Truce
Chapter Ten
Disclaimer, etc. in Headers
Scully took a deep, cleansing breath, one typical
of wakening from a restful sleep. Eyes closed,
she snuggled under the light blanket, drifting in
and out of sleep, the smoke-tinged air tickling
her nose. Somewhere, there was a fireplace - the
faint smell of charcoal and the pop of cinders
made her wonder if she was back home.
But when she cracked open one eye, she saw she
wasn't, unless she'd gone nuts during the night
and raided the set of "Hush, Hush, Sweet
Charlotte". The room around her was dark and
heavy with wood molding, the sofa on which she
laid overstuffed and smelling of old, slightly
musty material, its tapestry covering assaulting
her one open eye with a flash of red-orange
swirls. She sat up with a jerky breath, the navy
blue blanket falling away, afraid she'd seen
Olivia de Havilland hovering over her with a
sinister smile.
"You're awake. Good."
Relief made her sag; she wasn't trapped in an
old horror movie, after all. Bright sunlight
streamed through the windows, and she strove to
harden her sleep-roughened voice in a reprimand
at his letting her sleep so long. "Mulder..."
Sitting behind his desk, his glasses reflecting
light at an angle which made it impossible to
ascertain his mood, he looked up from his laptop.
"Gillis W. Long Center," he stated, holding up
something that glittered in the morning light.
"What?" It was no use arguing about how he'd let
her sleep half the day away; from the tone of his
voice, he'd latched on to another subject, one
which obviously piqued his interest. She stood,
rubbing her eyes with stiff fingers.
"Coffee's on the bar. You look like you could
use some," he offered, his confidence threatening
to overflow as he almost squirmed in his seat
with excitement.
"I do, do I?" she drawled, miffed at the apparent
advantage in the investigation he'd gained while
she slept - and a bit ticked at his slam on her
appearance. She resisted the urge to smooth her
hair, heading for the bar. "Thanks *so* much."
"It's a good look, actually. G-woman, stakeout,
I-need-a-bed sexy."
"Mulder." The hand holding the carafe stopped
midway to her cup as she sliced a warning look
his way.
"Sorry," he murmured, "felt like old times there
for a sec."
It did, and she lamented the loss of the easy
banter they used to enjoy, dropping her chin as
she searched for the right thing to say. But
Mulder, thank goodness, ran right by the bump in
the road, with his usual, only slightly awkward
panache. Clearing his throat, he straightened
from his slump in the chair, dangling the key
between thumb and forefinger. "GWL108. You
didn't notice the inscription?"
Scully leaned against the bar, answering dryly,
"All I had until last night was a wax impression,
Mulder. And I didn't have time - or the
opportunity -" she fixed him with a pointed look,
"to inspect the real thing."
Mulder didn't rise to her bait, instead watching
the key roll over his knuckles like a quarter
about to disappear behind his hand. "Good thing
you made an impression of the engraved side. I
doubt the other side had any identifying marks at
all."
"Even in the dark, I could feel what I was
doing," she remarked with a lift of her chin.
"You always were good at that."
This time, his name came from deep in her throat,
a final warning growl. "Mulderrrr."
"Okay, okay." Tossing his glasses to the desk, he
stood, and she noticed for the first time that he
still wore his evening clothes from the night
before, sans jacket, of course. "So, are you
still fuzzy-brained, or did you hear what I said
earlier?" He walked to where she stood; too
close, in fact, his jaunty grin a complement to
his disheveled, but debonair attire. He had the
mojo going, and he knew she was clamoring within
to keep up with his rapid-fire leaps in the
investigation. Added to his excitement about the
key was a definite layer of happiness he tried
to tamp down, as his grin faded a bit at her
glare. She was grateful he made the effort,
knowing how much her presence meant to him. But
she refused to acknowledge it, trying her best to
keep things impersonal. He wouldn't dare press
her, not after last night's argument. It didn't
mean, however, that he'd stop poking at her
resolve, and she knew she'd better be ready for
it.
"Gillis W. Long Center. I heard." She reached
up to take the key, but Mulder passed the key
from one fist to another before producing it from
behind her ear. The slight of hand was so
familiar, bringing to mind the case of the
decapitated magician so long ago. Scully's chest
ached at the memory, and she grabbed the key from
him, avoiding his gaze. She wished he weren't
so... Mulder. "So? I guess you're about to tell
me what else you know. Let's hear it."
