I think I know every freckle on your face;
your smell is so familiar, I always know the trace.
You are breaking barriers I thought would always stay;
I am gripped with fear, though, at the thought of time I waste.
When they were finally able to dock, immediately setting up stations from which to administer the cure as Rachel had shown them on the ship, he looked for her anxiously. Before he could do anything else, when they'd hardly set their feet on the desk, he looked for her, and she was already gone. He found Doc Rios, instead, and the man patted Chandler reassuringly on the shoulder.
"She's taking doses to the geriatric ward," the doctor said. "She wanted to be sure they got them first." When Chandler looked desperately off in that direction, Rios patted his arm again. "Go help her," he said, and Chandler took off.
By the time he reached the ward, the case of doses was sitting empty on the counter of the nurses station, the nurses spread across the rooms as they gently delivered the shots to elderly souls, most suffering from dementia and shrinking from the sight of a needle. Chandler asked the first nurse he came to where Rachel was, and she looked at him with interest as she pointed down the hall. "Room 14."
In the doorway, he stopped short. Rachel was sitting in a chair next to a wheelchair, the empty syringe discarded on the tray as she stroked the arm of an old man, her hand curled around his bony fingers and her eyes locked on his face. She glanced up at Chandler as soon as he appeared, then looked back to the old man and lifted a hand to stroke his face, saying something in a low tone before standing up from her chair and walking past Chandler out into the hall. He followed behind as she walked toward the exit, stopping to speak with one of the nurses and then heading back toward the loading bays.
Chandler had to jog a little to keep up, Rachel taking long strides with her face set, and he turned to walk backwards in front of her, holding out a hand and saying, "Hey. You okay?"
"Yes," she said, staring straight ahead, and he stopped, his arm still held out in front of her so that she had to stop walking as well to avoid making contact. She looked at his arm, then at his face, her eyebrows raised, and he raised his in return, smiling and drawing a smile out of her despite her mood. She glanced around, taking a few steps down a smaller side corridor and leaning against the wall, and he stepped up to lean against the wall facing her, six inches between them.
"My father," she said, gesturing back the way they came.
He tilted his head, looking for affection in her face, for love, and finding only a flat expression that she avoided pointing in his direction. "I'm sorry," he said, and she shrugged the shoulder that wasn't pressed to the wall.
"If he had his wits, he wouldn't allow me to treat him, so I suppose it's better this way."
"What do you mean?"
She glanced at his face, briefly stricken, and then looked away with the same blank mask. "My father… didn't believe in medicine. He was a man of God—" Her voice broadened with the words. "—and only God decides who lives and dies. So my mother died." She said it plainly, still emotionless, and then a bitter smile twisted her lips as she went on, "Now I decide, and God can judge us both in the end."
Chandler took a sliding step forward, his shoulder to the wall, and closed the space between them, his outside arm going around her waist and pulling her forward into his chest. He turned his back to the wall and wrapped his other arm around her as she laid her cheek on his chest, her hands resting on either side of his waist. She sighed, softening almost instantly, and he thought that might have been progress.
"They don't need us back there," he said quietly.
"They'll look for us."
"I don't care. I'll text Rios. Come back to my unit with me."
She stayed where she was, silent, before saying, "You meant what you said."
"Did you doubt me?"
Leaning back to look at him, she reached up to touch his cheek and smiled. "No. Maybe. I—I'm used to being disappointed."
"Rachel…" He closed his eyes, tipping his head back against the wall and saying, "Can I be entirely honest with you?"
When he looked down again her smile was gone, her lips slightly parted and her brow furrowed as she stared at his chin. "I thought you were being."
"I haven't lied to you," he said, "but I could be more truthful. Will you let me?"
Her eyes flicked up to meet his and danced away, never holding his gaze for more than a second but she nodded and he knew he had her full attention.
