A New Chapter (Part 4 of the ANL-series)

by NicolinaN

This can be seen as a sequel, for those who like, to Reciprocity, Alterum Non Laedere, and Grace. Or just as a story. It's Christmas, and life finds its ways to mend what shouldn't be broken. Warnings for mature content, food, diamonds, and Christmas. L/J

Author's Note: This is one possible future for the tortured couple I created through Reciprocity, Alterum Non Laedere and Grace. Christmas spirit, and the sadness and angst of the previous stories, made me want to add an extra ending for those who, like myself, are dying to see them end up together. The rest of you can stop reading here. Mature content. Some bad words. Food. Diamonds. Fluff. Consider yourselves warned.

Disclaimer: I most certainly don't own Lisa and Jackson. I'm just borrowing them for my therapy sessions through writing… I might return them someday. Or not.

Angrw: you're the shining star on my fanfic heaven! Thanks for all the beta help.

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Author's Note 2: I pulled this a while back. For a couple of reasons... I don't see any point any more in keeping it from you, though, so I'm sending it back out to the wonderful Red Eye. Have a wonderful spring ya'll. Until next time.

(Oh, and... it's very Christmasy. :D Warnings for that!)

/Nic.

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A New Chapter - A Christmas Tale

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A light chair on the patio below me has flipped over and slaps wildly in the wind, rattling against the hard surface. It bangs and slams like an out-of-control child. I look out into the darkness where the streetlights are dancing a funny dance and then I glance behind me. He should secure the outdoor furniture and wrap up the plants. It's getting colder. Why hasn't he? Because he's the antisocial asshole that he is. But I know that's not true. He's reading to Cecilia and the wind has increased dramatically just in the last twenty minutes. Maybe he isn't even aware of the severity of the situation.

A storm is coming and I need to get her back home with me before it is impossible.

I press my nose against the window and feel that it is cold. The rage outside translates through the soulless surface and makes me quiver. Where are they? I swirl around and walk with determined steps across the room only to meet Jackson in the doorway.

"I wondered where you were," I say, barely hiding my annoyance. "It's getting windy. You should take care of your patio furniture."

He looks remarkably uncomfortable. We've been through much worse than me telling him to do such a simple task and I don't know what bothers him.

"Look," I say. "I've lived here longer than you have, maybe that's why… Trust me; you don't want to leave them loose. If something comes flying through the air your windows will crack like eggshells if this thing keeps up with its promise. And…"

He licks his lips and crosses his arms across his chest. "I know… I'm not sure I can do it alone."

That is the least likely of all answers I would have thought possible. "Why?"

"Can you please help me?"

And there's that word again. Please. It'll never cease to amaze me, hearing it from his lips.

"O-okay. Where's Cece?"

He smiles and his features lighten. "Sleeping. After the beach she was exhausted."

"Sleeping? But… we need to get going. Real soon." Why did he have to take her to the beach at all? It's not like they were swimming in this weather, just playing in the sand. He should get a sandbox for her here instead.

He shrugs and steps into a pair of boots. "Okay. Are you coming?"

I frown and stretch for my sweater. "Yeah, yeah. Sure." I'm still confused.

We almost have to double over as we fight against the wind and I curse him more than once for not being a native Floridian and for not having done this earlier this afternoon. When it was still bright. When it wasn't so cold.

I have to urge him to hurry, he's moving slowly, and the palm trees around us whip threateningly. I pull and drag furniture across the dark patio and Jackson struggles with thick pieces of canvas and rope to tie around the tropical plants, saving them from the rage and the possible frost. I think of my bed, my TV, of a warm cup of tea and my cozy pajamas. Why am I here again? I frown as I look at Jackson who seems to be more of holding onto a large terracotta pot than wrapping it.

"Hur-" The wind steals my words, almost before they even leave my lips, and I realize I can scream as much as I want to and he won't hear it anyway, not over the rustle of the palm fronds in the wind. I struggle across the lawn and shudder. The temperature has dropped several degrees in just the last couple of hours. He jerks when I tap a finger against his shoulder.

"You need to-" Even in the dark I see how pale he is. He looks exhausted. "Just leave it!" I shout. "I've secured the chairs. Come on!"

He glares at me from under his bangs and then back at the house. Then he nods. The wind comes from behind us now and shoves us forward, almost lifts us, back.

Once inside, the door slams shut behind us and we're thrown into silence, our hearing temporarily stunned by the alarm we've just fought our way through. I pant and lean back against the nearest wall, then I happen to glance at him. His chest is heaving and he's panting, almost trembling.

"What's wrong?"

"Noth-ing's… wrong," he hitches.

I raise my eyebrows and leave my spot by the wall, taking a few steps closer. "You look absolutely exhausted, Jackson. Are you ill?"

He snorts. "Funny, isn't it," he wheezes. "Isn't it quite the déjà vu? The wind, the cold…"

"Not the snow, though," I say quickly.

"Not the snow," he agrees. "Hell no. I don't ever… wanna see snow again in my life." He sighs deeply and kicks off his boots. "You should stay, you know."

No!

"No. We have to go."

"You don't have to go, Leese. I have like… six guestrooms or something." He inhales deeply again. "Just… be reasonable for once."

"No, we can't… What's wrong Jackson?" He looks as if he would fall into a heap if I just touched him with my pinky.

He smiles bleakly. "I'll tell you in front of the fireplace after you've made yourself a bed."

I respond without even thinking. It's a reflex. "No! I-" A loud crack outside has us both jumping. I glance out the window but see nothing but my own reflection. "It's… I…"

He just cocks his head. "Do you honestly believe I would… touch you?"

Why did he just make that sound as if I'm repulsive? Why does he always have to be like this?

"I… well…" I realize that I can't justify endangering Cece and myself by going out into the blustery night. It's not impossible, not like in Canada, it's not like we're trapped, it would just be really stupid. And she is already asleep. I want to fight it, I want to find a way, but there is none that is reasonable and I nod reluctantly. "Where do you keep your spare sheets?"

"In the closet."

"Where?"

"In whichever room you pick."

"Did you plan this?"

"Of course not."

"I'll take the one closest to Cece."

"Okay." He turns his back on me and starts towards the living room. "You realize it's also the one closest to mine?"

I can literally see the smug look on his face and it makes me fume as I stomp off to the room I've picked. Ass! Cece's door is open and I hear her light snoring. Sweetiepie! Maybe I could sleep in there? Awkward doesn't quite cover how it feels to actually be making a bed in his house. I try not to think about it at all. It's practical.

When I'm done I plan to just quietly slip between the sheets and forget that I'm even here and that's when I realize that I have nothing to sleep in, no toothbrush, and no cleanser. Damn! My palms get sweaty just from the thought of going back down to him. I think of skipping the toothbrush, sleeping in my clothes and… somehow it doesn't seem very mature. And you don't have six guestrooms, Jack! More like four. Do you even live here, or is it just for show?

I tiptoe down the stairs. I've been here my fair share of times over the last year, leaving and picking up Cece. Meeting Jackson briefly has somehow become incorporated into my living routine. For Cece. And it has worked out, it doesn't hurt and they are good together, she loves him. She's still so little, but it's obvious how much she sees the similarities between themselves. I'm still wary around him, but I'm not afraid, if I was I wouldn't have let him anywhere near our daughter.

But this is different. Much, much different. My stomach clenches painfully and I'm plain dead nervous about meeting him.

He sits with his back to me in one of the two leather chairs that are placed in front of the fireplace. I barely see some strands of hair peeking up from over the back of the chair and a foot that dangles from a leg slung over its arm. I know these chairs are new, and still they manage to look old and worn. I wonder how much that cost. Everything has a price.

I wonder how much it will cost me to get ahold of a toothbrush.

