Far Edge of Anywhere

Five Days

"You called."

"You told me to."

"Are you always that obedient?"

"Not exactly."

It was breezy on the pier, and still bright, even through the sun had begun its descent. The last of the season's tourists meandered along the picturesque walkway, stragglers trying to squeeze out a few more moments of summer.

Sasha had suggested the spot - an area of Newport popular with visitors and residents alike. For some reason, it had always reminded Tom of the village from Pete's Dragon - his little sister's favorite movie from when they'd been kids. Near the water, a narrow road wound around the inlet, hemmed on either side by waist-high wooden pylons threaded through with heavy rope. The ocean boasted an eclectic assortment of sailboats and fishing vessels, moored to either simple piers that extended out from the shore, or weather-worn floating docks anchored individually in the bed of the rocky bay. On the other side of the road, a quaint mixture of buildings ranging from Cape Cod elegance to Shantytown Chic marched haphazardly up and down the way. The fishery feel of the place was merely ambiance - most of the restaurants were four-star rated, and the shops and galleries equally pricey.

Tom had waited, leaning back against the railing of the pier, his arms folded across his chest. She'd been late. Not that he minded - he'd spent the time watching the boats bobbing around the harbor. His father had taught him how to sail when he'd been eleven or twelve, and he'd always loved it. Maybe that's why the Navy had appealed to him more than other branches of the service. There was something both calming and exciting about the sea. You never knew what to expect from her.

Kind of like Sasha, herself. He'd thought about little else since she'd disappeared from the bar. Lugo, Martin, and Wilson had watched the whole episode eagerly, and figured that the triumph of the kiss had merited another round of drinks - and then another on top of that. Tom had pretended to celebrate with the rest of them until he'd lost the ability to fake it any more. Pouring the rest of his friends into a cab, he'd hit the streets and wandered around until dawn.

When he'd finally slept, he hadn't dreamed at all, and had woken up still feeling groggy and out of sorts. He'd dressed quickly, pulling on a clean shirt with the denim he'd worn the night before. Chiding himself for not having done any of the prep work for his classes at the College, he spent a few hours reviewing the course outlines and brushing up on his language skills before leaving his apartment in search of lunch. The taco truck at the end of his street had sufficed, but when he'd reached into his pocket for some cash, the napkin he'd shoved there had fallen to the ground.

He'd actually considered not picking it up. Calling her, seeing her again - it would be a complication that he wasn't sure he needed in his life at the moment. She was one of those force of nature events that could blow a man off course before he'd even noticed the clouds.

Yet here he was, waiting for her. He'd called, and she'd answered, and he'd made his way to this ridiculously kitschy part of the city and perched himself against this rail waiting on - what? A one-night stand? A date? A scathing put-down? Shaking his head, he'd glared down at his boots until a flash of color had drawn his attention. Of course it had been her. Tall and lithe - she moved with a grace that seemed equal parts athleticism and self-confidence. He'd been expecting her to come down the street from the public parking lots as he had, but instead she'd hurried down the steps of an art gallery before crossing the street and half-jogging towards him.

"I'm sorry I'm late. I had a thing." She gestured back over her shoulder in the direction of the gallery before facing him fully. "Back there. Something. An appointment."

"Is that where you work?"

"No." She shook her head, and a gust of wind sent her hair whipping around her face and shoulders. Turning into the wind, she let the breeze blow her hair away from her face before raising her hands to try to tame the mess. "Not really. I just help out there."

"It's a nice place to help out."

"It is." After a few deft twists, she'd gathered her unruly hair over her shoulder. Squinting up at him, she asked, "Do you have a pen?"

Tom grinned. He couldn't help it. Reaching into the front pocket of his jacket, he withdrew one he'd happened to discover there on his walk over from the parking lot. Holding it out to her, he quirked a brow upwards. "Is this part of the deal? I need to provide you with writing implements every time we see each other?"