He still had his arms wrapped around her, and he stared down at her even as she tried to avoid the intensity of it. "Rachel," he said again, his stomach doing flips, and then forced out in a rush, "I'm in love with you. If you thought I might have changed my mind, you can't know that, because I—" He pushed off the wall, curving forward around her and pressing his face to her hair, his lips to her ear, breathing out, "I've been counting on this."
She slid her hands up his back, curving with him, and turned her face toward his, seeking out his mouth with hers. He met the kiss and sighed through his nose, straightening up enough that she wasn't bent backwards and lifting a hand to her face, the other arm holding her body pressed close to his. He poured it all into the kiss, the waiting and the love and the knowing, just knowing and loving her so deeply, and when he pulled away—after the lingering and the butterfly kisses and sharing each other's breath—when he actually managed to look at her face, her eyes were shut and her lips parted and her breathing slow and steady, and when she blinked her eyes open a moment later, she held his gaze solidly.
Then she tilted her head back, one hand holding onto his neck, and grinned at the ceiling. He clasped his hands at the small of her back, supporting her as she leaned back and turned that grin on him, so he had no choice but to return it.
"We should go back to your unit," she said, and he laughed out of pure relief and happiness, standing up from the wall and wrapping one hand around hers as they walked back out into the main hallway. They didn't pass directly by the loading bays, but Rachel saw the people gathered and drifted in that direction before Chandler tugged on her hand and kept her on track.
He handed her his comm, which was open to his conversation with Doc Rios.
Chandler: Rachel's exhausted, y'all good for now?
Rios: We're good. In fact, she's banned from cure distribution. Make her get some sleep, please.
Chandler: Aye aye.
She laughed, handing it back and wrapping that hand around his forearm, walking with him to his unit. She did a walk-through, as much of a tour as you could do in what was essentially identical to the visitors' unit they'd stayed in on the other ship, but with his tiny personal touches, photographs that she peered at closely, a ceramic dish holding his wife's wedding ring and his own, a framed print of an anchor. He trailed her as she did one nosy loop of the space, hanging onto her hand, and they ended up at the bed.
He nudged her back, the bed hitting her at the knee and forcing her to sit, and then he pulled the blanket out and ushered her under it.
She frowned, even as she moved easily at the touch of his hands, laying her head on the pillow and drawing the blanket up when he draped it over her. "I don't need to sleep," she said, without the obstinacy he expected, as if she really didn't feel completely exhausted, but he saw it in her eyes and the shadows under them and the slight lag in all her movements.
He frowned back, the same innocence in his voice when he said, "Well, I'm tired. You can—" He waved his hand vaguely. "—use my tablet or something if you don't want to cuddle."
Turning her face against the pillow as if that would hide the smile curling up her lips, she said, "Well, you didn't say anything about cuddling."
He smiled back and went into the bathroom to wash up and came back to find her fast asleep, looking all the more wan and in need of it. He crawled into bed beside her, tugging her toward the centre of the bed, further from the edge and closer to him.
He curled himself around her and felt the same longing in his chest he'd felt on their visit. It didn't escape him that she hadn't said she loved him too, and that was fine—as long as she knew how he felt and entered into this willingly, he didn't mind if she needed time. No, it was mostly muscle memory that settled that feeling in his chest, but also… worry. He'd overheard her shouting match with Quincy, back when this all had been just getting started. Not that he was taking Quincy's word for anything, but if Rachel really didn't have people, if, perhaps, she avoided having people in order to protect herself from caring, then yes, he was worried.
Maybe she would decide it wasn't worth the risk. Maybe she would rather be alone than in fear of losing him. And wasn't he afraid, too? It was too late to keep from loving her, but he could still protect himself, be the one who said it wasn't worth the risk and go back to his life before.
No. He pressed his face to her hair, his arms wrapped tight around her as he breathed her in. He wasn't one to back down from a challenge, to cower in front of fear. Whatever else happened, he would face it head on, as he did any fight. If he had to fight for her, he would.