"Hey," I say. "I wonder-"

"Sit. Please. Just for a few minutes." His voice is soft, and still I sense the underlying urge and it makes my stomach clench again. He leans back to glance at me and I suddenly see that there are two glasses filled with a creamy, yellowish content placed on the little table between the chairs.

I clear my throat. "I was just wondering if you have a toothbrush that I could use."

"Sit with me and I'll give you everything you need." Not everything I need, Jack. You can't give me that. You can never make it not have happened.

"Just a little while then… it's late and I should really…"

"It's eight-thirty, Leese," he grins. I blush. I hate it when he sees through me as if I'm made of window glass. The fire is crackling peacefully, though, and the warmth is nice. When I walk around the chair I notice the blanket that he has placed on the arm rest. I hesitate for a moment, then I grab it and cover myself with it before I sit down next to him.

"What's this?" I point at the glasses.

"Eggnog. It's warm. It's really good."

"I've never actually tasted it."

"Then what are you waiting for?"

I enjoy the warm thick glass in my hand before I sip on the sweet creamy contents. The bourbon in it makes my taste buds bounce with surprise. But I like the aftertaste. "It's nice," I say.

"Aw, come on, Leese. It's more than 'nice'. This is an art form."

"The art of making eggnog?"

"The perfect eggnog. And not only that, but the fire, the blanket, the weather… Perfect conditions."

I eye him suspiciously. "For what?"

"For a moment of real peace."

I'm quiet. I'm bad at that. At taking it easy. I rush from this to that, avoiding time for thought, time for reflection. It's a habit I've perfected over the years. I had no idea that he did things like this.

I wonder what he and Cece do when they're alone. Suddenly, I'm jealous. They have something that I don't take part in. I take a larger sip and feel how it warms my chest. This is nice.

"Are you all right now, Jackson?"

He glances at me and smiles. "Sure I am."

"What happened out there? You seemed exhausted."

"It's because I was."

"Why? What had you been doing?"

"Nothing-"

"You said-"

"Nothing now. What I did happened way back. Two years ago to be precise."

Canada. "I think you need to explain that a little better."

He drinks from his glass and licks his lips before he continues. "After I'd been in the river, when I was at that crazy bitch's place, I developed a pneumonia that almost killed me. I don't remember much of it, just… that I couldn't get enough air."

"I had pneumonia too."

"Yeah, but you were treated in a hospital, with antibiotics. I was treated with chicken soup and was left to heal myself or die." He doesn't care to hide the slight bitterness in his voice.

"So…"

"So… I have at best half my lung functions intact. They're badly scarred. I'll never run a marathon again."

Again? "You ran a marathon?"

He is quiet.

"Are you ever gonna tell me anything about yourself?" I exclaim.

"I just did," he answers softly.

"Did you run a marathon?"

He smiles and suddenly the heat from the fire seems hotter on my cheeks than a moment ago. "Yes."

"Wow," I say as I wave my hand in front of my face, trying to cool myself off. "That's impressive."

"Yeah," he says, saddened. "It is."

I sit and contemplate that for a few moments, taking another sip from the creamy yellow liquid. I've never thought that he has, or has had, an actual life, and it hits me hard how little I know about him. How is it that I feel like I know him so well? I know how he reacts to things, what makes him smile and - God, yes - what makes him angry, what triggers him. I have no idea, though, what has shaped him, what made him into the Jackson I met four years ago. Actually, I've never even been interested and for the first time I realize that I want to know. Him.

"Huh," I say, and take another swallow. The bourbon burns in my chest and makes my heart beat faster. I sink deeper into the chair and close my eyes, listening to the wind that pulls and tears at the old house. I jerk as he suddenly speaks.

"What? A little more information than you wished for?"

I open one eye and peek at him, finding him grinning. "Oh, no, no. I'm sorry. I got lost in thought."

"You want pajamas to go with that toothbrush?"

"Yes, please."

"Sure. I'll get you something. If you tell me what you were thinking."

I regard him. "How very you. There're always terms."

He spreads his hands. "I'd be helpless without them."

I take a deep breath. I'm not really accustomed to talking about myself with him. Or with anyone for that matter. "I was thinking about how little I know about you."

He snorts lightly. "You'd be surprised, Leese. You know more about me than anyone else."

"That's not saying much."

"Maybe."

I point at him with the glass. "You know a lot about me."

"In a way, yes. It was my job."

I shudder and look down on my lap, my fingers fiddling with the edge of the blanket.

"Are we enemies, Lisa?"

I freeze. Are we? Still? I think of our child who's sleeping peacefully in her bed on the second floor. "I… No… I don't think so," I whisper.

The light from the fire isn't strong enough to illuminate the blue in his eyes and they appear almost black as he turns his head and studies me for a long time. "Good."

My cheeks get hotter again. "So… how come you decided on the beach today?" I say quickly.

His laugh is raspy and low. "That was an awkward moment just there, wasn't it?"

I squirm, but I don't answer. Yes. Extremely.

We sit quietly. I glance at him occasionally and suddenly, our eyes meet.

"I'd almost given up hope on that," he says and turns his gaze back to the fire.

"On what?"

"On being non-enemies."

Oh. "I don't think we've been enemies for a long time," I say slowly.

"But that's not the same as being friends, is it?"

I shake my head.

"Are we friends?" he asks.

I swallow and think about it. "I'd say we're friendly."

One corner of his mouth pulls up into a half-smile. "That's a start."

A start on what? "Yes."

"Well!" He grins and gets up. "Let's go get you those pajamas and a toothbrush. I'm a man of my word, you know." I follow suit, stunned by our conversation, by his revelations.

I so need some sleep.

The wind almost rocks the house and, as I walk behind Jackson back to my room, I wonder if the roof will stand the forces of nature this night like it has before. He rummages through some boxes and hands me a pile of checkered fabric and a toothbrush, still in its package, on top of it.

He regards me for a moment too long, then he smiles. "It's nice to have the both of you here. Good night." And with that he turns and leaves the room.

I lie and listen to the whining and cracking for what feels like hours, tossing and turning, repeating the moments in front of the fireplace over and over. I can't get over the fact that it was nice. The small talk, the warm blanket, the drink… the company…

When I wake I feel as if I haven't slept at all. My eyes are dry and aching and I have a headache. I'm perfectly aware of where I am the moment my conscience returns and I have a suspicion that my brain hasn't shut off at all during the hours I've been in bed, sleeping, or at least trying to. I'm about to step out of bed when I hear a muffled voice outside the door.

"Go see if mommy's awake and tell her there's breakfast." The next moment the door swings open and I'm quick to pull the blanket up to cover me. It's Cece. She's bouncing all the way from the door and up on my bed. I peek at the open door but see no sign of Jackson.

"Mommy! Slept at Daddy!"

I don't know if I should cry or smile. I had no idea it would mean so much to her, if I had known she could have slept here sooner. I smile. "Did you sleep well?" I get a warm hug before she slithers off the bed.

"Bwekfast!" Impatiently, she tugs at my blanket and then starts towards the door. "Come." She trots out the door and disappears from my sight. I hear her shout. "Mommy's in pajamas, dad!"

I roll my eyes and start looking for my clothes when I see that someone has draped a thick beige and blue striped robe over the back of the chair and placed a pair of thick furry slippers right next to it. You couldn't resist sneaking in on me, could you! But the morning air is chilly and the comfortable warmth from the bed is rapidly leaving me so I pull the robe to me and sink into it as I let my feet slip into the wonderful things he has given me. I should be angry. At least a little. But I kind of like it.

Breakfast is… awkward. Cece is chatty and chirpy. Jackson smiles and interacts with her while he's giving me constant glances that look so… coy, satisfied… he looks like he's a cat with a huge bowl of cream before him instead of toast, coffee and tea, slices of avocado, tomato, and cucumber, with cottage cheese, ham and eggs, three different marmalades… and damn what a breakfast! I never got a decent dinner last night and my stomach growls at the sight.

