Any and all comments are welcome.
Spoilers: Takes place some time after "A Simple Twist of Fate." Minor spoiler for that episode.
Disclaimer: Please don't sue me, Mr Wells et al. This is just how I avoid doing any real work at my job.
Opening
"To love is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one... Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries, avoid all entanglements, lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness..." C.S. Lewis, "The Problem of Pain"
____________________________
"How is it?"
Abby's wandering attention snapped back to Carter. "Good. Thanks."
"I wasn't sure if you were a big fan of molten cakes."
"No, no, it's great. Besides, I never mind eating chocolate." She flashed him a wry grin. "You know that."
He grinned in return. "Yeah, I seem to recall you referring to it as the `nectar of the gods' once or twice."
"Once or twice?"
"A few hundred."
"That may still be on the conservative side." With a small smile, she added, "Thank you again for inviting me over."
"No big deal."
"No, really. It was nice of you. Very thoughtful."
Carter shrugged and said, with a self-deprecating smile, "Hey, what can I say? I'm a thoughtful guy."
They lapsed into silence and turned back to their plates. Once, such a silence between them would have been companionable, relaxed. Tonight, Abby could feel the current of awkwardness and tension strung between them like a wire, and it made her want to kick herself, not for the first time, for how badly she'd screwed things up.
When Carter had asked her to come by his place for dinner, joking that he was sure they could scrounge up some Jell-O for her, she'd jumped at the chance to reconnect and begin mending their friendship.
They'd spent the beginning of the meal chatting about innocuous subjects: work, the Bears, the winter Chicago had been having. But it was all of the unspoken things that weighed on them both, making the silences stretch longer and longer as they cast about for safe topics of conversation.
Now, dinner was finished. Abby spent an inordinate amount of time scraping the last dregs of chocolate off her plate, avoiding the moment she knew the evening had been building toward ever since she'd walked through the door.
No. Longer than that.
Abby risked a glance at Carter, hoping he was about to speak, but he too was focused on his dessert plate, looking as if he felt out of place in his own home. A lock of hair on his forehead was sticking out the wrong way, and she felt her hand lighten before quelling the impulse to reach out and brush it back.
*Just get it over with, Abby.*
"I'm sorry," Abby said, more abruptly than she'd intended.
John glanced up, puzzled. "For what."
*Good going, Abby. Non sequitur, much?* She took a deep breath. "For that night, by the river. The whole "you're going to have to find a virgin" conversation."
"Oh. That." Carter shrugged and looked down at his hands tracing the lace patterns of the tablecloth with his finger. "Forget about it. It was no big deal."
"Yes, it was. I screwed up our friendship."
John scowled, shook his head. "No, you didn't. I overreacted to seeing you and Luka together earlier in the day. I know what it took for you to start that conversation, and I've been kicking myself ever since over the way I responded."
"Still, I wish I could take it back."
"Which part?"
"All of it," she said, too quickly. Abby saw John's scowl deepen slightly, and felt a stab of remorse. "And you were right, what you said. About me not being through with Luka."
John nodded, turning his attention back toward the tablecloth.
"I think I figured out why that was. If you're interested."
Trying for a light tone, Carter said, "Oh, you know I never tire of hearing about you and Luka."
Abby heard the edge of bitterness in his voice and almost gave up on what she'd come here to do. The words "forget it" sat on her tongue, light and incredibly easy to say. She flashed through the rest of scene in her mind: grabbing her coat, striding out the door, the train, her apartment. So much simpler, so much less risk. She craved that easy out almost as much as a drink.
Which was why she had to go on.
She said, "I was thinking a lot the other day about how people get hurt. Surprise, surprise, I know," she added, her tone inviting a smile. Which he gave her, sending a thrill of warmth through her. "And I was thinking about how easy it is to hurt someone else, how often it happens every day, in a million ways. We've probably seen most of those wounds, both physical and emotional.
"Luka was safe. Easy. I could tell that there was a wall I'd never get through. And that was fine with me. It was what I wanted: caring without connection. It probably doesn't make any sense to you, especially after all my complaints about how he didn't "get me," and my jealousy over Nicole. But any wounds we inflicted on each other, no matter how painful, were only superficial. They didn't draw that deep, red arterial blood that comes straight from your heart. Because I know, from dealing with my mom, that only the people you love can inflict that kind of damage. Destroy you, even. Because you've let them in. You've given them the keys, shown them where the chinks in your armor are. I was just... I didn't think I could do that again. Connect like that, make yourself so vulnerable to someone else.