"How often do you envision us seeing each other?" She had to move closer to him to reach the ballpoint. Once she'd grasped it, she stuck it between her teeth before winding the heavy mass of her hair into a knot at her nape. She took the pen and shoved it through the knot, giving the finished product a little jerk to make sure it would hold. "Because I'm really not into that kind of thing right now."

"I'm not in the market, either."

Her tone was light, yet still an issued challenge. "Then why did you call me?"

"Why did you give me your number?"

"Why did you ask me for it?"

Tom rolled his eyes heavenward before heaving a sigh. "I explained that to you last night. I was playing that stupid game."

"Yes. But you could have just taken my number and then conveniently misplaced it." She narrowed her eyes at him. "You didn't have to call it."

"Okay." Tom tried to read the careful expression on her face, but failed. She was as enigmatic as she was bold. But he hadn't studied strategy in vain, and his response was just as pointed. "Then, why did you kiss me?"

Her eyes studied him for a few beats before she turned away, looking out towards the ocean that lapped gently at the rocky shoreline. She squinted for a few moments westward, where the sky had started to glow reddish-pink. Tom couldn't tell if the flush on her face was embarrassment, or just a reflection of the sunset.

"I don't know." She chewed a little at her bottom lip, her nose wrinkling a little at the tip when she smiled up at him. "I just had to, you know?"

He did, oddly enough. His response to her was a groan of sorts - little more than a low rumble in his chest that she seemed to understand.

By some unspoken communication, they both started walking at the same time, heading away from the art gallery and down what could be loosely termed a boardwalk. For the most part, the crowds had dispersed into the restaurants and bars, leaving the walkways open. Tom angled himself towards the outside of the sidewalk, falling into step easily beside Sasha, his pace measured carefully to hers. She'd dressed casually for the evening, jeans and a loose-fitting cabled sweater made out of some nubby, thick sort of fiber that made him want to touch it. Or maybe he just wanted to touch her.

And there he went, thinking about that damned kiss again.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, and tried to figure out what color the sweater was in an attempt to not think about kissing her. Purple - yet not purple. It was a lighter shade that his mother and sister would have called something high-faluting like 'eggplant' or 'plum'. Mauve? No - that was more pink than purple, wasn't it? Trying to change the direction of his train of thought wasn't helping. No matter what the stupid color was, he still wanted to feel it against his skin.

"I'm sorry about that, by the way."

Startled out of his reverie, Tom' brows lowered as he forced himself to remember what she'd said. "Sorry about what?"

"The kissing thing." Her pace slowed, and then she came to a stop in front of a chocolatier's storefront. Turning to face the display, Sasha caught his eye in the reflection of the window briefly before continuing. "I don't know where that came from, but I shouldn't have done it."

"It's all right. I didn't mind."

Her teeth flashed in a fleeting smile. "Nevertheless. It was a bad idea."

"Maybe." Tom took the opportunity to appreciate the graceful curve of her shoulder and throat, displayed so neatly by the chignon she'd created with the pen. Her purple - Periwinkle? Lavender? - sweater had a wide neckline that draped just exactly in the right way to expose the milky skin of her shoulders and collarbones. She had a tiny birthmark just below the nape of her neck, little more than a shadow on otherwise perfection, but it sent his imagination reeling. He had to force himself back to the present again. "Maybe not."

She looked over the confections in the display before nodding. "True. But like I said, I'm really not looking to start anything with anyone right now."

"And like I said, I'm not either."

"Then why are we here?"

"I asked you first."

Capturing his gaze in the reflection of the window, she grinned. "This is a singularly inane conversation."

Tom actually laughed at that. "I agree with you there."

Taking a few shuffled steps, he started out again, and she immediately followed - walking close enough that her arm periodically brushed against his. For several long moments, they simply walked, comfortable in silence.

They'd paused at an intersection before Sasha spoke again. "So, did you actually read it?"

It took Tom a moment to realize what she was talking about. "'Pride and Prejudice'?"

"Yes." She noticed that the light had changed before he did, and saved her next question until they were on the other side of the crosswalk. "Did you read it, or did you watch the miniseries?"