"Coffee, tea…?" he asks and puts a black, smoothly rounded cup in front of me.

Or me, I think compulsively. Then I blush. "Ahm… coffee, please." I attempt a smile. I can't wait to get out of here and I'm already squirming at the thought that Christmas is only a week away and that I, in a weak moment, promised him that we'd celebrate it with him this year. Cursing my lovesick - horny would be a better word - mother who's gone off to the Bahamas this year with her new man, I take a bite out of a lovely piece of toast, butter half melted, slices of avocado and some grains of salt on top. It tastes wonderful, full of sin, nothing that I would normally eat.

When I've packed our things and usher Cece out the door, I feel his eyes on me all the time. He's standing in the hallway, leaning against one of the white walls, his arms crossed and looking at us with this smug look on his face.

"Well, bye… ahm, you should uncover the plants."

He nods, lifting his chin in acknowledgement. "See you guys on the twenty-fourth."

I begin to nod and then I freeze. "We said Christmas Day."

His eyes darts to Cece and then to me, then he takes a long stride closer. "You don't have a fireplace, a chimney, anything… let her have the whole package, the full experience," he says in a low voice, his breath hot on my ear. "And who knows… maybe Santa is coming this year." He winks and takes a step back.

Damn!

I realize I've crossed a line by sleeping at his house. I can never again claim that I won't do that just because... Because of nothing. I'm sure you knew what you were doing the whole time, Jack!

I give him a brief glance, fighting to hide my annoyance. "Sure." I turn quickly, refusing to look at that shit-eating grin on his face. I grab Cece's hand a little too hard and she whines when I lead her to the car, nearly stomping my feet against the concrete like a child.

The week is intense, the Lux is cramped and overall my life is tossed into the general mayhem that happens every holiday. I barely have time to think and all of a sudden I wake one morning from Cece jumping on me and not from the clock's annoying buzzing. I pull her down under my blanket for a few seconds of enjoying her warm, soft skin. Damn! It's the twenty-fourth. Everything stills for a moment. I've promised to spend the night with Jackson. Well, in his house. But that's quite enough. Cecilia squirms out of my bed.

"Go daddy? Santa come?"

I moan. Come on, Leese. You promised. "Yes, sweetie. We're going to dad's today and we get to sleep there too." I can barely keep the sarcasm out of my voice and have to make a real effort for my daughter. Our apartment feels empty and slightly chilly when we start our morning routines. It hasn't occurred to me before, the loneliness within these walls. I've always felt so secure in my solitude.

A few hours later we're finally standing outside the gates to Jackson's house. Outside the greatness of Jackson's house. My gaze traces the white pillars on each side of the front door of the old fifties/sixties-something building. Showoff! I wonder if he remembered to uncover the plants. They'd have been cooked underneath that canvas otherwise.

He greets us with a wide smile and scoops up Cece before I even have time to catch my breath. They disappear into the house while he shouts back to me. "Make yourself at home. There's some white wine in the fridge if you'd like." The plants are all well. Of course they are. I look around me as I stroll after them. He hasn't done as much decorating as I figured. There are three Christmas stockings hanging above the fireplace, though, and a large amount of candles in a wide variety of holders, wood, brass, concrete, real stone, have miraculously appeared, and are spread all over the place as far as I can see. It almost gives me the impression that some ritual is going to take place here tonight. Now, where was that alcohol?

I love the wine. At first I thought 'hell no', and then 'why the hell not?' Jackson is playing with Cece, tossing a ball to her and trying to get her to catch. In the simple game I see some of what probably makes him him: he never seems to lose patience, never gives up. I'm sure he is good at whatever he sets his mind on. And now he's set his mind on Cecilia. And you. I don't know where that little voice comes from and I ignore its annoying nagging.

I study the man on the lawn in front of me while I take another sip from the glass. He doesn't move around a lot, and when he has to catch the ball, again and again, he walks instead of running. He really seems to have told me the truth about his condition. I wonder what it means for all of us, the fact that he is somewhat disabled. Is it chronic? Will it progress? Should I worry? Why should I worry?

When Cece shows signs of finally tiring of the games I've already downed two glasses of perfectly chilled white wine, slouching in one of Jackson's expensive patio chairs. He's panting soundly when he comes up to me, sweaty and grinning from ear to ear.

"You okay?" I ask.

"Yeah, yeah," he pants happily. "Did you see her catch it? She's a future Magic Johnson, I tell you."

I laugh. "Magic Rippner." Then I realize the mistake. "Ehm… Reisert. But Magic was more famous for passing anyway. She'd be more like Jerry Rice or Terrell Owens."

Jackson looks amused. "Really? Shows what I know of sport. "Then he winks at me and turns towards the house. "Time for dinner."

He hands me and Cece things and we put them on the counter next to us. It's bread, ham, cheese, a Christmas cake, pudding, plates, forks, knives, he hesitates for a moment before handing me the bundle of knives and I give him a sneer. Very funny. There's more: cranberry sauce, smoked salmon, gravy.

"Who's going to eat all this?"

"We are," he grins. "I've had bad experiences from being under the same roof as you and I figured a little excess wouldn't hurt."

I almost choke. "You've had bad experiences-"

"And the remains I'll give to the Red Cross charity down at Lawson." I stare at him. I don't know this man. He opens the fridge again and backs away with something heavy. Turkey.

"You made a turkey? Did you make all this?" The doubt must be obvious on my face because Jackson bursts into a laugh and pats Cece who looks up at him.

"Nah. I made the turkey and the cabbage, the rest is catered." He hands me a bowl of a greenish substance. I sniff it suspiciously and back my head away immediately.

"What's this? It smells like weeds. Like boiled weeds."

"Green cabbage, sautéed with spices and with the gravy from the turkey and then cooked with lots of cream. Put it next to the stove with the turkey, we're heating it."

"Cabbage? You made cabbage for Christmas? What are you, vegan?"

Jackson actually looks slightly hurt. "I'm not a fucking-" He gives Cece a quick glance. "-vegan! I was brought up with this. It's possibly the only thing I have brought with me from where I grew up." He leans closer and whispers in my ear, making me shiver all over. "She said fuck the other day. I'm gonna have to watch my fucking mouth." He leans away and grimaces and I can't help but giggle.

"Okay, okay, I'll try out your cooked weeds."

We start putting things where they belong and soon everything that needs to be heated is in its right place and we've made the table beautifully with lit candles reflecting in the silverware.

An egg clock starts beeping from the kitchen but we stand a moment longer together, admiring the beauty we've created. "I didn't know you owned stuff like this," I say.

"What? The antiques?"

I nod.

"I'm interested in all things pretty." He nudges my shoulder with his. "That's possibly why I took such an interest in you."

I don't look at him. I feel my cheeks heat up and it isn't from anger, or from all the candles. Or, possibly, it may be from the candles. I decide to blame them. I clear my throat. "Let's eat."

We find Cecilia, on the floor with the cake.

"Ce!" I holler. The cake is in molecules and what isn't smeared on her lies all over the kitchen floor. I take a long step and pull her up. "Oh, Jackson, I'm so sorry! Ce, what have you done?"

"Oh, don't yell at her. There're disasters and then there're disasters. Just clean her up and put on some new clothes and I'll fix the rest here. When you come down we'll eat. If someone's still hungry." He winks at her as she happily sucks at her fingers, completely oblivious to the mess she's caused.

"Cake! Yum."

"Yes, yum," I mutter and drag her off to clean up the little hooligan. I'm sure this is from his heritage, not mine.

