"And using organic matter-" Saul shuddered, "-tastes the same as like...regular food?"

"If you mean is it similar in taste to food assembled from individual ingredients, then yes."

"The way you say similar makes me think it's a thinly veiled euphemism."

"I'll admit there are differences."

Based on the way Reegan had devoured his burger at Once in a Blue Moon, that seemed likely.

Reegan panned his gaze around the dimly lit kitchen, stopping where the microwave hung over the stove. "That's it, right? I've seen pictures."

Saul sighed and said nothing.

Jaw set, Reegan walked over and studied the buttons for a few seconds. "How do you open it?"

Under different circumstances, Saul would have found the situation funny. Not tonight. He swiped the lasagna from Reegan, pressed the button to pop the oven door and threw the container inside. He pressed the reheat button and braced himself against the stove, head down. "What the hell are we doing, Reegan?"

Half expecting a flippant response, he lifted his head in shock at the answer. Reegan had come up behind him. Close. Too close. The man had little respect for personal space, but since Saul hadn't been complaining up until then, he didn't see the sense in starting now. Especially when the proximity touched off such warm feelings.

"Maybe we're just taking comfort where we can find it." Reegan's sigh ruffled Saul's hair. "I never meant to put you in danger. And I won't be able to live with myself if something happens to you or Cammie. I should take Silvia and walk away right now, and if I wasn't such a coward, I would." His hands crept back to Saul's waist. "And I can't seem to stop touching you." He flashed a sad smile at Saul's startled backward glance. "Honest enough for you?"

Saul swallowed past a dry throat. "Yeah."

The microwave beeped, and he grabbed at the distraction. "Get a couple of plates."

They split the pasta, eating standing up in Cammie's dark, cramped kitchen. Parts of the casserole were steaming, others only lukewarm, but Saul devoured it in minutes, then shared another tall glass of water with Reegan.

Voice pitched low in deference to their sleeping runaway, he pointed toward the living room. "I thought the two of you deserved a few minutes' rest. Want to try to sleep a bit more?"

"No, I'm good." He didn't use words to expand on how he'd rather be spending his time, hooking a finger on one of Saul's belt loops and pulling him forward.

They couldn't do this now. Not here. He had a little more respect for Cammie than that. But Reegan surprised him by drawing him into a chaste embrace and sifting his fingers through Saul hair.

Saul couldn't remember ever being petted before, but that was exactly what Reegan did, alternating his gentle stroking with blunt, satisfying scratches. Eventually, Saul gave up trying to resist and melted into the touches. Tension that had crept back during their conversation dissipated.

A warm hand cupped and turned his face, and his mouth parted in anticipation.

"Why can't I resist you?" Reegan mumbled against his lips, an exact echo of Saul's own thoughts. He opened to the gentle kiss, struggling through the lazy lethargy to place a hand on Reegan's ass.

Reegan gasped, a short puff of air against Saul's lips, and pushed the hand away. "Keep that up and the girls will get a free show."

"I'm not the one who started it." Saul nipped at Reegan's chin, then licked away the sting, drawing a low purr from the other man's throat.

The pads of Reegan's fingers danced over Saul's skin. "Don't turn this into a race."

With the utmost care and attention, Reegan mapped Saul's face with his hands and mouth, adding kisses when Saul arched against him, asking for one. Their passion rose, simmered, but Reegan never let it reach a full boil.

Saul retaliated, scratching lazily at Reegan's back until Reegan arched into the touch with a groan, sliding further between Saul's splayed legs. Warm and buzzing with desire, Saul considered staying in that exact position for eternity. "You're frying my ability to think."

"That's my plan."

"It's working." Why deny it? "What don't you want me to know?"

"I want you to know everything. More, I want you to believe it."

Saul's hands fell away from the addictive pull of Reegan's body. "I'm trying."

Rather than discourage, the words caused Reegan's hold to tighten. "I know. Thank you."

Saul's defenses were nonexistent against this man. He turned his head, needing to regain his equilibrium, and Reegan took the opportunity to reattach to his throat, sucking a line of kisses from his Adam's apple to his earlobe.

