of his neck. He studied the folder as if it were a cobra swaying before him.
"Dad?" he whispered. "What did you do?"
"I called my friend, Jake Bledsoe."
"From the San Francisco P.D? Oh my god. You had Dean checked out?"
"And thank god I did. D'you know what Jake found?"
"I don't care what he found! How dare you?"
"He was a prostitute, Sam! Your precious Dean was picked up for soliciting men in some back alley-"
Sam pushed away from the table, horror clawing at his insides. "Shut up! I don't want to hear this from you!"
"It's all true, son, I swear. I had Jake fax me a report."
"I don't care about your fucking report!" Sam smacked the folder out of his father's hands and papers flew everywhere. "What the fuck does your report know about Dean?"
"Sam-"
"Does it know about the foster homes he was put in, one after another?" Sam demanded. "Does it know about the last one, with the creep who used to climb into Dean's bed every goddam night?"
His father's face was pale. "Please, Sam."
Sam was so angry now he was shaking with it. "Does it know how bad it must have been to drive Dean onto the streets? Does it know that, Dad? Do you?"
"Sam, a lot of people have a rough time, they don't-"
"He was twelve years old, Dad," Sam said shakily. "Twelve years old. Remember me when I was twelve? Can you imagine some sick fucker hurting me, raping me, stealing away my innocence? Jesus, Dad." Sam voice choked completely and he turned away, unable to look at his father at that moment.
"Sammy, please."
Sam had never heard his father's voice so low, so pained, but he wouldn't turn to look at him. "You don't know anything about Dean," he said bitterly, fighting back the tears, searching for the strength to get through this, for Dean's sake. "If you did you'd be admiring the kind of strength it takes to survive all that and still be the man he is. Still be capable of loving me."
"This is what scares the hell out of me, Sam," his father said desperately. "You're so sure he is capable of loving you. How can I believe it?"
"Maybe if you'd met him you could have judged for yourself," Sam accused thickly. "But you wouldn't meet him, would you, Dad? And I don't think that has anything to do with Dean, or what he's done." Sam finally turned to look at his father, the man he'd idolized his entire life. "This is about you not wanting a queer for a son."
His father gasped as if he'd been punched. "No, Sammy!"
"Yes it is, but that's okay," Sam said coldly. "Because right now this queer isn't so sure he wants you for a father."
"You don't mean that. Sam, I came here to try and make peace between us."
"I didn't start the war. Please, Dad, just go."
Nathan grabbed Sam's shoulders and held them tightly.
"I'm not going anywhere, Sammy."
"You should listen to your son."
Sam's glance shot to the open kitchen door where Nick stood, blocking the light from outside.
Nathan Fielding dropped his hands and studied the old man for a moment. Sam looked too, as if seeing Nick Petrakos for the first time. Tall and tanned, gray hair brushed fiercely back from his brow. Shoulders a little stooped with age but still wide.
There was no anger or threat on Nick's face. He just stepped into the room and gestured at the open door.
Nathan turned back to Sam, still standing by the table, sheets of paper around his feet. On one of them was a grainy picture of a boy and Sam followed his father's gaze, felt his gut clench tighter at the sight of Dean's childish face staring sullenly from the paper. The anger solidified inside him and he returned his gaze to his father, lifting his chin and staring coolly.
Finally Nathan shook his head, and walked to the back door. Nick stepped aside as the tall man walked through, and Sam heard his gravelly voice again.
"That's a fine boy you raised there, Mr Fielding. Maybe you should think about that."
"Maybe you should mind your own business."
Sam walked stiffly to the door and watched his father stomp down the back stairs and around the side of the house.
"That's good advice," Nick mused as they heard the sound of a car door slam and an engine turn over. "Maybe he should have thought about that before he poked into Dean's business."
"Oh, god. Dean." Sam suddenly remembered the papers all over the floor and he spun from the door and dropped to his knees, gathering them up with trembling hands. He tried to pick them up without seeing them, not wanting words to jump out at him, hating that a lifetime of pain and misery was spelled out so dryly on these faxed pages. That everything Dean had suffered and triumphed over could be reduced to a few lines in some file somewhere.
