Samuel had believed that things were improving with Troy. For the last three days, the boy had conceded to Samuel's broader experience. Clearly now the honeymoon was over.
"She's frightened, and you don't even care." Troy was shaking with fury.
"Troy, you've never been privy to this aspect of my work, but I assure you that with every client I counsel, there is a point when I must push farther than they wish to go. This is exactly like scrubbing out abrasions. You do it, not because you wish to cause your patient unnecessary pain - "
"Samuel, don't try to tell me that she has road grit ground into her psyche. That's absurd."
"And yet it's an apt analogy. Left alone, those thoughts will fester and drive a wedge between Amanda and everyone she cares about. Given that you would like to join those ranks, should you not support my efforts?" That's it Samuel. Reason has long been one of Troy's strengths.
"Don't pretend you want her to care for me. You've done everything you could to keep us apart." Perhaps he's not so reasonable about this. The boy glared at Samuel. "You know what? You win. I'll give you all the room you need. I've been accepted to USC Medical School. I had planned to leave next week, but I think tomorrow would be better; I'll let you know my new address when I have one."
The door slammed behind Troy before Samuel found his voice.
John scowled as he entered the office. "Stop yelling. I'm sure he's sorry already."
Damned, idiot boy. Ungrateful brat "Fine, John," he said in the softest tone he could manage. "Is this better?"
"Look, I know it hurts to let them go -"
"What would you know of it, John?"
John rolled his eyes and sank into the chair. "Samuel, he's an adult now. I suppose that Harry has always been rather independent, so it was a natural progression with him. I do know that wasn't true for you and Troy; just remember that he does need to become his own man."
"Why are you trying to maneuver me, John?"
"Sometimes you need to be pushed, Samuel. Get your head out of your arse, find some perspective, and I'll be happy to stay out of your business." I hate it when he's right.
Samuel stood then, reached into a drawer, and pulled out a flashlight. "Perspective. Fine. I think I left some in the barn. Turn out the light when you leave, will you?"
Outside though, instead of turning left, Samuel went right, down the driveway and past the clinic. He paused to pat Hercules as he walked by Mary's garden. Brown canine eyes promised acceptance, no matter the transgression. Shows how little you know, dog. Mary waved to him from her kitchen, but Samuel dared not stop.
Perspective. It was worth a try. It was hardly Troy's fault that more than twenty years ago Severus Snape chose the wrong door. As for that last year at Hogwarts, a sixteen year old boy would never want his mother to beg for his protection. That blame belonged to Lucius and Narcissa. And Samuel himself. Hiding the boy away may have saved his life, but certainly did nothing to improve his confidence.
Face it Samuel, you find the boy's concerns threatening because you're diving into questionable situations with reckless abandon. Perhaps placing some distance between them would be for the best.
Now, what to do about John? He should likely appologize to both the man and the girl. Both had suffered for other people's choices. The discussion with John would undoubtedly center on themes of personal discovery and growth. Urgh! Amanda would actually be easier. She understood frusteration and simply needed to feel safe.
He looked up to see the cozy glow of light through the window calling him home.
Okay, Samuel, enough of the hiding. Time to be a man.
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"Absolutely not. Paving the way with Amanda is one thing; Troy doesn't even like me." The set of John's jaw and the tilt of his chin told Samuel that he would not fare well if he pursued the argument.
"And us?"
John stared at Samuel before answering, "I've known all along that you're a surly bastard. Why would it bother me now?" He held a hand out to Samuel before continuing. "I keep making things harder for you. I don't want to come between you and Troy, or Jack either, for that matter."
Samuel ignored the hand. "John, I'm perfectly capable of alienating my friends all on my own. You are hardly to blame for my stubborness."
"How bad is your headache?"
How did the wolf always know? "What headache? Oh fine, it hurts. I'll live." Hasn't killed me yet, even when I wanted it too.
John rested his knee on the couch next to Samuel. "Budge over a bit." He shifted in behind Samuel and began working his fingers deeply into the knots in Samuel's shoulders.
"Ouch! I'm in pain here."
"Easy, Samuel. Let me work out the knots. Then I'll get to the rest." At first the pressure filled his vision with bright flashes, but slowly those tapered away and the sharp pain was replaced by a dull ache. Slowly, even the ache began to fade, and Samuel felt the electrical pull of those fingers pressing outward from his spine.
He recalled the scent of clover and that old oilskin coat, and he wondered what memories they could tie to the smell of lilac and fresh hay. His voice was only a scant whisper. "I don't think I've shown you the barn."
John let out a warm chuckle that turned to a sigh as Samuel captured a hand in his own and began gently massaging along the palm. "Keep doing that and we won't make it out this door." Samuel reluctantly stilled the motion, but didn't let go. He pulled John forward with him and they walked in the moonlight down the gravel path to the barn.
It rose from the driveway, a grey shelter of weathered wood flanked by white lilac bushes. John was incanting 'Lumos' and Samuel a silent 'Accio' as they slipped through the door. Honey colored light warmed the bales of hay as Samuel spread out the wool saddle blanket. Sweet, heady, floral scents drifted through window, wrapping them in the warm breath of a Northern summer night.
The scrape of the day's growth of beard lightly burned Samuel's fingers as he drew them along John's jaw. His own head was spinning under the touch of brown, calloused hands, feathering through his hair as warm, firm lips built exquisite torment by sliping softly against the pulse point on his neck.
When did they end up on the floor? Doesn't matter. With a soft moan, Samuel uncurled his hands and sought the smooth cords of muscle stretching across his lover's back. John gasped at the light scrape of teeth against his ear, and Samuel leaned back into the soft scratch of fresh hay.
Much later, after the moon had set and the light was extigushed with a whisper, Samuel watched the stars traverse the sky through the dust streaked window. How long can a demon hope to hide in heaven?