The Island: Jackson

Going Home

 Part 1

 

By Nelson

 

Jackson's mind floated into consciousness out of sleep, but his eyelids weren't quite as cooperative; they felt like they were stuck together with a dab of Superglue.  He reached out without opening his eyes and felt for Taggert - or a cold spot where he had been - and his hand settled onto the chest of his partner at his side.  His eyes snapped open, fully expecting to find the room pitch dark since Taggert was still in bed.  He rarely woke up before Jonas and Taggert on a Saturday, but he found the room was beginning to brighten with the early sun, creeping up over the horizon in a lazy crawl. 

 

He looked past the still-sleeping Jonas at the clock to see it was 7:30, and Jackson's first thought was to close his eyes and go back to sleep.  His second thought raised a smile.  With practiced perfection, Jackson unthreaded himself from the covers without disturbing either of his lovers, and he crept ever so carefully to the foot of the bed.  The springs gave a small creak of complaint when he got up, but Jackson ignored the resistance and tiptoed out the door, pulling it closed slightly on his way out of the room.

 

Once out of earshot, he hurried down to the kitchen and stared into the refrigerator.  What to make… anything but cold cereal on a Saturday.  He had enough of that during the week.  After barely any consideration, he settled on eggs and bacon; he could handle that without breaking a sweat.  The yellow skin of some Golden Delicious apples caught his eye; baked apples would be great to go with the eggs and bacon. He was sure he could remember how to bake apples from his cooking class on The Island. After only a moment to deliberate, Jackson grabbed the apples and set to work. 

 

While the bacon cooked in the microwave, Jackson prepped the apples, and chopped some fresh veggies to sauté with the eggs.  He could just see Jonas and Taggert's faces when they came downstairs to find a fresh breakfast spread out on the table.  He grinned, thinking of how surprised they'd be.  He barely got the vegetables under control in the frying pan when the first two slices of bread popped up.  He glanced over at the cooling toast while he tried to figure out how to manage getting it buttered without leaving the stove.  His gaze darted between the two breakfast items vying for his attention, and he finally abandoned the veggies to rescue the toast.  The microwave beeped before he could smear a single swipe of margarine on the toast, and he huffed in exasperation as the apples pulled him in yet another direction. 

 

The vegetables were sizzling angrily at being ignored and Jackson put the toast aside to go tend to them for a minute.  He frowned into the pan and stirred the vegetables; the butter was nearing scorch-levels.  Good thing he hadn't waited any longer.  The microwave dinged a reminder, and insisted that it needed more attention than the vegetables.  Jackson moved the pan off the burner so he could comply and check the progress of the apples.  They were nowhere near done, Jackson discovered, as he peeled back the cellophane covering, and stirred the concoction.  Replacing the Saran, he guessed at the time, and entered another 15 minutes.

 

"What's up, babe?" Jackson turned from the microwave in time to see Jonas stepping off the stairs and heading into the kitchen, trailed closely by Taggert.

 

"You weren't supposed to get up yet," Jackson announced, his shoulders slumping in disappointment.

 

Jonas ran his hands down Jackson's arms, then pulled him close for a kiss.  "We messed up your surprise," he said sadly.

 

"I'm still surprised," Taggert admitted as he took his turn greeting Jackson.  "It smells great."

 

A second set of toast popped up and Jackson left his lovers to work on that.  "Fix your coffee," he demanded.  "I've got breakfast under control."

 

"What did we do to deserve this honor?" Taggert asked as he looked into the pan of vegetables.

 

"You slept in for a change."

 

Jonas sidled up to Taggert's side with a feather touch to the small of his back while he checked to see what was cooking.  "We need to sleep in more often. This beats the hell out of cereal."

 

"That's what I thought."  Jackson smeared butter on the toast then tossed in some more before shooing his men out of his way.  "Get your coffee and the paper.  I'll call you when it's ready."

 

Taggert glanced into the microwave before he turned from the stove.  "These look ready, Jackson.  Do you want me to turn this off?"

 

"No. I want you to get your coffee, get the paper off the front porch, and let me finish, please." 

Taggert raised his hands in amused surrender.  "Yes, sir."

 

Jackson pushed him out of the way and took a look for himself into the microwave.  Five minutes had passed, and Jackson concurred with his earlier to decision to go for a full fifteen. 

 

Jonas stirred his coffee and asked Jackson, "Are you sure you don't want us to help?"

 

Jackson turned from the stove and put his hands on his hips.  "You two really can't handle not being in control, can you?"

 

"Ooooh, that's low.  *Low*, Jackson," Jonas said with a grin, shaking his finger at his partner as he spoke, although did as he was told and left the kitchen.

 

Finally, something that worked.  It was bad enough that they ruined the surprise by waking up too soon.  Jackson certainly didn't need them to help and steal his chance to do something nice for them.  The microwave beeped for the last time just as Jackson finished putting the eggs and toast on the table. 

 

"It's ready," he called into the den.  He touched the handles of the corning ware in the microwave, and immediately snatched his scorched fingers away from the hot dish.  "Ouch," he muttered as he grabbed a couple of potholders.

 

The smell of the baked apples wafted out of the microwave and Jackson set the baking dish on the granite countertop then peeled the Saran to inspect his creation.  His face fell as he peered into the dish to see the dried up, over-cooked apples lying in a withered heap, baked onto the bottom surface of the pan.  Jackson's face fell.  "Crap!"

 

"What's the matter?" Jonas asked, instantly changing his course from the dining area to the kitchen to see what was wrong.

 

"I ruined the stupid apples!"

 

"Over-cooked?" Taggert guessed appropriately.

 

"Yes," Jackson spat. "I can't believe it."

 

"I thought they looked about ready when I checked them."

 

"They weren't, though.  I shouldn't have put them back for 15 minutes. Ten would have probably done it."

 

"That wasn't the last of the apples, was it?" Taggert asked as he joined Jackson in the kitchen to inspect the apples. He grimaced as he peered over Jackson's shoulder into the dish of shriveled apples. "Let's just slice up some more and put them in the microwave."

 

"But then the eggs will be cold!" Jackson couldn't believe it. What a mess of a breakfast!

 

"Baked apples are like dessert," Jonas said. "I'm fine with waiting until the end for a fresh batch."

 

"Fine," Jackson said, deflated.  "What a crappy breakfast."

 

"It's not crappy in the least." Taggert retrieved a few fresh apples to start the process over again.  "It's not a big deal."

 

"It's a big deal to me."

 

Jonas crossed a slippered foot over his ankle as he leaned against the kitchen island, arms crossed loosely.  "You know, Jackson, it doesn't have to be perfect for us to enjoy it and appreciate what you did for us."

 

Jackson picked up on the key word right away.  Somehow, his mind-reading Alphas had noticed him striving for flawlessness recently, and took issue with the matter. Thankfully, it hadn't escalated beyond reprimands and one set of lines – which they had proven adept at selecting in just a short time.  He memorized "don't confuse excellence, which is achievable, with perfection, which isn't" long before he scribbled it out for the last time. 

 

He raked his fingers through his hair.  "I'm not trying to be perfect. I only wanted it to be right."

 

"It *is* right," Taggert told him, placing the apples on the island.  "I'll slice, if you want."

 

"I'll do it," Jackson said, taking the apples from him.  "Go eat your eggs before they're cold like the toast is by now."  Jackson gave both the hovering Alphas a pointed look.  "Go on.  Please."

 

Jonas and Taggert checked with each other, an unspoken message traveling silently between them, before they relented and sat down. 

 

Jackson waited until they were on their way to the table before he went back to square one on the apples.  He was ready to add the seasonings when he remembered the bacon was still on the countertop, lying forgotten on the bacon dish, still covered with wax paper.  "Crap!" he blurted again.

 

"What is it this time?" Jonas asked from the table. 

 

"The bacon."  Jackson peered under the wax paper at the limp, undercooked strips, lying in grease that was beginning to solidify.

 

Jackson glared at the flimsy strips of pork, accusing it silently of doing its part to add to the chaos.  He ground his teeth together angrily until his jaw threatened to crack.  First the apples, now the bacon!  They were going to have to eat their breakfast in phases!  Jackson pushed the bacon dish back in the microwave then closed the door with a bit more force than he meant to.

 

"What's wrong?" Taggert asked him.

 

"Nothing," Jackson said with a saccharin smile.  "It just needs a few more minutes."

 

By the time he arrived at the table with the bacon, it felt like he had been trying to make breakfast for hours rather than the short time that had passed.

 

"This is really good, babe," Jonas told him as he bit off a corner of his toast.  "You outdid yourself."

 

"Thanks."  Except it was supposed to be a surprise, and the bacon was supposed to be served with the eggs, and the apples weren't supposed to be burned.

 

"I'm enjoying mine, too," Taggert said, lifting another forkful of eggs to his mouth.  "It's fantastic."

 

"Really?" Jackson eyed his lover carefully.

 

"Really." Taggert took Jackson's hand and kissed his palm.  "It's very good."

 

Jackson felt the color in his cheeks rise with the praise. Taggert was being nice, but Jackson knew the truth.  He tried his eggs: cold and hard.  The flavor was good, but the rubbery texture left a bit to be desired.  Jonas didn't seem to mind, and he shoveled in the last of his cold eggs without even a grimace.  He must have a taste for frigid eggs, or else, he was just really good at playing nice, like Taggert. They were too good to be true. 

 

The microwave sounded as the apples completed their cycle, and Jackson cautiously went to see what mess lurked inside the baking dish this time.  The microwave door swung open when he hit the release button, and the air was filled with the smell of butter and cinnamon.  Jackson wasn't fooled; the ruined apples had smelled ok, too.  When he removed the cellophane the second time, he was pleased to find the apples were juicy and glistening with melted butter.  He breathed a sigh of relief and set the dish on the table. 

 

"Apples look pretty good this time," he reported as he placed the dish on the table.

 

"They look great." Jonas spooned a helping onto his plate.  "This was a wonderful way to start the day. We'll have plenty of energy for a trip into Baltimore later this morning.  Thank you for thinking of us."

 

"You're welcome."  It should have been far better, Jackson berated himself. 

 

After they cleared the table, Taggert said, "I need to go check a few emails for work.  Do you guys care if I bail on the dishes this morning?"

 

"Not at all," Jonas said. "We've got it.  Don't get carried away down there. We don't expect to be work widows."

 

"I won't.  Jackson, thanks for a lovely breakfast."  He hugged Jackson tightly and pressed his lips firmly against Jackson's.

 

"No problem. I'm glad you enjoyed it."  Jonas gave Jackson's back a pat as he passed by his embracing partners as he made his way to the sink.  "Jonas, why don't you leave those? You said you wanted to take a shower. I'll do the dishes."

 

"Jackson, you already made breakfast.  I'll help while Taggert bails."

 

Taggert's eyes narrowed at Jonas, but he still smiled.  "Hey, I'm working, not bailing."

 

"Seriously, go," Jackson urged Jonas.  "It won't take me 10 minutes to throw these in the dishwasher."  Jonas studied Jackson carefully, and Jackson gave him a reassuring smile.  "Really.  Go."

 

"Are you sure?"

 

"Yes, go, already."

 

Jonas reluctantly tore himself away, and Jackson managed to keep the mask of normalcy in place until he was alone.  He was relieved to be by himself so he could let his guard down, and be miserable, not having to pretend to be happy with how the meal had turned out. 

 

"You shouldn't be pretending," he berated himself, as he put the plates in the dishwasher. 