"Calm down, son," Nick said, his gnarled hand resting briefly on Sam's shoulder, and Sam realised he was clutching the papers to his chest, head bowed over them. "Dean won't be home for while yet, we've got time to get rid of them."
"I'm sorry," Sam said, his chest shaking with the pain, the grief of it all. That his dad could have done this, not knowing or caring the trouble he might have brought down on Dean. That his dad, who had always been on his side, was now so firmly set against him.
Against them.
"Dean can't ever know about his," Sam said, clutching the last of the papers and standing up. He groped for a paper shopping bag and shoved them all in. "Never."
"Sam," Nick said gently. "That's not gonna fly, and you know it."
Sam looked up and stared at the old man, eyes still stinging with tears.
"That boy loves you. He's gonna take one look at you and know something's wrong."
"But..." Sam held the bag tighter, crushing it in his large fist.
"We don't have to tell him about that," Nick said, scowling and staring blackly at the wrinkled bag. "In fact, I reckon we take it out back and burn it. I don't want it in our house."
Sam sniffed and nodded, and the pair of them trooped out into the back yard and stuffed some wood into the barbecue pit. Then Sam held the bag over it and flicked the lighter until the brown paper caught. He waited a few moments until it was well alight, then dropped it, watching as the brown paper burned through and began yellowing and crinkling the white papers beneath.
"Did you know about this?" Sam said quietly, watching as Dean's past was devoured by the flames. Wishing it were as easy to burn the pain of the memories left behind as well.
"I guessed a lot of it," Nick said heavily. He shook his head, sorrow and the flames painting his face. "Dean told you?"
"He told me enough."
Nick nodded slowly. "Sam, if I didn't already know how much he loves you, that would have said it all. To share any part of a story like that..."
Sam took a deep breath, feeling the truth of Nick's words like balm on a wound. He remembered that day, how hard it had been for Dean, how they had held each other so tightly Sam had bruises the next day.
"And if I worried a little about how much you loved him, well, that went away when you stood up to your Daddy for him."
Sorrow twisted in Sam's chest again. "It's gonna hurt Dean. When he knows the choice I had to make."
"Yeah," Nick agreed sadly. "You know, Sam. Life's all about choices. I told Dean that once, a long time ago. I remind him now and then. You made the right one today. And for what it's worth, I think your dad will come around."
Sam blinked in surprise. "You really think so?"
"He raised you, didn't he? He must have done something right." Nick said, slapping him on the shoulder. "Now come on, let's get dinner on the table for Dean. You two have some talking to do."
-666-
Colleen Fielding picked up the phone on the third ring.
"Mom?"
"Sammy!" she greeted happily. "How are you?"
"Did you know Dad was coming today?" Sam asked bluntly.
Colleen gripped the phone a little tighter. She'd never heard Sam's voice so raw, so angry. "Your dad was there? Today?"
Sam voice was a little softer. "You didn't know he was coming?"
Colleen sank into the little padded chair by the phone. "Oh, Sammy," she said in despair. "What did he do?"
"It doesn't matter, Mom. Just tell him - I don't want him to come back here. I don't want him anywhere near me or Dean."
Colleen closed her eyes. "Oh, Sam. This is all such a mess. But I know your father will come round. Just give him some time-"
"It's gone way beyond that now," Sam interrupted. "Mom..."
She winced at how shaky his voice was.
"Mom, I still want to see you and Lily."
"And Christmas?" she said miserably, already knowing the answer. There was a silence on the line for long moments.
"I'll call you. Kiss Lily for me."
"I will. I love you, honey."
"I love you too, Mom."
Long after her son hung up Colleen sat, holding the phone, not even hearing the harsh broken ring tone.
-666-
By the time Dean walked in the door, tired and greasy, there was a salad on the table and burgers gently grilling on the stove.
"Hey, you guys know it's nearly Christmas, right?" Dean said, pulling out a chair and sitting down at the table. "Even in California it's way too late for barbecue." He grabbed a piece of lettuce and chewed thoughtfully for a moment. "Or too early."
"Barbecue?" Nick said lightly, splitting a hamburger bun and laying it on the stack.