When we come back down from the bathroom, Frank Sinatra is singing a soft slow melody and the table is set. We talk about non-threatening things: with Cece, about Cece, about the food, about the almost-wintery day we had last week. We don't mention the hell that now lies two whole years into the past, and we most certainly don't mention anything from before that. It's as if our lives are divided, as if there's a huge gaping hole in the middle of our timeline, all of ours, that Just Can't Be Mentioned. It's frustrating. It's the elephant in the room.

I taste the cabbage on the edge of my fork. Cece ignores it completely. "It's… spicy. It's funny… it doesn't quite taste like a vegetable, more like meat, or a mix maybe."

"You like it?"

"It isn't as bad as I thought it would be."

"Did you think that I would eat anything that tasted less than fantastic?"

I frown and study him. "I don't know if I know that much about you to judge"

He winks and smiles. "Sure you do. You just won't acknowledge it."

Is that the truth? No, damnit! I don't know anything. I shake my head and tell him.

He purses his lips as he wipes off Cece's face. Then he glances up at me. "We're gonna have to do something about that one of these days, won't we?"

I don't know why my heart lurches from his gaze. I scoot back my chair and catch Cece before she touches anything. "Honey. A fork is a good tool for eating, you should try it." I escape Jackson's presence for a few relieving moments while washing her hands, then I put her in front of Disney. Cute Disney. Christmas Disney.

"When Santa come?"

I caress her cheek. "Tomorrow. You're gonna have to look out for him so he doesn't get stuck in the chimney."

"Tomorrow," she concludes, and then she's absorbed by Donald Duck, the chipmunks, and some new characters that I don't recognize.

When I come back to the table Jackson has lit more candles and has already put away most of the dirty plates. I find him in the kitchen where he's cooking something. "Do you want me to do anything?"

"Mmm, I can think of many things…" He quickly continues as I open my mouth to retort. "But I'd be glad if you helped me get the food off the table." I grunt and flee out of the kitchen, happy to occupy my hands with anything so that I don't strangle the man. I work quickly and as soon as I've finished I sink into one of the chairs in front of the fireplace with a glass of red wine. I've finished half of it when I hear him behind me. "I'm gonna have to take that away from you."

I follow his moves as he settles in the other chair. He's holding two cups with steaming contents in his hands.

"What's that?" I ask apprehensively.

"Always so suspicious. If I wanted to hurt you, Leese, I'd have had quite a few occasions in the last couple of years, don't you figure?"

I stare at him for a moment and then I realize he's right. It's as if I always suspect he's trying something. And he never is. He's been completely honest and straight forward with me since… well… maybe always… "Oh, God… Jackson I am sorry. I really am! Can I try again?"

"Sure."

"Ehm… what's that?" I blush at how false I sound and Jackson laughs.

"Jeez. Just be yourself. This is Gluhwine. It's kinda like with the cabbage… you take one thing and turn it into something else with the help of some cinnamon, ginger and a few secret spices."

"What? Like sleeping potion, truth serum…"

"Nooo… that'd be you."

"God, I give up! I'll drink and eat whatever you give me from now on!"

He snickers. "Don't make promises you can't keep." But he hands me the cup and I put aside the wine on the little table between us.

I sniff the contents. "It smells nice. Like gingerbread."

He nods. "Many of the spices are the same. It's sweetened."

I take a sip and realize that everything he gives me is good. "Will I die?" I ask.

He nods, looking dead serious. "Yes, you will. But not from drinking this."

I can't help but smile and when he smiles too I burst out in a laugh. I drink another sip and enjoy the warmth seeping through my chest. My head is buzzing and I lean it back against the chair. This is nice. It was right to come here.

Last time was nice too. It's always nice. He is nice.

A version of 'Hallelujah' is playing on the radio and the beautifully sad lyrics go straight to my heart. "This is a very good song."

"Jeff Buckley," he says. "Far better than Cohen's original. It's one of the best songs he ever sang. He died much too young."

"I didn't know he was dead."

"Drowned, about ten years ago. He was one of few who had gotten out."

I lift my head and give him a glance. "What do you mean?"

"Raised himself up out of his shitty childhood. It's a fuckin' shame."

"Oh." I'm not sure how to respond so I keep quiet. We sit and listen to the words. "They could be about us," I say after a while.

"That sad?"

"I don't know." 'All I've ever learned from love was how to shoot somebody who outdrew you.' I wince at the harsh words in the song. It's just a song. "Do you love me, Jackson?" I ask with a pounding heart, shocked at the words that flew out of my mouth on their own accord, as if I had no say in the matter.

He is quiet for a moment. "Yes. I do."

"Hm," I say as a shiver ripples through me. "How long…"

"A very long time."

"Did you know this was going to happen?" I point to him and me. "That I'd be here… finally…"

He shakes his head. "No."

"Hm," I say again.

A little voice behind us makes us both flinch. "Mommy, I peeded."

Oh, no. "Where, baby?" I stand and take her little hand.

Jackson stands too. "I'll get some towels."

On the radio they play 'Santa Baby.' The little incident along with the music somehow changes the mood in the room.

When we have finished wiping the couch and the carpet we pull out some blankets and sit tightly with Cece between us, snacking from a tray on her lap that's filled with plates of chocolate, figs, raisins, tangerines, roasted chestnuts, slices of pineapple and more. Disney is still celebrating Christmas and I wonder in how many ways it can be done, how many versions there are. This is most certainly one; ours. Outside it has gone completely dark and I see lights in the distance, a ship in dark water. Like me. I wonder if I'm the light or the ship.

"It's getting late for her," I say. "You think we should eat some more before I put her to… ehm, or if you want to put her to bed that's fine, I mean… I didn't mean." I'm a bit thrown from seeing him like this, seeing us like this. I feel how things are changing between us, almost by the minute, and I need to find my place, where I stand.

"I don't know. You hungry Ce?" he asks.

"Choc'late," she grins.

"I guess not," I smile. Jackson shrugs and we remain sitting, quietly watching the flickering TV screen and the cartoons' adventures. Finally, I kiss my daughter goodnight and hug her for so long that she starts squirming. I look at their backs when they leave the room, then I snuggle up in a blanket, put a fig in my mouth, and change the channel.

Losing myself completely in Sister Mary Benedict's struggles to save her church in 'The Bells Of St. Mary's', I never hear him enter the room.

"Classics?" he grins.

"Shh."

He hands me a glass of wine and sets himself carefully next to me. When the end credits starts rolling I turn to him. "That one was amazing. I hadn't seen it before. How did it go?"

He looks confused.

"With Cecilia," I add.

"Oh, no problems. I told her she had to go to sleep quickly because Santa only comes when children are sleeping."

I smile. "That true?"

He shrugs. "I've made a fire. You wanna watch TV some more or-"

I rise. "Fire sounds nice." We cross the large, mostly empty, living room and head for the two comfortable chairs. In the one I sat in before lies a small box wrapped in silvery paper. I feel hot blood rush into my cheeks. Oh, no. "I didn't bring you anything," I croak.

He smiles and nods at the gift. "Open it. Please."

I carefully pull off the paper and lift the lid. A beam of brilliant beauty hits my eyes and I can't help gasping. It's a necklace, platinum, Art Deco style, with small diamonds, emeralds and one hanging pearl in an intricate pattern creating a small heart shape. "I can't accept this," I gasp. "It must've cost a fortune."

"Do you like it?"

I blush even harder. "It's... it's so beautiful. But I can't-" I swallow down the disappointment because I already love this piece of jewelry. I have never owned anything so magnificent, and I never will. "I can't let you give me this."

"Why not? It's not like I have anyone else to buy gifts for except the two of you."

