Dusk at Sandrine's v.2
by Jenn
Dedication:
Queco, I wrote the new ending for you. Don't know why it happened. I hope
you're happy. You owe me. Sorcha, Sara, Tara, and Queco for beta-reading the
original, and Queco for beta-reading the new ending.
Disclaimer:
Not a single character is mine, but the story is. As far as I know, this gets
me no money, so sueing is pretty pointless, unless your desperately eager for
my underwear collection.
*****
Tom
Paris' suggestion that the potluck be moved to Sandrine's had been a good idea.
Captain Kathryn Janeway still thought so even as she nursed her fourth synthale
of the night in the darkest corner of the room, far away from the dim lights of
a twenty-fourth century bar. Even farther from the people who came to enjoy the
relaxed atmosphere of the program. Here, she knew, they could forget, at least
for a little while.
From
the beginning of time, that had been the point of bars, when the first man
watched his grain rot and had the bright idea of drinking the liquid residue in
the old shed out back with a few fellow farmers and bewail the weather. To
forget, even if for a moment, a second, the conflict in their lives, the
struggles they'd endured.
The
crew hadn't come here just to forget the Equinox. They came to forget the
rumors of their Captain's actions. Forget that the First Officer had been
removed from duty.
She
took another drink, wincing at the taste but swallowing anyway.
She
suspected Tom knew this. God knew he'd used alcohol, synthehol, take your pick,
to forget.
She
could see him, in the faint light from the small dance floor, standing with
Harry and the Doctor near the bar. Talking. Laughing, maybe, it was just a
little too loud to tell. The music he'd added in drowned out all voices to
indistinct murmurs.
The
swirl of the different dancing couples blocked her vision occasionally, when
she glanced at the doors. She was waiting for someone. Her gaze went back to
Tom and company, a group that had grown to include Sue Nicoletti and a member
of Harry Kim's ops department.
She
could see he was drinking tonight. He'd had several since her arrival. His
energy had been far too high all evening--almost relentlessly social. Perhaps
only to her, it also drew attention to the fact he was alone here, too.
She
wondered where B'Elanna was.
Oddly
enough, in a room full of people--her crewmembers, her friends, all her
subordinates--she felt alone.
She'd
felt that way for a long time. She took another drink, shaking her head at her own
weakness. Why the hell was she here, anyway? Ah, that's right, crew morale. Let
them see their Captain hadn't become a monster willing to play judge, jury, and
executioner in the name of revenge.
Instead,
they could see their Captain get quietly drunk in a corner. Much more
appropriate.
Her
croutons were sitting on the edge of the buffet table, removed from the other
dishes by some space.
Waiting
for a salad.
Chakotay
hadn't arrived.
She
told herself she didn't regret it, that everything she had done, that she had
ordered, had been right. Not for the sake of crew unity, not even for the sake
of the First Officer she'd learned to trust and respect, could she admit she
might have been wrong. Maybe, just maybe, if she kept telling herself that,
she'd believe it, too.
Respect
was still there. Trust was a different issue altogether. For both of them.
"Captain?"
She
blinked, realizing she had been staring at the croutons for far too long. Her
eyes met the concerned blue of her chief pilot, and she squelched her
disappointment. She suspected he saw it anyway, though his face was thankfully
blank of anything except concern.
"Tom."
He
smiled a little and she nodded for him to pull up a chair. Funny, her
relationships with her senior staff had changed so much in the last six months.
Why was it only now, only this moment, that she realized it? Tom, Harry,
B'Elanna...Chakotay.
No.
Not now. It hurt too much.
He
had a glass in his hand; the color of the liquid within was indistinguishable
in the faint light of this corner. He played with it idly before taking a
drink. She sipped hers as well, wondering how to start a conversation that
wouldn't shatter this fantasy world.
Not
the holodeck. She meant the bar.
The
place you went to forget pain.
"Do
you want to dance, Captain?"
Her
eyes met his, catching the expression on his face a moment before it
disappeared. A year ago, it never would have been there at all, but that much
had changed. That much openness had been achieved.
All
it had cost him was his rank.
That
expression. So he was drinking to forget something too.
Max
Burke? Or B'Elanna? Suddenly, she didn't feel quite so alone.
"Yes."
And she stood up, putting the glass down unsteadily on the table, feeling
light-headed. That much synthale? She didn't know for certain.