"Yeah, the pit is still smoking. What were you burning?"
Sam stood at the sink, washing the last of the peelings down the disposal. He could feel Dean's eyes on him, knew from the curiosity in his lover's voice that Dean knew something was up.
"I'm gonna set the VCR for my show," Nick muttered. He patted Sam's shoulder on the way past and Sam nodded and shot him a grateful glance.
"Now I know something's up," Dean said, and Sam heard the scrape of the chair pushed back from the table. "Nick's idea of setting for a show is sticking a tape in and hoping to catch the program he wants in the next eight hours." A gentle hand touched his waist and Dean tugged gently. Sam allowed himself to be turned, lifting his eyes and meeting Dean's concerned green ones.
He so wanted to be strong for Dean, he hated feeling like a little child around him. But the afternoon was still fresh in his mind, and overlaid on Dean's grown up face was that sullen child with his brooding eyes and down turned mouth. Sam felt sorrow well up and he tried to pull back from Dean, turning away from his perceptive eyes.
But Dean was having none of it.
"Sam?" he said firmly, one hand lifting to cup Sam's cheek. "What's wrong, dude? Sam?"
Sam leaned into the touch, smelling the sharp stinging scent of the cream cleanser that mechanics used to shift grease from their skin. It was so familiar now, so much a part of Dean and their life together.
"Sam, you're scaring me."
And Dean did look scared, the color was draining from his cheeks, his eyes were shadowed.
"I'm sorry," Sam said shakily. "I love you," he whispered, because he couldn't think of any other way to start this. And because he really needed to say it at that moment.
Dean's face softened into a smile but the worried look didn't fade. "I love you," he said back and Sam blinked in surprise. It was so rare for Dean to say that outside of their bedroom. Usually those words were whispered in the dark when they were still dazed and smiling from their loving. And then he understood. That Dean must have realized that Sam needed to hear it from him.
Happiness rose in his chest, smothering some of the pain, dousing the guilt and the grief over the awful confrontation with his father.
"My dad came to see me."
Dean frowned a little, then he tightened his jaw, his face settling into sterner lines. "Right." He nodded, looking down at where their hands were linked together. "I take it he hasn't come round yet?"
"You could say that." Sam glanced down at the sizzling hamburger patties and grimaced, twisting the stove top off. "Let's go sit on the porch?"
Dean followed him out and sank down beside him on the top step. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the walk, the long grass, the old fence. Sam clasped his hands between his knees and heaved a sigh.
"I really thought, you know? Just for a minute, when I saw him at the door. I thought Mom had talked him around and he'd come to tell me it was okay."
"What did he say to you?"
Sam twisted and looked at Dean, smiling a little. "Not much as it turns out. Enough."
"For what?"
"For me to figure out what this is really about. No," Sam corrected. "For me to admit what I already knew it was about. Me being gay." Sam huffed a laugh. "Or whatever."
There was silence between them for a few moments. A car drove by, pulled into the drive across the street. Someone climbed out and reached back in for groceries.
"This is my fault," Dean said abruptly. "If you hadn't met me..."
"What?" Sam asked gently. "What, Dean? I wouldn't ever have had to face my father and tell him I'm in love with a man?"
"Maybe," Dean shot back. "Maybe you'd have met that nice girl every father wants for his son. Hell, the one Nick wanted for me!"
"And is that what you wish had happened? That I'd never come to the shop that day? That we'd never met each other and both ended up with nice girls, instead? Do you really wish that?"
"No! I don't know!" Dean pushed up from the step, stamped down the stairs and turned at the bottom. "It would have been easier, wouldn't it?"
"Easier for who?" Sam demanded. "My father? For me, because then I could have gone on living the lie, pretending to be the perfect son? Because that's not easy, Dean, believe me!"
Dean seemed to seek words for a moment and came up dry. "Pretending?" he finally asked.
"Yeah," Sam said sadly. "Dude, I knew I wanted guys when I was fifteen. It scared the hell out of me." Sam ran a hand through his hair, grimacing at the memory. "I used to dream about it, you know? About my dad finding out, looking into my head, seeing the fantasies I was jerking off to."
