Chapter 39

Hands casually behind his head, Jason rested back against the Lockhart couch, giving a half-glance at the script, before he recited Benedick's lines. "And, I pray thee now, tell me, for which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love me with me?" His bare feet tapped absently on the soft carpet.

Outside, the rain came down in thick waves, while lightening crackled across the dark sky. When he and Mimi had left their friends at the Pub, the downpour had calmed enough that he shrugged off her suggestion to postpone studying because of the inclement weather. He offhandedly reminded her that rehearsal of the last act would start tomorrow. "Besides," he'd said, his brow cocked, his evergreen eyes dared, "Lady Beatrice wouldn't let a little rain scare her, now would she?"

In reply, her chin jutted upward, even as the corners of her mouth twitched. Neither Beatrice nor Mimi Lockhart ever backed down from a challenge. They'd resembled drowned rats by the time the pair had raced that last block to her house, after the sky opened in a sudden torrent of water. Her mother had shaken her head at the hopelessly drenched pair, shivering on the doorstep. So, Mimi retreated to her room to change, even as Mrs. Lockhart nudged Jason into the bathroom to get out of his wet clothes. When Mimi rejoined Jason in the living room, she'd burst into laughter. Jason Welles, Salem High star linebacker, sat restlessly, donned in her father's old Habitat for Humanity t-shirt and ridiculously short gym shorts. His wide athletic frame practically popped the shirt seams. And the shorts… the shorts were an education. And for the first time, since she'd known him, he - Jason Welles, self-proclaimed ladies' man - blushed and looked genuinely embarrassed at himself. Eventually, she finished laughing and amicably sat down next to him with the script.

An hour later, with the uniquely comforting clink of his jeans tumbling in the dryer, Mimi tapped a feathery purple pen to her lips, before she read, "For them all together; which maintained so politic a state of evil… that they will not admit any good part… to intermingle with them." She paused to reread the lines in her head and then turned back to Jason. "So, she's saying that he's rotten to the core and she likes him that way?"

His fashion disaster momentarily forgotten, Jason's lips widened into a grin. She had the funniest way of putting things. And the cutest. "Pretty much. But since he asked it kinda sarcastically, she answered him back with some sass. But she's still saying that she totally digs him." He reached to the coffee table for his third cup of hot cocoa. He hardly noticed now the childish giggles and barks from upstairs, as Mimi's little brother wrestled with the puppy.

Mimi shook her head at the words before her. These characters were so messed. Why couldn't they just come out and say what they meant instead of all these coded messages? Oh well, she shrugged. Shakespeare. She'd already recited the next line, before she recognized it. "But for which of my good parts did you first suffer love for me?" Her cheeks felt warm for some mysterious reason.

"Suffer love; a good epithet!" Jason added a cocky Benedick chuckle, "I do suffer love, indeed, for I love thee against my will."

Thunder crackled then boomed, shaking the house. When the lights ceased to flicker, Mimi looked up to find herself, shivering against his chest and gripping his shirt. Then, her eyes widened. For a compelling moment, she couldn't look away from those depthless green eyes. Caught, she smelled the clean scent of his shirt, overlaying a musky tinge of leather that tugged at an obscure memory.

"Hey," Jason said softly, his hands gently taking hold of her trembling arms. "You okay?" When her lashes only fluttered in response, his hands instinctively ran up and down her arms to soothe. "Don't worry. My little sister gets scared of thunder, too." Smiling a bit, he affectionately tucked a stray lock of chestnut hair behind her ear. Little Katie would probably be running to their parents right now, seeking comfort. Sometimes, he recalled warmly, she'd tiptoe into his room to hang out or sleep, so that she wouldn't have to face the storm alone.

Mimi could only stare up at him, slightly dazed as the lightning flashed, casting new shadows upon his face. Shakespeare. Thunderstorms. Leather. She watched his lips move, but all she could hear was the pounding of her heart. What was happening?

"Mimi?" Jason tilted his head at her stunned expression and the appealing pink that crept onto her cheeks. Then, her supple cherry lips trembled slightly open. His hand moved before he could think, his fingers reaching to trace the delicate shape of her mouth. He felt the shiver skim through her, as he lowered his head.

"Jeez, it's pouring out there!"

The teens jumped apart at the sound of Mr. Lockhart's voice.

Mimi's father quickly shut the door to keep out the pummeling rain and shook himself, like a dog. "Honey? Kids? I'm home!" Tracking water as he went, he ducked his head into the living room and smiled at his daughter. "Hi, pumpkin."

"H-Hey, Daddy," answered Mimi, her hand nervously smoothing her hair.

"Hi, Jason," her father greeted, as water dripped from his silver-gray beard, "Nice to see you again. Say, isn't that my shirt?"

"David Lockhart!" Mimi's mother emerged from the kitchen's swinging door. "Don't you dare take a step onto that living room carpet, as dripping wet as you are."

Her husband grinned a sheepish grin. "Wouldn't dream of it, dear. Just saying hi to the kids, before I sneak upstairs to get cleaned up." He took a deliberate sniff of the air. "Hmmm, something smells mighty tasty."

Maureen Lockhart shook her head at her adorable husband. "Flatterer." Mindful of the impressionable audience, she gave him a warm welcome-home peck. "Now, why don't you get out of those shoes and we'll get you into something dry."

Mr. Lockhart smiled. "Sounds good to me. But first, just out of curiosity, is that my shirt… and my college shorts on Jason there?"

"Oh," remembered Mrs. Lockhart, "Mimi and her friend came home, as soaked to the bone as you are. So, I gave Jason something to wear, 'til his clothes were dry." On cue, the dryer's hum came to a halt.

"Ah. Well, just so you know, Jason, those are my lucky shorts. Met my wife, when I was wearing 'em." He sent Maureen a wicked wink.

Jason's eyebrows rose at this rather flirtatious exchange between Mimi's parents.

"Oh, David, stop it," chided Mrs. Lockhart with the beginnings of a girlish blush, "Get yourself upstairs and change, before you catch cold."

"Yes, dear," grinned Mr. Lockhart, before he gave his wife's cheek a kiss. After, he nudged off his shoes and squished his way upstairs.

Mrs. Lockhart turned back to the teens. "So, how's studying going?"

"Pretty good, Mom," replied Mimi, who could not yet look Jason in the eye. "We're pretty much done with the last act."

"That's great," smiled her mother, "I can't wait to see you on stage, Mimi. Oh, Jason, how are you getting home?"

He managed a shrug in the ill-fitting t-shirt. "Walking. I only live a couple of blocks from here."

"In this?" gasped Mrs. Lockhart, "You'd be crazy to try and walk in this. No," she stopped all protest, when Jason tried to politely interject, "I'm sure we can give you a ride home. David!" Mimi's mother promptly ran upstairs to fetch her husband.

"I-I guess I'd better get your stuff out of the dryer," mumbled Mimi, before she rose to retrieve his clothes.

Chloe watched the rain through endless panes of glass, as the storm raged on. When lightening scorched the gloomy sky, the solarium lit in an eerie glow. She sighed. Her mind marveled at the power of nature. But her heart looked deep into the tempest and was stirred by emotions that would be forever embedded in her soul. A week had passed since Andy's death. The nightmares came less frequently. Her appetite had returned. And she smiled now with little guilt. As they say, time healed all wounds. At least, partially. The rest was up to her.

Violent thunder quaked the ground beneath her feet. She merely blinked and took it in. Then, she pulled around her the edges of the thick dry towel, which thoughtful Henderson had draped over her shoulders. At the Pub, the teens had finally decided that the rain indeed showed no signs of mercy, so Philip called the house to have Sebastian come for them. Shawn and Belle were dropped off at the penthouse, before Chloe and Philip had arrived at the mansion. Slightly soaked, Chloe had nonetheless declined Marie's offer to lend her something to wear, while her clothes would be dried. Chloe assured everyone that she'd be fine, as she was. All the same, Henderson retreated to the kitchens to brew his special spicy cinnamon tea, while Master Philip ran up to his room to change and pensive Miss Chloe wandered off toward the solarium.

She gazed out into the whirl of wind and rain. They were still worried for her, admitted Chloe. Philip, her parents, and everyone. They were afraid to push the issue, though. But even she was frightened sometimes, when her mood changed without her conscious knowing and she found herself staring out into nothing. Within the appallingly short time that psychologists met with students, Chloe was immediately referred for individual trauma counseling. She nearly protested in reflex, but Philip held her hand, while his eyes pleaded with her to give it a chance. Her first appointment was scheduled for next week.