"Ah. Colin Firth." Tom raised an eyebrow. "My little sister has a serious thing for that guy. I think she's watched that show at least a dozen times. We had to buy it twice on VHS."

"So you watched it, rather than read it."

"Nope." He let out a wry laugh. "I read it. It was on a list for my high school AP English class. We had to read a certain number of the books during the school year and then submit essays about them. I sailed through 'Of Mice and Men', 'Catcher in the Rye', 'To Kill a Mockingbird', and some others. Read some Shakespeare, a whole mess of verse by English and British poets, some essays and other stuff by Whitman and Thoreau. At the end of the year, though, I came up short one book. I had to choose between 'The Sound and the Fury', 'Moby Dick', and your darling Mr. Darcy."

"I tried to read 'Moby Dick' once." She reached up and adjusted her make-shift bun. "I never got much past the 'Ishmael' part."

"And 'The Sound and the Fury' is completely incomprehensible. It's like trying to read the mind of a rabid goat with ADD."

Her laughter was throaty and real. "I hated that book."

"It's terrible. So, I read all about Lizzie and Darcy and Bingley and Jane, instead." He leaned into her just a bit, nudging her to see if she'd look at him again. She did. "I'm not embarrassed to say that I enjoyed it. The summer after graduation, I got my wisdom teeth taken out. While I waited for my face to no longer resemble a chipmunk, I read 'Sense and Sensibility' and 'Persuasion'."

"I'm a huge fan of 'Emma'."

"I didn't get to that one." He smiled. "I saw the movie, though."

"I never did. Is it good?"

They split, stepping on either side of a placard that a coffee shop had left out on the sidewalk. Once around it, they gravitated back together, bumping elbows and hips.

Tom didn't mind. "It's good. It's no 'Top Gun', but it'll do for a date movie."

"What is it about guys and 'Top Gun'?"

"It's the planes." He stopped mid-stride, catching her eye. He gestured with his open palm – imitating the flight deck of the ship. "In the beginning, on the carrier. All of the F-14 Tomcats are getting set to take off. You crank up the surround-sound and the subwoofers until your windows are shaking - with the music and the bass and the sound of the jet engines firing up - well, hell. There's nothing else like it. I don't even watch the whole movie. You just fast-forward through all the talking and crap to watch the planes fly."

"Even the - " her nose wrinkled again as she squinted into the dark, trying to find the right words. " Even the naughty bits?"

"The bedroom scene?" Tom snorted. "Was that the most uncomfortable sex scene in movie history or what? She's only a few years older than he is, but she just seemed ancient compared to him, didn't she? Like the '80s version of Mrs. Robinson."

"I told you last night that I wasn't a fan of 'Top Gun'." Sasha's brows rose, and she lifted a hand to thunk a little against his arm. "But 'The Graduate'. Now that was a great flick."

"Agreed."

"Fantastic music."

"Well, it was Simon and Garfunkel." He shrugged. "Of course it was good."

"One word!" She raised a brow at him, challenging him with a teasing grin.

"Plastics!" He grinned back. Her hand brushed against his, lingering a little too long to have been accidental. Tom didn't think twice. All it took was a twist of his arm, and he'd captured her hand.

Warm and strong. She met his touch fully, leaning in towards him. He was somewhat surprised that her palm and fingers were roughened by callouses, but even more shocked that she threaded those fingers around his and soothed her thumb along the knuckle of his index finger in a gesture of such sweet intimacy that he stopped abruptly.

"So, let's be honest."

Sasha paused beside him, angling her body so that she could look up at him and still keep their hands linked.

"Last night was pretty damned awesome."

"Which part?"

"All of it."

She tucked an escaped strand of hair behind her ear. "It's been a very long time since anybody has - well, since I've been interested in anyone."

"For me, too."

She raised her free hand and smoothed the front of his shirt. "But here's the thing. We're not going to happen. I've got too many things on my plate right now, and my life is just - well, it's hectic to say the least. I'm six months away from finishing something that I've been working on for years, and I'm not going to give that up for - whatever this is."