Dean climbed slowly back up the steps and sank down next to him. "When Nick found us together that first time," Dean recalled. "You were freaked. You said you couldn't imagine how you'd feel if your dad found you like that."
"I could imagine it all too well," Sam said ruefully. "All my life people looked at the two of us and knew we weren't really father and son, you know? All my life, I just wanted to be the son he wanted."
"And you thought, if he found out you were gay..."
"I would see his face when the Gay Pride Parade was on TV," Sam said painfully. "He never said a word, made a comment. But I knew he hated it."
The sun was all the way down now, a cool breeze blowing down the block. Sam shivered a little and felt Dean's warm hand on his arm. He leaned into it and it snaked around his waist, pulling him close.
"I'm sorry, Sam," Dean said softly.
"You didn't mean it would be easier for you, did you, Dean?" Sam had to ask.
"Don't be an idiot," Dean chided him.
"Okay." Sam let his head rest against Dean's for a little while, enjoying the warm closeness after the coldness that had invaded him that afternoon.
"Sam?" Dean asked quietly. "What did you burn in the barbecue pit?"
Sam stiffened, remembering the file and its incriminating contents. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
Dean pulled away again, standing up, crossing the old wooden porch, his work boots thudding hollowly in the quiet evening. He stopped at the railing, leaning against it.
"You might as well tell me, Sam."
"He was trying to protect me," Sam said desperately. "It wasn't about you, he never even thought about you."
"Sam," Dean prompted softly.
Sam licked his lips. "Dad's friends with this guy, they served in the marines together." He grimaced, shaking his head. "He's a cop in the city."
Dean closed his eyes for a moment, pain flickering across his fingers. "Christ," he whispered harshly, pushing away from the railing with a jerk. "That's just great." He took the steps two at a time, avoiding Sam's beseeching hand as he flew past him and around the side of the house.
"Dean!"
Sam caught up with Dean at the barbecue pit. It was full dark now, the kitchen lights shone out into the garden and Sam could still smell the burning paper, even over the scent of the hamburger patties drying out on the stove.
Dean had a stick in his hand and was stirring the ashes, even as Sam watched he dug in deep and ripped the stick away, sending black ash and crumbled yellowed fragments of scorched paper into the air in a sweeping arc.
"I bet he just loved that," Dean said angrily, flinging the stick away. It spun across the garden, scaring the next door neighbors cat into leaping away. "I bet that was just what he was dying to see. Not just a fag, but a fucking whore. Rent boy, hustler, trade-"
Dean!" Sam grabbed Dean's arms and wrenched him closer. "Stop it! Don't say that!"
"Why not?" Dean demanded, face ghostly white in the slanted light. "Isn't that what he said? His innocent baby boy, dragged off to bed by some fucking punk, not fit to kiss dear Sammy's boots-"
Sam jerked him close, slamming his mouth on Dean's lips, stopping the flow of hateful words, fighting Dean when he struggled and twisted in his arms. Finally Dean twisted his mouth away, but Sam wouldn't release him, he used every muscle he had to keep their bodies pressed together, feelings the tremors that racked Dean as he squirmed against him.
"Stop it, Sam, let me go," Dean ordered.
"No," Sam panted. "I won't let you go and you can't make me."
"I fucking could," Dean spat back, but he finally stopped fighting, dropping his arms and bowing his head. "I could hurt you in ways you can't imagine," he said flatly.
"You hurt me when you talk about yourself like that," Sam said painfully.
"It's all true."
"It's not and it never was." Sam slid his hands to Dean's forearms, holding him still, tilting his head to catch his eyes. "Please, babe, please. Believe me. I was ashamed today-"
Dean jerked in his arms.
"-but not of you," Sam continued deeply. "I was ashamed for my father. Because he couldn't see what I saw, when I looked at that folder. And he read it, Dean. I didn't."
Dean's face was in shadow, his eyes lowered, chin to his chest. "You didn't?" he said hoarsely.
"I burned it. Me and Nick, we burned it."
"So Nick knows." Dean stated dully.
"Nick always knew."
"Yeah." Dean was silent for long moments. "He never said anything."