"You could save the money and give it to charity," I croak. Jackson gives me a very deadpanned look and I sigh. "I love it," I whisper. "Can I try it on?" Just to see it on once before I have to let it go…

He waves at me to turn my back to him, then he slowly pushes my hair to the side and hangs the necklace around my throat, snapping it into place. My heart almost stills from his touch and then sensation of the cold metal. It has a definitive weight to it, almost as if saying: I'm here to stay.

"Let me see," he says and pushes slightly at my shoulders to turn me around. When we face each other again, he smiles and nods. "Nice."

"Can I see?" I ask. His smile widens and I almost jump out of the chair and head for the nearest mirror I can think of, the large one in the hallway. I sparkle. Looking at the gem hanging around my neck is an almost otherworldly experience. I tremble when I walk back to the chair.

"It belongs around your neck, Leese."

My tongue refuses to cooperate and I'm unable to argue against him. "I didn't bring you anything, Jackson," I whimper.

He smiles warmly. "Yeah, you did."

I shake my head, my whole body burning in shame. I'm so stupid. I'm so stupid and selfish and-

"You're here, Leese. You and Cecilia. You have no idea…" He licks his lips. "…what that means to me."

I frown as I look at him. I guess I don't. I guess I really don't. The warmth in my cheeks seeps down to my chest, squeezes at my heart like it's an old sponge and suddenly my throat constricts until I'm on the verge of crying.

I feel his hand on my shoulder and my first reaction is still to flinch, or shove it off. I've made a habit out of that.

"What's wrong?" he asks.

"S'nothing." It's everything! "I can't believe how you've changed. It's like you're… two different persons. I've never been able to… to trust you again after…"

"I know."

"But you've really tried, haven't you? You've been nothing but wonderful with Cece, from the first moment actually, and you've… you haven't… it's what you haven't done to me. You've really stayed out of my way."

"I've-"

"No, let me talk. I've never given you a second chance."

"You haven't had any reason to… I haven't-"

"I know you haven't asked for it, and I've been wondering about that for a long time. Why you haven't tried to…" I take a deep breath and let it out. "Seduce me."

He looks up, surprised. I swallow hard.

"That… what… I didn't think," he stutters.

"No, I mean I…" God, Leese, what did you mean?

We look at each other; he's looking just as awkward and taken aback as I feel.

"How come…" I say slowly.

"Yes?"

"Who are you, really? I mean… the Jackson I met first…was so sweet… and then you turned into the most awful man, the second most awful man… or… I don't know… and now you've been nothing but calm, patient and…" I stop. My heart aches and I don't know how to make it stop.

"And?"

"Who… which one of them are you?"

He leans his head back and closes his eyes. I stare, transfixed by his mouth as he opens it slightly and bites his lower lip. I could look at him forever. I don't know what that means.

"When I met you… when I started to follow you around… I think I was more than ready for a change. The last few months before that I'd started to question what I did and why I did it. My life had begun to slip out of control in a way that didn't suit me, the cause… the reasons… I didn't feel them anymore." He snorts. "I even went to a shrink. Just once, though. I couldn't sit there and talk about myself and what I did…it… just didn't work. And that woman… when she asked me how I felt… it wouldn't have turned out well."

I swallow. I can imagine.

"What made you question what you were doing? What made you even start? Doing it, I mean?"

"Politics. Anger."

"I don't get it."

"I think I was born angry. I did everything I could to get away. At college-"

"You went to college?"

"Of course."

"Where."

When he doesn't answer a heavy stone of distrust and sadness sinks into the pit of my belly and I start to rise.

"West Virginia," he suddenly says. "I was born and raised in West Virginia. Dad was in the army and we moved around a lot but when he died we moved back to a filthy old trailer in Nitro, Kanawha County."

"Nitro?" I taste the word. He is a person. There is a background. He didn't just suddenly materialize out of nowhere.

"Shitty little place."

"Does your mom still live there?"

"She was still there last time I checked, but more like six feet under," he answers with a barely audible snort.

A horrible thought strikes me. "Did you…" Kill your parents?

"Fuck no," he laughs. "Dad died overseas. He looked like the receiving end of a shooting range when they got him back to us for the funeral. Mom OD'd later the same year."

"That's terrible!"

He grins. "It is, isn't it?"

"You don't look too upset."

He shrugs. "Oh, they fed us. When they remembered. Bought second-hand clothes from our neighbors for a nickel here and a dime there, and sometimes they even washed them. And that's about it. Not much of a loss. I actually started to perform in school once they were gone."

"How old were you?"

"Ten."

"But… who took care of you?"

"I have an older brother."

"You do?"

"What's with the surprise?" he grins.

"You've always seemed so… isolated."

"Mm… you've never wanted to know."

I bend my head. True.

"Where's your brother now? Do you keep in touch?"

"Why the sudden interest?"

"You don't want to talk about him?"

"Not at the moment, no."

My eyes narrow as I study him. "Why?"

"He wouldn't want that."

A shiver ripples through me for no apparent reason. "Is he also-"

"Leese. Maybe one day, but not today."

I look away. I don't want him to see the tears that threaten to well up in my eyes. I don't even know why I suddenly feel like crying. When I feel a hand on my shoulder I don't shy away. He pulls me to him and I let it happen, sliding over from my chair to his, allowing my head to lean against his warm chest. His heart beats regularly, steady. He lays his arm around my back and pulls me closer. We sit in silence, watching the fire eat its way through the last log until there's nothing but a large pile of intensely glowing charcoal.

"I always felt something for you," I whisper.

"Ditto," he answers in a low voice.

"How come you changed? Will you change again?" I free myself of his arm and pull away a little. Jackson gets up and puts another log onto the hot ashes before he sets himself next to me again.

"How can I answer that? I only know what I am today. When I left you… that night… I was so full of self-loathing that I was very close to just ending it all. I barely remember the next few weeks after that. I was in a very dark place… for a very long time. And then I happened upon you again…"

"What made you change?"

"I've been through some really humbling experiences. Let's just leave it at that. Please." Anguish radiates off him as his gaze darts to mine and away.

I frown and lean closer, looking straight into all of the blue of his eyes. "In all this time… you've never asked me to forgive you."

He blinks and inhales. "I've never been able to assume you were ready. I never dared…"

"I want you to ask me."

He's silent, bows his head. When he looks back up at me his expression has changed. He's beautiful, full of hope. "Will you please forgive me for…" He swallows hard, so hard that I see his Adam's apple lift and sink, the pain transfers to me and I wince. "…holding you hostage, threatening you and your father, hurting you, raping you, and assuming that I could make you mine without even making an effort, for taking you for granted, and for believing that you were weak and moldable." He's silent for a moment. "Especially for raping you, Lisa. I am so sorry. Please, forgive me."

"Yes," I whisper. Yes, I'm truly ready to forgive him and to leave it behind us. I don't want it to be the one and only thing that matters, that defines neither me nor him.

"Jackson."

He nods.

"Please put your hands on me."

He reacts immediately; lifting both hands towards me and letting them descend in a careful embrace at the back of my head. "C'mere," he whispers hoarsely and pulls me closer until our faces are mere inches from each other. His lips are just as soft as they look when they press against mine. A surge of unexpected sadness makes my chest clench and I lean into him, inhaling deeply through my nose, savoring his scent that I know so well. I try to chase those last remains of hurt away and open my mouth fully to his, letting him in, allowing his tongue to taste mine, hesitantly at first, and then boldly, daringly. As the kiss deepens I fall into his embrace until every part of me is enclosed by his limbs.

"Oh, God, Leese," he growls into my mouth, sending a rush of both fright and arousal through me, his need so obvious, so similar to my own. He breaks the kiss and leans as far back as the chair allows, pulling me with him so that we rest, chest to chest, my nose against his neck. His hands stroke my back, my hair, threading slowly through my tresses, separating them, twirling them around his fingers, tugging slightly and letting go. I mold into him and close my eyes.