The huskiness of his voice told her he'd picked
up on her sad thoughts. "Don't know all that
much - just found it a few minutes ago after
looking all night."
She tilted her chin up. He'd not slept? Of
course not. A shiver of apprehension slipped up
her spine - had he watched her sleep?
The corners of his eyes crinkled as he said
softly, "You still drool, you know."
Yep, he'd watched her, damn him. She felt
vulnerable enough without Mulder watching over
her like... a partner. Suddenly, she felt
better. Despite the almost hidden glow of un-
partnerlike feelings skirting the edges of his
eyes, she saw something familiar and safe. An
assurance that had always been there, one which
warmed her cold, insecure bones.
Mulder's face stilled to a solemn pause at her
silence; before she could accept his gentle
teasing with a grin of her own, he spoke again.
"Actually, it's a Louisiana National Guard camp,
home to the Youth Challenge Program. Not all
that far away from this gold-plated palace of
mine."
She ignored the jibe, feeling it for what it was
- based on humor rather than anger. "I've heard
of those type programs," she said, sipping at her
coffee. "They take teenagers - troubled teens
- and put them through a boot camp of sorts.
Teaches discipline and respect."
Mulder nodded. "From what I gather on the 'net,
the camp has a great success rate in turning
those kids around. After a five-month stay, most
obtain a GED, return to their neighborhoods and
are assimilated back into society, with the help
of a mentoring program. Some end up liking the
rigid discipline so much they enlist in the
armed services. Many of them never get in
trouble again."
"And those who do? Jail time?"
"One of the prerequisites for acceptance into the
program is that the kids have no criminal record.
But most are just a hair's breadth away from
jail, anyway. This place is a weigh station of
sorts; you pass, you go home. You fail, you're
back on the streets. Which usually means jail,
eventually. The parents have essentially given
up all hope of turning the kids around by the
time they're sent to the Center."
Confusion mottled her still sleepy brain. "Just
what would Balfour be doing with a key to that
place in his upstairs safe?"
"Good question."
The trill of her cell phone interrupted Mulder's
enthusiastic reply. He clamped his jaw down over
his displeasure at the way she held a hand up,
using her other to dig in her pocket for the
phone.
"Scully."
"Where the hell are you?"
She tensed, turning away from Mulder to put some
distance between herself and his glower. He knew
who it was already, and he wasn't happy.
"Good morning to you too, Robert," she murmured,
anger at his intrusion giving her voice a snide
tone. She felt a looming presence at her right
elbow, and looked up to find a stiff, tight-jawed
Mulder listening in. At the moment, she didn't
know who she was more angry with - Robert, for
his high-handed grilling, or Mulder, for his
territorial sniffing. "I'm okay."
"I called the hotel this morning and you weren't
there." Robert, though softer of voice, still
sounded like a thwarted child.
Her anger grew as she realized the lengths he'd
gone to in order to find her; she'd never given
him her cell phone number. "How did you get this
number?" she bit out, avoiding Mulder's glare.
"Skinner. Though you should have given it to me
from day one, Dana."
"You're not my partner, Robert. And I don't have
to answer to you 24/7."
A huff came over the line; Robert's frustration
was palpable, especially when she heard another
voice behind the black void of their
conversation. Robert murmured a few words to his
visitor, apparently covering the phone with his
hand. Scully couldn't make out what was said,
but the voice was definitely feminine. His
secretary? She knew he had an office downtown,
where he kept tabs on his many investments and
properties. For ex-military, he'd done well for
himself; of course, he'd told her once he came
from old money.
"Look Robert," she interrupted, tired of waiting
while he conducted business elsewhere. "I'll
call you when I get back into town. Otherwise,
don't call me on this line again."
She hung up on his sputtering, then took off her
phone completely. She understood his concern,
even if she didn't have to feel comfortable with
it. Robert knew she'd gotten what she needed
from Balfour and Dupont, as well as the danger
possession of those items exposed her to. "He's
just doing his job," she said softly to Mulder,
who stood at her side, definitely ticked at the
interruption.
Hands on hips, he attacked, just as she figured
he would. "I told you he wasn't to be trusted,
Scully."
Pocketing her cell phone, she flashed Mulder a
seething look. "Excuse me, Mulder, but I think
I'm capable of determining that for myself. And
I think there's more behind your groundless
accusations than partnerly concern."
"This is not based on jealousy, Scully - though
I'd be lying if I said I wasn't tempted to wipe
the floor with his smug face. I hate to see him
touch you. There. Are you satisfied?" Mulder
turned, heading for the desk, where he picked up
the telephone.