 

The self-recrimination did its job in slathering on a nice layer of guilt on top of the burning sense of failure.  It wasn't good to hide feelings in a relationship, and he knew that very well.  In theory.  In practice, being transparent was seriously lacking in the appeal department.  Well, Jackson couldn't help how he felt any more than he could go back and try making breakfast again.  At least he managed not to burn the toast. 

 

He dropped a spoon in the floor, missing the silverware basket in the dishwasher that he was aiming for.  "God *damn* it!" he cursed the spoon between clenched teeth.  "Am I going to fuck up everything today?!" 

 

He looked around the room quickly to double-check that Jonas and Taggert weren't in earshot as soon as the words bolted out of his mouth.  He was relieved to find the room was still empty.  There was no need for him to practice transparency in front of them so early in the day, especially by having an uncontrolled outburst. 

 

He couldn't shake the feeling of inadequacy, no matter how much he counseled himself while he cleaned the kitchen.  The rational part of his mind tried explaining that he was being stupid and petty, while another part pointed out he was going to have to try harder.  The walls were growing closer, leaving him with a cloying claustrophobic sense of suffocation.  He needed to get out.  He looked toward the front door longingly, and reminded himself that running off was against the rules. 

 

Stepping outside wasn't against the rules, though, and besides, the fresh air would be good and help clear his head.  He went upstairs to dress, and couldn't help but smile at Jonas' private concert swelling out of the shower.  Not bad, he noticed.  He threw on some sweats, and grabbed his phone on the way out the door.  He stepped outside and the crisp air struck his cheeks; it was cool, but not freezing, and almost comfortable in the sun.  Jackson patted himself on the back for making the right call with the light jacket, and wondered if he should have grabbed his gloves.

 

He pulled his cell phone from his pocket as he strolled along the sidewalk, and found the number he wanted.  "Morning, Dylan," he said when his friend answered.

 

"Hey, what's up?"

 

"Nothing. I just needed some air, so I stepped outside, thought I'd say 'hi'."

 

"Trouble with the partners?" Dylan guessed intuitively.

 

"No.  I made us breakfast this morning as a surprise for them, but they showed up early.  Blew the surprise."

 

"That sucks."

 

Jackson's feet kept moving as he chatted, lost in his conversation as he tried to cast off the bad aura that was hanging around him all morning.  "Yeah.  It didn't come together quite like I planned but they seemed happy with it," he reported vaguely.  "Is Jamie over the flu yet?"

 

"Sort of.  The sore throat and aches are gone, but he sounds like he's hacking up a lung. Garth is still hovering. That would drive me up the wall, but I'm not Jamie."

 

The small talk was helping, and the clouds actually started to lift and began to roll away in the face of the fresh spring sunshine. 

 

The phone beeped a couple of times and Jackson frowned as his conversation was broken up by the noise.  "My phone is beeping. The battery must be going, so if I lose you, I didn't hang up, ok?"

 

"Ok. Hang on a sec."

 

While Jackson waited, he took note of what a beautiful morning it was after all.  The birds were happy with it, and sang their delight from trees that were starting to sprout new coverings of leaves, while those cast off from last fall still littered the path he walked.  A little tuft of purple flowers at the side of the road stood all alone regally amid the dead grass and leaves, not afraid to be the first to come out of hiding from the cold winter. 

 

The morning walk had done him a world of good.  The day might not be a bust after all. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Taggert climbed the basement stairs to find the TV on in the upstairs den, but Jackson and Jonas were nowhere in sight. Movement in the stairwell caught his attention and he turned to see a freshly showered and dressed Jonas coming down from the second floor.

 

"Did you finish your work?"

 

"Yep, I got a few hot potatoes cooled off.  You look nice," he said with a hungry smile, while appreciating his partner's tight body, wrapped in black jeans and a simple beige turtleneck.  He slipped his arms around Jonas and settled a hand on each cheek of his ass, squeezing appreciatively.  "Where's Jackson?"

 

Jonas scanned the room.  "I don't know.  He wasn't downstairs?"

 

"No, not in the office anyway."  Taggert's thoughts were immediately disrupted by a rush of unsettled worry. 

 

"Wonder where he is?"

 

Taggert untangled from Jonas and called out Jackson's name, but his beckoning was met with silence.  He turned to Jonas.  "You sure he wasn't upstairs?"

 

"Not that I saw."  He checked the half bath on the first floor, coming back to the den alone.  "Not in there."

 

"Jackson!"  Taggert called Jackson's name up the stairwell and listened for a reply.  "I'm going to check the den downstairs."

 

Taggert was back in half a minute to find Jonas peering out the front windows.  He turned to face Taggert, worry etching lines across his forehead.  "I don't see him in the yard, front or back."

 

"Not downstairs, either."  The two men looked warily at each other. "You don't think he pulled a Jackson bolt, do you?"

 

"I hope not, but it's starting to look that way," Jonas said, already heading to the closet to check for coats.  "His jacket is gone."

 

"Damn it!" Taggert cursed. "I need to throw some clothes on."

 

He was back in two minutes, grumbling as he came down the stairs.  "We already covered this with him.  No bolting."

 

"What's he bolting from, though?" Jonas tugged on his coat and dug into his pockets for a pair of gloves.  "He seemed fine this morning."

 

"I don't know. Why would he just leave? It couldn't have been us ruining his surprise for breakfast, could it?"

 

Jonas shook his head thoughtfully. "No.  It couldn't be, could it? We were still surprised, and he didn't seem off or anything."

 

Taggert shouldered into his jacket.  "Did you try calling him?"

 

"Not yet."  Jonas grabbed his phone off the counter and speed-dialed their partner.  He shook his head.  "Going straight to voicemail."

 

"Which means he's on it or the battery is dead."

 

"The battery isn't all that's going to be dead when we find him," Jonas said solemnly.  "Let's leave him a note in case he comes back while we're out."

 

"Wait, did he leave us one?" Taggert checked the kitchen island and the counters, finding them both empty.  "Nothing," he announced. "I'll leave him one from us just in case."

 

Taggert scribbled out a note and left it on the dining room table before they headed out toward the trails.  "He'd have stuck to our usual route, don't you think?" Jonas asked as they reached a crossroads in the path.

 

"That would be my guess. Unless he decided to do some exploring." 

 

"Don't even go there," Jonas warned. "I don't even want to think about having to find him down all these trails if he did that."

 

"Needle in a haystack comes to mind."  The two men walked their usual path, searching the area for a dark-haired man in a navy jacket.  Taggert pondered aloud, "I don't get it.  Why would he leave?"


"I guess we have to ask him when we find him.  I hope he has a good reason," Jonas added sincerely.

 

"Regardless, we have to spank him."

 

Jonas grimaced and stopped walking. "Do we?  I mean, we don't even know why he left yet, or where he went."

 

Taggert looked at his partner curiously.  "We did warn him that leaving without telling us where he was headed would get him spanked.  I don't know where he is, do you?"

 

"No. Why did we have to say that?" Jonas huffed, his shoulders stiffening as he jammed his hands into his jacket pockets.  "We punished him with lines when he tried to take off in the store when he first got here, so he knows how we feel about it."

 

"Are you feeling squeamish?"

 

"Yes," Jonas answered honestly.  "Not really squeamish, more confused.  Everything seemed fine this morning, so why would he do something he knew would get him into trouble?"

 

"I don't know."

 

They walked along in silence for a few minutes before Jonas spoke.  "We need to ask him before we make a decision about how he's going to be punished.  Find out why he did it."

 

"I agree, we need to talk to him about why he took off, but we already told him what would happen."

 

"But we need to know where his head was when he did it.  That could make a difference," Jonas pointed out. 

 

Taggert thought about it as he searched the trail, frowning.  "How?"

 

"What if he didn't get that he was doing something wrong?"

 

"How could he not?"

 

"Well, it isn't exactly like in the store. He wasn't angry, we hadn't argued… actually, we don't know why yet."

 

Taggert stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket.  "We'll see what he says then talk after we find him."

 

Jonas nodded at the compromise.  "Hey, look down there.  Is that him heading this way?"

 

Taggert looked off in the distance and recognized Jackson even from that far away. "That's him."

 

"Shit," Jackson cursed under his breath as his feet came to a standstill when he saw his partners walking the same wooded path he trod.  The clouds were back more quickly than they left.

 

He looked around in surprise at how far he had gone while he was distracted by conversation.  He hadn't even meant to leave the sidewalk in front of their house at first, but he had allowed himself to wander a bit more, then a bit more.  He realized he had inadvertently wandered a good mile away.

 

Dylan's voice came back on the line. "Hey, I've got to go.  Garth is demanding my attention."

 

Jonas waved, and Jackson hesitated before he raised a hand.  "Yeah, my partners are, too.  Talk to you later."

 

What the fuck had he been thinking?  How had he managed to wander so far?  They must have been worried when they couldn't find him if they were out here looking for him.  Good thing he hadn't been stalking or running away; that would really have been a fuck up. 

 

They met on the paved trail and Jackson studied the asphalt uncertainly. "You didn't have to come looking for me. I just wanted a little fresh air while I talked to Dylan."

 

"We didn't know where you were, Jackson," Jonas said. "Were you upset about something?"

 

Warning bells clanged deafeningly in Jackson's head and he quickly met Jonas' eye.  "No."

 

The single word came out far more smoothly than it sounded in his head as he struggled to grab it amid his suddenly whirling thoughts.  It wasn't a lie, really.  He was walking trying *not* to be upset!  That was totally different than losing control and leaving in an aggravated huff.

 

Jonas' eyes narrowed as he dissected his partner.  "Are you sure?"

 

Jackson swallowed and nodded.  "Yeah. I just wanted some air and to talk to Dylan."

 

Taggert said, "I believe we told you that you needed to tell us before you took off, upset or not."

 

Jackson looked anxiously between the men. That was not at all what he was expecting.  Worried, yes.  Seeing it as him 'taking off', no.  "I didn't take off!  I went for a walk. For fresh air and exercise.  I wasn't having a tantrum.  How is that taking off?" 

 

"Why didn't you leave us a note?" Jonas asked him.  "We had no idea where you were.  We were worried."

 

"I'm sorry about that.  I thought I'd be back before you guys were finished with what you were doing, and I didn't mean to go so far."

 

"Why didn't you take our call?"

 

Jackson flashed back to the annoying beep that threatened to disrupt his earlier conversation, and he rolled his eyes.  "Crap. I thought that was the battery.  I didn't even check the beep."

 

"It was us," Taggert reported with a raised brow.

 

"I didn't know.  I'm sorry. I really am."  Jackson deflated then cast a worried look to Jonas and  then back to Taggert.  "I didn't mean to do anything wrong.  I'm not in trouble, am I?"

 

"Let's talk about it at home." Jonas interlocked his arm in Jackson's as they walked silently through the wooded lot toward their house.

 

Jackson's heartbeat quickened. He knew what 'talking' was all about, and he *was* in trouble. He knew it in his gut the moment he saw Jonas and Taggert on the trail.  How could he have been so stupid?!  He had only meant to get some air.  He knew he had been walking while he was talking on the phone, but he didn't mean to go so far.  He had let some over-cooked apples work him up too much to pay attention. 

 

He didn't blame Jonas and Taggert for being pissed at him for leaving, and making them worry.  He had to give them credit though; they were masking their anger well, at least as well as Jackson had hidden being upset with himself earlier, he observed.  They were being eerily quiet; were Jonas and Taggert lost in thought, or were they giving him the cold shoulder?