"So everything that happened with Luka, all of it, was exactly what I wanted. Or at least, what I thought I wanted. But being with him was also easier, I think, because I knew, on some level, that if I wasn't involved with him, didn't have that distraction in my life, I'd have had to face the fact that I'd already made the kind of connection I was so terrified of with you."
She risked looking at him. He just gazed back at her, waiting for her to continue.
"I felt it, you know, that night at Doc Magoos? When you asked me to be your AA sponsor? But I ignored it. One of my gifts. Maybe my only one, really. I told myself it was just friendship, and that that was all I needed from you. Or maybe I thought that I could be friends with you while I was sleeping with Luka, covering all my bases without risking anything. Which was incredibly selfish, I know, even if it wasn't something I sat and planned out.
"Then, of course, Luka and I broke up, and I made my stupid, clumsy attempt to come on to you that night by the river, even though I still wasn't ready for what that meant. Somehow you saw that, and you called me on it. It was easier for me to keep obsessing over Luka, keep part of me reserved, safe from you. From being hurt by you. But I couldn't admit that, to you or to myself. So I did what I always do. I hid, and I ran. I lost myself in Luka's problems, my neighbor's problems, booze... anything I could find to dull the fear. And to help me ignore how much I hated what I was becoming."
She looked at him again, offering a self-deprecating laugh. "I suppose it's ironic, in a way."
"What's that?" Carter asked.
"That it took getting hit to stop feeling afraid of being hurt."
Carter looked at her for a moment, and said, "I would think it'd make you even more afraid of getting involved with someone. Something like that... it's hard to have much faith in `happily ever after.'"
"Well, no one ever accused me of making sense," she said, trying to smile. "I guess it just made me realize that despite everything I try, I can't keep myself safe. Or that I can be hurt, and it won't kill me. Or maybe I just got something knocked loose in my heart, or some neurons got reconnected or something. Maybe I owe the bastard a thank-you note."
"Anyway, when I was lying awake one night, thinking about everything I'd done wrong, I remembered this poem I came across once in a bookstore just a few weeks after Richard and I split up. It started out: `Life is ours in vain/Lacking love, which never/Counts the loss or gain./But remember, ever/Love is linked with pain.' It really rang a chord with me, you know? Probably because for most of my life, it was the only thing I knew about love, that love is linked with pain. But lying there I realized, maybe for the first time, that that thought no longer frightened me."
Abby looked at John, trying to gauge his reaction to what she was saying, but Carter simply sat there looking at her, his face unreadable.
Nervous about his silence, Abby added, "I know, I know. As epiphanies go, it's down pretty far on the scale. And it's probably way more information than you ever wanted about my screwed-up psyche. But, there it is. I was unfair and selfish." She took a deep breath. "And if it's not too late, I'd like to try and be friends again. Without me being scared of where it might lead. Although, honestly, it's probably better for you if you're not involved with me and all of my neurotic baggage."
She'd tried to make the last part of what she said light, hoping to elicit some sort of response, but Carter's expression didn't change.
Finally Abby stood, took her coat off the back of her chair, and said, "Well. Anyway. I'd probably better head back to my place, let you get some sleep. I know you've got the early shift tomorrow." She shrugged on her coat, glancing his way, but Carter was again staring the table, giving no indication he'd heard her.
Defeated, Abby said, "Goodnight Carter," not caring if he noticed the flatness in her voice, and headed for the door.
"Abby."
Her hand, which had just touched the doorknob, paused.
"Wait."
Without turning around she said, exasperated, "What, Carter?"
She jumped, a little, when his hand touched her shoulder; she hadn't heard him cross the room. His fingers felt like they were burning a hole through the wool. Abby turned, finding his eyes, knowing that whatever he said next she wanted to see his face when he said it. No more hiding. The intensity of his gaze startled her, making her fear and hope in the same instant.
"I had an epiphany too, when I found out you'd been hurt."