She traced on the glass the lines of the swaying tree outside. She remembered Monday, when students first returned to school. Philip, visibly weary from his nightly visits and crack of dawn departures, appeared promptly on her doorstep to drive her to school. She hadn't realized how much she'd dreaded facing the school - that hallway - again, until she'd taken that first step into the building. Apparently, Philip had foreseen her fears and made sure to be by her side every moment that he could.

Her heart warmed a bit. What would she ever do without him? She didn't know, nor would she ever need to know. And that amazing truth was what brought her back from that pit of despair and made her believe in the world again. With all of life's ugliness and injustices, there existed love and beauty in equal power.

So, in honor of Andrew and all of life's underdogs, she chose the light and put her faith in those who believed in her.

"Here we are, Miss Chloe," chimed the gentle Henderson, who stopped the serving cart before the elegant marble table in the corner. "At Cook's insistence, we have these delightful almond biscuits to accompany your tea."

Chloe smiled, as she drew closer to survey the pretty arrangement. "It looks wonderful, Henderson. But you really didn't have to go to all this trouble."

"Nonsense," he dismissed with a friendly wave of his gloved hand, "It was no trouble at all. Please." He indicated to the chair and began to pour the tea into delicate porcelain cups.

Chloe shook her head and automatically moved to help him set the table. "I saw your geraniums," she gestured to the blossoming red flowers by the glass. "They're early, aren't they?"

"Indeed they are," replied the servant in a conversational tone, "They even gave me a bit of a surprise, since this Midwest air is often a little too dry for them. But I've found that almost anything can grow beautifully with the right care." She was too busy perfectly aligning the napkins next to the small plates to catch his affectionate glance toward her. How little did this remarkable creature understand her own worth and potential. For all the tragedies she'd born, she never failed to prevail, rising from the ashes more spectacular than before. It was little wonder his Philip was so taken with her. "Alas, poor Master Philip will be a bit disappointed."

Chloe looked up, her head tilted in question. "Why is that?"

"He prefers chocolate chip cookies and has, since he was a child, I'm afraid." He indicated to the plate of pretty gourmet biscuits. "However, Cook… Cook holds rather strong convictions on the proper marriage of semi-sweet morsels and flour."

Thinking of the temperamental French chef, Chloe gave a musical laugh. "Poor Philip."

"What about poor me?" In a dry shirt and fresh pair of khakis, Philip entered the solarium with hardly a hitch in his stride. Solariums didn't exactly hold sublime memories for him. But it did him good to hear Chloe laugh. "What're you two gossiping about now?"

Chloe smiled, leaning into him, when he slipped an arm around her. "Just about how you love almond cookies."

His face contorted in slight confusion. He looked to Henderson. "I do?"

The servant chuckled. "Enjoy your tea," and quietly withdrew from the room.

Philip pulled up an antique chaise lounge, so that they could sit together. He had to grin, when she gracefully lifted a miniature pitcher and asked, "Milk?" Right then, his eyes meticulously put that homey image to memory, knowing he'd see it again and again in years to come. For him, there were no doubts. "Sure," he replied, resisting a laugh.

He dipped biscuits into his sugared tea and munched, while wishing for good ole chocolate chip. After he polished off six biscuits and three cups of tea, he and his warm belly stretched across the long chaise and waited for Chloe to join him. Eventually, she sighed and settled onto his chest, resting her ear against his comforting heartbeat. He ran a hand over her hair and found it still damp.

"You sure, you don't want me to get you something else to wear? Or a blow-dryer or something? I don't want you getting sick." His arms tightened around her.

"I'll be alright," she assured, "We didn't get that wet with Sebastian picking us up from the Pub and all. Jason and Mimi must've gotten soaked, though."

Philip chuckled. "I don't think either of them cared. Tell your co-conspirators, mission accomplished. Jase is a goner."

She giggled. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Philip Kiriakis."

"Oh, great. We're back to that again?" He gave her side a tickle, almost groaning when she squirmed against him. "Save the innocent act for the Oscars, babe. I'm so onto you."