She listened to him bark a few instructions to
Marvin, waiting with crossed arms. He'd admitted
his jealousy, but something in his posture and
voice spoke of his very real fear about her
association with Robert. As soon as he'd hung
up, she walked up behind him, concentrating for
now on his fears. "Tell me why you don't trust
him."
With a sigh, Mulder faced her again, his face
still tight with emotional upheaval. But in a
matter of seconds, he'd relaxed, saying, "We had
a little run-in last night." He hung his head,
scratching his beard as he avoided her gaze.
Realization struck her at what he was saying.
"Oh, no," she muttered, "tell me you didn't do
what I think you did."
He had the good sense to appear sheepish, though
he still defended his actions by replying, "I
talked to him, Scully. Actually, he stopped
*me*."
"From following *me*, I suppose."
"All right, yes." A knock at the study door
interrupted Mulder, but he kept speaking as he
opened it. "I won't apologize for that, Scully.
I won't stop watching your back... especially
when I get to see - and pinky feel - as much of
it as I did last night." He had the audacity to
wink before he faced a shocked Marvin.
"Your... um, your..." Marvin, for once, seemed
ruffled around the edges at what he'd heard.
Scully suppressed her grin even as she wondered
why such a harmless little quip had the power to
fluster him so. Marvin thrust the bundle he
carried into Mulder's arms, saying, "clothes.
Breakfast should be ready shortly." In another
instant, he was gone, his quick footsteps tapping
down the hallway.
"What's gotten into him?" Mulder muttered,
dropping his clothes on the sofa.
"I don't care what's gotten into Marvin," Scully
said, impatient with Mulder's diversion attempts.
"What did you tell Robert?"
"It's not what I told him, it's what he told me."
Mulder pulled at the buttons of his shirt as he
toed off his black, shiny shoes.
"Which was?"
"Nothing. That's just it. I can't find out a
God damned thing about the man, Scully."
"He *was* in intelligence, you know. It's not
like his military service is public record."
"Why not?" Mulder's shirt came off, and he
bunched it in his hands before tossing it at the
other end of the sofa. Bare-chested, he faced
her, hands on hips. "I should be able to at
least find out what unit he served in, shouldn't
I? It's like he's been erased from existence
until just a few years ago. How the hell does
Skinner know him, anyway?"
The sight of Mulder's bare skin after so long
without made her mouth dry. Mulder stood
oblivious to her sudden agitation, waiting for
her answer. Think, she reminded herself. Don't
let him get to you - and for God's sake, don't
let him *see* that he gets to you. But he had a
point; she didn't really know the details of
Skinner's friendship with Robert, but Skinner
wouldn't have let a threat to her or Mulder into
their sphere. "Skinner trusts him, Mulder. That
should be good enough."
"Well, *I* don't," Mulder huffed, reaching for
his belt. At the way she half-turned, his voice
became soft. "Come on, Scully. You've seen me
in much less than this."
She refused to rise to the bait, instead
listening to the rustle of fabric as she walked
to the window. "You just don't like him, Mulder.
Admit it. You don't want him around me because
you're -"
"Jealous? I've already said so, Scully. But
there's something else about him... the way he
handles himself. Too arrogant, too bold. Almost
as if he's leading you into a trap."
At that, she faced him. Her eyes dropped to the
half-open fly of his jeans, skittering over the
expanse of flat, muscular skin above. She
amended her assessment of his physical fitness
from the 'lean' and 'hungry' she's decided on a
couple of days ago to 'toned' and 'tight'. He
looked better than he ever had; to her starving
eyes, he was dinner *and* dessert, with a hot cup
of cappuccino on the side.
"No one leads me anywhere, Mulder," she pointed
out, raising her chin to meet his amused gaze.
"Please put your clothes on."
Laughing openly now, Mulder zipped up his jeans
and reached for his pullover. "Now you know how
I felt last night," he said, his words muffled by
his light sweater. A tousled head peeked through
the collar, still smiling. "Don't ever wear that
dress again, Scully. Not unless you want me to
take you up on the offer."
Miffed that she'd let him gain the upper hand,
she steeled her voice. "Don't change the
subject."
"You're the one who brought up my clothes... and
lack thereof." He sat on the sofa, pulling on
first one sneaker then the other. At her angry
silence, he conceded, "All right, all right. I
just have one more thing to say about Luquet."