It was becoming difficult to speak. Taking a deep breath, trying to level her voice, she said, "And what was that, Carter?"
"That I simply couldn't face the idea of a world without you in it. And that I have no intention of ever letting you walk out of my life again."
A relieved laugh burst out of her before she could stop it, and she looked at him anxiously, afraid he'd take it the wrong way. But John, who knew her so well, was smiling too, and bent his head even as her own was lifting to meet his lips.
That first kiss was tender, and sweeter than Abby had ever imagined (on those rare occasions when she'd admitted to herself that she had been imagining). Every cell in her body sang out, Finally, the feel of him, the smell of him, at once more exciting and yet more familiar than anything she'd ever known. The kiss deepened, her fingers laced through his hair before she even thought of raising her arms, his hands fitted at her waist as if they'd been made for that exact spot.
All Abby could do, all she wanted to do, was surrender to the simple rightness of what she was feeling, of how they felt together, of how easily and naturally one motion flowed into another as if it were a dance they'd rehearsed a thousand times. So she did. No more running, no more hiding. Just allowing herself to love and be loved in return.
________________________________
She woke with a start. She rolled over in the bed, arm stretching out, eyes beginning to close again. Her hand met nothing but a pillow. She sat up, confused, looking around the bedroom, afraid for a moment it had all been a dream.
The door quietly swung open a few inches, and John eased quietly into the room, dressed in slacks and a t-shirt. His face fell when he saw her, and he padded barefoot over to the bed, sitting next to her. "I'm sorry. I was trying not to wake you."
Abby rubbed her face and said, "You didn't. Really. Suddenly I was just... awake."
"You want some coffee?"
"Do you really have to ask?"
Carter grinned. "Nope. I'll take care of it." He leaned in for a kiss that was meant to be brief, but wasn't.
Pulling away with a regretful sigh, Carter said, "If there was any chance I thought I could get away with going in late..."
Abby smiled. "I know." She traced the line of his jaw with her fingertips. "But Weaver's already in a bad enough mood as it is. No point in making it worse. She might just stick you with an extra shift this weekend." She lightly brushed her fingers over his lips, sending little electric shocks down her forearm. "And I want as much time with you as possible."
His eyes darkened. "Oh really? And what exactly did you have planned?" His fingers skated over her shoulder.
Abby leaned in, her lips grazing his ear, his cheek, his mouth. "My coffee?"
Carter laughed, his eyes dancing with mischief and desire. "Coming right up," he said, and strode from the room, whistling something Abby was certain she recognized. She hummed it herself, realized what it was. "Ode to Joy." An odd sensation rushed through her veins, which she finally recognized as just that. Joy. She closed her eyes, savoring the feeling.
Moments later, John came back in with two mugs, setting one on the table next to her and moving around to the other side. "Milk and two sugars, right?"
She nodded. "Bringing me coffee in bed, huh? I'm not sure you should be spoiling me this early in the relationship." She took a sip, cradling the cup between her palms.
"Ordinarily, I'd have to agree," he said, sitting down next to her. "Except I don't think of it as early."
Her heart thudded an extra beat. The only response she could muster was, "Oh."
John glanced at her, a flash of uncertainty moving across his face, and put his coffee on the nightstand. Realizing he'd misunderstood her reaction, Abby set her mug aside as well. Then she leaned over and began walking her fingers across his stomach, feeling the warmth of his skin through the thin cotton. "So how far along into this are we, exactly?"
He smiled, relieved at her teasing tone, obviously afraid he'd presumed too much. He picked up her hand, working his way across her fingertips with soft kisses. "Far enough for me to say I'd like to spend the rest of my life with you."
The idea should have terrified her. She didn't let it. "Mmm. I think that can be arranged. Just let me check my calendar."
"Of course. You'll be sure to let me know?"
"Oh, absolutely." Abby shifted closer, settling into the crook of his arm.
"Excellent. Have your people call my people." She felt his smile where his cheek rested against her head. His fingers idly traced small circles on her back. "Hey, I was wondering something."
"What's that?"
"How did the rest of the poem go?"
She raised her head and looked at him, amused.
With a sheepish smile, he said, "I was just curious. It was nice, what you said. And it sounded like it was pretty important to you, since you're not usually one to memorize stuff like that." He turned to grab his coffee, looking embarrassed that he'd mentioned it. "It's not a big deal. I don't know why I brought it up."