Shaking his head a little, Tom shifted his attention from her face to the darkening sky. "That's a whole lot of stuff to announce when you haven't even asked me my name."

"Maybe that's the whole point."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

She smiled. "When I was a kid, we lived all over the place. My parents' business took them all over the world, and since I'm an only child, they dragged me along. I got to see things that other kids might not even learn about in school; Iguazu Falls, Gilgal Refa' im in Israel, Pura Gunung Kawi in Bali, Skara Brae. It was great - don't get me wrong. It's a hell of a way to grow up. But I was a kid, and all I wanted what every other kid on Earth wants."

"What's that?" Tom couldn't quite help the amused sarcasm in his tone. "A pony?"

"Close." She actually chuckled at that. "I wanted a puppy."

"It's tough to travel with a dog."

"Right. That's what my parents kept telling me. So, I couldn't have one." Letting go of his hand, she moved a little way down the sidewalk, stopping next to one of the decoratively quaint gaslights. "Anyway, so we were in Taiwan for a conference, or something - I don't know, it's kind of a blur. I was around nine, and my nanny - "

"You had a nanny?"

"Well - yeah."

Tom grunted. "I've never known anyone who had a nanny before."

"My parents were loaded."

"Obviously."

She sent him a chiding sort of glare. "Are you going to let me tell my story?"

"I don't know." Tom shrugged. "Who else am I going to have to keep track of? Your chauffeur or your body guard?"

"They were the same person."

"Of course they were." Snorting, he threw his hands out in playful surrender. "Because why wouldn't they be?"

"It's just wasteful to pay two separate people to perform basically the same function."

"Naturally. Frugality is a good thing." Tom inclined his head in a mocking little bow. "Please continue, my lady."

Letting out an exasperated little sigh, she went on. "So, my nanny and I went across the street from the hotel to this park. It was mid-morning, and there weren't a ton of people around, so I was surprised when this little dog comes running over to us from behind some bushes."

"What color was it?"

She frowned at him. "What does that matter?"

Stepping closer, he leaned a shoulder on the gaslight pole, resting his weight against it. "I'm just trying to get the full effect, here."

"Black." When she tilted her head back to look at him, her eyes caught at the streetlight, making them seem deeper than the sea. "He was black. With a brown nose and markings over its eyes. It was a cute little thing, silky longish hair, and these tufted ears that stood up."

"Beautiful." Although Tom couldn't tell if he was talking about the dog in the story or the woman telling it.

"He was." Sasha reached up and patted his cheek a little, smiling with a mocking sort of sweetness. "Now shut up so that I can get to my point."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Okay. So, I picked up this dog, and we went all around the park trying to find its owners. We must have walked a mile or so asking everyone we saw if the dog belonged to them."

"This was in Taiwan?"

"I already told you that."

"So, at the ripe old age of nine, you already spoke - "

"Chinese. Mandarin - because that's what most people speak in Taiwan. There are several other dialects, but Mandarin is the lingua franca."

"Understood." He nodded. "Go on."

"Long story short - nobody claimed the dog." She sighed, remembering. "So, we took him back to the hotel, and I plunked him in the bathtub and cleaned him up so that he was just the cutest thing ever. I might have even spritzed him with my mom's perfume. By the time they got back from the Embassy that night, I was in love with that dog."

She faltered, her voice breaking just a bit. Tom merely waited, watching her work her way through the memory.

"My nanny and I spent the entire rest of the day trying to find him the perfect name. I'd finally decided on 'Gilbert'."

"Let me guess - as in Blythe?"

"You've read 'Anne of Green Gables', too?"

"I can't claim that one. My little sister's first crush was Gilbert Blythe." Tom ran a hand through his hair. It was too long and starting to curl - he'd have to have it cut before next week. "I'm pretty sure she killed just as many VHS sets of that show as she did 'Pride and Prejudice'."

"I'd probably like your little sister."

"I'm pretty sure she'd like you, too."