For now, he knew he was only borrowing trouble. They were back home, he was on leave, and he would love her as long as she would let him. That was all that mattered now.
His face still pressed to her hair, he murmured, "I love you," and she shifted back into him, mumbling something that could have been a response before sighing back into sleep, and he forced himself to relax. Nothing for it but to sleep.
xxx
He woke up to an empty bed and a sense of loss so instant and aching it stole the breath from his chest. It wasn't until he sat up that he saw the comm, placed with intention in the very centre of the other pillow, and his heart leapt. When he unlocked the screen, he found a message from Rachel—Gone home for clean clothes (!) call me when you wake up xx—and slowly started breathing again. Comparing the timestamp to the current time, she'd been gone for an hour and he must have been sleeping like a rock.
He hit the vidcomm button and she answered almost instantly, grinning at the screen.
"Morning, sleepyhead," she said cheerily.
"You look refreshed," he said, smiling back. "I'm a little embarrassed I slept so much longer."
"Well," she said, the background whooshing past her as she turned and flopped down on her couch. "The only conclusion I can come to is that babysitting me took more out of you than me actually making the cure."
He shook his head but couldn't actually deny it, and she knew it, watching him smugly.
"So, I'm starved," she went on. "Wanna meet me at the dining hall?"
"Definitely not," he said seriously before laughing at her startled expression. "I need to shower. I don't suppose you…"
She tilted her head, showing him her wet hair in a bun, and looked up again to say, "I think you'll have more success without me. I'll be at your door in half an hour?"
The apprehension in that question mark astounded him, as if she honestly doubted the answer, but he just met her eyes and said, "Sounds perfect. See you then."
She fluttered her fingers at him and ended the call, and he checked the time again before heading into the bathroom. Twenty-seven minutes later, he walked out the door and glanced left, turning and shutting the door and finding Rachel leaning up against the wall on the other side of the door. She pushed upright, her hair still damp where it hung down her back in a braid, and she approached him with a smile and her hands clasped behind her back, suddenly shy.
He reached out to her and she walked all the way up to his chest, tilting her chin up as he wrapped his arms around her and leaned down to kiss her, and she smiled again against his lips, her arms coming up around his waist and hugging him tightly.
When she stepped back, she clasped her hands behind her back again and he wrapped one arm around her shoulders as they turned to walk down the hall to the dining room. A few steps later, she unclasped her hands and wrapped her corresponding arm around his waist, and he felt his heart buoy a little more.
"You must really be starving if you've been up for hours," he said. "You shouldn't have waited for me."
"True," she said, "and true. But I did."
He tugged her into his side, turning his head to kiss her temple, and when they lined up for their meal Chandler leaned across the counter and said to the serving woman, "Excuse me, but Dr. Scott here missed dinner last night while distributing the cure to the virus, is there any way she could get double portions?"
The woman stared at Rachel, who was staring at the counter, and said, "The Dr. Scott?"
"That's right," Chandler replied. "The one and only."
"Well, she can have triple portions if she likes. How about you, sir?" She glanced down to where their hips were pressed together even as they both held their trays, their hands close on the counter as Rachel's pinkie poked into Chandler's palm. "You want triple portions too?"
"I think we'll both be fine with double," Chandler said, grinning proudly. "Thank you very much."
Their plates were piled high when they made it to their table, and Rachel murmured, "That was mildly embarrassing."
"Guess you're not hungry enough," Chandler said, reaching for her plate, and she slapped his hand away with a feral glare.
Picking up her fork, she plunged it into the pile of food and held it up, staring at it contemplatively. "What I meant to say was… thank you." She filled her mouth and pressed her lips into a smile, cheeks puffed out, and he grinned again in response, tipping an invisible hat.
"You're welcome." He watched her eat, letting his own plate grow cold, and she avoided his eyes, looking around the room at the people she'd lived among her whole life, some of them gone now and the rest of them alive because of her. Once he was sure she was eating, he turned to his food and felt his stomach grumble viciously under the muscles of his abdomen, thankful that the room was noisy enough to conceal it.