Abby sat up a little straighter, looking around the room. "Do you see my pants anywhere?"
"Your pants?"
"Yes, my pants. You know. What I wear on my legs?
"Which is a shame, really. I like them better like this." He grinned and slipped a hand under the covers, caressing her thigh.
"You would," she said, feigning annoyance. "Are they in here?"
He looked around. "Yup. Over there, by the chair."
"Would you grab them for me?"
"Why me?"
"Because you're the one who wants them."
"I thought we just covered that subject." Even as she opened her mouth to respond, he swung his legs off the bed and grabbed her slacks from where they lay on the floor. "Milady," he said, handing them to her with a mock flourish.
Abby sat up, leaned against the headboard, and said, "Thank you, kind sir." She pulled from the back pocket the metal cigarette case she used for her credit cards, flipped it open, and took out a piece of paper. With a show of ceremony she unfolded it, cleared her throat, and read:
"Life is ours in vain
Lacking love, which never
Counts the loss or gain.
But remember, ever
Love is linked with pain.
Light and sister shade
Shape each mortal morrow
seek not to evade
Love's companion Sorrow,
And be not dismayed.
Grief is not in vain,
It's for our completeness.
If the fates ordain
love to bring life sweetness,
Welcome too its pain."
Abby glanced at John, suddenly unsure of herself again, and looked away, focusing her attention on putting the paper back into the case, the case back into her pocket, her pants back on the floor. Then she shrugged, staring at the bedcovers, and said, "Obviously, it took me a while to get the rest of what it was saying."
She felt the brush of his fingers under her chin, gently turning her to face him. His eyes held hers for a long moment. "I don't mind," he said, and kissed her.
Too soon, the kiss ended. John smiled, then leaned past her to retrieve her mug from the table. He handed it to her, then turned and picked up his own. Holding it up, he took her other hand in his and said, "To love. In all its sweetness and pain."
Abby smiled. "To love."
The click of their mugs sounded, to Abby, like tumblers falling into place, unlocking something long shut away and opening a door to the light.
Spoilers: Takes place some time after "A Simple Twist of Fate." Minor spoiler for that episode.
Disclaimer: Please don't sue me, Mr Wells et al. This is just how I avoid doing any real work at my job.
Opening
"To love is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one... Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries, avoid all entanglements, lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness..." C.S. Lewis, "The Problem of Pain"
____________________________
"How is it?"
Abby's wandering attention snapped back to Carter. "Good. Thanks."
"I wasn't sure if you were a big fan of molten cakes."
"No, no, it's great. Besides, I never mind eating chocolate." She flashed him a wry grin. "You know that."
He grinned in return. "Yeah, I seem to recall you referring to it as the `nectar of the gods' once or twice."
"Once or twice?"
"A few hundred."
"That may still be on the conservative side." With a small smile, she added, "Thank you again for inviting me over."
"No big deal."
"No, really. It was nice of you. Very thoughtful."
Carter shrugged and said, with a self-deprecating smile, "Hey, what can I say? I'm a thoughtful guy."
They lapsed into silence and turned back to their plates. Once, such a silence between them would have been companionable, relaxed. Tonight, Abby could feel the current of awkwardness and tension strung between them like a wire, and it made her want to kick herself, not for the first time, for how badly she'd screwed things up.
When Carter had asked her to come by his place for dinner, joking that he was sure they could scrounge up some Jell-O for her, she'd jumped at the chance to reconnect and begin mending their friendship.
They'd spent the beginning of the meal chatting about innocuous subjects: work, the Bears, the winter Chicago had been having. But it was all of the unspoken things that weighed on them both, making the silences stretch longer and longer as they cast about for safe topics of conversation.
Now, dinner was finished. Abby spent an inordinate amount of time scraping the last dregs of chocolate off her plate, avoiding the moment she knew the evening had been building toward ever since she'd walked through the door.
No. Longer than that.
Abby risked a glance at Carter, hoping he was about to speak, but he too was focused on his dessert plate, looking as if he felt out of place in his own home. A lock of hair on his forehead was sticking out the wrong way, and she felt her hand lighten before quelling the impulse to reach out and brush it back.