 

They entered the house and Jackson hovered at the top of the staircase leading to the basement. If they sent him to the basement, he was sure that meant his luck had run out on not being spanked.  He had gone just over two months without it happening; a new record for him.  He should consider himself lucky.

 

"Ok, Jackson," Taggert said.  "Why don't you go on downstairs while Jonas and I talk."

 

So, he was right.  Even though he agreed that he deserved whatever he got, it didn't mean he wanted it to happen.  Not at all.  Jackson glanced into the basement stairwell then back to his partners.  "Can't I stay up here?  Do I have to go downstairs?"

 

Jonas gave him a slight smile of understanding.  "Go ahead.  We'll be down in a minute."

 

With a last look over his shoulder, Jackson trudged down to the basement leaving Jonas and Taggert alone.  As soon as he was out of earshot, Jonas turned to Taggert.  "I especially don't want to spank him now."

 

Taggert sighed.  "Let's sit down."

 

Jonas followed him to the den and sat on one end of the sofa, while Taggert sat in the armchair cattycorner from his partner.  "Why don't you want to spank him?"

 

"You heard him. He didn't think he did anything wrong."

 

"I don't know how much clearer we could have been before, Jonas.  There's not a lot of gray in 'don't leave without telling us where you're going'."

 

"But there *is* gray."  Jonas leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees.  "He associated leaving with a tantrum or whatever, just like I was afraid he might.  Going for a walk isn't the same."

 

"Why did he go?  You think nothing was bothering him?  Really?"

 

Jonas shrugged helplessly.  "He said he wanted fresh air and he wasn't upset.  Why would I question whether he was telling us the truth?"

 

Taggert leaned back in the armchair and pushed his fingertips across his worried brow.  "I'm afraid we're making a mistake by letting this go. If we screw this up, he'll do it again, and it might be worse next time."

 

"But you're not positive he needs to be spanked, are you?"

 

"Well, it's not like we were given a crystal ball when we left The Island."

 

"No, but Brad said when in doubt…"

 

"I'm not willing to go so far as to say I'm in doubt," Taggert countered.

 

"But if there's any question – and I have a big question mark – then we need to err on the side of caution."  Jonas rested his case.

 

"It's going to happen sooner or later, Jonas."

 

"And when it does, neither of us should have any question marks."

 

Taggert took a deep breath and released it.  "So, we're doing nothing? Is that what you're suggesting?"

 

"No.  I could live with lines or something."

 

"I don't think we can let it go without addressing it somehow.  You think lines then? We tried that last time, and it doesn't seem like it worked."

 

"We'll ground him, then. Reinforce the idea that he needs to stay close to home by keeping him here."

 

"Which means we're grounded, too," Taggert grimaced.  "No going to Baltimore like we planned for later today."

 

Jonas shrugged.  "It's a small price. We can go tomorrow or next weekend."

 

Taggert thought for a minute then relented.  "Fine.  We'll go with that then.  Ready?"

 

Jonas nodded as he stood, then the two went downstairs.  When they entered the office, they stopped dead still.  Taggert cut accusing eyes to Jonas, his lips pursed.  Jonas rolled his hands over, palms up and mouthed, "What?" silently.

 

"Jackson," Taggert said to the young man waiting in the corner.  "Put your pants on and come sit down."

 

Jackson turned from the corner, his brow furrowed in confusion as he looked questioningly between his partners.  Jonas handed him the sweat pants that lay draped over the back of the desk chair.  "You're not getting spanked."

 

Jackson blinked as the message sank in.  "I'm… I'm not?"

 

"Not this time," Jonas said as Jackson slowly slipped his sweat pants back on. "Have a seat."

 

Taggert started the conversation as soon as Jackson was comfortable.  "What did we say about leaving without a word?"

 

Jackson blinked in surprise.  What the hell?  He didn't know what to say!  It wasn't like he meant to break a rule when he left, but once he knew they thought he had, he assumed it meant he was in for it.  Had they actually listened when he told them he only wanted to go for a short walk?  That he had no idea they would see it as breaking a rule until he saw them on the path heading for him? 

 

Both men sat waiting for an answer to which Jackson merely shrugged.

 

"Jackson?" Jonas asked.

 

"I didn't have a tantrum or run off," Jackson explained the difference as he saw it. "I went for a walk.  I didn't think that was a rule-breaker.  I didn't leave a note because I thought I'd be back before you even knew I was gone."

 

"That's why we want to talk about it.  Going for a walk without telling us where you're going is still leaving without a word," Taggert explained.  "We need to know where you are. That's just common courtesy.  We explained that to you once, and we don't plan to keep having to repeat ourselves."

 

Ouch. They were getting fed up already, and Jackson still hadn't been in real trouble. He couldn't believe he hadn't foreseen that a walk – even a short one – without letting them know where he was going would rank as disobedience in their book.  The familiarity of realizing he had missed an important point came crashing over him.   

 

"I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking about it that way when I left, I really wasn't.  I won't do it again without at least leaving a note, even if I'm not mad, ok?"

 

"Make sure you don't," Taggert told him. "We aren't warning you again, so we want to be sure this is crystal clear.  When we say no leaving without a word or you'll be spanked, that means leaving without a word for any reason."

 

"O-ok."

 

"Do you understand?" Jonas asked him.  "We don't care why you disappear; disappearing period is not allowed."

 

"Yeah. Yes, sir," he stumbled.  

 

"Maybe we didn't make that clear enough last time," he added.

 

Jackson still couldn't believe it.  They sure disciplined differently than he thought an A8 and A10 would discipline.  Hell, he'd be over Brad's lap seconds after he made his point.

 

Why were they being so cooperative?  They were Alphas, after all, highly rated ones.  Alphas don't change their minds about consequences, do they? Wasn't it the Cen's job to find the loopholes?  Or was it that they couldn't find it in themselves to follow-through with their commitment because they didn't care as much as they thought they did?  If they couldn't be committed to discipline, were they really committed to the relationship?

 

"You said you were going to spank me," Jackson blurted out. 

 

It was Jonas and Taggert's turn to look shocked, and they both gave Jackson a lingering look before uncertainly sharing a quick glance with each other. 

 

"Look, Jackson," Jonas tried to explain.  "We really didn't want to have to do that this time after hearing you out.  It just didn't seem the same as when you tried to leave the store when you first got here.  We were afraid that maybe we needed to clarify."

 

"We aren't trying to be confusing," Taggert said.  "I mean, we don't want you leaving without a word, tantrum or not but…" he looked to Jonas for help.

 

"We don't want there to be any question whenever we need to spank you – for you or for us – so we wanted to be sure we were clear this time. That way, you'll know what to expect."

 

"Right," Taggert jumped back in. "So if you leave, make sure you've told us, left a note or something. Don't just take off. Ok?"

 

"Ok."  Jackson looked uncertainly between the two men. 

 

Jonas said, "Don't think that means you're getting off scot-free this time, just because you aren't getting spanked.  To remind you not to leave without telling us where you're going, you're going to spend the day here today.  You're grounded to the house."

 

"You're going to Baltimore without me?" Jackson asked painfully.  A spanking wouldn't have hurt nearly as bad.

 

"No, we're not going either," Jonas said.  "We can go tomorrow or next weekend. Today, we're staying close to home."

 

"Oh."

 

"Well," Taggert said, straightening up and holding a hand out to Jackson, "now that we have that straight, we can get out of the office. Are we good?"

 

"Yeah," Jackson told him with a bit more certainty than he felt.  Taggert pulled him into a tight hug before passing him off to Jonas.

 

"We're good," Jonas confirmed and hugged him as well. 

 

It was weird, Jackson thought as they climbed the stairs.  He wasn't used to Alphas waffling on The Island, not Brad or any of them. It wasn't that he wanted to be spanked; he really hadn't thought he was doing anything wrong, until he realized how Jonas and Taggert viewed what he did.  Still, he was grateful that they discussed it rather than punished him, but… would Brad have given him the benefit of the doubt?  Not really, no, he realized without needing much time to consider it.  Brad would have explained the situation and helped Jackson understand why he was being spanked, but he would have definitely been spanked.  No doubt about it.  Why did Jonas and Taggert handle things so differently? Was it because they were new at this?  Or did they see things differently than Alphas on The Island? 

 

He knew one thing: he wasn't asking Brad.

 

~~~~~~~~

 

"And you didn't spank him?" Brad balked at what the two Alphas relayed to him.

 

Taggert and Jonas looked at each other and Jonas answered, "No.  It didn't seem like the right thing to do."

 

Brad's sigh was heavy enough to sound through the phone in a hiss, and Taggert grimaced at the disappointment it carried.  "Listen.  You can't jerk him around like that.  He knows very well what would have happened had that been me.  If he doesn't know where the lines are, he will push until he finds them, believe me.  That isn't going to help him, you, or the relationship."

 

Taggert's shoulders drooped in defeat. "How many screw-ups do we get before you come take him back and send us for remedial training?"

 

"We're not taking him from you, and you don't need remedial training.  I might come out there and knock some sense into the two of you, though."  Jonas rolled his eyes and shook his head at their obviously poor judgment call, one that came at his recommendation. "If you don't plan to follow through, do not, under any circumstances, threaten him.  You make the threat, you deliver.  It's that simple.  Got it?"

 

"It didn't seem that simple at the time," Taggert told him.  "If the two of us were thinking different things, how could it have been?"

 

"Was Jackson expecting it?" Brad shot simply, his aim hitting the mark dead center.

 

Taggert looked at Jonas shook his head slowly at the memory of finding Jackson waiting in the corner.  "It seemed like it," he admitted loosely.  "Yeah."

 

"Maybe we should call you before we make a decision about punishment next time," Jonas suggested tightly with a bitter edge to his voice that his partner recognized even if Brad didn't.

 

"No, you don't need me to tell you what to do.  You know what you need to do, now do it next time."

 

Taggert stepped in to defend his partner, as well as himself. "It isn't as simple as spanking some guy from the BDSM community like we did in training on The Island. This is Jackson, Brad. We don't want to hurt him, and if either one of us is not sure, we're doing like you told us, and err on the side of caution."

 

Brad's tone lost its edge.  "You're right," he sighed.  "You're right, and I understand, believe me, I do.  It isn't always easy, especially at first.  Even later, it will sometimes be the last thing you want to do, but trust me when I say you aren't doing yourself or him any favors by being soft or giving him a pass."

 

"We didn't give him a pass," Jonas told him. "We just didn't…," he paused and exhaled as he saw the error in his judgment, "do what we said we would do."

 

"That's my point.  But you were right, too," Brad compromised.  "If you weren't sure, then you needed to go with the less serious consequences."

 

"That's what we thought," Taggert said.

 

"And keep in mind: I'm here, you're there.  I don't have all the answers, either.  You'll figure this out, and most of the time, it's going to have to be on the fly, like today."

 

By the time they ended the call, Jonas felt like they were the ones who had been punished, and he had a new admiration for their younger partner at having to face Brad when he stepped out of line. 

 

He leaned back in his chair after they hung up.  "Ah!" he groaned in frustrated aggravation then looked at Taggert with doubt in his eyes.  "According to Brad, I couldn't have messed that up any more if I tried, could I?  Don't listen to me next time."

 

Taggert chuckled softly and took Jonas' hand.  "You were the voice of reason.  There are no right or wrong answers."

 

"Really? Is that what you got from that conversation?"

 

"Even Brad finally relented," Taggert reminded him.  "You were still listening at the end, right?"

 

"Not really.  I heard enough at the beginning," Jonas told him.

 

"Hey," Taggert said seriously.  "Just because we didn't do things exactly like Brad would have, doesn't mean we did anything wrong.  This isn't a perfect science, and it's certainly not a one size fits all."

 

Jonas blew out a breath.  "I guess you're right."

 

Taggert pulled Jonas to him and kissed him hard.  "I know I am.  Stop worrying."

 

Jonas smiled reluctantly.  "Yes, sir."

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

"Ok, Taggert, we're out of here," Jonas said as he grabbed his jacket.  "Jackson!"

 

"Kiss me bye," Taggert demanded of his partner.

 

Jonas kissed him swiftly and grabbed two lunch bags from the kitchen island.  "Jackson!  I'm not calling you again!"

 

"The scheduler is running late?" Taggert joked.

 

"I'm not late.  Yet."  He turned toward a rumbling sound overhead then the source of the cacophony appeared as Jackson bounded down the steps in a dead heat. 

 

"I'm coming," he blurted breathlessly.

 

"Jackson, jacket," Jonas ordered.

 

"Hold it," Taggert grabbed Jackson's arm as he rushed by.  "Kiss."

 

Jackson complied quickly with one eye on Jonas as he disappeared into the garage.  "Love you. Bye."

 

"Bye.  Oh! Grab the mail!" Taggert called after them.  "We didn't pick it up yesterday."

 

"Ok!" Jackson rushed to the car as Jonas raised the garage door.

 

"Ready?"

 

"Yeah, sorry," he answered.  "Taggert said get the mail."

 

"Grab it quick.  I'll pull up." 

 

Jonas maneuvered the car beside the mailbox and Jackson leaned out the window, scooping up the mail in the box.  He flipped through the envelopes:  junk, junk, junk, bill, junk…  "My grades are in!" he exclaimed, filtering one envelope out of the stack of others.

 

Jackson tore into the envelope and hurriedly unfolded the grade report, while Jonas waited to hear the results.  "So? How'd you do?"

 

He scanned the four courses he had taken in the first quarter: B, A, B+… C.  "Shit."

 

"What?"

 

"I got a C in European history," Jackson mourned.  "I worked so hard on that stupid class."

 

"And that's all we expect of you, that you try your best.  A 'C' isn't a bad grade, Jackson."

 

"It is when you've worked as hard as I have!" Jackson blurted in disappointment.

 

"Hey," Jonas said to him.  "Even if it had been an F, it's not failure if you've done your best."

 

"It *feels* like failure."

 

"Jackson. You wouldn't be reaching for perfection again, would you?"

 

The question pulled Jackson up short, and he shook his head quickly, giving Jonas a synthetic smile.  "No, no.  You're right. I tried my best, and that's what counts."

 

Jackson stared at the paper and the letters began to blur despite what he had just said.  What would Taggert think? He had worked so hard with Jackson to help with his studies.  Taggert would have to be disappointed, maybe more than Jackson.  How was he going to tell him?  He was going to have to come right out with it.  Tell him and get it over with. He stuffed the grade report back in the envelope and chunked it indifferently into the middle of the junk mail.  He didn't want to see it, or any other reminder of what was inside.

 