Their plates cleared, Chandler took both trays to the disposal area and met Rachel at the door. They walked back to the living units in silence, Rachel's arms wrapped around her belly as Chandler kept his in his pockets, and he would have worried if it weren't for the fact she stopped in front of his door and waited for him to unlock it.
As soon as the door shut behind them, she moaned, and Chandler spun to face her.
"What's wrong?"
She lowered her chin and looked up past her lashes, arms still wrapped around her belly and a firm pout on her lips. "I ate too much," she whined, "too fast." She groaned again, and he stifled what wanted to be a guffaw into a tiny smile, wrapping his arm around her and guiding her to the couch.
They sat down and she curled up beside him, before stretching out along the couch and over his lap, both hands rubbing the dome of her stomach. He offered his hand and she let him settle it on her stomach, her hands resting on top of his as he stroked his palm down over her shirt, then slipped his hand under the fabric and rubbed across her skin. She turned onto her side, her feet poking over the arm at the end and her head resting on his thigh, her stomach pushed out like if she could only make it big enough it would stop hurting.
Another groan, pitiful, and he moved his other hand to pet her hair as she closed her eyes and pressed her face into the fabric of his pants. She fell asleep, just a little later, and he wasn't even surprised.
When she woke again, it was with a start, and he rubbed at his eyes, trying to pretend he hadn't fallen asleep as well. She sat up and looked at him, her face blank, and he yawned.
"You always jump out of sleep like that?"
"I dunno," she said, looking around the room. "Sometimes. Was I a whiny baby just before?"
His hand was still on her back, and he ran it up and down, then took it away when she continued to avoid his gaze. He wasn't sure what to do, so he told the truth. "No, sweetheart. You just needed a little comfort. Costs me nothing—actually, pays me more than that."
She was staring down at her hands in her lap, her fingers curling like she was putting all her focus into not forming them into fists, and he tipped his head back against the couch, keeping his eyes on her.
"I think we understand love very differently," he said, and she flinched, and he went on quickly, "No, that isn't a criticism. People love differently, that's how relationships work. I'm just not sure you know that when… when I say that I love you… what I'm trying to say is that I have, well, I have this big heart that just wants to give to you, and whatever you take from me, it doesn't leave a deficit. It all comes back. If you need something, ask for it."
She shook her head. "I can't make demands of you—just because you—"
"Yeah. You can. That's how it works."
She tilted her head at her lap, and her hands had closed all the way now, but loosely. "No. That's when people leave."
He watched her a moment in silence, both of them stone-still, and then he said very softly, "Those people weren't me."
Her jaw flexed, fists clenched. "What if…" She seemed to struggle to speak, to force her jaws apart long enough to form words. "What if I love you the wrong way… or not enough… What if my love isn't good enough."
His heart stopped and broke at the same time, his breath caught by hope and crushed by despair. "Do you love me?"
She squeezed her eyes shut, her fists shaking in her lap, and nodded, and he had to reach out and gather her to his chest, all of the tension and doubt coming with her as he held all of it in his arms, cradling the storm inside her.
"That's all I need, baby. That's enough." She didn't relax, and he thought at any moment she would be fighting him, tearing her way out of his arms, and so he dipped his chin and pressed his face to her hair and said softly, "It's fine if you need time, but I'm not them and I never will be, and maybe you've never seen me love someone, but let me show you. Please. Let me show you."
She didn't soften, melt, or relax; she let him hold her, and then she moved away, to the other side of the couch. She folded her hands in her lap, and sat up straight, but the fighting tension seemed to have left her. She looked over at him, her eyes calm even as they didn't quite meet his, and said, "That sounds fair."
"Okay." He sighed, propping his elbow on the couch arm and resting his head on the heel of his hand. "I'll take fair."