"Really?" She crossed her arms in front of her, pulling the sleeves of the sweater over her hands. It had turned a little chilly. "Anyway, when my mom and dad got home, they saw that dog and immediately called the hotel manager up to our rooms. He was charged with finding the dog's actual owners, and my mother expressly forbid me to use the name I'd given him."

She didn't need a response, so Tom didn't give her one. She'd stepped closer to him, though, close enough that, even through the dark, he could see the sadness in her eyes.

"It only took about an hour to find her. It was another resident of the hotel, actually. She came up and took him, and she was thrilled to have him back. But I was - " She faltered, lifting her shoulder in a half-hearted shrug.

"You were sad."

"Later, my mother explained it to me." Sasha looked directly at him, then, those clear blue eyes making a low, leisurely examination of him. "If you name something, you make it part of you. And then, giving it up is even harder."

The door opened on a nearby restaurant, and a couple emerged, bathed in a shaft of light from the building's interior. They were practically wrapped around each other, touching, feeling, kissing wherever they could reach. As they made their way down the street, they didn't even notice Sasha watching their progress. And Sasha didn't notice Tom watching her. Didn't know he'd seen her smile sadly into the darkness as they'd disappeared from view. She didn't know he'd seen the wistful way she'd smiled, nor how that smile hadn't quite reached her eyes.

Once they'd gone, she hazarded a look up at him. "So, you see, I can't name you."

When he spoke, even he was surprised by the smooth, soothing tone of his voice. "I didn't ask you to. I've already got a name."

"I know - but this is my problem, not yours." She threw him a furtive look before turning downward to focus on her feet. "I'm in Newport on business - kind of. And I'm almost done with the training aspect of it. It's been a long time coming, and I can't take any chances with the opportunities that have been extended to me."

"I'm only in town for six months. I'm on staff at the - "

"No particulars." She squeezed her eyes shut, raising a hand to stop him from saying any more. "I can't get attached if I don't know you, right?"

Chandler craned his head back to shoot a withering look at the heavens. Why here? Why now? He wasn't in a position to be starting anything either - not when he'd be sent to the sea for months on end as soon as his assignment at the college was up. He didn't need the complication of this - of her - nor of the possibilities that she presented.

"So, that's why you wanted to see me." Tom measured his words carefully, pushing himself away from the pole and circling her still form. "You wanted to tell me that you couldn't see me?"

"It's not that I don't want to." Her voice was soft in the night. "I've never, ever done what I did last night. You're - well - you're the kind of guy who could really screw me up. You could make me lose sight of my goals."

"And you're the kind of girl that could put mine in focus." He hadn't realized that he'd been thinking it until he said it. Until he put words to the fascination he'd felt for the woman standing in front of him. Sasha was right - it wasn't the right time for either of them. Unfortunately, Tom was finding it difficult to care.

"I can't be anything for you."

"I know."

"Just like you can't be - "

She was within reach - all it took was a shift of position, and he'd threaded an arm around her, tugging gently, yet inexorably, until she shared his space. Tom was struck again by how vital Sasha was - by how even through the knit of her sweater he could feel energy pulsing through her form. He pressed her closer, gratified when her hands rose to rest against his chest, when she relaxed a little against him.

"I can't be what, Sasha?"

She shook her head, staring at the buttons on his shirt rather than at his face. With a little sigh, she leaned her forehead against his chest, one hand lifting to curve itself around his neck, the other drifting downward to rest on his hip. Her breath was warm through the fabric of his shirt, her fingers gentle on his skin.

Tom rested his chin against the cool silk of her hair, wrapping his other arm around her, as well. "What can't I be?"

"This is stupid." Her words were muffled against his body. She sighed. "So damned stupid."

He grinned into the darkness. "You're probably right on that point."

"I shouldn't do this."

"Then tell me to let go."

"It's just that you're kind of cute." She nuzzled closer. "And you're warm."

"Then take me home." Tom smiled against her hair, amazed again at how right she felt against him. "I'm already house trained."

