Archive, sure. Warnings: None/ A/U story, P/K, PG

Notice i said #2, and not part 2? this is related, but not connected to my previous story. You really got me going on this one, Adam :)

Do You Believe? (2)

John Parker set the package down on the cobblestones before him, careful not to damage the delicate contents. It was already late, the last thing he needed was to give his father something else to be angry about.

He looked around for the bell pull, but saw nothing. Odd, it was an upscale house... John knocked firmly on the door, and waited a few minutes before knocking again.

The door open suddenly under his hand, and a young asian man peered out at him somewhat nearsightedly. "Can i help you?" he asked.

"I have a delivery for the master of the house. Contents are fragile, i'm to give it to him directly," John replied distinctly, hoping that the boy spoke enough english to understand him.

"I'm the master of the house," came the reply, "I can take it here, if you like. Would you like to come in for something to drink? I haven't got much, but i'm willing to share."

John blinked, noting the radiant smile directed at him with astonishment. The look on his face got him a mischievous grin in response.

Parker shook his head. "No, i need to deliver it to the owner of the house," he said, becoming confused.

"Me." the young man replied, placing one hand on his chest. "James Chang."

"Ah. Forgive me, Mr. Chang, I just didn't expect..." John trailed off, at a loss as to what to say next.

Chang grinned. "Care to come inside, Mr...?"

"Parker. John Parker. I really should get back to work..." he added vaguely.

Chang's face fell, but he recovered quickly. "Well, if you must, you must. Thank you. Um, hang on for a bit and i'll find you a little something for your trouble..." he added, disappearing into the house. John waited for a bit, then cautiously pushed the door open. The house looked like a library had exploded into it.

"Mr. Chang?" he called tentatively.

"Down the hall," Came the muffled reply, "But i'm coming out directly, so you might as well wait there." Chang re-emerged with a small handful of change. "Sorry, this is all i could come up with," he said, looking rather embarrassed "I'm afraid all i've managed to unpack so far is books..."

John got the distinct impression, from looking at the threadbare furniture sparsely populating the room, that this was not why he'd come up with so little. "If you don't mind, Sir," he said slowly, looking down at the meager handful of coins, "I think i'll take that drink you offered, instead."

Chang's face lit up, and he ushered his guest to a seat. "Of course. Is an herbal tea all right? I found an herb garden in the yard, and i make a magnificent tea, if i do say so myself."

"Of course," John replied, trying not to make a face. He hated tea.

Chang grinned again. "You don't like tea."

"Well... it isn't one of my favorites, no," Parker replied honestly.

"Would you try one of mine? They're better than the average, i promise you." James Chang talked as though he were coaxing a small child to take a draught of medicine. It was irresistible to someone who had gotten, at best, a whipping if he didn't do as he was told.

"Why not?" he asked, leaning back into his chair. Threadbare, perhaps, but damned comfortable. "The worst it can do is make me vomit," He added casually. He could have kicked himself for that. Why could he not control his own tongue?

Chang blinked. "in fact, the worst an herbal tea can do to you is kill you but i'll try my best to avoid that," he said dryly. With one more irrepressible grin, he vanished into what John assumed must be the kitchen. There was some banging around, and then a crash and the sound of breaking wood.

"Mr. Chang?" Parker called out, startled.

"Yes?" came the deceptively mild reply from the direction Chang had taken.

"Are you all right?" He rose and walked toward the sound, carefully avoiding obstacles along the way. "I heard a crash..."

John emerged into a large room, most of which was covered in dust, to find James Chang standing in the debris from a broken chair, looking forlornly at a floor to ceiling display of dried herbs.

James looked over at him and smiled. "I wanted the ones at the top, but i think we may have to settle for a more ordinary tea."

"I'm a little taller than you," John offered, "maybe if i stretch a bit, i can reach them for you."

"They're those ones at the top, there, in the middle," James replied, pointing out the ones he wanted.

John considered the tall cabinet carefully. He knew he wouldn't be able to reach the top shelf, he wasn't that much taller than James, but the man seemed to want those herbs so badly, and John couldn't ignore the urge to get them for him.