*Just get it over with, Abby.*
"I'm sorry," Abby said, more abruptly than she'd intended.
John glanced up, puzzled. "For what."
*Good going, Abby. Non sequitur, much?* She took a deep breath. "For that night, by the river. The whole "you're going to have to find a virgin" conversation."
"Oh. That." Carter shrugged and looked down at his hands tracing the lace patterns of the tablecloth with his finger. "Forget about it. It was no big deal."
"Yes, it was. I screwed up our friendship."
John scowled, shook his head. "No, you didn't. I overreacted to seeing you and Luka together earlier in the day. I know what it took for you to start that conversation, and I've been kicking myself ever since over the way I responded."
"Still, I wish I could take it back."
"Which part?"
"All of it," she said, too quickly. Abby saw John's scowl deepen slightly, and felt a stab of remorse. "And you were right, what you said. About me not being through with Luka."
John nodded, turning his attention back toward the tablecloth.
"I think I figured out why that was. If you're interested."
Trying for a light tone, Carter said, "Oh, you know I never tire of hearing about you and Luka."
Abby heard the edge of bitterness in his voice and almost gave up on what she'd come here to do. The words "forget it" sat on her tongue, light and incredibly easy to say. She flashed through the rest of scene in her mind: grabbing her coat, striding out the door, the train, her apartment. So much simpler, so much less risk. She craved that easy out almost as much as a drink.
Which was why she had to go on.
She said, "I was thinking a lot the other day about how people get hurt. Surprise, surprise, I know," she added, her tone inviting a smile. Which he gave her, sending a thrill of warmth through her. "And I was thinking about how easy it is to hurt someone else, how often it happens every day, in a million ways. We've probably seen most of those wounds, both physical and emotional.
"Luka was safe. Easy. I could tell that there was a wall I'd never get through. And that was fine with me. It was what I wanted: caring without connection. It probably doesn't make any sense to you, especially after all my complaints about how he didn't "get me," and my jealousy over Nicole. But any wounds we inflicted on each other, no matter how painful, were only superficial. They didn't draw that deep, red arterial blood that comes straight from your heart. Because I know, from dealing with my mom, that only the people you love can inflict that kind of damage. Destroy you, even. Because you've let them in. You've given them the keys, shown them where the chinks in your armor are. I was just... I didn't think I could do that again. Connect like that, make yourself so vulnerable to someone else.
"So everything that happened with Luka, all of it, was exactly what I wanted. Or at least, what I thought I wanted. But being with him was also easier, I think, because I knew, on some level, that if I wasn't involved with him, didn't have that distraction in my life, I'd have had to face the fact that I'd already made the kind of connection I was so terrified of with you."
She risked looking at him. He just gazed back at her, waiting for her to continue.
"I felt it, you know, that night at Doc Magoos? When you asked me to be your AA sponsor? But I ignored it. One of my gifts. Maybe my only one, really. I told myself it was just friendship, and that that was all I needed from you. Or maybe I thought that I could be friends with you while I was sleeping with Luka, covering all my bases without risking anything. Which was incredibly selfish, I know, even if it wasn't something I sat and planned out.
"Then, of course, Luka and I broke up, and I made my stupid, clumsy attempt to come on to you that night by the river, even though I still wasn't ready for what that meant. Somehow you saw that, and you called me on it. It was easier for me to keep obsessing over Luka, keep part of me reserved, safe from you. From being hurt by you. But I couldn't admit that, to you or to myself. So I did what I always do. I hid, and I ran. I lost myself in Luka's problems, my neighbor's problems, booze... anything I could find to dull the fear. And to help me ignore how much I hated what I was becoming."
She looked at him again, offering a self-deprecating laugh. "I suppose it's ironic, in a way."
"What's that?" Carter asked.
"That it took getting hit to stop feeling afraid of being hurt."
Carter looked at her for a moment, and said, "I would think it'd make you even more afraid of getting involved with someone. Something like that... it's hard to have much faith in `happily ever after.'"
"Well, no one ever accused me of making sense," she said, trying to smile. "I guess it just made me realize that despite everything I try, I can't keep myself safe. Or that I can be hurt, and it won't kill me. Or maybe I just got something knocked loose in my heart, or some neurons got reconnected or something. Maybe I owe the bastard a thank-you note."