She batted her eyelashes teasingly but couldn't keep the knowing smirk from her lips. "Can we help it, if boys are easy?" Just to illustrate her point, she slithered up his body to kiss him. In less than a blink, the mood changed from playful to desperate.

His hands dove into her hair, as their legs tangled. The towel slid off her shoulders to the ground. Her eyes fluttered closed, as his teeth scraped along her jawline, his breathing labored and coarse against her ear. Her body instantly responded, warming, softening, yearning for his touch. This would be the first time they'd really been together since that tragic day. Since then and her gradual recovery, they'd only kissed and held each other. And Chloe understood, she knew that he'd focused on her recovery and had been afraid to push her. Instead, he waited for her to initiate, when she finally regained her equilibrium.

She felt the tears escape and spill onto her cheeks. She didn't quite understand the reason for them but knew one thing for certain. That at this moment, here, with him, she was safe and she was loved. And she could just be.

So, her arms wound around his neck and pulled herself tighter against him. He groaned. His hands ran through her hair down her back and found the zipper to her dress. Gently, he tugged, until it gave, allowing his palms to roam over her skin. She arched back, the dress sliding down her shoulders, as he ranged open-mouth kisses down her neck and center.

That heady lavender scent coursed through him like a dizzying drug. The world with all its trials and its trivialities faded into obscurity, yielding to the one thing, which could neither be taken nor given, but shared. Neither be spoken nor heard, but felt. Neither be manufactured nor imitated, but trusted and cherished. To the one thing that really mattered.

He moved to flip positions and nearly had them roll off the chaise. They both laughed, the mood seamlessly shifting from frenzied to tender. She reached up to tuck that rebellious lock of hair behind his ear, only to have it fall back over his forehead. A phone rang somewhere, once then twice, before someone, presumably Henderson, answered.

"Philip?" she said softly.

A dimple winked. Only she knew how to say his name. "Yeah?"

"What if someone walks in right about now?"

Tongue in cheek, his eyes squinted a bit as if in consideration. "Uh. B.Y.O.G.? Bring your own girl?"

"Philip!" she giggled, "I don't think your family will appreciate us, making out after tea."

"That's ok. That's not what I had in mind, anyway."

"Philip!"

"Oh, baby, you know how I love to hear you scream my name."

"Phil-" Blushing furiously, she quickly held her tongue and smacked his arm instead.

Fiddling with the strap of her dress that was now held tentatively below her shoulder, he gave that devastating Kiriakis grin. "Well, if you're worried about geography, my room's free."

"Philip," she said, her face pinkening again from his previous comment, "Maybe we shouldn't…"

"Ok, here's fine with me," he replied half-jokingly. He angled his head, when she didn't laugh or protest. "Hey." With the gentle crook of his finger, he raised her chin, so that their eyes met. And waited patiently.

She chewed on her lip a bit, wondering how to explain. "Last week… I didn't take my pills for a couple of days. So, it may not be safe now for us… to be together."

His eyes couldn't help but widen a bit. He hadn't thought of that. Chloe had been out of it for days, so of course… Then, he just smiled. "Hey, we're in this together, right? I've got it covered." Then, he grimaced at his choice of words. Then, shrugged. It'd been the literal truth. Tenderly, he righted and rezipped her dress, just in case they bumped into servants along the way. Then, he helped her to standing, before giving her a quick kiss. "Come on, beautiful," he said with wink, "Where there's a will, there's a way."

And where there was a nightstand, there was a box of condoms.

In his bed, Chloe watched him sleep beside her. His breathing was easy and deep. But she noticed the dark circles beneath his eyes. Cautiously, she reached out to caress his face. Oh, Philip, she thought. For the past week, he'd watched over her, as she slept. Then, he'd woken early morning to sneak out, before her parents would check on her. Now, his sacrifice had taken its toll. She kissed each of those tired eyes. Because of her parents and friends, but most especially because of him, she'd found her way back. Time may heal all wounds, but love could erase scars.

She gave his lips a gentle kiss. "I love you, Philip Kiriakis."

And now it was her turn to take care of him. So, she pulled the comforter over his bare shoulders and tucked him in, before she slipped out of bed to dress. She wrote a note and laid it beside his pillow. She gave him one more kiss. Then, she quietly slipped out of his room to head for home.