The door of the restaurant opened again, and two different couples emerged. Tom watched as they left - in different directions. One couple walked quickly towards the parking lot, not touching, while the other sauntered towards the pier, hand - in - hand. The couple holding hands were laughing, leaning towards each other every once in a while to say something.

Once they'd gone, the only sound from the deserted street was the ever-present lull of waves lapping against the rocky shore.

"I have five days." She spoke against his chest, her body pressed tight to his. Pulling back a little, Sasha sought his gaze through the darkness. "Five days until I have to go back to my real life."

"What are you suggesting?"

"For five days, let's be the people that we are right here and right now. No questions, no demands, no commitments. For five days, we don't say anything or do anything that will make it harder to walk away when the time comes."

Five days. Tom looked down at her upturned face, at the strand of hair that kept escaping the bun she'd fastened with his pen. At those keen, impertinent eyes so blue that they seemed fathomless. In the light of the lamp, her skin gleamed ivory. And that mouth intrigued him- fuller on the bottom than on the top, her lips parted slightly with a half-smile that hinted at a dare.

She was younger than he'd originally thought. For all of her experience, she was still nervous. This, then was foreign to her - as unfamiliar to her as it was to him. Tom Chandler had always lived his life in the open. Even when he'd been young and stupid in high school and college, he'd done it for all to see. Never had he existed in obscurity, cloaking himself in deliberate anonymity.

He'd always worn his uniform with pride. His commission with honor. His name with purpose.

"Five days." Lifting a hand, he grazed her cheekbone with his thumb before easing his fingers into the knot she'd fashioned at her nape. All it took was a little wriggle of his fingers to dislodge the pen, sending her hair down her back in a heavy silken cascade. She blinked - slowly - her breath little more than whispered sighs.

"I have one caveat to make to that plan." His other hand circled around to splay against her lower back, pulling her even closer.

"What's that?"

But he'd already tilted her face up to his and kissed her - gentle, easy, a soft melding of lips and breath. Her hand curved more tightly around the back of his neck, ruffling the hair above his collar as she lifted herself up on her toes, deepening their contact. He smoothed his way over to press a kiss against her cheek, delving with the tip of his tongue at the dimple there, before returning to linger at the corner of her mouth, and then to kiss her again fully - deeply - until she broke away with a breathy sob.

"What's your caveat?"

But her eyes were on his mouth, and she didn't protest at all when he stopped her from asking again. When he teased her lips apart and took her from breathy to breathless in the space of a heartbeat. When his hands glided along her form, discovering and appreciating the strength and beauty there, even as he lost himself in the wonder that was her taste, her essence, her softness.

He needed air. He needed to stop, before he took things too far here on this street corner where tourists were still making their way along the pier, or back to their hotels. He needed to put some distance between himself and this enigma of a woman - to get some control back after he'd ceded it all to the hunger that was seething within. His hand tightened in her hair - tangling in the dark strands as he fought between the desire to lead her somewhere private, or push her away completely.

He raised his head, pulling her close enough to tuck her head under his chin and hold her tight. He breath came in rapid spurts - as if he'd just completed a training run, and he closed his eyes, purposefully turning inward to find his center.

Against him, she was waging a similar battle, the force of her exhalations hot on his chest. Her hands had fallen now, to stroke up and down his rib cage, and her heart beat in a rapid tattoo in the space between them. He could tell by its steadying pace when she'd regained her equilibrium.

"Sasha."

"Hmmm?"

"You asked me a question last night, but you didn't let me answer it." Tom's hands dropped from her hair to her shoulder, his fingers gentle on the cool skin exposed by her sweater. He couldn't help but smile when she shivered, knowing without a doubt that it had nothing to do with the cold. "So, I'll give you your five days - "

Her fingers stilled on his body. "You'll give us the five days."

"Right. Us." He conceded. "But you asked me last night who I was. I have the right not to be nameless."

She leaned back in his embrace, peering up at him through the dark. "So? Who the hell are you?"

"I'm Tom Chandler."