"Anyway, when I was lying awake one night, thinking about everything I'd done wrong, I remembered this poem I came across once in a bookstore just a few weeks after Richard and I split up. It started out: `Life is ours in vain/Lacking love, which never/Counts the loss or gain./But remember, ever/Love is linked with pain.' It really rang a chord with me, you know? Probably because for most of my life, it was the only thing I knew about love, that love is linked with pain. But lying there I realized, maybe for the first time, that that thought no longer frightened me."
Abby looked at John, trying to gauge his reaction to what she was saying, but Carter simply sat there looking at her, his face unreadable.
Nervous about his silence, Abby added, "I know, I know. As epiphanies go, it's down pretty far on the scale. And it's probably way more information than you ever wanted about my screwed-up psyche. But, there it is. I was unfair and selfish." She took a deep breath. "And if it's not too late, I'd like to try and be friends again. Without me being scared of where it might lead. Although, honestly, it's probably better for you if you're not involved with me and all of my neurotic baggage."
She'd tried to make the last part of what she said light, hoping to elicit some sort of response, but Carter's expression didn't change.
Finally Abby stood, took her coat off the back of her chair, and said, "Well. Anyway. I'd probably better head back to my place, let you get some sleep. I know you've got the early shift tomorrow." She shrugged on her coat, glancing his way, but Carter was again staring the table, giving no indication he'd heard her.
Defeated, Abby said, "Goodnight Carter," not caring if he noticed the flatness in her voice, and headed for the door.
"Abby."
Her hand, which had just touched the doorknob, paused.
"Wait."
Without turning around she said, exasperated, "What, Carter?"
She jumped, a little, when his hand touched her shoulder; she hadn't heard him cross the room. His fingers felt like they were burning a hole through the wool. Abby turned, finding his eyes, knowing that whatever he said next she wanted to see his face when he said it. No more hiding. The intensity of his gaze startled her, making her fear and hope in the same instant.
"I had an epiphany too, when I found out you'd been hurt."
It was becoming difficult to speak. Taking a deep breath, trying to level her voice, she said, "And what was that, Carter?"
"That I simply couldn't face the idea of a world without you in it. And that I have no intention of ever letting you walk out of my life again."
A relieved laugh burst out of her before she could stop it, and she looked at him anxiously, afraid he'd take it the wrong way. But John, who knew her so well, was smiling too, and bent his head even as her own was lifting to meet his lips.
That first kiss was tender, and sweeter than Abby had ever imagined (on those rare occasions when she'd admitted to herself that she had been imagining). Every cell in her body sang out, Finally, the feel of him, the smell of him, at once more exciting and yet more familiar than anything she'd ever known. The kiss deepened, her fingers laced through his hair before she even thought of raising her arms, his hands fitted at her waist as if they'd been made for that exact spot.
All Abby could do, all she wanted to do, was surrender to the simple rightness of what she was feeling, of how they felt together, of how easily and naturally one motion flowed into another as if it were a dance they'd rehearsed a thousand times. So she did. No more running, no more hiding. Just allowing herself to love and be loved in return.
________________________________
She woke with a start. She rolled over in the bed, arm stretching out, eyes beginning to close again. Her hand met nothing but a pillow. She sat up, confused, looking around the bedroom, afraid for a moment it had all been a dream.
The door quietly swung open a few inches, and John eased quietly into the room, dressed in slacks and a t-shirt. His face fell when he saw her, and he padded barefoot over to the bed, sitting next to her. "I'm sorry. I was trying not to wake you."
Abby rubbed her face and said, "You didn't. Really. Suddenly I was just... awake."
"You want some coffee?"
"Do you really have to ask?"
Carter grinned. "Nope. I'll take care of it." He leaned in for a kiss that was meant to be brief, but wasn't.
Pulling away with a regretful sigh, Carter said, "If there was any chance I thought I could get away with going in late..."
Abby smiled. "I know." She traced the line of his jaw with her fingertips. "But Weaver's already in a bad enough mood as it is. No point in making it worse. She might just stick you with an extra shift this weekend." She lightly brushed her fingers over his lips, sending little electric shocks down her forearm. "And I want as much time with you as possible."