Looking down at her hands again, she slid one of them across her leg and down onto the couch cushion, her palm flat and fingers splayed, and she inched it across the space between them. He watched her face, reaching his own hand out slowly to hover over hers, and then he let it down and curled his fingers around hers, and she crossed the space between them in an instant, pressing up against his side and clutching his hand, and he wrapped his other arm around her waist to hold her close.
"Believe it or not," she said, "I didn't wake up this morning intending to kill the mood with emotional crises."
"You were happy this morning," he agreed, "but to be fair, I think I'm the one who made you talk about it."
She set her head on his shoulder and said, "That's okay. I guess maybe you can't always solve problems by ignoring them… or by shouting."
He smiled. "Maybe."
A sigh, and she snuggled closer into his side and said, "Can we watch a movie? I need to not think for a while."
"That reminds me," he said, shifting slightly to work his comm out of his pants pocket. "I mean, of course we can—but did you see the invitation?"
"Oh!" She lifted her head to look at him. "A banquet, right?"
"A captain's banquet," he confirmed, "for everyone who served on the Nathan James." He used his comm to reveal the hidden screen on the opposite wall and opened the menu of movies. "I don't suppose you want to be my date." His eyes were still on the screen as she scanned his face.
"That should draw notice."
He shrugged slightly, trying not to jostle her. "Honestly, who's gonna be shocked? And—do we have another option?"
Laying her head back down, she looked toward the screen. "S'pose not. It would be ridiculous to attend separately."
"That's what I'm saying. I'm not that good an actor."
"And skipping it would cause just as much of a stir."
"That's a yes, then."
"Yeah!" she said, pointing at the screen. "That one. Also, yes, it's a yes."
He smirked, selecting the movie, and slid down the cushion a bit to get more comfortable. Checking the length of the movie against the current time, he said, "Okay, we have plenty of time. Ready to stop thinking?"
She took in a breath, held it, then exhaled and said, "Ready," and he pressed play.
xxx
With an hour before the time on the invitation, Rachel went back to her unit to change and Chandler went to his closet. For simplicity, day clothes on the Earthship were colour-coded by profession, but their one formal outfit offered them the luxury of choice—once, and then you were stuck with that until a) it wore out or b) you grew out of it, which didn't happen much since a) formal clothes were rarely worn, and b) portions were carefully controlled and significant changes in weight were considered cause for concern.
Their day/work/sleep clothes were all designed for practicality and durability first and foremost, but formalwear allowed touches of fragility, like buttons and delicate fabrics—provided you were ready and willing to repair any flaws yourself, which was a given.
Chandler's outfit consisted of a sharp black shirt that buttoned up the front, tucked into dark gray slacks, with a black leather belt. It was an outfit that evoked ancient Earth movies, and he always felt like he was wearing a costume, if an appealing one, when he had it on.
He'd never seen Rachel in formalwear, and when he arrived at her door to walk with her to the banquet, he waited in the hall with butterflies swarming in his stomach. (Nobody ever needed to know that.) When she walked out a moment later, it was in a pair of sleek, deep purple pants with a matching blouse, and something fancier about her braid, though he couldn't name what. In the movies, she would have been wearing a dress, but he had no interest in complaining.
She turned to him after pulling her door shut, walked up and rested her hands on his chest, smoothing up over the fabric of his shirt and under his collar. "Aren't we fancy," she said, and he smiled, leaning down to kiss her.
"You look beautiful," he said, and added thoughtfully, "but you know you always look beautiful."
She fought her smile, trying to duck away and hide her face even as he wrapped his arms around her waist and kept her close. He leaned down again, his nose grazing her cheek before she turned back to accept his kiss, and a wolf whistle sounded out from the other side of the hall.
They looked up, seeing O'Connor and Miller walking by in their finery on the way to the banquet hall, and Chandler gave them a look.
"Way to go, Captain!" O'Connor called out, making the OK hand sign, Miller grinning beside him.