"You're trembling," I whisper.

"I'm nervous," he rasps hoarsely.

I lift my head an inch. "You are? Why?"

He shuffles slightly so that we can see each other. He's too close and totally blurry. "I'm afraid I'm gonna hurt you. Or scare you… or repulse you." His voice trails off, his eyes search mine.

I smile. "I'm not that easily scared, Jackson. I'm not frail. Don't treat me as if I am."

The fire slowly fades again, and this time neither of us moves to make it come back alive. Jackson's slow caresses along my back have made me tingly, needy, and increasingly aware of his chest tight against mine, his hips pressing into my belly, his legs entangled with my thighs. And he hasn't needed to tell me about his need. I feel it clearly.

"Are you comfortable," he whispers.

"It's a bit narrow," I whisper back into his ear and squirm slightly, smiling as he moans.

"Come," he says, and starts to rise, his arms still around my back so that I don't fall off. Cradling me, stronger than I had imagined him, he carries me through the house, up the stairs and into his bedroom. Just by the bed he stops and looks at me, hesitantly, his chest heaving, his nostrils flaring. Our eyes meet and I smile. There's warmth in his blue gaze and when he lowers me onto the bed, following closely until his body covers every inch of mine, I pull his face down to meet mine. His kisses are hungry, tender, devouring, giving and taking and everything seems so simple.

I push off my shoes and hear the thuds when they hit the carpeted floor. A moment later two new thuds reveal that he has pushed off his shoes as well. I wrap my arms around his back and we fall to the side, our lips still locked. When we give ourselves a moment to breathe, I can't stop touching him. I caress the side of his face, his neck, his shoulder. My fingers trace his arm until I reach his hand that cradles my shoulder. Threading my fingers with his, I move his hand down until it rests heavily on my breast. He doesn't move.

"Are you sure about this, Leese," he whispers.

"I have no idea what I'm doing," I whisper back and smile.

"Me neither," he rasps and increases the pressure of his hand, molding me into his palm.

I react instantly and arch closer, my whole body aching, my skin wanting, needing, to bride the distance between us. He begins to say something but I pull him closer and kiss him instead. Over and over again I sense how he's close to pulling me under him and then how he restrains himself and stays where he is, on his side, like me, like equals. I realize that he's holding back, that if I had been someone else, and if we hadn't had the history we have, he would have acted differently.

But I want to know all of him. How will I, though, if he controls himself so completely when he's with me? I let go of him and sit up. Jackson shuffles his limbs together and sets himself in front of me, his legs crossed, licking his lip, his face flushed and his eyes glazed.

"I want you to put your hands around my neck."

"What? No." He looks almost repulsed and I hesitate.

"Please," I whisper.

"Why? I don't want to."

"Because I want it. I want your hands, your touch, to erase the old memories. I don't want there to be any questions or taboos between us."

"I'm not sure…"

"I need it, Jackson."

He slowly raises his hands and wraps them loosely around my neck, his warm fingers barely touching my skin.

"Tighter."

His hands close around my throat and I panic for a moment, my breathing ragged, my chest heaving. My eyes dart up to meet his. What if this is a mistake? His blue eyes are calm and open, searching mine. "One word from you," he says. I nod, then I lean closer and he lets go of my throat and wraps me tightly in his arms, pulling me in. "God, Leese," he rasps, and I shiver. "What do you want?" he whispers.

"I'm so tired of being alone," I whisper, my cheek so close to his chest that I can feel his heart thumping, and how its pace increases at my words.

"You're not alone."

"I feel like I am."

"You're not alone," he repeats. "You've chosen it but I've been here for a very long time."

I allow my hand to slide down from his shoulder, across his chest, reveling in the warmth he radiates and the pounding of his heart. Then I flick open the top button of his shirt, then the second, then the third until I hear his ragged intake of breath. "Are you sure you want this?" he gasps.

"Can we stop whenever I say so?"

"Of course."

I answer by unbuttoning the next and the next until his shirt falls open and the scent of his cologne and his heated skin hits my nostrils. I lay my hand lightly on his chest, feeling his heart under my palm, in my palm.

Jackson falls back onto the bed, exposing his bared chest, his hands barely touching my back. "Touch me, hurt me, do whatever you want. I want you to be in control," he rasps. "Tie me up if you feel like you need to." He lets his hands fall down onto the bed next to him.

I lean closer until our noses almost touch each other, then I lean slightly to the side and whisper in his ear. "Is that one of your games? Is that something you usually do?"

"What?" he whispers back and pulls me closer, his hands suddenly on the back of my head. "The Bondage? How far are you willing to go?" He leans away slightly so that we can look at each other and his eyes glint with mischief. I lean over and kiss him. The spark shoots back and forth between us and little electric bolts form wherever his skin touches mine. I want more of that and start pulling at his shirt until it comes off entirely. Skin. Warm, soft skin everywhere. My hands wander while our lips find new ways of tasting, nipping, sucking, biting each other. He is so warm. And tingly. He makes my palms buzz with energy and want.

When I reach the waist of his pants, I stop. Dead. I feel his hardness against my belly and hesitate. Then I let my hand slide, ever so lightly, across the bulge as I watch the man before me twitch and close his eyes. I can't help but smile at how helpless he looks, restraining himself so much for me that he doesn't dare to move at all. I swing my leg over his hip and straddle him, probably not exactly where he would have wanted me, though. Jackson watches me as I cross my arms over my chest, pulling at the hem of my blouse and then slowly drag it up until it slides over my head. I drop it to the floor next to the bed.

"God, Leese, you're beautiful!" he moans.

I like his moans. They make me quiver.

"Do you want me to go on?" I ask.

He nods.

I stretch my arms behind my back and unclasp my bra, then I let it fall, slowly, inch by inch until it drops in front of me, on his chest. I don't really hear the moan this time, but I feel it, a deep rumble in his chest, resonating through my body. I wave off the piece of fabric.

"Do you want to touch me?" I whisper.

"Yes," he mouths and lifts his hands towards me.

"You can't," I say. I don't even know why I denied him; maybe I just wanted to know if he'd really obey. He doesn't look the least disappointed. Instead of feeling his hands, I feel his eyes, roaming me, the desire in them almost palpable. I lean closer and support myself with my hands on the bed on each side of his head.

"Have you had many women, Jackson?" I'm sure he has. If he says anything else, he's a liar.

"Yes," he rasps. "Have you had many men, Leese?"

"You know I haven't."

"How many?"

I lean over and put my mouth to his ear. "It's none of your business."

"You're very bold. I think you're enjoying this." He lifts his arm.

"Don't move!" I snarl. "If you move I'll have to tie you up." The jolt that goes through him almost makes my toes curl with arousal. "Oh, you liked that, did you?" I coo. He doesn't answer.

I'm not sure how to go on from here. I have enjoyed it until now, but I'm not sure I am as bold as he says. Continuing from here would mean taking off more clothes, his, mine, leaving us completely naked together. A part of me wants it, and another part hesitates.

He reads my mind. "You want to stop?"

"Wouldn't you mind?"

"Not at all."

I laugh. "You could try to sound like you meant it."

"Okay." He licks his lips. "I would mind. Very much. But tonight isn't about me."

I regard him, and then I slide off him and curl up next to him. He turns to the side and pulls me closer and as our naked skin comes in contact the bolts erupt again. I turn and he spoons up behind me, laying his chin on my shoulder.

"I'm curious," I say.

"Yes?"

"When you're with a woman… how… what… would you normally do?"

His cheek moves against mine and I feel him smile. "Take off her clothes and fuck her. That what you mean?"

"It was a silly question. Sorry." I wince and wish I had just shut up.

"You've had one… experience with me, Leese."