"He's like me," Sam said quietly. "He loves you. He hates what happened to you. But he doesn't blame you."
Dean was shaking his head. "I made choices," he said painfully. "Bad choices, Sam."
"Well, there were some pretty crappy alternatives in front of you," Sam reminded him softly. "But when you had the chance you made the right choice, Dean. You know what I told my Dad today? Before I told him to go?"
Dean lifted his head, face still shadowed, lashes spiky and wet. "What?" he asked, voice hushed.
"I told him that instead of reviling you for being a victim, he should be admiring you for being a survivor. I do, every day. And I'm amazed and grateful as hell that you became the man you are today. The man I love so much."
Dean's eyes closed and one lone tear seeped out and ran down his smooth cheek. "Why?" he asked painfully. "Why me?"
Sam leaned forward and kissed that tear away. "Don't be an idiot," he chided fondly, and Dean huffed a tiny laugh. Their foreheads met and they leaned together in the moonlight, close together, breathing each other's breath.
"You really told your Dad to go?" Dean said, eyes tinted with wonder.
"Nick thinks he'll get over it." Sam shrugged, one hand rubbing Dean's back tenderly. "It's his choice now." He tightened his hold possessively. "I've made mine."
-666-
"So I guess Christmas at your place is out?" Dean said wryly.
"This is my place."
-666-
"What did you say to him, Nate?" Colleen asked the moment her husband walked through the front door.
Nathan shook the rain off his coat and hung it on the hook. "I went to see my son." He turned angry brown eyes on her. "That's all right, isn't it?"
"You tell me. Sam called here and said he didn't want you to go see him again. In fact his exact words were for you to keep away from him. And Dean."
"Dean," Nathan spat, stomping past his wife and down the hall. "Yeah, it's all about Dean now, for Sam."
"Yes, it is," Colleen agreed in exasperation. "And we have to accept that if we want to keep our son."
Nathan shook his head. "I told Sam today that I love him. He's my son and I will always love him. But I don't approve of the way he's living now."
"Because he's gay?" Colleen appealed. "Sam's not looking for our approval, Nate. He is what he is. Whether you like it or not."
"Now you sound like him," Nathan said impatiently. "This is not just about his dubious lifestyle choice, Colleen. This is about his choice of... partner as well."
"You met him? This Dean?"
"No, and I don't want to meet him." Nathan cleared his throat and looked a little uncomfortable. "I asked Jake to look into his background a little."
"Oh, Nate, you didn't!" Colleen exclaimed, hand at her throat. "Well, no wonder Sam was so angry."
"The boy's not good enough for him, Colleen. He's been in trouble with the police."
Colleen studied her husband's face perceptively. "Serious trouble?"
Nathan looked away. "Serious enough."
She narrowed her eyes. "Recently? Nate?"
"It was his juvenile record," Nathan admitted reluctantly. "Jake had to pull a few strings to dig it up."
Colleen sank down onto the couch, shaking her head in despair. "Oh, Nate, I can't believe this. You ran to Sammy with tales of his boyfriend's juvenile record? What did you expect?"
Nathan sat down opposite her, his shoulders slumped. "I don't know," he confessed. "I guess I thought it might shock him into..."
"What? Leaving him? Running back home to us and magically turning straight again?"
"He's had girlfriends before," Nathan said stubbornly.
"And he might have them again. He's nineteen, Nate. He's got a lifetime of choices ahead of him. But they're his choices, not yours or mine." Nathan rubbed wearily at his brow and Colleen felt her anger melting away. "Oh, Nate."
"I made a mess of it," Nathan confided wearily. "He wouldn't even look at the stuff I got from Jake. I think he already knew."
"Well, that's a good sign. That his young man told him. What did this Dean do, anyway?" she asked curiously.
Nathan hesitated, then shrugged. "He was fifteen," he said quietly. "It doesn't really matter, does it."
"Obviously not to Sam."
"I've never seen him so angry," Nathan said miserably, and Colleen rose and crossed the floor, sinking back down beside him. She took his arm and squeezed it.
"He'll come round."
"I'm not so sure. I think I've really messed things up."
End of Part Five