Violets in Vegas: Long Black Veil

I hate funerals. At least I had no emotional attachment to this one, no vested interest. I couldn't help but glance at my watch. Time was ticking by and every hour counted. We were wasting time but I kept my mouth shut. Everyone knew we were wasting time but out of respect for Rodney they put a halt to all that they had been doing to give him this. This brief respite in the rush to save the world. A moment to say goodbye to his wife.

It was a moment we would never recover.

11:15am

John couldn't keep still. Not for long, anyway. He kept fidgeting with his tie as if it was strangling him. He hated ties. He had barely kept still on the pew in the church, shifting and checking his phone. One foot tapping and tapping and tapping until Moira had placed her hand on his thigh, then his knee, stopping it. At least that had been distracting as her fingers had subtly stroked the inside of his thigh, sliding up and up but just stopping short of the goal.

Now they stood outside, in the blazing heat of the late morning under an impossibly orange sky waiting for the burial. John stepped back a little, forward a little. His gaze roved over Moira who was standing next to him when he could keep still. He liked the way the black dress hugged her curves, her rear. But the V-neck was too modest. He could only get the barest of glimpses of her cleavage, and he was trying. Really trying. He couldn't get even a hint as to what color her bra and panties were.

So he moved this way and that way, angling to get a peak. Angling for any distraction before he would lay eyes on the casket. Would be reminded of another funeral, for another woman. A memory he wanted to avoid at all costs. He diverted his attention from the matter at hand.

Moira could see his motions out of the corner of her eye. He was as bad as a little boy but she understood the anxiety, the stress. She had her own demons to bury, her own memories of a burial she would rather not access. As John stepped next to her again she caught his arm, halting him. She knew this was difficult for him as it was for her. But she also realized his objective. She was glad the high heels negated the necessity to perch on tiptoes to reach his ear. "Red," she softly informed.

"Huh?" he asked. Met her gaze but she looked from him to the cemetery. Gaze moving away from the open maw of the grave, awaiting its dire delivery.

"Red," she repeated softly. "To satisfy your curiosity, detective."

"Oh? Oh." He smiled. "Details."

She tried not to smile. Turned slightly to whisper in his ear. "Red satin with black lace. Push-up bra. Demi-cup. Hipsters panties very low cut."

John let his gaze rove over her, envisioning. "Thank you, Moira. Now I've got a hard-on."

She snorted, trying to quell her amusement. His tone was annoyed although he wasn't. "John," she scolded, glancing at him. "See? We don't have to argue for you to get it up."

He snorted, pursing his lips together to stifle the laugh.

Moira sobered, colored as a few mourners were staring at them. Watching their curious interplay. She became somber as the casket approached at last, wheeled on a gurney. Rodney followed, head bowed, expression hidden from view.

John was looking at Moira again. At her long hair trapped in a braid. He longed to set it loose. He longed to lose himself in the waves of her hair, to lose himself in her. He wanted her in nothing but that red lingerie on their lilac bed. Then in nothing at all as he indulged in sexual release. He wanted sex, not to be standing here in the dull heat of a dull morning at a funeral. He shifted again.

"Sweetie, keep still." She whispered the admonishment, tugging on his arm. Moira couldn't look at the coffin. She kept her gaze on the grass near her feet.

John stepped a little behind her. He deliberately bumped into her rear. She softly gasped. "That's not my side-arm, baby," he said into her ear. Stepped to stand next to her again as the preacher added a few more words to the brief service.

Moira's mirth faded. She kept her gaze glued to the grass, trying to ignore the memories threatening to surface. Grief and guilt colliding, coalescing into a queasy tension in her stomach. She stared as a clump of violets rolled off the lowering coffin. Fell onto the grass. The purple blooms vibrant against the green.

John suddenly slid his arm around her waist, drawing her close. Drawing her against the solid warmth of his body. She glanced at him, grateful. His handsome face was somber. His gaze was darting everywhere but at the coffin. He was being plagued by the past as well. His black jacket and slacks were severe against his white shirt. The black tie was askew, the shirt sloppily tucked into his pants, the belt slightly at an angle.

His fingers were playing along her side, softly caressing their way down to her hip. She shifted, but he pulled her against him again, bumping their hips. He needed the feel of her softness and curves. He needed her as close as possible, for now. John's gaze darted over the mourners. He saw their sorrow, but most of it seemed to be directed at the bereaved husband, not at the deceased. John looked at Rodney.

The physicist was staring at the coffin as the earth swallowed it. His head was bowed. His hands were clasped in front of him. John felt a wave of empathy. Recognized the grief, the guilt. He pressed Moira even closer, his hold tightening until she made a soft sound of protest. He relinquished his grip, but only a little. Met her gaze. "Sorry," he muttered.

She shifted in his grasp, looked down at the little clump of violets. The purple blooms were already starting to wilt. She felt a wave of tears, couldn't explain it. Felt a deep despair until John's hand slid down and behind her to gently squeeze her rear. She gasped, shifted and met his gaze.

He gave her a quick smile. He slid his hand up to her waist again.

The mourners were all consoling Rodney, expressing sympathy, concern as they filed past the grave to him. Greeting him with a handshake, a hug, words that were just words that really did nothing to assuage the pain he felt. But he played along, nodded and accepted the consolation. Found he was comforting them instead of the other way round.

John dutifully neared with reluctant steps. He reached Rodney. Shook the other man's hand. "Sorry," he said gruffly.

"Thanks."

Moira inwardly sighed as John moved past them. "Rodney! I am so sorry!" She briefly hugged him.

"Thank you, Moira." Rodney briefly smiled.

Moira touched his arm, stepped to John who was watching, waiting for her, but she turned as Richard joined them. "Yes?"

"There's a small reception back at the house if you would care to join us."

"Of course we—"

John interrupted her. "What? I'm sorry, but we don't have time for that, not all of us. Have you forgotten what's going on here?" John's voice was quiet but it carried anyway.

"No, detective, I haven't forgotten what's going on here. Unlike you we stop to remember our losses and to mourn our dead. To acknowledge our faults and to remember what they cost us."

John glowered, tensing. Looking as if he was ready to punch the other man. In fact his right hand was clenching into a fist but Moira intervened. "Of course we will…" she paused as John had not so lightly smacked her rear with his open left hand. "…pay our respects," she resumed smoothly, but in light of his reprimand improvised, "but I'm afraid I can't stay too long because I am getting an awful headache."

"Oh. All right, then. At least you have manners, Doctor O'Meara." Richard glared at John before he moved to Rodney.

Moira whirled, glaring. "John! You—"

"Sex. Now. Let's go, baby," he said curtly. He took her hand and pulled her across the grass, across the graves and to the street where his red car was parked.

"John! Damn it, John, slow down! John, we have to make an appearance at the reception! John!"

He whirled as she crashed into him. He caught her, kissed her. Hard. Shoving her into him as he turned them so she was trapped. Caught between the two hard bodies of the vehicle and the man. She squirmed but he wouldn't let her go. Drew back at last. "Fuck. Only say my name like that when you come, baby. Let's go."

"John!" She sighed as he freed her, sprinted round the car and got in. She opened the door, sat next to him. Slammed it shut. "We have to make an appearance at the—"

"No. We have to have sex, messy, rough sex thanks to that mouth of yours, baby. The only question is where."