I can barely breathe. His arms are heavy around my body and I tense, ready to jump up.

"Shhh, stay."

I exhale and lean my head back against his shoulder. His stubble rasps pleasantly against my skin as he moves and gives me a quick kiss on the cheek.

"I can be different," he mouths in my ear.

"Do you promise?" I whisper.

"Yes."

I turn and face him. My heart jolts at the beautiful sight of his eyes, lit with passion and hope. I don't back away when he presses against me and kisses me, his body covering mine, his hands caressing, kneading, stroking their way down my back, sliding lower, pulling me close, hip to hip, lower until they find the hem of my skirt. I squirm and arch from his experienced touch when he slowly, slowly, inch by inch, pulls my skirt up almost to my waist.

"Mmf, nylons," he groans into my mouth.

"What would you normally do," I whisper.

"Tear them to shreds."

"Liar."

I feel him smile against my lips. "I don't sense much objection."

I stay quiet and wait. He fiddles with something behind my back and then he suddenly, deftly, starts pulling both skirt and nylon stockings off me, leaving only panties on. He pushes me over on my back and rises above me, towering over me as he straddles my hips. It's too much and I push at his chest until he falls to the side with a groan. We look at each other for a few moments without saying anything, then he inhales shakily. "You want to stop?"

I shake my head. "No. But I'm not sure."

"We should stop then."

He falls over on his back and rubs his eyes. I can't help that my gaze is pulled helplessly to his naked torso, to the waist of his pants, to the bulge, barely visible in the dusky room. I want to touch him.

"I want to touch you."

He peeks at me from under his hands. "You're more than welcome. It's just a myth that we men die if we're subjected to a certain amount of pressure." He rolls his eyes. "I hope."

I stick my tongue out at him and he grins. I start tracing patterns across his chest. I follow the contour of his ribcage. He really is skinnier than last time I saw him naked. I trace the scar at his left side. I play with the string of hair that leads to the waist of his pants. Jackson supports himself on his elbows and follows my every move, sometimes gasping, sometimes arching. When I rest my hand on his belt he inhales. "I'm trying to decide," he says.

"What?"

"I'm sure I have died. I'm not sure when it happened, but I have come to the conclusion that I'm dead."

"Okay?"

"And I can't decide whether I'm in heaven or if I have gone to hell."

"M-hm," I say and let my hand slide lower, feeling him twitch.

"Still don't know," he grunts so huskily that I shiver.

I slide the end of the belt out from under the hook and wait. Jackson doesn't move, just licks his lips and then bites his lower lip hard. I tug at the belt until it snaps open with a quiet rattle. He stays completely still, only his chest heaves. With my thumb and my index finger I flick open the button and then I slowly, slowly, start pulling down the zipper. I carefully avoid touching him until it's fully open. Intense heat comes off him in waves and it almost pains me to go so slow. Finally, I rest my palm against the warmth at the upper part of his jockeys, lightly touching the twitching, solid heat underneath.

"I could have a heart condition, you know," he pants.

"What do you want?" I ask.

He groans. "Honestly? Or the polished version?"

"Honestly," I rasp, my voice barely carrying the word.

"I want to rip off that flimsy piece of fabric you've got left on your body and fuck you senseless."

I swallow hard as heat immediately pools between my legs making my knees go weak. "And then?" I gasp.

"Make love to you in a more civilized manner, steal you away and marry you."

I slap him lightly on his shoulder with my free hand. "Smooth talker."

He grins.

I inhale, then I exhale shakily. "So… what happens if I start pulling at these?" I grab hold of his pants with both hands and start tugging at them. Jackson arches to make it easier and I pull them all the way off together with his socks.

Climbing back up on the bed, I lie down on my side next to him, studying him like he studies me.

"That necklace looks incredibly sexy on you," he says. "There's just one little detail…"

"What?" I touch the necklace tentatively.

He leans closer. "Let me see…" He lifts his hand as if to touch the piece of jewelry and then his arm changes direction and starts pulling at my panties. "You've got too much clothing on. It hides it."

"It hides it?" I laugh and squirm as he tickles me. Jackson scoops me closer, deep into his arms and captures my mouth with his as his hands start exploring my body again. A new wave of arousal hits me like a sledgehammer, deep into my belly and his hands are everywhere: on my shoulders, my breasts, my hips, sliding inside the little fabric I have left on my body, touching the very, very slick softness where my legs meet. I can't help but jolt a little as he touches me there.

I hear him swallow. "Are you okay?"

I lift my hand to his temple and caress it, then I follow his arm down to his hand. "I'm very concerned about the necklace issue," I say with a fake worry in my voice.

He doesn't miss a beat. "Hm. I see. We're going to have to do our best." He crooks a finger at the hem of my panties and starts to pull. I arch slightly to make it easier and suddenly I'm naked beside him. It doesn't feel anything like the first time and I know, I really know, that if I hesitate he'll stop. I let my hand slide over his hip and then dip two, three fingers inside his jockeys. I push a little, then I stop. Then I push a little further before I stop again.

"You need some help with that?" he mumbles into my mouth.

"Are we in a hurry?" I ask.

"Hell," he mutters. "I'm definitely in hell."

I snicker and he suddenly pushes the fabric off himself in one quick move and I feel immediately what bounces loose and starts pushing against my lower belly. He grabs my lower back and pulls me close again. I can barely breathe and my heart almost jumps out of my chest. Images flicker to life before me. Visions I wish I had forgotten. Thought I had forgotten. He senses it immediately.

"Are you all right?" He lifts my chin so that we look at each other. "Do you want to call it a day?"

"M-no," I rasp.

"You sure?"

I give him a deadpanned glare but burst into a smile when he smiles.

"C'mere, Leese." He rolls over on his back and pulls me with him until I straddle his belly. "You should control this. Be on top."

I ponder it for a moment. Then I shake my head. "No. I wanna do it another way. "

"How?"

Our eyes meet and the moment stretches. I caress his chest lightly and gasp at the sensation of his warm palms covering my behind. "I… I want you to take me the way you took me then, just… without hurting…"

He immediately shakes his head. "Leese. No. That is not a good idea. I don't even remember. I don't want to. You deserve-"

"Please. I know what I'm doing." At least I think I know.

He grips my hips a little harder than what's comfortable. "Why, Leese?"

"I want-" I take his hands from my hips and put them on each of my breasts, arching into his touch as he takes a firm hold and begins to massage them. "-your touch to replace my old… memories…" I find it increasingly harder to talk when he at the same time somehow makes me slip further down, closer to the heated erection that could so very easily slip in if I only shifted a little. Instead I slide off him.

I curl up close to his side, an arm slung over his belly. I don't want him to feel rejected, that's not what I'm doing. I just know now. I know how I need it to be done. Just this once.

He props himself up on his side, with his head in his palm and his elbow on the bed and regards me. "Just sounds a bit unhealthy to me."

"Are you worried about me, Jackson?" I tease.

He nods. "Now I am."

"Please."

"You want it rough?"

Do I? I swallow nervously. Is that what I really want? I decide quickly that no, not this time. "No. I want to see that you're capable of tenderness and I want it like you did it… just… tender." I lick my lips.

He shakes his head and closes his eyes for a moment, then he pushes me over on my back and raises himself on his arms over me. "So, how did I do this?" he asks huskily.

I lick my lips again. My mouth is suddenly so dry. I'm nervous and still I ache for him to touch me. "You held a hand over my throat." He looks at me for a few moments, his face blank, then he places one large warm palm over my throat, adding the slightest pressure. I swallow against his hand and feel how something flares to life in my chest; a will to live, a will to not only survive, but live. "Then you pushed my legs apart with your knees and… and…" He nods and presses one leg in between mine, spreading my thighs apart, then his body weight shifts and I grip something, anything, his sheets, tightly in clenched hands.