This was what Saul imagined being in love would feel like, when he allowed himself to imagine such an existence. He wouldn't admit that, but he couldn't let the moment pass unmarked. "I like this," he said, voice so graveled he barely understood it himself.

Reegan had no trouble with the translation. He smiled against Saul's neck. "I like it too."

"I like it too," came Cammie's voice from the doorway. "It warms the cockles of my heart."

Saul started, stepping out of Reegan's arms. "There you are."

"Just trying to give you some privacy."

"You've got a funny way of showing it," Reegan grumbled. Saul jabbed an elbow into his stomach and turned to smile at Cammie.

"Do you have a computer I can use?"

"In my bedroom. State of the art."

He'd expected nothing less. "Great. Just let me grab my notes."

Reegan intercepted him before he could backtrack to the living room. "What do you need a computer for?"

"I want to take a look at some satellite pictures of the church and the surrounding streets. The more we know going in, the better. Then I'm going to make a run over there alone. See what I can see."

"I'll go with you."

No way was he taking Reegan and Silvia anywhere near the place before he had thorough knowledge of what they could be walking into. "I'd rather you stay here. I won't be long. Maybe an hour."

"You're not going alone, Saul."

Reegan's tone had been mild, but his eyes dark and serious. He wasn't going to budge on the issue, Saul knew him well enough by now to realize that. Letting the subject drop, he followed Cammie down the hall to her bedroom.

"Right over there." She pointed to a corner desk, where a huge flat screen monitor took up most of the space. "Three point two gigahertz quad-core with eight gigabyte memory and a one terabyte hard drive. I call her Velma."

"Of course you do."

She smiled sweetly and squeezed his arm. "Let me know if you need anything else."

All Reegan wanted was a cup of tea. Truly, a child could manage it. If that child could speak clearly enough to instruct their 3D cook system to boil six ounces of water.

He turned the teabag over in his hands, hoping for inspiration. He could use the microwave, but how long should he set it for? And on what power setting? Electromagnetic radiation was tricky, but he remembered most of what he'd learned about dielectric heating. No metal in the device, that he remembered, but he was drawing a blank on the rest.

It wouldn't be good form to blow up his host's kitchen.

He spun in a slow circle, gaze panning over the countertop. Of course, there was always the stove, although the thought of fiddling with the gas made him queasy. If Saul would just finish hatching his plan, Reegan wouldn't be looking for ways to distract himself.

Restless, teabag in hand, he paced the kitchen, eye drawn to the trove of interesting items strewn about every spare flat surface. The space reminded him of Cammie's living room, an eclectic combination of new and old. Snapshots covered the sides of her refrigerator. Young men and women. Small children. With no frame of reference, he had no idea how recent the pictures might be.

A small television, tucked into the corner of a built-in desk, caught his eye. Mindless entertainment would help distract him. He didn't bother attempting to wake the TV with a verbal command, but snatched up the remote he found on a nearby shelf.

He was fumbling to find the power button when his elbow slipped, knocking something to the carpet. Cursing under his breath, he picked it up.

It was a journal. As soon as he realized that, he ordered his fingers to set it down. But curiosity got the better of him, as it always did. Television forgotten, he sat in the desk chair and opened the notebook to a page near the middle.

Writing filled the narrow lined space. Neat. Precise. Quotation marks caught his eye, breaking every line, a familiar format to anyone who read on a regular basis.

He grinned, flipping one page after another, and soon all thoughts of sleep retreated. Cammie wasn't your everyday mild-mannered office help. She also liked to write stories. He found himself caught up in the antics of her main character. A P.I. very much like Saul, if he wasn't mistaken.

Reegan squeezed his eyes shut on that thought. He'd only just managed to banish the man from his mind. Despondent, he closed the journal with a snap and sat slumped over the desk. How the hell would he ever get Saul out of his system?

"Are you going to brew that tea or just fondle it?"

The teabag crunched in Reegan's fist. Cammie had come up behind him, silent in her fuzzy slippered feet. She'd changed from her tan skirt and print blouse to a long nightgown and robe.