"Just one? Somehow I doubt that."
Tying his shoestrings, he gave her a lopsided
grin before becoming serious. "That alarm wasn't
tripped by you, Scully. And I don't care what we
heard, I didn't smell smoke in the house.
Someone deliberately set it off." He stood,
looking more powerful in his casual dress than he
did in evening clothes. His navy blue sweater
hugged his body in all the right places, as did
his worn jeans. Toned and tight, indeed. "Right
before it went off, I saw Luquet speaking to
someone in the downstairs hall. A woman. Looked
right cozy to me."
"Robert knows a lot of people, Mulder." But even
as she spoke, she felt a tingle of trepidation at
Mulder's revelation. Robert knew a lot of
people, yes. But he'd never spoken one-on-one
with anyone at the parties she'd attended with
him; they always conversed with couples. Of
course, he may have just run into an old
friend...
"This woman, Scully... she reminded me of
someone."
Scully's eyes snapped up from their fascinated
perusal of Mulder's form. "You knew her?"
"I didn't say that. Her back was turned to me,
and she stood very close to Luquet, as if they
didn't want to be overheard. No, I can't say I
got a good look at her, other than the fact she
was tall and thin, with long, dark hair and a
very regal bearing." It was Mulder's turn to
look away, as if he dreaded what her response
would be. "She reminded me of Diana."
Scully wasn't upset at the mention of his ex-
partner. She'd long ago come to terms with
Diana's motives, as well as the woman's part
in rescuing Mulder from certain death at
Spender's hands. But Mulder's inclination to
think that he'd seen Diana gave Scully some
pause; why couldn't he let it go? His distrust
of Robert was one thing, but to convince himself
he'd seen Robert talking to the dead? She
sighed, stating the obvious. "Mulder, Diana's
dead."
"I know, I know. But it wouldn't be the first
time either of us had seen the dead, would it
Scully?" He began to pace before her, lost in
thought.
She felt herself grow cold, thinking of Mulder's
visions during and after his trial. She became
more anxious when she recalled the case many
years ago in Washington, one where she'd seen one
of the victims as well as Harold Spuller - after
they were already dead.
Those who were dying themselves, Mulder had
implied with his words. At the time, she'd
pushed his reasoning away, scared of her own
sickness and impending death. Coupled with the
fresh pain of their doomed tryst in New Orleans,
she hadn't been able to speak to Mulder about
much of anything, much less a death omen she
didn't want to believe in. Now, he'd seen the
dead... again. Not long ago, she'd accepted the
reality of extreme possibilities. Was she ready
to embrace this one?
No. He hadn't meant his observation in that way.
She could see it in his eyes, in the way they
darted about when he thought he was on to
something. Something more than an iffy
supernatural explanation - this time, she knew he
was mulling over another possibility. "You're
saying she faked her death?" She would never
believe the other, could never let herself even
entertain such thoughts again.
Mulder stilled, waving a hand for emphasis.
"We've seen it happen. Hell, I've even done it
myself."
Scully swallowed, unsure she should tell Mulder
the details of Diana's death. Then again, he'd
probably read them himself in the case file from
the D.C. Police. "I didn't do the autopsy,
Mulder. But I saw the results. Single gunshot
wound to the head. She was executed, plain and
simple. I believe they found out she'd helped me
get you out, and they killed her for it."
"Look, Scully, I didn't say it *was* her. I said
this person reminded me of Diana. For all we
know, it could have been a clone, or a shape
shifter."
That possibility she agreed with. "True."
Despite not knowing exactly who the mysterious
woman was, the fact remained she had been
whispering with Robert. It unsettled Mulder
enough to where he'd had to tell her, risking her
wrath at his meeting with Robert. "You didn't
hear what they were saying?"
"Whatever it was, it wasn't small talk. The
alarm went off, I looked away for a second, then
when I looked back, she was gone." Mulder
stepped closer, holding her gaze with his own.
"Luquet knows I saw him with this woman, Scully.
He knows all about me and you. He practically
pisses a circle around you every time you're
together. I have a feeling he's bad news,
Scully. Believe me on this one."
She could have pointed out that Mulder had his
own territorial moments, but didn't. Though not
concrete in fact, Mulder's objections to Luquet's
presence in their lives did have *one* very
strong basis for possible truth - Mulder's
instincts, which had proven to be right on the
money time and again.