~~~~~~

 

The day seemed to drag on at the gallery, customers milling in and out at a steady pace, but hardly an overwhelming one. Every time a customer came in, it seemed that Jonas got to the person before Jackson, leaving him with nothing to do.  Jonas knew the artwork better anyway, Jackson reasoned.  He didn't need Jackson's help, just because he let him tag along to the gallery a couple times a week.  He certainly could handle things without Jackson's input.

 

Jackson meandered back to the framing room and found a couple of orders that needing filling.  At least he could make himself useful and do that until it was time for art class.

 

He pulled the ticket off the first order and reviewed it for the matting.  Double.  Jackson recognized the popular 0023 as a cream, but he didn't know what color 1865 was.  He shuffled over to the mats and pulled 0023 out, then searched for the complementing color. 

 

Jackson still couldn't believe he had gotten a C in the history class.  It was the damn exam that tanked him.  Had to be.  He had studied so hard!  He flipped through the mats and found the color ordered to go with the cream.  1856 – dark green.  It should look pretty good against the contrasting cream, but then most colors did.  That's why it was so popular.

 

Jackson went through the motions of cutting the mat, then hinged the print to it before settling it into the frame the customer had selected.  The heavy brown framing with gold inset was going to look nice against the warm colors of the cream and green mat.  Although…he studied the print of the lake scene and wondered why the customer had picked such warm colors against the cooler tones in the print.  He shrugged. To each his own. 

 

Jonas came into the room when Jackson was ready to staple the points into the frame to secure the print inside.  "Hey, there."  Jackson glanced up from what he was doing and gave Jonas a wordless nod.  "What are you up to?"

 

"I thought I'd make myself useful since you didn't seem to need me," Jackson said with a spurt of venom he hadn't expected.

 

Jonas' eyes widened at the unexpected response.  "Where'd that come from?" Jonas asked in surprise, and Jackson shrugged.  "What's the matter?"

 

"Nothing."

 

Jonas' brow knitted together and he studied Jackson.  "Nothing? You've been snapping all day."

 

Jackson rolled his eyes and glared at Jonas. "What?!"

 

"Like that.  Are you still upset over that grade?"

 

Jackson carefully replaced his mask of serenity over the storm that was brewing.  "I'm not upset. I only want to be able help is all.  Not hang around like a piece of artwork."

 

"I'm sorry, babe, but it doesn't take two people to wait on one customer."

 

It made sense.  So, why did it feel like salt in a wound?  "It's ok. I found something useful to do."

 

"Let's see it." Jonas ran a hand down Jackson's back as Jackson turned the framed print over for Jonas to see, carefully holding the print in place with his fingertips.  "Oh," Jonas' brow furrowed as he uttered the single syllable.

 

Jackson saw the shadow pass over Jonas' face even as it fell.  "What?  What did I do wrong this time?" he snapped.

 

"Jackson, the mat's supposed to be blue.  1865 – Midnight Blue."

 

Jackson's mouth fell open.  "I did it according to what's on the ticket!"  He snatched the ticket off the counter and shoved it in Jonas' direction.

 

"Did I put down the wrong number?"  Jonas took it and read his own writing.  "It says 1865."

 

"It can't," Jackson said, taking the ticket.  "I don't understand."

 

Jonas went to the bin and flipped to 1856.  "You transposed the last two numbers, that's all."

 

"Well, shit!" Jackson exclaimed. If that wasn't just typical.

 

"Tone it down, Jackson," Jonas warned.  "There's nothing lost here but a mat. No big deal."

 

"It *is* a big deal!  It's –" Jackson bit off the rest of the sentence and almost choked on it.  It was mediocre work yet again. 

 

"Listen," Jonas said with a soothing tone.  "It's fine, understand?  You haven't even used the point driver yet so we can easily take the print out of the frame, cut a new mat, and fix this.  No one is perfect."

 

"Especially not me."

 

Jonas raised an eyebrow and drilled Jackson with a stern stare.  "You aren't trying to be, are you?"

 

Crap. Here he went with the no perfection thing again.  When his Alphas smelled the slightest whiff of Jackson struggling to get everything right, they jumped on it.  Lucky for Jackson, they didn't know him well enough to spy it every time. 

 

"Wanting to do it right isn't trying to be perfect," Jackson countered antagonistically. "It's taking pride in your work, and there's nothing wrong with that."

 

"Uh huh."  Jonas didn't look convinced.  "Listen, if it couldn't be fixed, it might be worth getting upset, but this can be fixed. Easily.  Grab the 1865, would you?"

 

"Do you think I can handle it? That's where I screwed up before."

 

Jonas stopped working on the print long enough to give Jackson a long look.  "That's enough.  Get the mat for me, please, without the smart aleck commentary."

 

Jackson crossed his arms and glared at Jonas, whose blue eyes were unwavering.  Jackson finally huffed as loud as he was able and whirled toward the mats.  "What was the number again?"

 

"1865."

 

Jackson thumbed through the mats for the second time and sure enough, 1865 was a midnight blue.  He knew the green didn't look right when he saw the cool-colored print. Why hadn't it registered!  He was too busy dwelling on the stupid grade, that's why.  He still had that thrilling conversation with Taggert to look forward to.  Wonderful.  Both his partners would know he sucked by the end of the day.

 

He took the correct mat color over to Jonas and held it out.  "Here."

 

Jackson turned from him and headed immediately for the door.  Jonas called after his partner, "Hey.  Where are you going?"

 

"I need to go to the bathroom.  If I can manage that."

 

"Jackson."

 

Jackson spun around angrily to face Jonas.  "What?"

 

Jonas let the biting snarl hang in the air for a moment before responding, long enough to see Jackson shift his weight to the other foot.  "Cool your temper before you come back."

 

Jackson's lips curled into a thin line and he turned without answering, and left the room.  Jonas shook his head in wonder and went back to his work to cut a new mat.  Jonas checked his watch after Jackson left, and made a mental note of the time.  Five minutes later, he had finished cutting the mat, but Jackson hadn't come back. 

 

He had better not have left, Jonas thought grimly.

 

"Hello!" Barry's voice echoed through the art gallery just as Jonas came out from the back room.

 

"Hey, how's it going, Barry?"

 

"Good, good.  Ready to set up for class."

 

"Great," Jonas said with his hands on his hips, nonchalantly looking around the gallery for his missing partner.  "Jackson must be upstairs already," he hoped.  "I thought he might be out here."

 

"I'll head upstairs then.  Maybe I can rope him into helping me set up."

 

Barry disappeared up the stairs and Jonas frowned at Jackson's disappearance.  Jonas went to the office to see if he was there, but the room was just as empty as the gallery had been.  He sat at the desk and tapped a pen against the notepad lying there.  Where was he?  Surely he would come back for his class.  Jonas made a note on a decorating proposal as he tried not to think the worst, but his head was not in it, not after the look on Jackson's face as he left the framing room.  If he went looking for Jackson, would it show a lack of trust?  What would Jackson say? 

 

Screw it.  Jonas snapped the pen down on the desk and went back out into the gallery, determined to find his partner.  Barry hadn't come back down, so he ascended the stairs, hopeful that it was a sign that Jackson was actually up there already, but not really expecting it to be so.  His heart sank when he stepped into the open area to see only Barry, scurrying around to set out his tools.

 

"No Jackson?" Jonas asked cautiously.

 

"Nope, not up here.  Maybe he stepped out."

 

That was exactly what Jonas was afraid of.  "Must have."

 

Jonas went downstairs and pressed the speed dial for Jackson on his cell phone before he was halfway to the first floor.  He heard the sound of Jackson's phone ringing, both in his ear and in the doorway as the front bell chimed.

 

Jonas hit the end button and stashed the phone in his pocket as he gave his recovered partner a disapproving stare. 

 

"You decided to come back."

 

"Oh, was that you calling me?" Jackson asked too cordially, checking the caller ID on his phone.

 

The sarcastic tone wasn't lost on Jonas.  "Where were you?" he demanded.

 

"Out," Jackson snapped.

 

"Why? Was something wrong with our bathroom?"

 

Jackson looked toward the hallway where the art gallery restroom was located then back to Jonas.  He raised one shoulder indifferently.  "Not that I know of."

 

"Did you leave a note? Because you sure didn't bother to tell me you were stepping out."

 

Jackson shifted uncertainly but met Jonas' eyes.  "No.  I needed some air so I walked down the street, and watched the Blue Angels practicing. It's not a big deal."