Chandler rolled his eyes to the ceiling, then looked back down at Rachel and shook his head, and her smile now was apprehensive.
"Are you sure about this?"
He released her waist and took her hand instead, and they started walking down the hall in the direction everyone else was. "Imagine me caring more about immature comments than about holding your hand. Imagine it, because you're never gonna see it."
Rachel laughed, tugging on his hand as she leaned away and then back, and they made it the rest of the way to the banquet hall before she hesitated on the threshold, holding her breath.
"It's gonna be fine," he said, and she smiled up at him.
"Of course," she said, turning back to stare into a room that was already milling with people. "Of course it will be."
He was considering just dragging her into the room when Kara and Danny came up behind them.
"Oh, thank god," Kara said, tapping the index finger of her free hand on top of Chandler and Rachel's clasped hands. "You two will be our buffer couple." Her belly was noticeable in what must have been a specially chosen formal outfit from the ship's collection of maternity wear, and Danny was looking almost as nervous as Rachel.
Rachel laughed again, breathy with relief, and gave Kara a one-armed hug. "What, are we the only ones?"
Stepping up beside her, Kara peered into the room. "I don't know," she said. "Maybe. But we can face it together, right?"
"Sure," Rachel said, finally taking a step into the room. She looked up at Chandler again. "Let's go."
The room was dimly lit and there was music playing, so Chandler and Rachel made it all the way to the drinks table with little notice, and then they released the security blanket of each other's hand to manage drinks and finger food. On their way to the edge of the room, their path was interrupted by a very unimpressed-looking Tex.
"Hello there," Rachel said awkwardly as Tex planted his feet and crossed his arms over his chest.
"Is this a date?" he said, slightly incredulous, and Rachel gasped.
She turned to Chandler, elbowing him gently, and said, "Good god, Tom, this isn't a date, is it?"
"Fuck's sake, Tex," Tom said flatly, looking at him sideways. "I had her good and fooled. You just cheated me out of a full evening of fake-dating. Now I'll have to…"
"Well," Rachel said, leaning against his arm as she took a tiny bite from a cracker. "Enjoy the rest of your real date, I guess."
"Oh, yeah."
"Very funny," Tex said dryly. "I was just surprised this block of granite—" He kicked lightly at one of Chandler's shoes. "—actually moved fast enough to get a date to the friggin' welcome home banquet."
Rachel raised her eyebrows, turning to Tom and putting the rest of the cracker in her mouth, shutting her mouth and chewing and definitely not commenting on that.
Chandler, for his part, stared across the room at the opposite wall, blinking a few times and then saying, "I'm just full of surprises."
Tex looked from one of them to the other, clearly sensing that there was some mystery there but hopefully having no idea what it was. Eventually, he rolled his eyes and said, "Enjoy your night," before walking off to go bother someone else.
Rachel and Chandler headed toward the perimeter again, wandering and greeting friends until everyone was asked to take their seats for dinner. Presumably nobody had had time to make seating charts, which was good since Chandler wasn't sure they would have seated him and Rachel together. They ended up at a table with the other officers… and Tex and his daughter.
The captain gave a little speech thanking them for their service, pointing out Rachel and Tom in particular for developing the cure and leading the mission respectively. He also mentioned that everyone who served would have two weeks of leave, which earned him a hearty cheer.
When he was finished, and the first course was being served, Tex leaned into Tom's personal space and said, "So, tell me all about the grand romance of the past twenty-four hours."
"Shoulda known it would be Tex," Chandler muttered to Rachel, as they paused to allow servers to set their dishes down.
Once they were out of the way, Rachel leaned across and said, low enough that only Tex and Chandler could hear, "We got off the ship and couldn't keep our hands off each other. That's what you want to hear, right?"
Shuddering, Tex leaned back in his chair. "Not exactly."
"Well, don't ask if you don't want to hear the answer."
"I just have this feeling there's more to this than you're saying."