Reegan held the Earl Grey in front of him. It swung from its string in a hypnotizing motion. "I can manage."

"No thanks. I don't like strangers fiddling around in my kitchen." She plucked the teabag from his hands. "I'll do that."

Reegan tried not to let his relief show. "If you insist."

A glass measuring cup appeared in her hand, seemingly by magic, and she filled it from the tap. "I heard the three of you talking before."

Stomach dropping, Reegan said nothing.

"So I figure you have no idea what you're doing in here, being from the future and all."

At this rate, he'd die before he got anywhere near the portal. Just how many people could know about his true origin before the small ripples he was causing in the timeline turned to waves?

"I can generally manage in the kitchen." For some reason, having Cammie think him inept grated on his nerves. "Have for most of my life."

She popped the water into the microwave, pressing a series of buttons too fast for Reegan to follow. "My daughter is head chef for some hoity-toity bistro in Chicago. I don't let her in my kitchen. If she's not going to cook here, you're certainly not going to cook here. Deal with it."

"Making a cup of tea isn't cooking."

"I agree. So what sort of kitchen appliances do people have in the year 2145?"

They had one, as a rule. Which, unless one wanted to go vintage, ran strictly on voice commands. "Prepare" and "Reheat" sufficed for most of Reegan's meals. But this wasn't the sort of information he should be sharing, no matter how innocent Cammie's curiosity.

He didn't need a fancy machine to manage some classic redirection. "Thank you again. For taking us in."

Cammie's eyebrows rose above the rims of her glasses.

"You saved us. I'm not even sure you realize that."

"I realize that."

The microwave beeped its readiness, and Cammie busied herself with filling a mug with hot water.

Many years had passed since someone had mothered him. Being cared for by another drew a host of feelings to the surface. Cammie's ministrations differed from the intense, overwhelming feelings Saul's attention caused. More subtle, though no less attentive, they soothed him.

"You're good for Saul. You and Silvia." Cammie delivered this proclamation in a low voice, keeping her words confined to the kitchen. "Silvia, because the poor man is still one giant festering wound over what happened to his sister. This situation might be horrible for her, but it's helping draw some of that poison to the surface."

Reegan could appreciate that reasoning. "He's very protective of her." Maybe even more so than Reegan himself.

"Is it any wonder?" Cammie clucked her tongue.

"When did Lisa...? When did it happen?"

"A year ago. Less than a week after he left his job with the MPDC."

Speechless, Reegan gripped the edge of the counter. That kind of double blow would have destroyed a weaker person.

Cammie stared at him over the rims of her glasses. "You, however..."

Bracing himself, because those two words often preceded a thorough verbal beating, Reegan's breath left him in a surprised rush when Cammie finished her thought.

"You're the one who's really helping. I've feared his ability to love might be gone forever."

Suddenly dizzy, Reegan leaned back against the refrigerator.

"But that, apparently, was my mistake." She presented him the tea, her smile broad.

After a couple of steadying breaths, Reegan took it. "We're not..."

She waited while the heat from the mug baked his hands. "Not?"

"No."

They weren't. Reegan wasn't. "That's my story, and I'm sticking to it," he mumbled. He needed to get off his feet before his knees gave out and he ended up wearing Earl Grey. A small banquette took up one corner of the room, and Reegan made for it, balancing the cup in his palms.

"That's what you do, isn't it? Tell stories?" Cammie's body shook with her laughter, and she swatted the words from the air as though they were a bothersome fly. "So you'll forgive me if I don't believe you."

He'd forgive her. That'd be easy. Forgiving himself if it turned out he'd fallen in love, that would be more challenging. Was it even possible? "We've known each other less than two days."

"Is that supposed to mean something to me?" Cammie squeezed herself into the other seat of the banquette. "I knew within minutes of meeting my husband that we were destined to be together forever. At least until death parted us."

Leaning over the curtain of steam rising from the cup, Reegan shot her a lopsided smile. "My grandmother said the same thing to me about my grandfather."