 

"It was a big deal, and you know it," Jonas pointedly corrected.  "Barry's waiting for you upstairs.  He could use some help setting up.  We'll discuss this when we get home tonight."

 

"There's nothing to discuss," Jackson countered.  "I went outside, I didn't flee the country."

 

"You went far enough for me not to be able to see you, so don't act like you just stepped out the door.  We'll talk when we get home.  Move it."

 

Jonas didn't sound like he was willing to negotiate or debate.  "Jonas, I don't think —"

 

"Do I need to call Taggert to come get you?"

 

Jackson's mouth hung open wordlessly until he was able to find his tongue.  "No, I –"

 

"Then go upstairs like I told you.  Now is not the time to talk about this."

 

Mixed emotions swirled through Jackson, from comfort in Jonas' surety to apprehension in the same.  Leaving the gallery was what Brad would call "blatant disobedience", and would get him paddled on The Island.  He wasn't sure how Jonas and Taggert would see it, but if Jonas' tone of voice was any indication, they weren't going to be appreciative.  It was clear that Jonas was irritated as all hell. 

 

Too fucking bad!  This was who he was and if they didn't like it, they could just send him back where Brad knew what to do, and was paid to put up with him.  Jackson couldn't handle it anymore.  Things were just fine as long as he managed to keep things under control, but as soon as he was himself, Jonas and Taggert were bound to find themselves in over their heads.  Was the real Jackson going to be more than they planned for?

 

Jackson tried to overcome the emotions flooding through him, and he looked for a distraction with Barry, helping him set out the paints and various tools for the class that they would be using.  Barry's lighthearted banter was usually calming, but it seemed to grate that afternoon, and didn't have a spark bright enough to chase away the clouds hanging over Jackson.     

 

He tried to focus on anything other than what was waiting at home, and Jackson concentrated on his artwork.  With one misplaced stroke, Jackson saw the boat in his picture seem to tilt.

 

"Shit!" he ground out between clenched teeth.

 

"Well, my goodness," Susan said with a diamond-laden hand to her heart.  She peeked around the canvas at Jackson's painting.  "Oops.  Your boat's a little crooked."

 

Jackson cut his eyes at her.  "You think?"

 

"Oh, yes," she answered honestly, missing the sarcasm in Jackson's voice.  "Definitely crooked." 

 

"What is it, Jackson?" Barry rushed to his side and looked at the picture, the dark blue boat leaning at an unnatural angle in the splash of painted water.  "It's ok.  That's not a problem."

 

Jackson complained, "How can it be ok? It's on there now."

 

Sue leaned over and looked at his work with a tsk.  "If anyone can fix it, sweetheart, Barry can."

 

"It's not a lost cause," Barry assured him.  "I promise.  Here, let me work on this a bit."

 

Jackson muttered, "I'll be right back."

 

He couldn't take another thing.  The whole day sucked from his less than acceptable grade report to fucking up with Jonas and now his picture. Everywhere he turned, he was reminded of what a loser he was.  Well, fine!  He couldn't take it anymore!  Jackson seethed with emotion as he pulled his jacket on, and stormed down the stairs.  He glanced at Jonas helping a customer, oblivious to the torment he was in. 

 

"Here's an artist you might like," Jonas told the woman as he led her to a different wall of paintings.  He looked up as Jackson stepped off the last stair, raising his eyebrows curiously.

 

Jackson ignored the questioning expression on his partner's face and started to walk away.  "Excuse me," he pardoned himself with the customer and moved to catch up with Jackson.  "What's wrong, Jackson?"

 

"Nothing."  Jackson continued to walk away, not giving a single rat's ass that he was getting himself in deeper.  What difference did it make, anyway?  He was already in trouble; might as well make it count.

 

Jonas caught him by the sleeve of his jacket.  "Jackson, why don't you go to the office.  I'll be done out here in a minute." 

 

Jackson mutinously glared at Jonas before he marched pointedly toward the door. Jackson ignored the veiled demand for him to stay, and walked out the door with Jonas still calling to him.

 

The frustration from the day bubbled to the surface and Jackson's throat tightened on tears.  It sure hadn't taken him long to ruin everything, his picture included.  Jonas had to be done with him after he was not only disobedient, but now defiant as well.  He couldn't help it.  He angrily brushed a tear away before it rolled down his cheek.  Why had he left in the first place earlier?? Was his brain malfunctioning or what?  Why did he have to call their hand?  What were they going to think of him?  They hadn't had the honor of dealing with Jackson's strong will in full tilt.  Would they still like what they saw when his guard was down?

 

"Jackson!" he heard as the back of his navy jacket got tugged sharply.  Jonas was behind him, out of breath.  "Hold it."

 

Jackson blinked back tears and tried to control the quiver in his voice.  "What?"

 

"Let's head back to the store. I have a customer and you need to take a seat in my office. Like I told you to do before you left."

 

"Why are you even bothering?" Jackson asked him gruffly.  "Admit it.  You didn't bargain for the real me."

 

Jonas frowned in confusion. "What the hell are you talking about?"

 

"This is who I am!  I'm not always going to get it right."

 

Jonas turned him around and put an arm across his shoulders as they walked back.  "We never expected you to, and if you'll recall, we've asked you to stop trying to be perfect.  Many times."

 

Jackson shrugged out of Jonas' arm.  "It's no use," he said with a mixture of fury and pain in his eyes.  "I'm a lot to handle, even for two people, and I know that. I won't blame you if you want to give up."

 

Jonas' brows rose in surprise and he demanded, "Excuse me?  We are *not* giving up.  We just got started! Don't think for one minute we're giving up. Not now, not ten years from now, not twenty.  You're stuck with us, young man, whether you want to call our commitment into question or not."

 

Jackson stopped short.  Not only was Jonas saying the right things, he seriously meant it, and even sounded mad that Jackson would question their dedication to the relationship.  "I – I'm sorry, Jonas.  I didn't mean –"  He huffed in exasperation, hands balled into angry fists at his side.  "I can't get anything right today!"

 

Jonas took a step closer to Jackson and tipped his chin up, ignoring the passersby.  "Stop trying so hard to be something you're not.  We didn't fall in love with a Jackson imitation, so quit it."

 

Jackson's eyes welled again at the determination in Jonas' gaze.  He meant what he was saying, no question.  How had Jackson missed that before?  He nodded shortly and dropped his eyes, his frustration fleeing, only to be replaced with guilt for putting Jonas through a hideous day.   

 

"Now, let's get back in before we freeze our appendages off," Jonas said more lightly.  "It's chilly today."

 

It was only then that Jackson noticed Jonas had no jacket on.  "Where's your jacket?"

 

"Are you kidding? I didn't take time to grab one. I wanted to catch up with you and that was all that I had on my mind."

 

Now that sounded like an Alpha.  They walked back to the store with Jackson deep in thought.  He looked warily over at Jonas.  "Jonas?"

 

"What?"

 

"Am I in big trouble?"

 

Jonas smiled and looked back at him tenderly. "You have no idea."

 

Jackson sighed heavily and tried to ignore the uncomfortable twinge deep inside.  This was going to be… awkward.  He did his best to push it out of his mind.

 

They re-entered the gallery and Jonas looked toward the stairs.  "Do you feel like finishing your class or do we need to talk some more in the office?"

 

Jackson glanced between the stairs and Jonas.  He didn't want to disappoint him further, but then he didn't know if he could bear to see the ruined painting either.  Before he could answer, Jonas interrupted his struggle.  "Don't go back for me.  Go for Jackson."

 

Jackson's tormented thoughts were torn.  What should he do?  He really didn't want to miss the class, but… "I--," Jackson stammered.  "I guess I—"

 

Jonas watched him war with himself for a minute before he stepped in.  "Ok, I'll choose for you.  You only have about 15 minutes left.  Go on back to class."

 

Jonas' surety took the weight off his shoulders, and Jackson felt a surge of relief.  He suddenly realized he really didn't want to miss the class.  Good or bad, he wanted to finish. 

 

"You're right. I want to go back."  It might take his mind off what was coming later.

 

"Good. I'll see you when you're done."

 

He stepped into the class area and Barry looked up from his work helping Sue.  "Ah, you're back.  Look at what I did and see if you approve."

 

Jackson went back to his seat, almost afraid to see the painting with the sinking boat.  He took a deep breath and dared to look, feeling the urge to peek through his fingers.  His eyes widened in surprise at the perfectly level boat.  "I can't believe it.  What did you do?"

 

"I didn't have to bail water out of the vessel to right it," Barry said with a gleam in his eye.  "I put a leveling stroke under the opposite side of the boat.  One stroke was basically all it took."

 

One stroke was about all it took for Jackson to blow the whole day over a series of inconsequential happenings, too.  "Thanks, Barry.  You're a miracle worker."

 

Barry laughed a hearty chuckle, and smacked a hand against Jackson's shoulder.  "I wish I could take that much credit.  I'm not nearly as perfect as you think I am."

 

He seemed pretty darn close to Jackson.  "Jonas and Taggert like to remind me that perfection isn't what it's cracked up to be," he said with a crooked grin.  "Doesn't seem to stop me from wanting to do a good job."

 

"Partners love each other, faults and all," Ruth commented wisely as she studied her work through the lower third of her glasses.  "Even faults are endearing when you love each other."

 

Barry looked over Jackson's shoulder as he worked.  "Wait until they see what a talented artist you are."

 

Jackson's cheeks flushed.  "I have a good teacher."

 

"Even a good teacher needs something to work with. All of you are doing a fine job.  You should be proud of yourselves."

 

Jackson smiled at Barry and took up his brush, picking up where he had left off before his boat started to sink. 