He
took her gently by the elbow, leading her over to the floor, before turning,
still giving her the option of changing her mind. Wondering, perhaps, if she
would pull away, decide against the impulse, but she drew close, letting his
arms go around her waist. She remembered, all unwitting, a young cadet at
Starfleet Academy at that first nightmarish freshman mixer, more years ago than
she cared to remember. He'd stepped on her foot and tried to blow in her ear,
in the process getting it wet.
She
smiled a little at the memory. That had been the first and last time she'd
attended a freshman mixer without a date of her own, one who respected the
boundaries she placed at the moment of contact.
Tom
was a good dancer, and she wasn't surprised. A captain even now, she fought the
impulse to lead, relaxing a little into the close but not too close embrace. He
was a pilot, after all. If he could fly the temperamental Delta Flyer, he could
certainly maneuver on a dance floor.
"You
changed the program," she said softly, near his ear. Conversation wasn't
necessary, but now, when it wasn't forced, she felt the contrary urge to talk.
"It
needed more space, so for tonight I moved the pool table out," he said,
equally soft. "And the dance floor was expanded, after some enterprising
crewmembers started a ballroom dancing class."
She
grinned and glanced up at him.
"It's
smokier. I can't smell it, but I can see it," she answered.
"Ah,
that." She could hear the embarrassment in his voice, and the slight hint
of pride. "Yeah, well, authenticity."
"Not
that anyone smokes anymore, Tom."
"No,
but Sandrine's had an old-fashioned fireplace--you know, the kind that burns
wood. During winter break, when I went there, it was always smoky, and you could
see the soot collect on the stone. Sometimes, she wouldn't even activate the
heater, just let the fire do its work."
"You
added a fireplace?" She was surprised; she hadn't seen it.
"A
few weeks ago. It's where the piano used to be." He turned them in a slow
circle, and her eyes found what he indicated without her having to move her
head at all.
Large
and stone, with a fire inside. She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen
one of those. A fire. A real fire, that is, not a holographic one.
Maybe
those long days on that planet after Seska's takeover? Maybe on New Earth, had
Chakotay built a fireplace for them, or a fire? It blended together in her
mind, memories bittersweet.
Their
turn brought the buffet table into view again. Her croutons were still there,
alone at the side of the table.
The
space beside them for the salad was still empty. She gritted her teeth.
"Where's
B'Elanna?" she asked abruptly, forcing away the image.
The
slightest stiffening of the shoulders beneath her hands. So slight, so quickly
gone, she might have imagined it.
"Engineering."
That
was all, and that one word told her everything. There had been some damage
after the battle with the Equinox, and of course B'Elanna would want to oversee
the repairs personally.
Of
course she would.
"She'll
be here when she's done." It was more of an expression of hope than a
statement of fact.
"You
want to talk about it, Tom?"
He
didn't respond for a moment, and she wondered, with embarrassed regret, if
she'd presumed too much.
"There's
nothing to talk about," he answered finally. His voice sounded a little
too offhand. "She's still a little upset by what happened with
Burke." And that was all.
Janeway
didn't need explanations. She knew, just as Tom did, how the engineer's mind
worked. Fair or not. His hand tightened on her waist for a moment.
"Chakotay
went to help her re-align the plasma manifolds," Tom continued neutrally,
and Janeway sighed to herself. Maybe Tom felt it, maybe he didn't. She turned
her head away, hiding her expression. She could interpret Tom' statement easily
enough.
B'Elanna
had wanted to talk. Just not with Tom.
Chakotay
had wanted to talk. Just not with her.
Tom's
expression now made perfect sense.
"He'll
be here when he's done," she said softly, her voice low. She took in his
ensemble for the first time. She'd often noted his choices of off-duty clothes
ended up being in the red/brown spectrum, and wondered if there was a reason
for such an preference. Not that anyone needed a reason for a favorite color,
of course.
She
decided her scientific mind needed to rest. Another song had begun. Tom didn't
let her go. She didn't move away.
She
took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of aftershave, clean cotton, soap. An
unfamiliar smell. Pleasant in the warmth of the bar. Comforting.
Like
his arms around her.
If
only all her relationships were this easy. Tom, while probably the
highest-maintenance member of her senior staff professionally, was a remarkably
low-maintenance friend. At least for her. One of the few people who didn't demand
any more of her than she wanted to give. And despite his actions on the Monean
homeworld, one of the few, other than Tuvok, she trusted unconditionally.
Chakotay
had been the other.
God,
she hated the past tense. It was never pleasant.
Her
hands tightened at the thought, and he let her draw him a little closer. She
could feel his heartbeat now, a little faster. An involuntary response.
She
closed her eyes to block the sight of the crewmembers watching them. She
wondered what they thought at the sight of their Captain and the Chief Helmsman
dancing together.
She
wondered if it mattered.
It
probably did. She didn't care. Apparently, neither did he. Of course he didn't.
He'd lived his life on Voyager surrounded by rumors. One more wouldn't mean a
damn thing.
Maybe
she'd drank too much tonight. Maybe he had too. In fact, she knew they both
had.
Maybe
she should care.
A
slow turn, and he let her go, swinging her carefully by one long-fingered hand
into a gentle spin, drawing her close again without missing a beat. Their eyes
met for a moment. Natural rhythm. Characteristic in pilots, if Justin had been
any indication.
She'd
only danced with Justin a few times, none of those times in public. None should
have been in public, for that matter. They always ended differently from where
they began.
Justin.
Her first fiancee, dead now almost fifteen years. She blinked abruptly. She'd
never been very good at keeping her men.
At
the end of the song, they returned to the table to finish their drinks and
ordered more. They watched each other, a little uncertain, a little wary, but
when he silently took her hand from the table, she led the way. She slid an arm
around his neck this time, let his hands travel up her back. Felt his chin rest
in her hair.
One
place where there were no expectations. One pair of eyes that didn't look on
her with judgement, or dart away with embarrassment. Just Tom, who'd trusted
her enough to believe that whatever she chose to do was right.
The
one person who didn't have disappointment in his eyes. Or betrayal.
Like
Chakotay did.
She
squeezed her eyes shut. Bars were places to forget. Alcohol was the means of
forgetting. So far, it wasn't working.
"How
much will it take?" she whispered, uncertain whether the words had
actually been spoken or thought. What was she saying? This couldn't be good
etiquette between officer and subordinate. Yet, she couldn't bring herself to
stop. Maybe he couldn't either.
"Depends
on how much you need to forget." One of his hands slid down her spine to
her waist.
She
wondered if the crew was still watching.
She
wondered what B'Elanna would say if she could see this.
Or
Chakotay.
"A
lot," she answered.
Chakotay's
face in the cargo bay. His face in the briefing room. His face when she'd freed
him of restriction to quarters.
The
last one. Definitely the last one.
She
wondered what it was Tom wanted to forget. What had been said; what had been
seen. His thigh brushed hers. The warmth cut through her trousers, heating her
skin.
What
would keep B'Elanna talking to Chakotay and not to Tom. She slid her hand under
his arm, around his back. Felt his hand on the back of her neck, under her
hair.
God,
she felt warm.
What
did it mean in a relationship, when your partner couldn't talk to you?
Which
one of them did she mean? Tom or herself?
"How
much do you need to forget, Tom?" Her fingers touched the short, silky
hair at the nape of his neck, almost unconsciously.
"Too
much."
That
answered a lot of questions.
His
leg brushed hers gently in another turn. His back was strong beneath her
fingers. She could feel his breath stir her hair. The hand on her back
flattened between her shoulder blades. Her heartbeat increased suddenly,
pounding in her ears.
This
was dangerous.
Maybe,
just maybe, she didn't care.
Her
eyes opened to look into his.
Somehow,
they managed to avoid leaving together. Tom walked back to Harry, she found
their glasses and disposed of them.
He
was waiting at her quarters when she arrived. Unsteadily, she opened her door,
walked in.
"This
is a mistake." She backed away a little. Her head was clearing, though not
much. Not enough to stop, in any case.
"I
know." He hadn't moved once the door closed behind him. Watched her with
clear blue eyes.
"We'll
both regret it in the morning." Why was she even bothering with these
ridiculous dime-novel lines?
"I
know that too."
"Do
you care?"
He
took two steps, touching her lips with two long fingers, stopping whatever else
she would have said.
"Computer,
run whatever music is playing in Holodeck 2 right now." He looked back
down at her. Waiting.
They
were both too drunk, too hurt, to be making this decision. She took one step
forward, felt his arms go around her, and lifted her head. His lips brushed
hers. She slid her hands behind his neck, leaning in to deepen the kiss as he
pulled her flat against his body. She could feel his erection through the loose
pants they both wore, hard against her stomach. He loosened her blouse, pulling
it out of her trousers as she unfastened his shirt to the waist, running her
fingers over the exposed muscled chest. Abruptly, he raised her off her feet,
and she wrapped her legs around his waist as he traced her neck with the tip of
his tongue, one hand buried in her hair, drawing her head back. She closed her
eyes, leaning her full weight into him.
He
let her lift her head, and she found his mouth as she pulled her shirt up,
breaking contact so he could get it over her head, before she wrapped both arms
around his bare shoulders, his shirt finally discarded on the floor at his
feet.
She
couldn't honestly say she hadn't thought of this before. She had.
She'd
never been kissed the way Tom was kissing her, filling her mouth so completely
she couldn't make a sound, not even when his hands found her breasts, thumbs
gently brushing the nipples hard, then the hard palms were sliding down her
sides, coming to the closure of her trousers, unfastening so quickly she had
barely realized he was doing it before he set her on her feet, kneeling to remove
them. He followed their slow descent down her legs with his hands, making her
grit her teeth, her hands clench on his shoulders. Then even more slowly, her
underwear, until she numbly stepped out of them, her skin goosebumping from the
touch of his fingers against her naked ankle.
"God,
you're beautiful," he said softly, almost reverently, his hands moving
back up from her ankles, her calves, her thighs, her hips, her waist, curving
around her breasts to her face, cupping it gently, tilting it up. Kissing her
again, brushing his tongue over her teeth, tracing the line of them before
pushing hard, opening her mouth, then withdrawing, encouraging her to do the
same to him.
It
had been so long. Too long.
She
unfastened his trousers as she kissed him, pushing them and the boxers down at
once, pushing his hand away when he would have helped her, wanting to do it
herself. The smooth skin of his back and buttocks beneath her fingers. When he
squeezed her breast, she dug her nails in reflexively, feeling rather than
hearing his low growl into her mouth. He backed them up until the side of the
couch was pressed against her knees, and he lifted her up onto it, then gently
lowered her over it, following her without breaking contact with her mouth. She
brushed one hand through the short blonde hair distractedly and he caught both
her hands, pinning them to the couch beside her head, lifting his mouth away to
lower it to her neck, and she caught her breath as his teeth sank into her
shoulder. His head came up sharply.
"You
don't like that?"
She
shook her head quickly.
"I
like it."
He
studied her face, then smiled a little, and she drew in a sharp breath when he
bit into her neck again before beginning the delicate tracery of her throat
with his tongue, following a path to her ear, sucking delicately at the lobe
before licking lightly at the interor. She shivered at every gently brush of
his tongue.
God,
the room was warm. Sweat broke out on her skin where he touched it. She tried
to free her hands and found she couldn't: she felt rather than saw him grin
against her neck.
Then
he moved his mouth to her breast.
Her
whole body jumped as he traced the nipple with his tongue, letting the air do
its work, before moving to the other one. She pushed against his grip on her
wrists and he momentarily freed them, lacing their fingers together before
slamming them back down into the cushions. She caught her breath.
"Open
your legs for me," he whispered softly before sucking one hard nipple into
his mouth. She braced one leg on the floor, parting them as he slid further
down, freeing one of her hands, pulling the other with him until it rested on
her stomach. Gently, he parted her with his fingers and she felt the careful
brush of his tongue.
Then
another brush, a little firmer, drawing a low sound from her throat. Another
gentle brush, then he thrust his tongue into her, sucking hard, and she cried
out, back arching. She laced one hand through his short hair, holding him in
place when he didn't seem to have any intention of moving, and his free hand
grasped her hip. She felt a low growl from him again, wondered rather vaguely
if he'd always done that, or if it was something B'Elanna had taught him, and
quickly banished the thought.
She
didn't need to think of anyone else right now. Luckily, that was easy, when he
caught her clitoris between his teeth.
"Tom."
It came out as more a groan than a name.
Then
a slow rhythm began--a thrust of his tongue into her, a brush across her
clitoris. He lifted her leg, sliding it over his shoulder, and she braced her
foot against his back as he pressed even deeper. God. She savored the feeling,
her body heating up faster than she could ever remember it doing before.
It
had been too long.
The
rhythm speeded up, her breathing raggedly following, and she felt herself begin
to tremble, tightening her grip on his hand, feeling so damned close. She
tilted her head back, closing her eyes to savor the feeling he was expertly
stoking in her.
"Not
yet," he said softly, lifting his head. Damn he was good, able to judge
just how close she was. He slid himself back up her body, her leg moving down
over his arm to his hip, and she pulled his head down to hers, taking his mouth
hard, tasting herself there, arching her hips. He caught her hand, pressing
both again to the cushions, and entered her in one hard thrust.
