Written for the LiveJournal community story_lottery. These are the last two prompts for that writing challenge. These were posted as two postings in my LJ community (shirleyann66) but I'm combining them here as the second part is really too short to justify a separate chapter on this site.
Title: If you're ever gonna see a rainbow (you gotta stand a little rain)
Genre: Fluffy Plotless Ficlet - once again beware of sugar shock - may also rot teeth. :D
Rating: PG-13 - there's one f-word.
Prompts: #04: a soap bubble; #24: a rainbow
Spoilers: Nothing specific, but anything in both seasons is fair game.
Disclaimer: Jericho and everything associated with it is owned by CBS and whoever else owns it - not me (sadly). I have no claims or affiliations with any of the powers that be for this universe. This is strictly for fun, not profit, and the characters shall be returned relatively safely and mostly unharmed.
A/N1: Although this seems like it should be taking place immediately after Sharp-Dressed Man - it's not. It's completely stand-alone. In fact, this is an ending in search of a story. :( If I hadn't written it for the story_lottery challenge (and the resulting deadline for that challenge), it would have stayed tucked in my notebook until "what came before", er, came to me. As it is, well... *shrug*. If anyone wants to play with this particular plot bunny - feel free. :)
A/N2: Title comes from the awesome Nitty Gritty Dirt Band song "Stand a Little Rain" ("everybody wants love to be easy but it's never been that way")
They were wet and filthy dirty, covered in soot and mud, smelling of smoke and sweat and swaying with exhaustion.
It had been a long fucking night, Beck thought wearily as he stood in Heather's small foyer and stared at her with wide brown eyes. He'd escorted her here – made sure she got into the house and now he could feel the exhaustion seeping through him. He wasn't sure he'd be able to walk another step and he didn't think it would help his he-man image if he collapsed at her feet and slept for a week.
"Come on," she said briskly, startling him out of his stupor. She indicated the chair under a mirror. "Sit down, take those boots off. Then we're going to get out of these filthy clothes and shower and then sleep. For a week."
Beck stared at her, the connection between ears and brain not quite working. It seemed his brain-to-speech connection wasn't working either.
"What?" he finally croaked out, his voice raw from the smoke.
"Sit. Take off your boots. You're staying here tonight." Heather guided him to the chair and urged him into it.
"How can you still have so much energy?" Beck asked, bemused, as he began to fumble at his boots. Apparently the brain-to-fingers connection was also short-circuited at the moment. He could barely feel his fingers at all, and he couldn't focus well enough to force them to work properly.
"I don't," Heather replied calmly, but he could hear the exhaustion in her tone now, "but I also wasn't in the flames all night."
She knelt in front of him and helped him remove his boots. He stared owlishly at her and wondered why she was helping him and how the hell he was going to move from this chair. Instead of worrying about it, he instead traced the curve of her cheek and the vulnerable line of her neck with his eyes. He wanted to reach out and trace the curves and lines with his fingertips, reassure himself that she really was there in front of him, in one piece, warm and alive.
She glanced up and caught him staring.
"What?" she asked with a half-smile and he could see her blush even with the layer of soot on her face.
"You could have died tonight," Beck whispered, his eyes soft.
Heather scooted closer, her hands warm on the tops of his thighs as she steadied herself in front of him. "So could you," she replied.
His eyes were dark, deep pools, vulnerable and cautious and awed, all at once. He watched her carefully as she leaned closer and he closed his eyes with a sigh as she lifted her hands and ran her fingers lightly across his brows, down his cheeks and lightly against his lips. His eyes opened slowly as Heather cupped his face, her fingers rasping softly against his whisker stubble. Their eyes met for long silent moments before Heather leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.
It wasn't how they had imagined their first kiss. If asked, Heather might have said she had envisioned a moment much like she'd had with Jake – a leave-taking, with no guarantee that he would return safely; a heated, passionate kiss that tasted of promise and gave him an incentive to return safely to her.
Beck might have said he'd imagined a kiss during a heated argument, of stopping her words with his lips, of pressing her up against a wall or onto his desk and plundering her mouth until they both passed out from oxygen deprivation – or until she agreed to finally let him win an argument for once.
Neither imagined it like this – both of them dirty and stinking and almost passed out from exhaustion – or that their first kiss would be gentle and sweet rather than hot and demanding. Heather wrapped her arms around his neck as Beck gathered her closer to him. They both wanted to get closer, simply to assure themselves that the other was there, warm and alive.
With a soft sigh, Heather slowly ended the kiss and smiled at his wide-eyed, boyish, almost shy look.
"Come on," she said, her voice amused and affectionate as she stood up and tugged him to his feet. "Let's go have that shower and then go to bed."
As Beck allowed her to take him to the bathroom, he wondered if she meant "together" or if her phrasing was just a figure of speech. He was too tired and too bemused to ask; for once, he was willing to let somebody else lead.
His uncertainty didn't last long when they got to the bathroom. Heather simply took him directly into the bathtub and shower, clothes and all, and then turned on the water. They stripped down as the water beat over them, and Heather reached for her carefully hoarded liquid soap.
"I think this is a special occasion," she said softly as she squirted some onto her hands and proceeded to scrub Beck clean. The soap bubbles slid down his body and pooled at his feet, and then hers as he returned the favour and stroked the grime of the night from her body and her hair. The washing was interspersed with gentle kisses and contented sighs, with whispered words of appreciation and regret that they were both too tired to do more than kiss and caress each other or to take more time enjoying the shower and the purely sensuous experience of washing each other.
Twenty minutes later, smelling of rose scented soap instead of smoke, they were wrapped in extra blankets and each other. Even though they ached all over, they were warm and comfortable and for a few moments, Beck simply held Heather close to him and let the moment be.
They drifted off to a well-earned, exhausted sleep with the promise of a new day and a new relationship.
They made love in the early dawn, half-asleep and relaxed, and like their first kiss, it was not how either of them had imagined it. Afterward, they slept tangled like puppies until Heather's alarm went off, calling them back to reality and the work of the day. As Beck and Heather left her house that morning, the air smelled of fresh rain and damp dirt. Beck paused for a moment to breath in the scent and to admire the brilliant rainbow arched across the sky.
The rainbow was a promise from God, his mother used to tell him, a promise that there would always be a future for humanity. After the Attacks, Beck had lost faith like so many other people. As he gazed at the rainbow, breathing in the scent of the rain and the smell of living things, he believed in the promise of this rainbow, just like he believed in the promise of the rain, of their kisses last night, of their lovemaking this morning.
He looked over at Heather. She gave him her bright, hopeful smile, and reached out and grasped his hand. He realized that this morning, at this moment, he truly believed the rainbow was telling the truth. There would be a future, and the woman beside him would be a part of it.