 

~~~~~~~~~

 

The ride home was quiet, and Jackson risked a glance across the front seat to cop a read of Jonas' expression.  He didn't look mad, but he wasn't saying too much, either.  His silence was magnified by his promise that Jackson was in big trouble, the threat settling into Jackson's bones.  Funny, he hadn't cared about being in trouble when he was whipping up a super-sized order of it, but he sure cared now.  Hell, even getting a 'C' in European history seemed like a bright spot.  He wished he could start the day over.

 

"I swear, sometimes, I wonder why I bother listening to the news," Jonas finally stated, turning the radio down.  "I can't believe what some people do."

 

"I wasn't really listening," Jackson commented quietly.

 

Worry etched lines across Jonas' brow, and he reached across the front seat for Jackson's hand.  "It's going to be ok, Jackson.  I promise."

 

"I didn't mean to be such an ass today. I'm sorry I made you mad."

 

"No one's mad, Jackson, least of which, me.  But I don't want to discuss it until we can all be together, ok?"  Jackson nodded and studied his lap.  "We'll talk about it with Taggert as soon as we get home."

 

"Did you tell him already?" Jackson asked with a wary glance in Jonas' direction.

 

"Yes, I called and filled him in that we had a little problem today."

 

A "little problem" didn't sound nearly as bad as Brad's "blatant disobedience" would have.  "What did he say?"

 

"We'll talk when we get home."

 

Jackson sighed.  "Oh."  It was too bad to repeat, obviously.

 

Jonas said, "Look, we're all disappointed that today turned out like it did.  We'll deal with it and put it behind us.  It isn't the end of the world."

 

It just felt like it was, Jackson thought bleakly, though he nodded agreement.

 

They pulled into the garage and Taggert opened the door, an anxious and somewhat worried look on his face.  Hardly the expression Jackson was expecting.

 

"Hi," he said, holding the door open for them. 

 

"Hi." Jonas kissed him when they got inside, and then Taggert kissed Jackson warmly, catching him off-guard.

 

"Rough day, I hear," he mentioned with concern, pushing Jackson's hair back gently.

 

Jackson's countenance fell at the warm welcome, and his throat tightened. He didn't deserve it.  These men really seemed to love him despite all his challenges.  "Yeah."

 

"Head on downstairs and take your pants off.  We'll be down in a minute."

 

"Wait in the corner by the desk," Jonas added.

 

Jackson mutely nodded then shuffled down the stairs to wait.  Taggert said to Jonas as the footfalls grew fainter, "No arguments? What did you do to him?"

 

"Nothing.  He thinks we can't handle him and are going to give up on him."

 

"What?!" Taggert said in disbelief.  "That's horse shit.  Did you convince him of that?"

 

"I tried. He's just – out of sorts?  I don't know."

 

"Well, it's time to put him *in* sorts, and do what we need to do," Taggert said firmly.  "Why would he think we can't handle him?  I'm an A10 for heaven's sake," he grumbled almost to himself.  "You're not exactly a lightweight."

 

"Aren't I? You were right the other week, you know.  I wonder if he would have let things get to him so badly today if we had spanked him then."

 

"We can't look back and question ourselves," Taggert said gruffly then softened. "We did what we thought was right at the time."

 

"You don't think that's why he thinks we can't handle him, do you?" Jonas thought.

 

Taggert thought for a moment. "No, I don't think so, and Brad didn't bring that up.  He thinks we called it right in thinking Jackson's been trying too hard and it's gotten to him."

 

"That's what he said?"

 

"Yeah, and he said that made sense with how angelic Jackson's been for the last two and half months," Taggert added with a slanted grin.  "And with us noticing he's never satisfied with anything he does."

 

"It does all make sense when you put it together, doesn't it? We've been telling him to stop trying too hard, but I think that only made him do a better job of hiding it from us."

 

"Yeah.  Brad said it wouldn't be a bad idea to get Jackson set up with Cal again for a while, even if it has to be by phone or instant message."

 

"I think we should.  Cal is good with him and Jackson trusts him." 

 

"I think so.  I think we need to add a rule around him and this perfection thing," Taggert suggested.  "When he's to the point that he's pretending and covering up, it's enough for us to address it."

 

"I was going to suggest the same thing."  Jonas sighed and checked his watch.  "We're going to have to take a hard line on it.

 

"We should tell him when we go down there."

 

"I'll cover it.  I don't want to leave him waiting too long. He's beating himself up."

 

"You sure you're ok with handling it this time?"

 

Jonas nodded his head as he stood. "It makes sense since he was with me and he ignored me when I told him not to leave."

 

"You don't think it's over the top to paddle him?"

 

"Taggert, he looked me square in the eye and then walked out. He was challenging me, so no, I don't think it's over the top."

 

Taggert took a deep breath then nodded.  "You're right."

 

Jonas steeled himself and straightened his spine. "Ok, let's go do this."

 

Jackson was stiffly facing the corner where he was told to stand, obediently waiting for Jonas and Taggert to come.  Jonas looked at the man he loved waiting, and he felt a pang of regret at what he had to do.  He couldn't let that stop him from doing it; not again, he couldn't.  If they had done what they should have done when Jackson went for a non-disclosed walk the other week, they might not be in this mess. 

 

He moved the straight-backed chair away from the wall, and Jackson spared a quick glace over his shoulder before he turned back to the wall.  Taggert retrieved the paddle from the desk drawer before he sat down, and handed it to Jonas, who set it on the floor next to his chair.


"Ok, Jackson, come here," Jonas called.

 

Jackson walked over to stand between them in his sock feet, and Taggert started the discussion.  "What did we say about leaving without a word?"

 

Here they went again with the same line of questioning, Jackson thought. "But I didn't get in trouble when I did it before.  Not this much trouble," Jackson pointed out without answering the question.

 

"And we were clear in our expectations if it happened again," Jonas said. "We probably should have spanked you then, but we did what we thought was best at the time."

 

"If we misjudged last time, we apologize," Taggert added.  "It doesn't mean we're going to repeat the mistake.  Now, what did we say about leaving without a word?"

 

Jackson looked down and chewed his bottom lip.  He knew what they had said.  Who was going to do it? Jonas was in *the* chair, but Jackson had only ever been spanked by Brad and once by Taggert on The Island.  It sure felt different on The Island than it did with Jonas and Taggert.  It felt a lot more personal in their home, less clinical.  How would he look either of them in the eye afterward? 

 

"I know what you said, but I won't run off again. I really won't."

 

"Answer the question, Jackson," Jonas pushed him.

 

Jackson looked from one of them to the other, then felt the color rise in his cheeks as he dropped his gaze.  "That I'd be spanked."  He raised his head quickly and added, "But it isn't fair! I was upset! It was a horrible day."

 

Jonas pointed out. "We made it clear the last time what would happen if you did it again, and you deliberately did it today, not once but twice." 

 

Jackson sighed and looked away, his hands nervously twisting at each other.  "But I was upset today. I kept messing things up."

 

"We've told you time and again not to try to be perfect," Jonas told him.  "You put unnecessary pressure on yourself.  That isn't something you had a problem with on The Island, but it's a pretty big one now, so you have a new rule: no striving for perfection. Period."

 

Jackson's jaw fell as if on broken hinges.  How could he manage that!  If he was himself, they'd never want him!  "What?!  Why can't I try to be my best?" he demanded to know. "What's wrong with that?"

 

"Doing your best and setting unrealistic expectations for yourself are two different things," Taggert explained.  "If we see you expecting too much of yourself, we're going to deal with it.  We'll warn you first when we see it, but we'll punish you if you don't stop it."

 

Jonas said, "Just relax and be yourself.  We partnered with you for who you are.  We don't want someone else."

 

"So, now I'll be in trouble for trying not to get in trouble?" Jackson asked, dumbfounded. They wanted the impossible!

 

"Believe me, you'll get in less trouble being yourself than trying to be something else," Jonas told him.  Jackson dropped his head and shook it, disbelieving.  "Just be yourself. You can do that. Ok?"

 

Jackson sighed.  "I'll try."

 

"As for leaving the gallery, we were clear that there would be no excuse that we'd entertain for you taking off again," Taggert added sternly, bringing them back on point. "And there isn't one that we'll accept today."

 

"So you're going to be spanked," Jonas told him bluntly.  "And for defying me the second time you decided to leave, you're going to be paddled."

 

Jackson's dark eyes grew the size of saucers.  "But Jonas!"

 

"But nothing." Jonas got up and took Jackson by the hand, pulling him over to the side of the chair.

 

It was only then that Jackson noticed the paddle lying next to the chair and he anxiously looked at Taggert. "Taggert!  Don't let him!"

 

Jonas took both Jackson's hands in his.  "Jackson.  Jackson!" he cut off the pleading firmly.  "Calm down."

 

"I don't want you to spank me, though," Jackson said earnestly. "Or paddle me."

 

"You've been spanked before," Jonas reminded him.

 

"Mostly on The Island by Brad.  I don't want you to have to do it," Jackson said quietly.  "Please?"

 

"Jackson, we're going to take care of this, get it over with. It might be the first time here with us, but I'm sure it won't be the last."

 

Jackson's face crumbled with the effort to hold back unshed tears, and Jonas pulled him across his knees quickly, before he succumbed to his heart's insistence to agree with Jackson.  He might have reneged had Taggert not given him a nod of support.  Tears came with the territory, he told himself adamantly. 

 

With a deep breath, he swiftly lowered Jackson's briefs, and laid a hand against his butt. "No taking off.  End of story.  You're well aware of the rule, and you knew what you were doing when you broke it."

 

He swatted Jackson's butt twice on each cheek, and felt Jackson's body turn rigid across his lap as he steeled himself against the punishing hand.  Jonas was surprised at the sting that erupted in his right palm with the first few swats, and worried that it must have felt worse to Jackson.  The perfect imprint of his hand blossomed on each of Jackson's cheeks, and Jonas had a flashback to his training on The Island.  The mechanics were definitely the same, but the emotion was vastly different.

 

Choking off the urge to stop, he lectured, "We have a responsibility to know where you are, and you have a responsibility to show us the courtesy of telling us where that happens to be, and to talk to us when you're upset.  Going off to handle things on your own is disrespectful and distrustful of us." 

 

"I’m sorry," Jackson struggled to say against a tight throat, his voice cracking with the effort.  "I *do* trust you!"

 

"Then allow us to work through things together."

 

Jonas smacked his palm down steadily and firmly, reminding himself as he did so that it was because of how much he cared for the young man over his knees that he was doing this.  Jackson needed to know they meant business so he could depend on what they told him.  The handprints quickly blended until Jackson's cheeks were an even shade of red, and Jonas paid attention to equally distribute the swats. 

 

Jackson's throat burned and knotted as he struggled to maintain his composure.  His sight blurred, and the beige carpet swam in his watery vision, as Jonas relentlessly continued.  Jackson did his best to take it stoically, but his anguish swelled with the realization of why he was in that position.  As the punishment continued, it built to the point he couldn't hold back anymore.  The first sob managed to escape, crashing through the barriers, and bringing with it more tears of regret, leaving Jackson to pour out his emotions in limp resignation.

 

He had twisted and struggled until his briefs had worked themselves down to his calves by the time Jonas stopped.  Jackson's tears were almost more than Jonas could bear, but he had promised him a paddling, too, and he had to deliver.  He couldn't back out on a promise, not again.

 

He picked up the paddle and gave Jackson a minute to get his breath.  "It's almost over, Jackson.  We still have the issue of you defying me, today."

 

Jackson sobbed, "I won't do it again. I won't."

 

Before he lost the nerve to continue, Jonas delivered six swift swats with the paddle, and then tossed it back onto the floor.  "That's it.  All done," he consoled softly.

 

Jackson scooted onto his knees and buried his head in Jonas' lap, crying piteously as all the stress and aggravation came pouring out of him in a rush of relief past the rubble of broken walls that Jonas tore down.  He barely noticed Jonas softly stroking his hand down his back.

 

"Come here." Jonas gently pulled him to his feet and gathered him in his lap, careful of his backside that had to be tender, judging by the remaining sting in his right hand.  "It's ok. It's all over," Jonas assured him. 

 

After several long minutes, Jackson buried his sweaty head more deeply into Jonas' shoulder.  He wished he could hide there forever.  "What do you think of me, now?" he asked quietly. 

 

Jonas ran his hand over the damp dark waves of hair and hugged him tightly. "What kind of question is that?  We love you.  Nothing is going to change that."

 

"You mean… aren't you sorry yet?"

 

"For what?" Jonas curled a finger under Jackson's chin and lifted until Jackson finally little choice but to meet his eye.

 

"For picking me?"

 

Jonas shook his head incredulously at Jackson. "Jackson? Do I need to put you back across my lap?"

 

Jackson grunted and looked at Jonas with baffled amazement. "No! But I'm not exactly the perfect…"

 

"Ah, ah," Jonas cut him off with a warning in his eyes, and Jackson pursed his lips against the slip.  "You're perfect for us.  What's it going to take to convince you that we love you just the way you are?"

 

Jackson had to look away, and he gruffly swiped at the hot tears on his cheeks.  "I don't know."

 

"Hey," Jonas said with firm determination in his voice.  "We are not going anywhere, and neither are you.  We're together. End of story." 

 

Taggert came over and knelt in front of them.  "We didn't enter into this expecting everything to go smoothly, *or* for you to be perfect.  We're not perfect."

 

Jonas laughed softly.  "That's the truth.  You've lived with us almost three months, so surely you've figured that out."

 

"I don't think you're so bad," Jackson muttered.

 

"What?  Jonas hogs the covers," Taggert said.

 

"Taggert snores," Jonas said.

 

"Jonas leaves a tablespoon of milk in the fridge instead of pitching the container."

 

"Taggert doesn't know how to replace an empty toilet paper roll with a new one."

 

"Jonas hasn't figured out what goes in the recycle bin."

 

"Taggert leaves his shoes in the living room."

 

Jackson gave the two of them a watery smile.  "Neither of you are tech savvy or see the value in a laptop versus a desktop."

 

"Yet you still want to be with a couple of losers like us?" Taggert asked him.

 

"You're not losers," Jackson said, defending his partners against themselves.

 

"Neither are you," Taggert said with resolution.  "We love you, Jackson, and we mean that."

 

"I love you, too," he replied.

 

Jonas kissed the top of Jackson's head.  "Let's go somewhere more comfortable. My legs are going to sleep."

 

Taggert helped Jackson get his underwear straightened out and back on then they all moved to the den and sat together on the sectional sofa for close to an hour.

 

Taggert checked the time as the room started to grow dark.  "It's getting late.  We should head upstairs and get some dinner started."

 

"What time is it?" Jonas asked.

 

"Almost seven.  Do you want to stay down here, Jackson, while Jonas and I get something together for dinner?" Taggert asked. 

 

Jackson didn't even need to think about it. He didn't want to be left alone, and puttering around the kitchen with the two of them was a better prospect, even with his butt still pulsing.  "I'll come with you."

 

"Are you sure?"

 

"Yeah," he said, his nose still stuffy and his eyes burning.

 

"I'll go grab your sweats," Taggert offered. "I doubt you're interested in those jeans you had on."

 

Jackson grimaced at the thought.  "Thanks."

 

Jonas held his hand on the way up the stairs, and Jackson clung to it even after they got to the kitchen.  Jonas leaned over and kissed Jackson's cheek, even as he took his hand back.  "What are you in the mood for, babe?"

 

"Nothing really," Jackson said honestly. 

 

"How about something easy like BLTs and a salad?" Taggert suggested, as he returned quickly with the promised pair of soft sweats and Jackson's slippers.  "It's later than we normally eat so I don't really want anything too heavy."

 

"BLTs sound good to me," Jonas chimed in. "Jackson? Can you handle a sandwich?"

 

"Yeah." 

 

Jackson hovered uncertainly between the two men, who busied themselves with dinner preparations.  Taggert bumped into Jackson when he turned from the pantry.  "Sorry, Jackson. Why don't you put some bread in the toaster?"

 

"Ok."  Jackson put two slices into the toaster and then shadowed Jonas as he sliced a tomato.

 

Jonas gave him a smile and then patted his back.  "Want to grab a small plate for me?"

 

"Ok."  Jackson quickly returned with the plate and handed it to Jonas for the tomato.

 

"Thanks."

 

"Your bread is up," Taggert told him.  "I already got the mayo out for you when I got the lettuce."

 

"Thanks."  Jackson brought the fresh toast over to the kitchen island where Jonas and Taggert were working, and wedged in between them to put mayonnaise on the bread.

 

The microwave sounded and Jonas left to check the bacon, while Jackson watched his every move.  Taggert dropped an arm around Jackson's shoulders and pulled him close, firmly kissing his temple.  "How's that toast coming?  Ready for the lettuce and tomato?"

 

"Yeah, these two are ready."

 

The pop of the toaster releasing caught Taggert's attention.  "There's two more.  We need a four-slice toaster, don't we? This one will work you to death."

 

Jackson stayed closer than a shadow as they prepared the salads and sandwiches, and ate their dinner.  He was surprised at how hungry he was once he started eating; he ended up eating his whole sandwich and half of another, as well as his whole salad.   

 

Crumpling up the paper towel his sandwich had laid on, Jonas said, "That was pretty good for a quick meal."

 

"It was," Taggert agreed, pushing his salad bowl away.

 

Jonas checked the time on the clock on the stove.  "Jackson, you might want to give Brad a call tonight. Let him know you're ok."

 

Jackson groaned to himself and looked between Jonas and Taggert and the basement stairs. "Do I have to?  Can't I just stay and help clean the kitchen?"

 

"You don't have to," Taggert said, "but I'm sure he's going to want to talk to you."

 

"He knows about today?"

 

Taggert flicked his eyes quickly to Jonas then back to Jackson. "Well, yes.  I gave him a call this afternoon to fill him in on what had happened, and what we were going to do about it."

 

Jackson's face fell.  "Great."

 

Jonas wore a troubled expression.  "Are you ok?"

 

"I'm ok, I just –"  Jackson shrugged indifferently.  "I'd rather help up here.  With you.  Rather than talking to Brad about it."

 

Jonas and Taggert looked at each other in concern then Taggert laid a hand over Jackson's.  "You don't want to check in with him real quick?  We can call him later if you'd rather, but he'll probably want to talk to you."

 

Jackson was sure of it. Knowing Brad, he'd think they needed to chat about what happened, so he might as well get it over with.  "I guess," he relented.

 

"Why don't you do that real quickly and we'll take care of the kitchen?" Taggert suggested.  "We'll be right here when you get back."

 

Jackson paused at the top of the stairs and glanced back over his shoulder to find the two men still right where they said they'd be.  "We'll be here in the kitchen," Jonas assured him, and Jackson reluctantly went back downstairs. 

 

He blushed upon entering the office at the memory of what had happened less than a couple hours ago, and he rubbed a palm over his butt.  It wasn't the worst he'd had by far, but having it done at home by Jonas seemed to make it more difficult to bear.  He selected the cushier armchair to sit in as opposed to the hard desk chair to make his call, and he carefully took a seat.

 

He had just about talked himself out of chatting with Brad by the fourth ring, when someone answered in his old cottage.  Someone with a familiar voice.  "Brad?"

 

"Jackson!  I was expecting you might call," he said cryptically. "How are you?"

 

"Sore," he said vaguely.

 

Silence met him from many miles away and then Brad asked, "Are you ok other than that?"

 

"Yeah," he answered, embarrassed all over again.

 

"Want to talk about it?"

 

Jackson weighed his options and decided to share, even though he had no responsibility to do so anymore.  "I left without telling them again."

 

"Oh, Jackson," Brad answered. "I heard.  What were you thinking?"

 

"It was a bad day," Jackson explained. "It seemed like I couldn't do anything right."

 

"Were you practicing perfection by any chance?" Brad's voice interrupted.

 

"Maybe a little.  I got a 'C' when I should have gotten at least a B in history, messed up a framing project, then I thought I ruined my painting.  It was just a bad day so I left.  Twice," he added dolefully. 

 

"And you got spanked for it," Brad filled in the blanks.

 

"Paddled."

 

"Paddled?" Brad hadn't expected that for the first time, and his face fell into a concerned frown.

 

"Well… not like you paddle, but there was wood involved."

 

Brad bit back a smile.  They'd get the hang of it after more practice.  The important thing was that they had followed through this time. "Did you learn your lesson?"

 

Jackson sidestepped the question. "No one ever spanked me before you on The Island, then that one time with Taggert. Never for real, I mean."

 

Brad sadly reflected over Jackson's life before The Island.  No, he hadn't been spanked, but he had taken his share of beatings.  "It's all new with the three of you, but it's ok.  It was new when I did it the first time, too, remember?"

 

"Yeah.  They said they don't think badly of me because they had to do it."

 

"And they don't, Jackson. Discipline comes with the territory; it's part of the package.  It's not a new idea to any of the three of you. It's just new for you together in that environment."

 

"I guess."

 

"You know I'm telling you the truth.  You broke a rule, you got paddled, and now it's time to put that behind you and move on."

 

"Yes, sir," he mumbled. 

 

"If they're anything like me and most Alphas, they aren't going to want you out of their sight much tonight, so go find them and have some quiet time together. You'll be surprised how much good that will do all three of you."

 

"Yes, sir.  Thanks, Brad."

 

~~~~~~~~~

 

Taggert picked up the plates from the table and Jonas followed behind him, gathering the silverware.  "You're doing it next time," Jonas barked under his breath, mindful of Jackson just a short distance away on the phone.

 

Taggert paused helplessly and confronted his partner.  "Where did that come from? You agreed you should do it this time. It was your suggestion."

 

Jonas walked around Taggert who was blocking his path and put the silverware in the sink, turning the water on to rinse them.  "I know," he replied gruffly. 

 

Taggert put the plates on the counter by the sink and stepped behind Jonas, placing both hands on his shoulders, kneading the knots in his neck gently.  "You were good with him, you know."

 

Jonas dropped his head and turned off the water.  "It didn't feel like it.  It was so much harder than I imagined it would be.  To hear him crying and know it was me causing it —" He paused and turned to face Taggert. "It was hard, even though I knew it was what he needed."

 

"I know."  Taggert fingered his partner's soft blond hair, pushing a fallen strand back into place.  "You spanked him, you didn't kill him.  He's already more settled from it, too.  Did you notice?"

 

"Settled?" Jonas snorted.  "He's quiet and upset."

 

"No, he's not upset, not anymore.  He's subdued a little, but he's not snapping and wound tight."  He took Jonas' face in his hands.  "We did the right thing."

 

"Are you sure?"

 

"Yes. I'm positive."  Taggert kissed Jonas softly.  "Imagine what he would have done next if we hadn't.  He was all but begging us to put our foot down, especially today with you at the gallery."

 

Jonas thought back to the afternoon events. "You're right. The look he gave me today before he walked out the second time… It was a challenge, plain and simple. Almost a dare."

 

Taggert pulled Jonas into a hug and said in his ear. "It was the right thing to do, the right response to that.  And don't worry," he held him at arm's length, "you won't have to be the bad guy every time. I'll do it every once in a while." 

 

"Gee, thanks." Jonas gave him a wry half-smile before he turned back to the sink and finished rinsing the silverware.  "He does seem calmer, doesn't he?"

 

"He does," Taggert reflected.  "Clingy but calmer."

 

"You think he'll sleep ok tonight?"

 

Taggert took the silverware from Jonas and slipped it into the basket.  "I wouldn't be surprised. It was cathartic for him."  He stopped when he noticed the sound of footsteps, and glanced toward the stairs to see a dark figure emerge in the doorway.  "How's Brad, sweetheart?"

 

"He's good," Jackson responded.  He went immediately to Taggert's side.  "Can I help?"

 

"Why don't you grab our salad bowls from the table?"

 

Jackson brought the bowls over and Jonas about bumped into him when he turned from the sink. "Oh. Sorry, babe.  I'll take those." 

 

"What else can I do?"

 

"Um…"  Jonas snapped his fingers.  "You could wipe off. By the time you do that, we'll have these last few things in the dishwasher then we should be done."

 

"Quick dinner, quick clean-up," Taggert said, closing the dishwasher door.

 

Jackson finished wiping down the table and counters, then rinsed the dishrag out, draping it over the edge of the sink to dry.  Jonas found him close by again, and he wound his arm around Jackson's shoulders, kissing him on the temple. God, he loved him.  He asked, "What's on TV tonight?"

 

Taggert started the dishwasher and said, "NCIS. Tuesday."