"Okay," she said after a moment's pause. "I have
to admit I'm not too comfortable with him." She
held up a hand. "But only because he *is*
getting a bit personal. And I can't very well
break all ties with him because I think he's a
conceited asshole with a tendency to stand too
close."
Mulder's face darkened. "Has he -"
"No. I've made it clear I'm not here for that,
so he's wasting his time. No, he just makes me
antsy sometimes."
"See? You're picking up on the same thing I am."
Was she? Basically, Robert was the touchy/feely
type who hadn't yet learned that a man simply
couldn't be that friendly anymore. Another
leftover of the southern upbringing, she
supposed. Any female was fair game. She
wondered if he ever got busted in the military
for such behavior. Funny how she never minded
Mulder's encroachment or his light touches, even
when they barely knew one another. There was
something vastly different, however, about a man
who gave you the creeps doing the same.
"Do you have to play Catwoman again?" Mulder was
fishing, and she gladly gave him what he needed
to hear.
"I don't think so. I think I'm past that point.
Depends on what we find on the disc." Eyes wide,
she realized he hadn't said anything about the
disc.
"Relax, it's in my safe," he said, picking up on
her frantic change of face. "I've got a call in
to Bombay. If anyone can crack the encryption,
it's him."
"Bombay?"
"Think Langly in drag."
Langly in drag? Had Mulder surrounded himself
with clones of the Gunmen? Any second now, she
expected to find out his gardener was a dead
ringer for John Byers.
Mulder, impatient to pick up their previous
subject, ignored her confusion and repeated, "So,
no more clandestine turns in the halls of the
rich and famous?"
She shook off the mental image of the long lost,
blond, computer geek in a dress and replied,
"Probably not."
"Good. That means you won't have to see Luquet
socially anymore. And if you have to see him for
anything else, I want to be there."
"Mulder -"
"No, Scully. This one I insist upon. I pick up
on some bad vibes when I'm around him, and he
knows it. I can at least watch and try to gain
some insight into who he really is and what he's
up to."
She couldn't deny that having Mulder around made
her more confident. And if he was successful in
figuring out Robert's motives, then she wouldn't
stop him. "Watching, no butting in. Got it?"
"Scout's Honor."
"Mulder, you weren't a Boy Scout."
"But I *was* an Indian Guide." He reached for her
hand. "C'mon, let's take a little canoe trip."
"Mulder, I can't just - where are we going?"
They were already halfway to the front door.
"Hurry, Scully - before Marvin gets back."
"Mulder, can I at least brush my teeth?"
Startled by the implications of that revelation,
he stopped at the door, one eyebrow raised. "You
brought a toothbrush?"
**********
He still had the touch, he admitted to himself
with a tad of pride as he maneuvered Scully's
rental car up over the levee. It hadn't taken
more than a tug on her hand to get her to come
with him. Now, if he only had the right place;
he grimaced at the beat-up green sign they passed
on the way up the hill, cursing its mangled
letters. He knew there was one around here
somewhere...
"Mulder, do you know what you're doing?" It was
the first thing she'd said to him since they'd
pulled out from the gas station ten minutes ago -
*after* she'd made him stop so she could brush
her teeth. He hadn't quite let himself hope
she'd brought along that bag in the trunk for
overnight purposes; Scully was the type to go
everywhere prepared. Still, he couldn't stop his
good mood from pervading his whole outlook. Just
having her near was a stroke of luck he hadn't expected,
and he was damn well going to take advantage of
it.
"Catching a ferry." He smiled at the sight that
greeted them at the top of the levee. A big,
brown swathe of water, the flatboat approaching
loaded with cars. Yep. He still had the *other*
touch, too. With a little help from online
mapping; he figured that little blue boat in the
middle of the river was a ferry. It was
gratifying to know he was right.
"No, I mean, you shouldn't be out here.
Unprotected."
He tried to divert her concern, squinting against
the mirrored sunshine on the muddy water. He dug
around in his jacket pocket, sighing his thanks
when his hand closed over his sunglasses. "UV
protection, Scully. Left my sunscreen at home,
though." Donning them, he turned to face her as
he ground to a halt in the waiting line of
traffic. "Amazing how close this place is to my
house, isn't it?"
"Amazing," she answered dryly, averting her face
to watch the ferry pull into place at the dock.
"You can die practically in your own back yard."
He noticed the tense line of her profile, and
said softly, "I'm not gonna die out here, Scully.
And the limo would've attracted too much
attention. Besides, with my shades and beard, no
one could possibly know who I am."