He
swallowed her moan, letting her adapt for minute, trembling against her, before
beginning a slow rhythm inside her. She wrapped both legs around him,
tightening every time he thrust, locking her ankles behind his back, moving to
meet him. Never freeing his mouth, she couldn't get enough of the taste of him,
of herself on him, of the feel of his tongue against hers.
She
had no idea of time as he carefully began to speed his movements in her, and
she finally had to breathe, pulling her mouth away to gasp in air, unable to
stop. He whispered something against her collarbone, before his mouth moved up
her neck, to her jaw, tracing it, kissing it, scraping her sensitive skin with
his teeth, biting, making her gasp, moan, whisper words that didn't mean
anything. His fingers tightened in hers, bracing himself, and suddenly the
rhythm sped up, becoming stronger, harder, pushing her head against the arm of
the couch. She groaned at the building in her, slowly and steadily, beginning
to want release--
And
his eyes caught hers, not letting her look away. She stared back, into blue so
dark it seemed to pull her in, drag her as deeply into him as he was in her.
His breathing was shallow against her lips, and she kissed him again, eyes
open, unable to look anywhere else.
Her
body trembled, and the slickness of their sweat slid them against each other at
every movement, her nipples against the hair on his chest, a friction she
couldn't get enough of. She turned her head away, and his hand let go of hers,
grasping her jaw, forcing her head back, keeping that intense gaze locked with
hers.
"That's
it, Kathryn. Look at me." And he moved harder into her, faster, she
couldn't keep her breathing up with her heart, used her free hand to grab his
shoulder, nails digging in, and she realized he liked that. Sliding her hand
under his arm, she found his back, drawing her nails down as slowly, as deeply
as she could with each thrust, hearing him groan.
He
let her face go, drawing his fingers down to her breast, playing with the
nipple for a moment, before sliding down farther, between her legs to the tiny
hard nub, stroking it once, twice, three time, then pinching lightly--
--and
her climax dissolved the world around her. She cried out something, she had no
idea what, nails digging into whatever flesh was in her grasp, legs tightening
around him, feeling him speed up even more, she had no idea how, and he
climaxed with her, yelling something she couldn't understand before collapsing,
head buried in her neck.
Several
minutes passed and neither could move, trying to find their breath, listening
to the slowing of their hearts. Finally, he gently moved off, sliding to lay
beside her, then got up. Before she could wonder where he'd gone, he was back,
draping the blanket over her before laying back down, drawing her into his
arms, and she put her head on his chest, closing her eyes, feeling his fingers
entwined in her hair.
Sleep
came quickly.
*
* * * *
Tom
must have been awake long before she was. He'd showered and gotten dressed and
was sitting on the floor by the couch. Slowly, she rolled over, aware of the
soreness between her legs, and pulled the blanket closer. An automatic reaction
that amused her a little.
When
she could see his face, she noted the blankness of his expression.
"Are
you sorry?" she asked. He turned to meet her gaze. Not surprised to see
her awake, despite the suddenness of it.
"I
don't know." He looked away, staring out the viewport.
She
wrapped the blanket around herself, sitting up, and without looking at her he
joined her on the couch. They didn't touch, content to watch the stars.
"I
should be sorry," he said softly. "I want to be."
"So
do I," she admitted. From the corner of her eye, she saw his reluctant
grin. A more comfortable silence.
"Are
you going to tell B'Elanna?"
He
glanced at her, then turned to look out the viewport for a moment, a wry smile
twisting his lips.
"Computer,
location of Lieutenant Torres?"
:::Lieutenant
Torres is on Deck 9, Section 12, room 12B."
She
looked at him, uncomprehending, and the wry grin grew a little bitter.
"Computer,
location of Commander Chakotay?"
:::Commander
Chakotay is on Deck 9, Section 12, room 12B."
She
blinked, feeling the blood drain from her face. He shook his head, the little
smile growing more natural.
"How
long?" Somehow, it just hadn't occurred to her. Now, in retrospect--
"Let's
just say a long time," he answered quietly. "And don't try to tell me
they're just talking. I guess what I tell her depends on what she tells me,
huh?"
Janeway
was thinking of another aspect.
"But
if she checked where you were--"
"I
left my commbadge in my room before coming here." He leaned back against
the cushions, arms relaxed at his sides, face a little pale. "I should
go."