After a moment's thought, he carefully removed several dried bunches from a middle shelf, and used it as a step to raise himself up that extra two feet.

He carefully handed down the herbs to an eager James, who then offered his shoulder as John climbed down again.

Parker clasped the warm, strong muscle, leaning on it heavily. Chang smiled at him as he reluctantly let go.

John watched as his new... friend? Yes. His new friend bustled about the kitchen. After a while, he set the carefully measured herbs into cups to soak, carrying them out to the sitting room. John followed along silently.

James silently handed him a cup, then sat back in an enormous chair to nurse his own tea. John sat, sipping a tea that, while not spectacular, was far better than he had anticipated.

After awhile it occurred to him that he should make conversation, but the silence was so peaceful. If he closed his eyes and listened, he could hear James breathing. Such a soothing sound, and it had been such a trying day...

After a few minutes, James went and fetched a blanket, covering his guest for the night. He curled up in his own chair, resting his head on the armrest and marvelling at how this silence differed from the ones when he was alone.

~~~~~~~~~~

James raised his head, wincing at the pain in his neck. He lifted a hand to rub it away, encountering cool fingers before he reached his goal.

"My mother used to wake up with a stiff neck," John said quietly. "I've gotten quite good at this."

"You certainly have," James replied, leaning back into his hands. Ooh, he could definitely get used to this touch.

"Better?" John asked, removing his hands far sooner than James would have preferred.

"Much. Thank you," he replied, looking up at John through long lashes.

'I'm in quite a bit of trouble for not returning to wok last night so i thought i'd put it off for a bit an make breakfast." He paused, then offered a tentative, "I hope you don't mind me raiding your pantry..."

"Of course not," James replied quickly, "You're welcome to anything i have."

"That's a bit of an odd viewpoint, if you don't mind my saying so, for someone who has so little," John replied without thinking.

James winced, then forced a smile. "Well, if i don't share what i have, then who's going to share with me when i need it most?" He pointed out.

"I'm sorry," John said quickly, "I can't seem to control what comes out of my mouth sometimes, i didn't mean - "

"It's alright, John," James replied soothingly. "I haven't got very much, and i'm not..." his voice trailed off into a sigh. "I don't miss it unless someone points it out," he said at last. "Most of the time, i don't regret selling it for books. Certainly not when i make the decision to do so," he added dryly.

"What are all the books for, anyway?" John asked curiously, looking around at the stacks.

"To read, of course," James replied, mystified.

"You've read all of these? There must be hundreds of them!" Parker replied in astonishment.

"That's not so great an accomplishment when you have nothing more interesting to do. It's not as though i'm in great demand, socially. Not that my books aren't wonderful company, they are. It's just that, on occasion, real people would be better." James replied, somewhat sadly.

"Oh. Breakfast is probably cold, but if you still want it, i could heat it up again for you," John offered, at a loss for what else to say.

"Would you?" James asked, brightening.

"Of course," John replied, relieved. He vanished into the kitchen to do so, leaving James standing alone in the sitting room.

James smiled slowly, enjoying the sweet sounds and rich scents of someone who enjoyed cooking. This was perfect. If only he could convince John... well. Nevermind that.

James entered the kitchen to find John setting out the plates and silver. He was served with a flourish, and then John seated himself across the table and dug in without another word.

They ate in silence, just enjoying the feeling of companionship that they both craved.

"I should go, now," John said a while after they'd finished. I really need to return to work, before i don't have a job left."

"Well. If you must, you must," James sighed as the walked towards the door. "You'll come back and visit?" He added hopefully.

"Of course. Next time i bring a package, at the very latest," John replied, suddenly amused. "Though i warn you now, i may wear out my welcome!"

"I don't think so," James replied thoughtfully. "Not in this life."

John backed out the door reluctantly, for some reason not wanting to take his eyes off of James. If his father found out how fond he was of this man he'd barely met, James would undoubtedly be forced to move to some godforsaken country as far from England as possible.

John had never been certain why his father had particular friends shipped off, but it seemed as though the ones he liked the most were somehow unsuitable for him to associate with. And he kept forcing him to escort those damned feather-headed women to parties full of people he couldn't stand, John didn't understand that, either. He wasn't the slightest bit interested in being married to one of those twits, yet his father kept insisting he meet them. Why could he not just understand?

"Are you alright, John?" James asked, reaching up and almost touching his face.

"I'm fine. Just that's i would rather be here than at work," he added with a smile.

"I'd rather you were here, too," James replied softly.

He had such fascinating eyes. John shook his head, backing away before he changed his mind and just decided never to go back to his father's house again. "I'll see you later, then," he said airily.

James didn't answer, just watched his retreating back until he couldn't see him any more. And John looked back over his shoulder before turning the corner.

John walked slowly, thinking. He could identify most of the people he passed, but knew none of them well enough even to give a greeting..

He had a sudden urge to turn around and go curl up on James' couch again. But that would be imposing. He paused, looking up at his father's building. Four stories, and all they did was deliver packages. He rather belatedly wondered what had been in James' package.

Well. Let's get it over with.

John marched determinedly up to his father's office, nodding briefly to the secretary, who gave him a commiserating look. This was one woman he actually liked. Perhaps because his father didn't shove her down his throat.

"Father," He said in greeting, pushing open the door.

"Where were you last night?" His father asked without looking up from his work.

"At a friends, father. You had me deliver a package there, and i stayed for a cup of tea. I'm afraid i fell asleep on his couch," he added, rubbing his neck in an imitation of chagrin.

"And the whole of this morning?" his father said acidly.

John shrugged, trying not to be angry at the memories of yesterday. "Sleeping," he said. "After all, yesterday was very trying; i was quite tired out by evening. And he fed me breakfast before i left."

John had learned some time ago not to mention that he enjoyed cooking around his father.

If you're going to get this upset every time i transfer one of my employees overseas,-" His father began.

"You didn't transfer him, Father," John snapped angrily, "You exiled him, just like you do to all of the friends you find "unsuitable" for some reason. What do i do that's so unsuitable?" John demanded, glaring.

"There's a party at the Mayfields' tonight," His father said, ignoring him. "I've arranged for you to escort a young woman--"

"She'll have to make other arrangements," John said shortly. "I have plans for this evening. Good day, Father."

John stormed out, long legs carrying him faster than his father's customary henchmen could follow. He headed in a roundabout fashion back towards James', wondering if his new frind would mind the imposition.

He suddenly wanted to see James so badly that it didn't matter. He rounded the corner and bounded up the short flight of stairs, rapping sharply on the door.

A moment later it was opened by a wet, half-dressed James. "John? Is something wrong?" James asked, worried.

John just shook his head, pushing past his friend to enter. James didn't resist, but he didn't step out of the way, either, allowing as much physical contact as possible.

"What's the matter?" James asked.

"Do you see anyone following me?" John asked, facing away from the door.

James looked at him for a moment, then carefully placed a hand on his arm, standing on his toes to see over the shoulder of the slightly taller man. He leaned so close that he could feel the heat from John's body radiating towards him, inhale the musky scent of his skin, feel his breath against his neck.

"No," he replied, pulling away reluctantly.

John just stood there staring at him in something akin to shock.

"If you'd like a bath, i have one drawn," James offered, waving ruefully in the direction of his wet hair and clinging trousers. He figured John needed some time alone to think.

"Yes, please," John said, not looking at him now. He didn't want to leave yet; couldn't leave now, but what- how-? "I find myself in need of some quiet contemplation," he added without thinking.

James looked steadily at him for a moment, then leaned forward and kissed him briefly on the mouth. "Just so you don't decide it was your imagination," he said with a smile. "The bathtub is in the kitchen. I'll be here, if you need me."

John nodded slowly, then turned and headed for the kitchen, looking back several times, just to make sure he wasn't hallucinating.

James smiled at him and he almost walked into the wall.

John stood surveying the bathtub thoughtfully. There was water splashed over the sides, and a trail of puddles leading all the way to the door. He wondered if his friend had known who was at the door.

Had James answered it in that condition just for him? That was an appealing idea. Then again, perhaps he always answered the door half-naked and wet. That image had its own form of appeal.

John conjured up an image of James, experimenting with it in various stages of dress and undress while he began undressing himself. He dangled his fingers in the water, testing the temperature.

It was tepid, at best, so he set about heating it again while he thought some more.

His father would never allow this. As soon as he began spending time here, James would be forced to leave. Deported, if necessary, given a token job in the company, at best.

John was fairly sure that James would refuse a job offer. Pretty sure. He really didn't know James that well, did he?

But it felt as though he'd known James forever. Like they were meant to be together, somehow.

John was suddenly overcome by brief flashes of James; on a ship, wielding a sword, standing in a field full of flowers at night, with stars as far as the eye could see, and always, always smiling at him, and he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he wouldn't ever let his father separate them.

But how did he go about accomplishing that?

~~~~~~~~~~~

James wandered around the house aimlessly until he spotted the book he had begun to read the previous night. The one John had brought him.

James picked it up, careful not to damage the delicate spine, and began reading where it was marked.

Tom took me out to the country today, to show me our lot at night. He says he's going to build the house on the very edge so i can see the stars over the whole field, without the house getting in the way. The stars out there are beautiful, and it'll be just me and Tom; no-one to give us odd looks or make crude remarks when we pass.

That won't work forever, of course. He needs people around him, even if he isn't friends with them. But living as far from everyone as we do should help. No-one will know anything about us that we don't tell them ourselves. This is going to be perfect!

James flipped back to the inside cover of the ancient diary, re-reading the inscription there.

To my beloved Harry, so you'll have something to record your life's adventures in. Love always, Tom.

A fairly ordinary diary, in most respects, although it did get a bit... explicit, which was unusual for those times. It's outstanding feature, the one that had convinced James to sell half of his possessions in order to purchase it, was that it dictated, in stunningly intimate detail, a romance between two men. He wondered if it had lasted throughout their whole lives.

John was going to shrivel up into a prune if he didn't get out of that tub soon.

He rose, closing the book gently, and headed downstairs. If John was still in the kitchen, he was about to be interrupted.

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

"It occurs to me," James said delicately from the kitchen entrance, eyes riveted to the suds covering John from head to toe. "That you might need some help. The water here is so soft, it's hard to really rinse off without assistance."

John started to protest, then wondered why he would do any such thing. "Thank you," he replied shyly. "The water is already on the stove," he added, gesturing wryly to the soapy puddles on the floor.

James splashed his way to the pot, taking careful hold of the warm water and carrying it over to John, leaving more water on the floor as he went. It occurred to him to wonder exactly how much stronger than he John really was. He paused next to the tub, cradling the heavy pot against his belly. "You have to stand up, now," he pointed out quietly. Was John ready for this? Not that it was all that intimate or anything, yet, anyway, but it was a definite step in that direction.

John just looked at him for another moment, then suddenly reached up and touched James' belly. "You never finished your bath," he said shyly, not quite looking up. "It's a big enough bathtub, if you'd care to join me..."

James just looked at him, then set the pot down, carefully. "Are you sure?" he asked quietly. He placed one hand against John's jaw, forcing the other man to look at him. "If i did that, there'd be no turning back. That's a reputation you can't get rid of; no matter where you go, or what you do, it follows you. Are you sure you want to do that?"

"I want you," John replied. "I feel as though we've always been together, should always be together. My father--"

"Can't keep us apart if we really want to be together. All we have to do is leave. Me first, and then you follow."

"Where do we go? I haven't got a job if i leave, and you... what do you do, James?"

James grinned at him. "I read other people's books, and then i tell them what will get it published. They're terribly trite, most of the time, but every now and again i run across someone with real talent. You see, the problem i have with money is not because i don't have any way to make money, it's that i can't stand those snivelling, untalented make believe writers, and so i refuse to edit their books. And so i don't make any money. I can tolerate their work, if you can tolerate my complaints," he said softly, leaning closer.

"And what do i do?" John asked, fascinated by James' eyes.

"Anything you want to, lover," James replied.

John nodded, practically hypnotized, and James tipped himself into the bathtub, clothes and all.