 

"Tuesday," Jonas echoed. "I don't know about you two, but I'm getting more comfortable before we settle down for the show."

 

"I'll come with you," Jackson said, sticking close. 

 

"Ok, come with me."  Jonas kept hold of Jackson as they climbed the stairs.

 

Taggert followed right behind them, and they changed into loungewear then went downstairs to watch NCIS.  They huddled together in the darkened basement, images and lights from the television bouncing in colorful shadows off the den walls.  Jackson cuddled tightly against Jonas, his head resting on the man's chest as Jonas absently petted him and held him. 

 

When the show's credits rolled, Taggert reached over Jonas and rubbed a hand down Jackson's thigh.  "Did you fall asleep on us?"

 

Jackson lifted his head from Jonas' chest, realizing he had lost the battle before the last ten minutes of the show. He felt like he had been wrung out and hung to dry.  "I am kind of tired, but it's too early to go to bed."

 

"You don't have to go to sleep because you go to bed," Jonas pointed out.  "If you're tired, you should go.  You've had a hard day."

 

Jackson deliberated briefly then thought of a solution.  "Can you watch TV in the bedroom with me? It won't keep me awake."

 

Jonas leaned down and kissed the top of Jackson's head.  "I think we can manage that.  Let's go."

 

They got ready for bed then climbed under the covers together, and Taggert turned the volume down to almost silence so the sound wouldn't keep Jackson awake.  He was out almost as soon as his head hit the pillow, as he lay curled up to Taggert with a leg slung across the older man's thigh. 

 

Taggert reached down and pushed Jackson's hair back, studying his peaceful face.  Jackson's handsome countenance bore no lines of worry; his features were soft and relaxed.  Taggert whispered to Jonas, "I think he's going to sleep just fine tonight."

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

"Here we go," Jonas said, unfolding a canvas chair on the rooftop of the art gallery.  "Everyone has what they need?"

 

"I have beer and that's all I need," Jackson said, twisting the cap off his.

 

"Where's the sunscreen?" Taggert asked as he rummaged in a canvas bag.

 

"It's in there," Jonas said. "I tossed it in this morning."

 

Jackson turned up his nose at the thought of having the cold cream all over him.  "I don't need it. I'm Island tanned."

 

"You haven't been on The Island in three months, young man, and your skin's barely seen the sun since then," Taggert pointed out, pausing long enough to quirk a brow at Jackson.  "You'll burn up out here.  Ah, here it is."

 

He rubbed it over his arms and face, then passed it to Jackson.  Jackson grimaced then took the tube and did the same.  "Here, Jonas."

 

Taggert handed Jonas a paper plate as soon as he was finished with the sunscreen.  "Here you go.  Pass the chicken, Jackson."

 

Jackson poked around in the bucket first, and selected a breast before handing him the cardboard container from KFC filled with extra crispy chicken parts. Taggert picked out a thigh and leg, placing it on the paper plate in his lap.  "This is really good.  A new Blue Angels tradition, just the three of us."

 

"Instant picnic.  It's a great spot, too," Jonas said.  "See that building over there, Jackson?" he pointed toward the arched-roof building in the distance surrounded by water.  "That's the Naval Academy."

 

Jackson looked out over the rooftops of the city's ancient buildings at the place where Jonas indicated. "It looks a lot different up here than on the ground."

 

"We still need to go for a tour of the Academy," Taggert said.  "You guys haven't done that without me since you're downtown all the time, have you?"

 

"And have to face you later? Heck, no," Jonas said. "We should do that this weekend."

 

"We don't have anything else going on," Jackson said. "I'd like to go see it."

 

"Wait until you see the crypt of Captain John Paul Jones," Taggert said. "It's too pretty to be a sarcophagus."

 

"Pass the potato salad," Jackson said with a nod to the cooler.  "What's it look like?"

 

Taggert passed Jackson the tub of potato salad.  "It's all dark marble.  I can't even describe it."

 

"It was inspired by Napolean's tomb," Jonas told him as he took a swallow of beer.

 

Jackson stared at the bay, littered with sailboats full of people there to watch the spectacle from the water.  "Are we the only people in Annapolis without a boat?"

 

Taggert snorted a laugh.  "You'd think, wouldn't you?"

 

"Yeah."  Jackson peered into the bright sky and shadowed his eyes with the palm of his hand.  "I don't see the Blue Angels yet. When does it start?"

 

Taggert checked his watch. "Should be any time now."

 

Jonas moved his sunglasses from the top of his head to his eyes and wiped his brow. "I can't believe how warm it is.  Just two weeks ago we needed jackets."

 

"Early spring," Taggert pointed out.  "It's bi-polar."  He finished his comment with a poorly concealed beer burp then Jackson did the same.

 

Jonas gave them a disapproving glance.  "You're both pigs."

 

"Oink," Jackson said, then pointed above.  "There they are!"

 

Six dark blue jets appeared in the distance, the lead plane out front while another four flew in a tight diamond formation, trailed by the sixth.  They arced straight up then the diamond divided, lazily bending to the left and right, leaving a smoky "v" hanging in the sky, which was then split in half by the single trailing plane.  They disappeared into the blue only to reappear side-by-side, suddenly rolling in perfect tandem.

 

"It's like watching 'Top Gun' for real," Jackson breathed in awe.

 

"They're amazing, aren't they?" Taggert smiled, his hand covering his eyes against the burning May sun so he could see better. 

 

The roar of the planes' engines rumbled in the sky before the planes broke through the blue again, sweeping upward then peeling tail over nose in an airborne u-turn as the four planes fell together as though attached to each other by an invisible force rather than sheer talent and control. 

 

Jackson barely uttered another coherent thought over the next fifteen minutes aside from joining the rest of the spectators with his share of "oo"s and "ah"s. 

 

When the jets flew into the sun and didn't return, Jackson finally spoke.  "That was awesome!"

 

Jonas face broke out in a satisfied grin.  "You liked it."

 

"*Loved* it."

 

"I'm glad you liked it," Taggert said.  "We never miss it.  You'd think we'd get tired of it, but it's as much the festivities as the show after so many years."

 

Jackson breathed in the Annapolis air, filling his lungs with a warmth that was already spreading through his body.  He reached toward the men on either side of him taking one of their hands in each of his.  "Thanks."

 

It was a small word, but it covered a lot more than the Blue Angels' show.  "You're welcome," Jonas said, raising Jackson's hand to his lips.  "Seeing your face took me back to the first time I saw the show."

 

Jackson smiled shyly and peered at Jonas through dark lashes.  "I meant for everything.  I love being here.  Being with both of you."

 

"No more than we love having you," Taggert said with sincerity.  "You complete our lives."

 

The uncertainty of winter and new relationships had melted in the light of the fresh newness of spring.  Things were good.  Very good.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

"Very nice," Taggert beamed at the painting he was holding.  "This is absolutely beautiful."

 

"He did a great job, didn't he?" Jonas added proudly.  "He did the framing, too."

 

"It's ok," Jackson said with a shy smile playing on his lips. 

 

Taggert turned his attention from the painting, and tipped his head in Jackson's direction.  "You weren't looking for *perfection*, were you?"

 

Jackson looked directly at him, eyes unwavering, and answered with a definitive, "No.  I was not looking for perfection.  Don't go getting all half-cocked Alpha on me."

 

"Just checking," he replied with a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.

 

"Actually," Jackson smoothly reinforced his intentions, "it turned out better than I thought it would."

 

"It's great, it really is," Jonas said. "Where do you want to hang it?"

 

"It doesn't really go in here," Jackson commented as he noted the warm greens and reds in the kitchen and den. 

 

"What about the bedroom? Or the den downstairs?" Taggert recommended.

 

"You'd really want it in our room?" Jackson asked timidly. "You like it that much?"

 

"I love it," Taggert said. "I really do. I wouldn't lie to you."

 

"I think it would look nice in our room," Jonas agreed.  "My vote is for there rather than the den."

 

"If you're sure…" Jackson started until he was cut off by a playful swat to his seat by Taggert. 

 

"Quit it. We love it, now go grab the hammer and a nail."

 

Jackson beamed, and took off toward the garage to get the hammer without batting an eye.  "Check it out," Jonas watched after Jackson. "He didn't even have to ask where the hammer was."

 

"I think it finally feels like this is his home, too.  It seems like he's been here all our lives," Taggert turned back to the painting.  "I'm so proud of him.  He painted this himself," he commented in awe.

 

Jonas hooked an arm over Taggert's shoulder so he could see the painting, too. "He's talented. I knew it."

 

Jackson came running back in with the hammer and a box of nails. "I wasn't sure which kind so I brought the whole box."

 

"Let's go find a spot for it."  Taggert led the way up the stairs and said, "Are we going to Mike's tonight?"

 

"It's Friday, isn't it?" Jackson answered the question with a question to which they all knew the answer.

 

"You're picking crabs like an old pro already," Jonas observed. "And to think only three months ago the mustard was grossing you out."

 

"Don't talk about the mustard," Jackson shuddered with the memory.  "It still gets to me when I think about it.  How about right here?"

 

Taggert nodded. "Works for me. Jonas?"

 

"The ayes have it.  There will hang Jackson's first work of art."

 

Taggert and Jackson picked through the nails until they found one suitable for the job and Jackson tapped it into the wall.  Jonas hung the picture onto the nail while Taggert and Jackson gave orders of a little to the left and lower on the right, Jonas making the adjustments until the picture was deemed straight. 

 

"Perfect," Taggert declared.

 

"Are *you* looking for perfection now?" Jackson teasingly accused.

 

Taggert laughed smoothly.  "You got me.  Jonas?"

 

"It looks great right there," Jonas said.  "What do you think, Jackson?"

 

Jackson stood back and did his own assessment, his arms folded thoughtfully over his chest.  "I think it looks ok in our room."

 

The three-letter word rolled smoothly off his tongue without even a thought or sideways glance. 

 

"Now that we have that taken care of, who's ready to go out to dinner?" Jonas asked.

"Me," Jackson answered quickly. "I want to change first."

 

"I might throw some jeans on myself," Jonas said. 

 

"Taggert!" Jackson called from the closet. "Where did you hide my jeans this time?" 

 

Taggert poked his head around the door to find Jackson wearing nothing but his underwear and a new yellow U.S. Naval Academy t-shirt with USNA inscribed across the front in dark blue block letters.  "They're right there in your section on the shelf."

 

"Not here."  Jackson thumbed through a stack of jeans on the shelf. "My Lucky jeans."

 

Jonas pushed past Taggert and tossed his slacks into the hamper then reached over Jackson to his own section of shelving.  "Are these them?"

 

He pulled a pair of jeans free and handed them to Jackson.  Jackson shook out the jeans and checked the tag on the back.  "In my section?" Jackson mimicked, holding the found jeans aloft for Taggert to see, pointedly flicking his eyes to Jonas' shelf before looking back at Taggert.

 

"Oh, the Lucky jeans?" Taggert asked then snapped his fingers.  "I keep thinking those are Jonas'."

 

Jonas tugged his jeans on and tucked in his shirt.  "Jackson's the Lucky man.  I'm the Levis 501 man."

 

"Sorry."

 

Jonas laid a hand on Taggert's cheek and kissed him as he passed by.  "Hurry up, Jackson. Crabs await."

 

"Coming."

 

Jackson hopped into his jeans, bouncing into them as he tugged them into place then zipped the fly.  He was the Lucky man, all right.  He couldn't think of a better way to put it.

 

End