AN: So this chapter is mainly sexytimes, with some plot and character development sprinkled in. Feel free to skip to it. :) Thanks as always for reading (and reviewing... I love reviews so please let me know what you think)!
Tom's place was closer.
There was small chance of anyone coming in but he still made sure to lock the door. They dropped their coats and came together in the middle of the room, their only support each other. Sybil proved an unsteady scaffold: she stumbled, giggling, and Tom had to catch her shoulders to keep her from falling.
"I'm a bit pissed," she confessed, pulling him toward the bed. She'd tossed the fedora across the room when they came in, and the feathered comb was askew in her hair.
Tom let her draw him in for another kiss. "We can just go to sleep if you like," he said with a smirk when they separated. She did not seem at all sleepy. Nor was he, despite the fact that it was late and he was also on the edge of drunkenness.
Instead of answering she sat him down on the bed and bent to kiss him again, her mouth open, hot. His hands slid up the backs of her thighs under her dress, continuing the exploration they'd begun at the party. She pressed closer and he ended up with a mouthful of fringe.
"Sorry," she said as he spit, laughing. She pulled the dress over her head. "That should help." Tom had not seen Sybil wearing so little since their first date. When she changed for bed he usually left the room or averted his eyes out of a combination of respect, shyness, and reluctance to torture himself. But now she stood before him in her black bra and underwear and stockings, inviting him to look at her. Her skin was white marble in the dimness, but when he spanned the sides of her waist with his hands she felt so much softer and warmer than stone.
She turned her attention to his tie, unpicking the knot deftly, her face all concentration. "Sybil..." Her eyes flicked to his and she smiled encouragingly: Isn't this fun? He kissed the inside of her elbow, interfering with her efforts to unbutton his shirt. "Are you sure tonight is the best time to...?" He didn't know what exactly she had in mind. Nor did he want to take advantage of the situation, though she seemed perfectly in control of herself, to say nothing of how skillfully she'd maneuvered him to where she wanted him. It was that strange role reversal again: he felt as though she'd built a vision in her head of how she wanted their first time to be, and the last thing he wanted was for her to be disappointed.
"I don't think so," she said, and his heart sank just a little. Yet he couldn't deny feeling a measure of relief. Maybe it was just jitters, or maybe he wasn't as ready as he'd thought. "I'd rather be sober for that, wouldn't you? Doesn't mean we can't have a bit of fun," she said, smiling wickedly and helping him off with shirt and jacket.
"No, it doesn't." Tom slid his hands around to her back and pulled her closer, kissed her stomach. He set a course upward, sucking gently on her skin with each kiss, and a thrill went through him when she moaned and moved closer. With one hand he cupped the silken curve of the underside of her breast, his thumb grazing the stiffening nipple through the lace of her bra. She moaned again and he circled his thumb, taking long breaths full of her.
She leaned down to him and her mouth was on his again, her hands moving to his belt buckle. He thought she was going to touch him as she had at Callie's, but instead she began tugging at his trousers and pants.
"Sybil - " He shifted his hips up so she could pull his clothes down over them.
"Just relax," she murmured, and glanced up at him. "Trust me?"
"Yeah." She hadn't touched him yet; he felt as though he were holding his breath.
She knelt on the rug between his knees then and bent over and Oh Jesus... he fell back onto his elbows. He'd watched this happen before, both in his head and onscreen, but he'd never come close to imagining the way it would feel - her tongue tracing circles around him, fluttering, teasing, then her lips sliding down, her hand caressing - it didn't take long before he began to quiver, a tsunami of sensation approaching, wholly different from what happened when he took care of himself.
Somewhere in the back of his mind there was some sense of propriety left. "Sybil... Syb, I'm going to - " She responded by moving hand and mouth up and down a little faster and reaching between his legs with her other hand to fondle his bollocks and that did it: he was lost, swept out to sea. He might have said something, made noises; it wasn't important. Enveloped in the warmth of her mouth, he stiffened as her tongue lashed against him, swallowing. It was much too much, but he never wanted it to end.
Eventually, though, it did. She tickled him one last time with the tip of her tongue, giving a low laugh when he twitched. In the second it took her to come up and lie down beside him he felt bereft.
She settled with her head on his shoulder, his arm around her. He lay listening to his heartbeat slow down until he could finally sigh and say "Well. That was fun." