This story is very short but it has two purposes. One is to cheer Nelson up after a very bad week. The other is to provide the setup for Nelson's solo debut on The Island. We're looking forward to her story.

When Life Hands You Lemons...

By AJ

Sam sauntered nonchalantly along the path, eyes flicking rapidly from side to side, searching the area for interfering TAs with too much time on their hands. When he was sure there was no one in sight, he lightly vaulted the low wall dividing the Cen compound from the forbidden beach area.

When Jackson hadn't shown up for volleyball practice, he was pretty sure where he would find the other man. Sure enough, Jackson was seated on the ground, leaning back against the sun-warmed stone and staring sightlessly out to sea.

"Hey." He sat down next to his friend, automatically sliding down far enough to keep his head below the top of the wall. "Thought I'd find you here."

"I don't want to talk about it," Jackson muttered roughly.

"Ok." Sam idly picked up a handful of sand and let it sift through his fingers as he tried to think of some way to comfort his friend. "So what if he didn't offer for you?" he tried eventually. "You didn't like him that much anyway."

"I know," Jackson acknowledged. "But-- I'm the oldest Cen on The Island, Sam!"

"Yeah," Sam agreed sympathetically, knowing that Jackson meant longest in residence, not oldest in age. Sam couldn't begin to imagine how hard that would be; sure, the higher-rated Cens didn't match as quickly as the low ones, but to watch Cen after Cen arrive, match and leave as a couple while you never got an offer? Or worse, had your only offer back out halfway through the bonding phase?

He wished there was some way he could help, but he couldn't exactly kidnap a Alpha and force him to make an offer for Jackson. Could he? After exploring the possibility from several angles he regretfully decided he couldn't.

So, since he couldn't do anything about the problem, the next best thing was distraction. He needed to find something to take Jackson's mind off it. His butt clenched in automatic protest but Sam ignored it. Sometimes you had to sacrifice for a friend.

They sat quietly for a long time, both lost in thought.

"We should go back," Jackson said after awhile. "They're going to be looking for us."

"How much longer do you have KP?" Sam asked at the same time.

"8 days. Why?"

"I have another 5 days and an idea..."

~~~~~

"You got everything?" Jackson asked a few days later.

"All set," Sam assured him as he capped the last sugar jar and set it on the tray in front of him.

Right on cue, the TA in charge of KP placed a rack of newly-washed salt and pepper shakers in front of them, a third of the supply that were set out during meals. The short, squat containers were made of heavy white glass with a large red S on some and a blue P on others.

"Fill these next, please" he ordered. He looked at them warily and then ostentatiously picked up the box of sugar and took it with him when he left the room.

"What does he think we are, rank amateurs?" Jackson asked indignantly. "We passed that stage years ago!"

"Yeah, sugar in the salt shakers is *so* juvenile," Sam agreed as he pulled a plastic bag of small tissue paper circles out of his pocket. "Is he gone?"

Jackson looked the door. "Yeah, he's showing the new guy how to change out the milk dispensers." He pulled the door partway closed and started lining up salt shakers on one side of the table and pepper shakers on the other.

Sam went down the row behind him, carefully squirting lemon juice into each salt shaker. It had taken careful experimentation to get exactly the right amounts for the size of their containers; too much and they could turn into mini-grenades, too little and they would simply fizz instead of producing a satisfactory spray.

As soon as Jackson finished setting out the shakers, he followed along with the tissue paper circles, setting one on the top of each salt shaker and poking a depression in it with his little finger.

Meanwhile, Sam was putting the lemon juice away and getting out the baking soda. As he filled each depression, Jackson screwed on the top and trimmed away the excess paper, the two of them working together like a well-oiled machine. By the time the TA returned, the salt shakers were sitting on trays and Sam was filling the pepper shakers and handing them to Jackson for lids.

"Good job," the TA praised. "You're working quickly today. Set them out on the tables and then you can go work in the serving line."

"Yes, sir," they chorused as each one picked up a tray of shakers and gingerly carried it out, careful not to shake or jar its contents in any way.

"Spread them out," Jackson advised as they started placing them on the tables. "We don't want them all in one area. And make sure we get a couple on the Visiting Alphas’ table."

The serving line was an excellent vantage point for viewing the havoc they created. Jackson was unerringly slopping chicken casserole onto plates and scanning the room as first one Cen, then another attempted to salt his food. One shake, two, then the fragile tissue paper gave way, allowing the lemon juice to mix with the baking soda, and the volcanic foam sprayed through the holes on the shakers.

Instant pandemonium erupted as Cens and Alphas alike jumped from their seats, creating even more chaos as they shouted instructions at each other, knocking chairs over and overturning trays as they tried to avoid the spray.

Even totally innocent shakers were dropped as if burning hot, and Jackson was still doubled over with laughter when Brad tapped his shoulder and silently pointed toward the door.

"Jackson, what the hell were you thinking?" Brad asked wearily as he rested the paddle against the bare cheeks of the Cen lying over his knees. It was a rhetorical question. Jackson was never able to explain his thought processes, and expressing his feelings required a breakdown of emotional walls that only came with a paddling.

The sharp slap of wood against skin echoed in the small room as Brad began the process of both punishing Jackson for his behavior and breaking down the walls he harbored behind.

As the pale skin turned pink, Jackson's stubborn determination held; but as the pink deepened to crimson, the rigid barrier fractured and the tears slowly welled and fell. The paddling continued relentlessly until he finally succumbed fully, giving in and lying across the TA's lap in limp surrender.

"Come on, babe," Brad said gently as he helped the Cen to his feet. Leading Jackson into the bedroom, he lay down and pulled the young man into his arms. Here, soothed by the petting and cosseting that he could now accept, Jackson would be able to confess and confide in him, to articulate what was going on.

"What were you thinking, Jackson?" Brad repeated softly as the Cen pressed against him, craving the warmth and acceptance his TA offered.

"That it would be fun?" Jackson suggested halfheartedly.

"Besides that," Brad told him firmly. "Tell me what's going on in your head, Jackson."

There was a long silence and then, "I'm never going to find a Alpha!" he burst out. "I've been here longer than any other Cen and I'm no closer to finding a Alpha than when I arrived! What's wrong with me, Brad? I try so hard. Why doesn't anyone want me?"

"I want you," Brad replied quietly, aching with compassion for his Cen.

"You have to want me," Jackson sniffled. "You're my TA."

"I'd want you anyway."

"Yeah, right," Jackson replied in transparent disbelief.

"Yeah, right," Brad mimicked and then dropped a light kiss on the dark head nestled against his chest. "You're very special, Jackson, and if you're still here when I'm ready for a permanent Cen, you'll definitely top my list. But you won't be," he went on to assure the disconsolate young man. "The right man is out there for you, Jackson. You just have to be patient."

"I'm not very good at patience," Jackson replied forlornly.

"I know. But we'll work on it. Together."

... The rest is up to Nelson. :-)