Prologue II
When We Danced

A knock came softly at the door. She had just come home from a dear friend's funeral and the first thing she did when she arrived at her house was check up on her husband. She entered the dark room and lit open the small lamp by the bedside. It was a dim light. She didn't want to startle him if ever he was asleep. She smiled. She was right. It was good that he was resting. He needed it.

He didn't look it, but the man was only forty two years old. For an ordinary on looker, her husband looked more like her grandfather. His hair was way past graying and immediately went to white. His skin was wrinkled and sallow. His breathing was difficult. His heartbeat was faint. But he still looked as handsome as he did all those years ago when they first met.

Oh he was quite a charmer back then. All the women instantly fell for him the moment he flashed his famous smile. Oh how that smile used to drive her mad. She smiled in remembrance. No matter how old…aged he looked right now, she would always remember that caddish rogue who stole her heart.

She went on to sit beside him in his bed. She put her head to his chest. His heartbeat was faint, but still there. She loved doing this when they were younger, back when the effects had not yet come to pass. She loved just lying there, hearing his heart beat, once then twice. One after the other. Steady. Constant. Just like they were. Constant.

Long ago, he actually confessed to her that he was scared. He was scared that when the day came that he would finally start aging, that she would abhor him and leave. She just smiled and promised him that that would never happen. She would never leave him.

She kept her promise.

"Beatrice?" His raspy voice resounded in her ears.

Beatrice Parry turned her head towards her husband and looked to him. She smiled. "Yes love. It's me. I'm here." She spoke softly.

"I didn't notice you come in." He spoke once more as he grasped for air.

"I didn't want to wake you. I just came in."

"How was the funeral?"

"It was fine." She said as she fixed her positioning, taking off her shoes and lying down beside him. She put her head on his shoulder and put her hand to his chest, feeling his heartbeat once again.

"How did the bastard look?" Wayne spoke again, this time with a small laugh.

"Meredith kept it a close casket."

"That bad?" He joked.

"You always did say that you looked better than him."

"Oh and I still do."

"You've still got it Wayne." She hit him gingerly on the chest. "Your ego never seems to change does it?"

"Never. I know you love it, so why change what is not broken." Wayne coughed after he spoke. Beatrice immediately took the oxygen mask from the side of the bed and gave it to him.

"Breath in. Shhh." She cooed to him. She held the mask up to his nose as he took in the air, slowly feeling relieved. "Maybe you shouldn't talk right now. I can just tell you about it. Does that sound good?"

The man replied with a nod. His wife smiled as he took the hand that she placed upon his chest and interlaced his own fingers in her own.

"Well. It was all very solemn. Much like James' first burial. Meredith didn't say much. You know how she is nowadays. Reid was very distraught. I could see it in his face that he didn't like the way his mother was dealing with it all. I can't blame her though. It is just her way. Caleb was being the good elder Son and tried to talk to him. But you know Reid, so much like his father. Evelyn didn't make it. Caleb didn't say why, but I think you know. I told him to tell her that I would visit one day. It has been a long time since I've seen her. Well, Rosalind was there too. Tyler brought her there. Such a sweet boy. And Pogue, well he is your son…"

Wayne's chest moved up and down in stifled laughter. Yes. If he did know his son, he would be uncomfortable in the situation. They were alike in that. They didn't handle personal situations like that very well. They weren't very emotional beings, except when it came to the women they loved.

"Do you remember that time when you first asked me out?" She said after a long pause.

"How could I forget?" A small smirk played on his lips. "You slapped me right after."

"No I did not." She said defensively. Of course it was a lie. She did slap him. But he deserved it.

"I may be old my darling, but I am not senile yet." He laughed.

"You are not old my Love." Her tone suddenly became serious, despite his intended joke. "You will never be old to me."

"I wish I took you dancing more often, while I could have."

"Don't worry Wayne. I've had enough dancing already. This is far better than that."

-o-

Pogue listened outside the door as his parents talked. He had come home minutes after his mom did and he decided to go up and visit his dad. He found out that he had already been beaten to it. By the small opening of the door, he could see his mother lying beside his father, hands interlaced. They were laughing, softly talking about something. He smiled inwardly. After all these years, it was amazing to see his parents were still so in love with each other. He never saw anyone that could compare to them.

He admired his mother's devotion, her unwavering love for his father. Most would have up and left already given the same situation. His father aged quickly, now looking the part of a seventy year old man, but his mother still looked at him the same way as she did all those years ago.

As of last Friday, Pogue Parry was officially the last of the Sons of Ipswich to have his father alive. Wayne was old and frail, but still breathing. Much like the fathers of his Brothers, his father was too addicted to the power. Fortunately, he reformed, but it was too late in life. He had already aged too much for his condition to go unnoticeable. Pogue didn't know what happened for him to have such a change of heart, but somehow he knew that his mother had something to do with it.

Beatrice Parry was far from perfect. She couldn't cook. She wasn't always on time in picking up her son from school. She couldn't help her son with homework. But despite all that, Pogue really didn't care. Whenever he saw how much she tried, it balanced out for her lack of execution finesse.