Her
head ached a little, and different tastes battled for dominance on her tongue.
Sweat, synthale...other flavors she couldn't identify.
Maybe
she was a little drunk still. She knew this was wrong, but there was nothing in
her but a kind of warm satisfaction.
Tom
Paris was very much the lover his reputation said he was. Even better. She
couldn't regret that.
He
hadn't moved to leave, still watching the stars.
"Tom?"
He
looked at her blankly, then called himself back from wherever he'd gone,
turning a little to face her. Tentatively, she touched his cheek, slightly
rough beneath her fingers. He leaned into the caress, for a moment, then stood
up.
"Your
back?" She didn't want him to leave just yet.
His
eyes widened, and he grinned suddenly, a real grin that made her smile back.
"I
forgot. Yeah, you have a regenerator in here?"
She
pointed to the bathroom and followed him in. He let her heal the marks, some of
which had drawn blood. By the look of the skin, though, he'd had plenty that he
had allowed to heal naturally. Many. She traced one absently with a finger when
she was done, then felt him take the regenerator from her, tilting her head up.
She frowned and he grinned again, turning her to the mirror.
So
he'd drawn blood too. He drew the dermal around the bites, and she was almost
sorry to see them go. They walked out of the bathroom, and he picked up his
vest.
"Good-bye."
She
nodded and he quietly left.
She
sank down on the couch, looking at her hands, the nails streaked with blood.
She
wished she was sorry. But she wasn't.
*
* * * *
An
hour later, as Tom had been pretty sure would be the case, B'Elanna showed up
at his quarters. She let herself in, blinking to see him waiting on the couch.
She looked tired and her hair, though she'd tried to put it in order, was still
a mess. She must have literally just woken up.
That
was B'Elanna, straight to her core. Couldn't even take time to shower before
confessing.
Under
one small ear was a fading bruise. He averted his eyes. He knew she didn't have
a dermal regenerator in her quarters--he'd taken it to Sickbay to get it
re-charged. Right now, he regretted that. It would be easier without evidence.
Though
he had no intention of letting that change his mind.
She
looked nervous. She shifted from foot to foot, trying to start, obviously
looking for the words. He let her search, settling his elbows on his knees,
waiting.
"Tom--"
she stopped, biting her lip. Guilt was written so clearly on her face he worried
if she'd passed any crewmembers on her way here.
"You
don't have to say anything," he said softly, watching her too-straight
posture. The brown eyes widened for a moment. She opened her mouth again, then
closed it tightly, catching the words behind her teeth. "Unless it is
something I need to know. Do I need to know, B'Elanna?"
He
waited a beat, then continued.
"Because
otherwise, I don't want to know. Anything."
She
didn't answer for a moment, then, abruptly, her shoulders relaxed. He let out a
breath at her guilty relief. Nothing he needed to know. Thank God. Her eyes
traveled over him carefully, and she blinked again.
He
let her look, take it in. He'd known she would guess, the minute she saw him.
B'Elanna's powers of observation were excellent. Her eyes took in the posture,
the clothes--the expression.
Realization
dawned. Her body stiffened, and something flashed in the brown eyes. He set his
teeth, understanding how she felt. He hoped she'd reach the same conclusion he
had, when he left the Captain's quarters.
Slowly,
she sank down onto the chair across from him. Not looking at him.
"Do
I need to know anything, Tom?" Her voice trembled. She stared at
the carpet numbly, her hair hiding her face, then looked up. He spent a moment,
bitter beyond imagining, thinking she might cry.
Keeping
her gaze in his, he shook his head slowly.
"Just
that I love you." Meaning it.
Nothing,
and he tensed for her answer. She didn't break the lock, looking straight back,
the conflict so clear in her eyes he could trace it's progress. Then, just as
suddenly, the resolution. Her lips tried to smile.
"I
love you too."
He
held out a hand and she walked over, curling up in his lap like a sleepy
kitten, arms going around his neck. Tightening, possessive. He cradled her
close, half-expecting her to wince, but she only burrowed closer, her breath a
staccato rush against his throat.
Neither
of them needed to know. Whatever had happened the night before. God
knew, there were so many things they should talk about, they didn't need
to add in the ones that they didn't.
"Tell
me about Max Burke," he whispered into her hair. He brushed it back from
her forehead with one hand, gently. Felt the short burst of tension, then
relaxation.
After
a moment, she did.
The
End