"And it will stay that way!" Rachel exclaimed, picking up her fork and stabbing it toward the middle of the table. "Honestly, Tex, I don't know why you would have any interest in knowing this at all."
Chandler was sitting silent in the middle, but now he said, "To rile you, I think."
Rachel blew out a breath, spearing at her food with her fork. "I get that that's fun for you, Tex, but for me it's just annoying."
"Okay, ouch." Tex reached for his glass, taking a drink and then setting it down, silent for a moment. "I'm curious, okay, sue me, but I'm not tryna ruin your evening. Truce?" He held out his hand, which Rachel shook grudgingly.
"You must have something else to talk about," she added mildly, and Tex gamely recounted his reunion with his daughter, introducing her to everyone at the table.
The rest of the meal was spent eating and discussing possible plans for their leave. There weren't too many options on the ship—Chandler would probably work out a lot, and Rachel would probably, well, work. He did enjoy the plural pronoun that got thrown around—we haven't thought about it much, and we will probably spend most of it on the couch, and so on. His officers gave him some long looks, but they were wise enough not to comment, and Tex had been sufficiently chastised to let it pass.
By the end of the night, it was very obvious to anyone who would look that Rachel and Tom were together, so at least that was over with. He walked her back to her unit, and she invited him in, wrapping herself around him as soon as the door was shut.
They stood in the entryway, Rachel with her arms around his chest and her cheek against his shirt, and he said, "Sorry about Tex."
"Tex is Tex," she said back. "As long as he doesn't try to get us in trouble, which he won't, it's fine. Although I am amused that he's apparently imagining you as some Don Juan when all we've done since the ship docked is sleep."
Chandler scanned back over his memories of the last day and a bit, realizing that she was right. "So now I'm trying to figure out how I actually would have gotten you to be my date to the welcome back banquet…"
"Yeah, don't do that." She leaned back enough to look up at him. "That's like me trying to figure out what this whole past year would have looked like if someone other than you was running that ship."
His face transformed to a mask of horror, eyes wide and seeing something awful. "Dear God. Would you have ended up with Tex?"
"I just told you not to do that," she laughed, smacking the back of her hand lightly against his chest.
His arms still locked around her waist, he stared down at her for a minute and then said, "Yeah, everything happened the way it was supposed to."
Her eyes dropped to where her hands rested on his chest, a small smile playing about her lips, and he watched her for another minute before leaning down to kiss her. Tilting her chin back up, she slid her hands up to wrap around behind his neck, and he realized very suddenly that, yes, they really hadn't been together since—since they were married, way back on someone else's ship, in someone else's home, and when she rose up on her toes it was to turn and press her hip between his legs as she held onto his neck and he groaned into her mouth.
His hands slid apart to grip her hips and his body said to step forward, press her up against the wall and into the space between his legs, but her taste was intoxicating on his tongue and he wanted more of it, wanted to taste every part of her, so he stepped back, catching her hands in his and backing toward the bedroom. He was taking long strides, his eyes intent on hers as she followed determinedly, and so he collided with the bed and fell back onto it, Rachel landing on top of him and quickly moving to straddle his hips, swallowing another groan as she stole back the kiss and the contact he'd taken away.
"You have to—" he said. "Clothes."
She sat up, which only settled her more firmly on top of him, and he pressed his head back against the mattress, squeezing his eyes shut for an instant as his hand clutched at the blanket, and when he looked back at her she was pulling her blouse up over her head, dropping it to the floor as she leaned down to kiss him again, and he had to use all his will power to push her gently off of him onto the bed.
He stood up, and she was incredulous where she lay sprawled against the pillows, so he turned to the wall and started to unbutton his shirt. "I'm going to hang that up," he said. "Take your pants off."
A number of wordless, righteously indignant sounds were coming from Rachel's throat as she sat up on the bed, and he very purposefully didn't turn away from the wall until he was undressed, to find her already standing at the closet, her blouse on a hanger as she hung up her pants, clad only in her underwear.