Pogue noticed that her mother was standing up now. She kissed his father's forehead and tucked him in under the blankets. She was heading for the door.

"Pogue." She smiled at the sight of her son at the other side of the door. "What are you doing here?" She continued as she closed the door and started to walk down the stairs to the kitchen.

"I decided to visit Dad." Pogue kissed his mother's cheek.

"How nice. Well, you can go in if you'd like. I'm just off to make him some tea to help him get back to sleep."

"No. No. I'll help you."

"Alright then."

They entered the kitchen and Beatrice instantly got to work, putting some water on the kettle and placing it on the fire to boil. "Pogue, darling, will you get the tray and the china while I try to find the tea bags?"

Pogue did as he was told, going to the cupboards and trying to find the things his mother had asked him to get. The kitchen had not changed since he had last gone in. Everything was kept where it had always been. Nothing had been moved out of place, so he was able to find the tray and china fairly easy.

He placed the items on the counter and arranged it for his mother. When he looked to find what she was up to, he found her still snooping around the wrong places in search of the tea bags.

"They're in the upper cupboard Mother. The second shelf." He smiled. All these years living in the same house and she still didn't know where everything went.

"Oh thank you dear. I still can't find my way around this kitchen." She laughed lightheartedly.

"So where is Helen? Isn't she supposed to be taking care of Dad?" He asked nonchalantly as he sat down on one of the stools by the kitchen counter.

"Your father must have sent her home before he went to bed."

"Stubborn."

"Just like you."

They both laughed at the irony of it. Pogue was much like his father. Impulsive and stubborn. Not reckless though. They just did as they fancied.

"I'm scared son."

"Mom?"

"I'm scared." She said it once again, now looking at him. Her voice was more solemn now. Pogue didn't know what brought about her sudden change of mood, but that was his mother. "He is the only one left now."

"Don't worry about it Mom. Dad doesn't use anymore, remember. He will be around for ages. You'll see." He made a sad attempt at making his mother feel better. But they both knew the truth. Wayne was not in the best health. It was not using that would eventually be his demise. It would be his poor health. "Dad won't be leaving us anytime soon." He smiled at her.

The smile once again graced Beatrice's face. "You're right. What was I thinking."

"I heard you and dad talking earlier."

"You did?"

"Yeah. I didn't know you two liked to go dancing?" He said amusingly.

"Oh yes. Your father used to love to take me dancing. It was when you were very little. That man spoiled me to high heavens. He would just call Helen and have her take you so he could take me out the whole night."

Pogue laughed. He loved hearing his mother talk like this. It was as if she was a completely different nostalgic person when she talked about how Wayne was before the addiction started sinking in.

"You know Pogue, I met your father just when we were about your age."

"He told me."

"Oh he did, did he? Well back then, he was a very cocky idiot. Thought he could get me with one look."

"Ah, but you gave him trouble didn't you?"

"Of course I did. Don't tell him I told you, but I did slap him. He'll just say I couldn't keep my hands off him." She laughed. "Oh you should have seen his face."

"If I know dad, it only made him try harder." Pogue laughed. He had heard this story before, but in a different version. His father had a tendency to bend the truth to his advantage. Yet another gift he gave to his son.

"Oh Pogue. One day you are going to meet a girl that is going to make you try so much harder, and it will all be worth it in the end." She smiled at her son.

The thing was, he already had. There was a girl who had made him try harder, but she left two years ago without so much as an explanation. But now. He now had Kate. With Kate, he didn't even need to try. She was there. They were on the same page already. He didn't need to try harder because he already had her.

The kettle whistled at she immediately stood up. "Why don't you go on ahead and bring this to your dad. I'll be up in a minute."

Pogue smiled and took the tray up stairs. He knocked on the door and entered the dimly lit room where his father resided.

"Hey Dad." He said as he kissed his father's forehead. "You look good today."

"Don't I always look good?" He managed a raspy laugh that was followed by coughing.

"Hey. Ease up there Dad. Wouldn't want Mom to go crazy now do we?" Pogue laughed as he poured his father a cup of tea. He blew on it for a while, cooling it before helping his father drink some. "Mom told me the story."

"Ah. And did she confess to slapping me?"

"Yeah."

"See? What did I tell you? Couldn't keep her hands off me."

The father and son laughed the night away as they talked some more before the elder finally fell asleep. All thoughts of death far from the younger's mind, just a few thoughts on what his mother had mentioned at their talk.

Was he content not trying harder?

A/N: Now isn't Beatrice and Wayne the bestest! I love their pairing like hell. There is going to be more of them in the companion piece, don't worry. Now Pogue's life just got a little more indepth. I saw that his life was the easiest in the Sons of Ipswich and hence I wanted to give the boy a little bit of problems. I read into his literary archetype, his is definitely a lover archetype who's downfall will be passion and his "addiction" to the feeling of being in love. I just gave you a snippet there. Talking too much.

The next chapter will be entitled : Prologue III: Lapsing Intoxication.
Caleb fans say WHOOT!

R&R people. Thank you.

- the hyacinth beaver : rita