His eyes darkened. "Oh really? And what exactly did you have planned?" His fingers skated over her shoulder.
Abby leaned in, her lips grazing his ear, his cheek, his mouth. "My coffee?"
Carter laughed, his eyes dancing with mischief and desire. "Coming right up," he said, and strode from the room, whistling something Abby was certain she recognized. She hummed it herself, realized what it was. "Ode to Joy." An odd sensation rushed through her veins, which she finally recognized as just that. Joy. She closed her eyes, savoring the feeling.
Moments later, John came back in with two mugs, setting one on the table next to her and moving around to the other side. "Milk and two sugars, right?"
She nodded. "Bringing me coffee in bed, huh? I'm not sure you should be spoiling me this early in the relationship." She took a sip, cradling the cup between her palms.
"Ordinarily, I'd have to agree," he said, sitting down next to her. "Except I don't think of it as early."
Her heart thudded an extra beat. The only response she could muster was, "Oh."
John glanced at her, a flash of uncertainty moving across his face, and put his coffee on the nightstand. Realizing he'd misunderstood her reaction, Abby set her mug aside as well. Then she leaned over and began walking her fingers across his stomach, feeling the warmth of his skin through the thin cotton. "So how far along into this are we, exactly?"
He smiled, relieved at her teasing tone, obviously afraid he'd presumed too much. He picked up her hand, working his way across her fingertips with soft kisses. "Far enough for me to say I'd like to spend the rest of my life with you."
The idea should have terrified her. She didn't let it. "Mmm. I think that can be arranged. Just let me check my calendar."
"Of course. You'll be sure to let me know?"
"Oh, absolutely." Abby shifted closer, settling into the crook of his arm.
"Excellent. Have your people call my people." She felt his smile where his cheek rested against her head. His fingers idly traced small circles on her back. "Hey, I was wondering something."
"What's that?"
"How did the rest of the poem go?"
She raised her head and looked at him, amused.
With a sheepish smile, he said, "I was just curious. It was nice, what you said. And it sounded like it was pretty important to you, since you're not usually one to memorize stuff like that." He turned to grab his coffee, looking embarrassed that he'd mentioned it. "It's not a big deal. I don't know why I brought it up."
Abby sat up a little straighter, looking around the room. "Do you see my pants anywhere?"
"Your pants?"
"Yes, my pants. You know. What I wear on my legs?
"Which is a shame, really. I like them better like this." He grinned and slipped a hand under the covers, caressing her thigh.
"You would," she said, feigning annoyance. "Are they in here?"
He looked around. "Yup. Over there, by the chair."
"Would you grab them for me?"
"Why me?"
"Because you're the one who wants them."
"I thought we just covered that subject." Even as she opened her mouth to respond, he swung his legs off the bed and grabbed her slacks from where they lay on the floor. "Milady," he said, handing them to her with a mock flourish.
Abby sat up, leaned against the headboard, and said, "Thank you, kind sir." She pulled from the back pocket the metal cigarette case she used for her credit cards, flipped it open, and took out a piece of paper. With a show of ceremony she unfolded it, cleared her throat, and read:
"Life is ours in vain
Lacking love, which never
Counts the loss or gain.
But remember, ever
Love is linked with pain.
Light and sister shade
Shape each mortal morrow
seek not to evade
Love's companion Sorrow,
And be not dismayed.
Grief is not in vain,
It's for our completeness.
If the fates ordain
love to bring life sweetness,
Welcome too its pain."
Abby glanced at John, suddenly unsure of herself again, and looked away, focusing her attention on putting the paper back into the case, the case back into her pocket, her pants back on the floor. Then she shrugged, staring at the bedcovers, and said, "Obviously, it took me a while to get the rest of what it was saying."
She felt the brush of his fingers under her chin, gently turning her to face him. His eyes held hers for a long moment. "I don't mind," he said, and kissed her.
Too soon, the kiss ended. John smiled, then leaned past her to retrieve her mug from the table. He handed it to her, then turned and picked up his own. Holding it up, he took her other hand in his and said, "To love. In all its sweetness and pain."
Abby smiled. "To love."
The click of their mugs sounded, to Abby, like tumblers falling into place, unlocking something long shut away and opening a door to the light.