She beckoned impatiently with one hand, and he walked over to hand her his shirt and hang up his slacks himself. When that was done, she planted her hands on her hips and said, "Satisfied?"
He grinned, grabbing her around the waist and picking her up off the floor, her feet kicking slightly as he carried her to the bed and dropped her on top of it. Hovering over her, one hand braced on the bed as he reached for her underwear with the other, he paused and said, "Are you mad at me?"
She smirked, her chin dipping toward her chest as she shook her head, and he kissed her again, tugging her underwear down and then pausing as he moved to the underside of her jaw, his lips pressed to the place where it met her neck. He had to stop there, inhaling deeply as his hand curved around her hip again, trying to fill his lungs with that scent that felt like a drug. She squirmed, and he traced his lips down to her collar bone, both his hands smoothing down over her hips before his lips were tracing the top edge of her bra and he had to reach up to unclasp it.
That scent was with him every inch of the way, as he breathed deeply and evenly and kissed his way down her body, spending extra time at the swell of her breast and the slight curve of her belly and the corner of bone that pressed up at her hip and she squirmed again when he lingered there.
"Impatient," he murmured into her skin, but moved immediately to the place where she wanted him, inhaling again and tracing his lips and tongue along her. She cried out, her turn to clutch at the blankets, and he smiled against her, taking his time as she twisted under him and babbled nonsense syllables that occasionally formed his name.
She came with another cry and he was grateful for soundproof walls, thin though they may be, and smug as he might secretly feel if someone heard his name from her tongue with that rough edge. He ran his hands back up over her smooth skin as he moved to lie beside her, his fingers stroking the curve of her waist and tracing over the muscles in her abdomen that shook under his caress.
He dipped his face into the curve of her neck for another breath of her, before taking her braid in one hand and removing the tie with the other. Stroking his fingers through the weaving of it, he worked from the end up, reaching the back of her head just as she collected herself enough to turn to him for a kiss. He let his fingers trace over her jaw and tangle in her hair on the other side of her as she worked her tongue into his mouth and reached for his own underwear.
A full-body twitch shook him as she pushed his underwear down and hooked her leg over his waist, guiding him inside of her and wrapping both her legs around him, his moan low in his throat and her heels pressing into the small of his back. He rolled her over, not wanting his weight to rest on her leg, and pushed up from the bed, breaking the kiss long enough to see the flush high on her cheeks, the haze in her eyes when they blinked open, and he said, "I love you," before kissing her again and moving his hips.
He worked her up again, his breaths coming short and fast as he pushed her, spent all his focus on her until she tipped over the edge and he could let go with a guttural groan. He stayed on top of her for a moment, his arms shaking slightly as he held himself just off of her, just enough for her to breathe, and he was not proud of the whimper that got caught in his throat when she wrapped her legs back around his waist.
She released him a second later and he rolled away, easing apart from her only for her to slide back toward him, wrapping an arm around him and tucking her head under his chin.
"You know," she said, and then broke off, like maybe she hadn't meant to say anything at all.
"Yeah?"
She hummed her indecision, her index finger tracing circles on his back, and he sighed, his hand coming up to sweep her hair away from where it clung damply at her neck, his thumb tracing up behind her ear, and she somehow snuggled even closer, pressing her cheek hard against his chest.
"I love you," she said finally, and he stopped moving, stopped breathing altogether. "That's what I wanted to say."
He closed his eyes, shallow breaths sneaking in and out of his lungs, and cradled her there in his arms before a smile started to struggle onto his lips. He stroked his thumb over the soft skin at her hairline, and relaxed into the bed, and she sighed and relaxed against him, and everything was just how it should be.
Let's keep travelling, travelling, in this skin, in this skin, 'til we get to the end of the line.
Let us take a risk, take a risk, nothing missed, nothing missed, 'til we get to the end of the line.