ðHgeocities.com/jaghavenarchives/Ultracape_WhosLifeAnyway.htmlgeocities.com/jaghavenarchives/Ultracape_WhosLifeAnyway.htmldelayedx rÔJÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÈÐК#OKtext/html`šÌ "#ÿÿÿÿb‰.HMon, 04 Sep 2006 18:43:39 GMT7Mozilla/4.5 (compatible; HTTrack 3.0x; Windows 98)en, *ŸrÔJ# Ultracape_WhosLifeAnyway
“Whose Line Is It Anyway”
By Ultracape

All Feedback welcome.

Usual disclaimers

Summary: Harm does something, really, really, really stupid. Well, that’s not new, is it?

Rating: For everyone.

Paring: H/M


It was such an interesting line that creased his brow and called to her fingers to trace it, softly, ever so lightly so that she didn’t wake him.

Harm needed his rest, what little his recent stunt allowed him, damn him. She was so angry with him for what he’d done to himself. Yet it was something she should have known he’d try.

That line, and the others there, those around his eyes, and his mouth, down his brow and his chin, they all bore Mac’s close scrutiny and examination. They all defined a face she loved more than her own, more than any other. It was rare that she had an opportunity to really study him in repose.

Slowly she traced the lines that lent his once boyish charms, character and maturity, barely touching them as she watched him sleep, his breath finally regular against her cheek. One of his arms reached under her neck, the other resting, with his hand on her waist.

He wanted to make a baby with her and though, even with his time on carriers, he was unaffected, he’d taken some experimental medications to increase their chances.

She’d never have found out except for his sudden hot flashes and increasing dizziness that day caused by his spiraling blood pressure. It was his collapse in his office that brought out the corpsman and the emergency call from Jen, asking if there were any medications he might be on that could cause the unexplained condition.

She’d cursed at him after her maniacal search through his shaving kit revealed the bottle of pills. Then she placed the call to his doctor, interrogating him as if he was a serial rapist and murderer. He deserved the electric chair only after sufficient torture, in her book.

Harm, himself, did not escape her ire when, hours later, he awoke in the Hospital Room. She berated him for every, and all supposed motivations and assumptions, taking what should be her responsibility, her fault, her problem and presuming to fix it by nearly killing himself. Of course, he had never discussed this at all with her.

All he had done was watch her, taking it all in with a quirky smile on his face as if he knew it was only her response to her fear for his life.

It was when she finally let the tears fall that he asked her to join him on the bed. “You know I can’t sleep well without you.”

She joined him, giving him the comfort he requested.

Now, finally, she allowed her fingers to complete their journey, softly caressing his mouth. “You scared me, you fool. You scared me so much,” she barely breathed the words.

“Why? He whispered, his eyes not opening.

“You know the reason,” she replied before kissing him lightly on the crease near his lips.

“Ah, honey,” he smiled, “that’s my line.”


                                                  
Home      Authors     Titles