The Mallard Chronicles

Ten 'Til Nine

I gave up on sleeping. There is only so much tossing and turning any sane (or slightly insane) person can stand. I didn't want to leave my nice, warm, comfortable bed but I couldn't stand to stay.

So, despite what I call winter (and this country laughably calls summer – I swear it is freezing all the time here) clawing its way around the room I slipped out from under my four various quilts and padded across the dark room, only tripping over the "strategically placed items" once or twice on the way. I swear I had not left my hiking boots right next to the doorframe.

I sidled out of my door, managing to kick my door stop on the way, and out onto the dark landing. The absence of the moon meant minimal visibility and I still hadn't figured out where the light switches were in the place or if they even existed. I groped for the banister I knew had to be there somewhere and followed it down tentatively to the entrance hall. I hated stairs in the day time, let alone in the dark.

When I reached the bottom, a soft, flickering light was washing out from the "reading room" as I had dubbed it. The fire was still burning so I peeked my head around the wall and just stood there; half in and half out of the room and probably looking a right fool because there he was. In his favourite chair by the fire. Kicked back, feet up with yet another leather bound book in his hand. Blond highlights glinting in the firelight, even though his hair had darkened considerably over the years. Wire rims perched on his still rather boyish face, regarding the book with obvious intellectual interest. The only thing missing was – uh no – there it was, the glass of Scotch on the table, half empty (or was that half full?). I must have stood there for longer than I realised because he turned his head and peered at me from over the top of those glasses as one who was regarding a stunned mullet would do. Glowing in the firelight, he couldn't get any more adorable.

'Can't sleep?' That accent, faint though it was, never failed to charm. I shook my head and finally my mind and common sense connected with the rest of my body and I shivered. I had forgotten to put on my dressing gown, hadn't I?

'Cold?'

I padded over to the chair at his beckoning and set about the best way to crawl into his lap. It was a lot harder than it sounded. I had to avoid his bad leg amongst other inadequately healed injuries. Sometimes I hated him for throwing himself into danger and then I hated myself for hating him after all he had done for me and…

I had finally found a route which caused the least discomfort for the both of us and twisted my body around so my head tucked underneath his collar bone and my more bony parts were more or less on the winged chair itself – altogether not an easy accomplishment but a comfortable one in the long run.

He chuckled slightly as I spent many minutes trying to find a suitable place to tuck my hands so I couldn't feel his heartbeat (I could not stand the feel of my own pulse let alone someone else's) and finally tucked them underneath my head, creating a barrier between my left temple and his suspenders. I waited for any complaints or soft suggestions on his part but none were forthcoming as he snaked his arm around my waist and I was glad of the feeling of being anchored.

We stayed in silence until he had finished his page and his hand around my waist started to shift in readiness to turn it but I was too quick. I turned it for him.

'Ah, so you are not dozing then, my girl? Only foxing.' When I looked up into his gaze, it was all there; hope, compassion, understanding, admiration and love just to name a few. I couldn't help it – for some reason I always found him to be the easiest person to talk too. 'Damn, I'm lucky.'

Again, he just smiled and laughed, drawing me in closer and tighter.

I didn't recall falling asleep; I didn't remember being carried back to my room either but both must have happened as I woke up, sunlight streaming in, underneath my four quilts.

I remembered the warmth of the fire, and the warmth emanating from my adored from the night before. He was a real gentleman and they were as rare and as precious as any diamond to be found in a mountain of rocks – even more so. If you had found one you never let him go, that was my opinion.

My mind continued down this seemingly nauseatingly sentimental path for a while longer while my subconscious debated whether or not I should go back to sleep or see about some breakfast – or whether or not he was awake. So again, I found myself slipping out from under my four quilts and padding across the room, only once tripping over my hiking boots which I should have remembered I left next to the doorframe.

This time though, I opened my door and moved my doorstop before proceeding downstairs. The first room I stuck my nose into was the "reading room". The fire had died, the Scotch glass was missing and the book was resting neatly on the table. My next two thoughts were "breakfast" and "kitchen" and somewhere along the way to the latter my half awake mind deduced that it needed "tea" as well.

I stepped into the kitchen, winced at the coldness of the tiles and nearly walked straight past the bright white sheet of note paper with a colour illustration of a Mallard duck at the top sitting right in the middle of the table so I couldn't possibly miss it. It read:

"My dear,

Work called this morning and I didn't want to wake you. I'll try and get away as quickly as possible but when one is dealing with murder one cannot be certain. If it gets late, please do not stay up on my account.

Your Ducky"

Well, that's what you got for falling for a federal agencies' Medical Examiner.