Her own sunglasses-shaded face turned to him.
"Robert knew."
"Sweetheart, Robert knew who we both were before
we ever set foot in New Orleans years ago. I'd
lay money on it."
"Don't call me sweetheart, you ass."
"Honeybunch? Kitten? Angel?" At the purse of
her lips, he smiled. "Partner?"
She was silent for a moment, then she shifted in
her seat, scanning the few people milling about
their parked cars. "I hate it," she muttered.
She hated being called his partner? A dull
pain caught his breath before he realized she
wasn't speaking of his words - she was truly
worried for him. "Scully, don't worry. We'll be
back before you know it -"
"The beard. I hate the beard."
Taken aback by her attempt to lighten the
conversation, he chuckled. "I think it's kind of
cool."
"Makes your mouth look like -" She broke off,
coloring.
"Like what?" he pressed, putting the car in gear
at the signaling blast of the tug's horn to load
up.
He could almost hear her teeth gritting from just
a foot away. "Like a certain part of the female
anatomy which shall remain nameless."
Amidst his laughter, he circled the car around
the ferry, coming to a stop at the far end, where
he killed the motor. "Can't bring yourself to
say pu-"
"Shut up, Mulder."
"It's just a word, Scully."
"It's vulgar."
"Just go with it. We have a nice boat ride ahead
of us; let's spend it calling each other dirty
names." He lifted an eyebrow in a leer. Just
having her with him again had brightened his dull
world to a magnificent brilliance. He couldn't
help the innuendo spilling from him like
bubbling champagne from a dusty, long-forgotten
bottle.
Her lips twitched in the beginnings of a grin.
"Pervert."
"Weenie."
She unbuckled her seatbelt, flashing him a snide
grin. "Oh yeah? I'm not the one who gets
seasick, Mulder." She slammed the car door on
his suddenly clammy face.
He swallowed, feeling the tug pull away from the
dock. He could do this. Wrenching open his
door, he climbed out, following Scully to the
railing.
If he hadn't felt like puking already, he would
appreciate her cheery smile as she leaned against
the railing. "You really need a bit of sun,
Mulder," she drawled. "You're looking a bit
pale."
"Bitch," he grumbled, staggering to the railing,
where he practically hung over the side. The
smell of diesel from the belching engine below
made his mouth water in anticipation of the bile-
laced backwash moving up his throat.
"Wussy," she said. At the flash of his irritated
glance, she innocently added, "Not dirty enough?"
"I dare you to say it," he grumbled, watching the
water below crest with little whitecaps as the
ferry pulled away from the dock. "Consider it a
dying request, Scully."
She turned her face to the stiff wind coming off
the river, the humor in her voice easily heard
over the roar of the boat. "Suck it up, Mulder."
Even though he felt like shit, he managed a
suggestive smirk. "Scully, it would be my
pleasure to do so... just say the word."
Instead of walloping him, she stood by his side.
Angling her face in his direction, she brushed
away her hair with a cool, calm hand. Beneath
her sunglasses, he imagined her eyes brimming
with mischief. He knew he wasn't far off the
mark, despite her shuttered face.
Leaning close, she brushed her lips over his ear.
"You're such a pussy...cat, Mulder," she
whispered.
He turned his head; she didn't move away, he
noted with satisfaction. His lips inches from
hers, he swallowed in a valiant effort, wanting
so badly to kiss her it nearly overwhelmed him.
The quip about ears and cats and would she please
rub there and make him feel better... quickly
died in a wave of nausea. All he could eek out
was, "Scully, I think I'm gonna -" He gulped,
seeking purchase for a body that suddenly
faltered like a reed in the wind. His hands
grabbed her shoulders, and he was seconds away
from making a run for the - God, he hoped there
was a toilet somewhere on the boat, otherwise it
was humiliation time before the woman he loved.
Until he felt her fingers slide over his wrists.
Her voice, a soothing mixture of creamy coffee
and fresh mint, drifted over his chin. Slight
pressure pinched at the pulse just under the
skin, her thumbs warm. "Better?"
His stomach, seconds before rolling and pitching
with the movement of the ferry, quieted to almost
calm. Nowhere near as sick, he still couldn't do
what he most desperately wanted - kiss her. But
he *could* move without wanting to puke. Sliding
his hands up to her neck, her fingers still
massaging his wrists, he lowered his forehead to
touch hers, closing his eyes in blessed relief.
"Meow," he purred, thoroughly content.
End Chapter Ten
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