I don't move when I feel his erection push against the apex of my thighs but my breathing becomes ragged and tears starts rolling of their own accord.

"Leese," he whispers. "I'll stop."

I shake my head. "No."

He starts kissing his way down to my breast where his tongue plays with my nipple before he raises his face up level with mine. Our mouths crash together as he starts pushing his way in and in between kisses he whispers in my mouth: "I love you, Leese, I love you, Leese, I love youIloveyouIloveyou."

As he moves in me I remember. I remember how we fit. How it didn't really hurt. How it angered me that we seemed to be built for each other. I had forgotten, but it seems as if some actions imprint themselves in the cells directly. With every slow, deep move now, the blueprint erases itself a little more until I grip around his back and start moving with him in a painfully sweet rhythm.

"Do you want to have another baby, Leese?" he suddenly grunts and lets go of my throat as he grabs hard around the back of my neck instead, pulling me into a rough embrace. He's trembling.

"God, no!" I pant.

He pulls out and buries his head in the hollow of my neck. "You fit me like a glove, Lisa. I don't stand a chance."

"I know," I whisper. "I'm not on anything… don't you…?"

"You don't want to quit? I mean you were crying and I felt like a complete ass."

"Yes I was, but I don't want to quit."

He shuffles to get off of the bed and pulls out a drawer in the nightstand.

"I see you came prepared," I tease.

"Now…" he tears open the little package. "…the last time I checked, this was still my place."

"Bring many women here?"

He raises his eyebrows. "Jealous?"

"Oh, not a bit."

He's done and crawls on top of me again. "You were always such a lousy liar." He pulls my thighs apart, rougher this time, and grabs my hips as he pushes back inside my body. I moan out loud and arch into him.

"I'm not a lousy… liar," I huff.

"The worst… there is," he pants between thrusts.

"Shut up," I groan, my toes curling from the tension. I'm rewarded with a mouth descending upon mine and whatever I may have been meaning to say, or think, just vaporizes in the maelstrom of arousal, thick as syrup, that builds, thicker, deeper, tickling, torturing me until I almost cry again. I cling on, my arms around his neck, as his thrusts get harder and more intense, and when I'm thrown over the top, my insides clenching from the release that wracks my body, I bury my face in his neck and sob out loud, still rocking from the force with which he moves in me. With a soft groan, he catches my mouth and kisses me violently as I feel him jerk inside me.

Then everything is still. My body is buzzing pleasantly and I stretch out lazily underneath him as we lie panting, glorious, sated. "Am I heavy?" he asks.

"No," I whisper. "Stay."

He rests his head on my shoulder and glances at me sideways. "You're crying!" he gasps and straightens up to look at me.

I shake my head and smile. "No, I'm not. It's just my eyes watering."

He is quiet for a moment. Then he caresses some stray strands of hair off my forehead. "Did I hurt you in any way?"

I shuffle to get a hand free and wipe at my wet cheeks. "No. No. It's just… overwhelming." I smile again. "I won't cry next time. I promise."

He raises his eyebrows and flashes me a grin. "There's a next time?"

"Why not? Are you out of condoms?" I ask with mock worry.

He huffs. "Hell no."

We regroup and straighten out between his sheets. They smell clean and fresh. We don't. I still feel the sensuous weight of the necklace on my collar bones, the metal pleasantly warm. I have just about curled up on Jackson's arm when he gasps. "Fuck!"

"What?"

"It's Christmas Day."

"So?"

"Her presents. I gotta stuff the stockings."

"I'll help you."

We wrap ourselves in sheets and tiptoe past Cece's room. Luckily, she's a heavy sleeper. After having accomplished our goal, we shuffle back into his bed. My skin is already longing for more of his touch and he doesn't disappoint. We already know each other's bodies, and almost wordlessly, we make love again, this time slower, stretching the moment until the final frenzy in the climax.

After, I lie with my head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart, his arms around my back.

"Leese," he says hesitantly. The sound reverberates through his chest.

"Mm."

"Did I… hurt you much… the first time?" His heart rate picks up several notches.

"Tonight?" I mumble drowsily.

"No… the first time."

I lift my head to glance at him, supporting my chin in my hands.

"Yeah… you did…" I swallow. I try to stay focused. Present. "I was very bruised… and the worst was… that I had never thought that you'd… do something like that."

"Did…" he hesitates. "Did everything hurt?"

I tense up but try to hide it. "Why is it important?"

"No," he says quickly. "I guess it isn't… it's just that… you got off, didn't you?"

I rise to escape but Jackson grabs around my waist and pulls me to him, cradling me to his chest. I try half-heartedly to break free, but finally I allow him to hold me.

"Please, Leese. I've been clinging to a small hope that on some level it wasn't as bad… that I didn't hurt you that much."

I snort and try to wipe away some of the fresh tears. "You're so stupid. I almost died," I whisper. "It was just some bodily reaction. If anything it hurt me even more."

It's as if he deflates from my words. His grip around my arms and waist loosens and he falls away from me. I don't move. My back still feels his warmth. Then I turn to face him, pained, but not as tortured as he looks. "I have forgiven you. I'm not going to bring it up, or use it against you. It happened, but it gave me - us - Cecilia, and more love in my life than I had imagined possible. And you, whoever you are, or have been, or will be… you saved her life."

The look of despair on his features slowly changes; the creases on his forehead smooth out and the tension around his mouth softens. "You really mean that?"

I nod and attempt a smile. Then I smile again. "Yeah."

"You're amazing."

"Yeah." Then I yawn. Hugely.

He pulls me into his arms again but I push him away and motion for him to turn around. Then I wrap my arms around his waist and spoon up behind him.

"Merry Christmas," he mumbles.

"Mm," I mutter, already drifting.

When Cecilia barges into the room I feel like I haven't slept at all. I rub my eyes and make sure the sheet covers us properly. It must be early. It's still black outside.

"Mommy, mommy, Santa was here!" She waves a small box in her hand. Then she stares at us. "Mommy slepted Daddy!"

"Mm," I say and smile, wondering how we're going to explain this and where this will all end up. But our daughter doesn't crave explanations. She wedges her little body between ours and starts unwrapping the gift. Jackson's eyes meet with mine over her head and warmth spreads in my chest just from the way he looks at me. Cecilia triumphantly waves with a small pink and golden jewelry box before she drops it on the bed and slithers away to find more gifts from Santa.

I start to lift the sheet. "We should go to her." I tingle all over when a warm strong arm wraps around my waist and pulls me back down.

"Soon," he whispers and presses against me, capturing my mouth with his. I cling to him as if for dear life and wrap my legs around his, ensnaring him in my arms. Finally, we break free and just look at each other for a long time, hearing the sounds of paper tearing from the first floor, echoing through empty hallways. He lifts an eyebrow and I smile. The blue in his eyes fills with warmth like a tropical lagoon.

"We need to move," I say.

He nods. "Yeah, we should go to her."

"No. We should leave the state."

"Okay…" he says slowly. "Why?"

"I don't trust Cynthia to keep quiet forever about you. I'm afraid she'd really freak out now. If she ever finds out…"

He lifts his chin in silent acknowledgement.

"Do you love me?" he asks.

I shift my gaze and look out the black window, realizing I don't feel so alone any more. Then I meet his warm gaze. "I'm gonna have to think about that."

"Okay," he says simply.

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THE END

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A/N2: This story takes place at Christmas 2009. It's hinted at in the text for those who felt like counting. I'm thinking they needed a very long time adjusting to each other.

A/N3: I don't know if Jeff Buckley ever considered his childhood as 'shitty', but I read that he referred to himself as having been 'trailer thrash' so it's Jackson's goggles and his view on things.

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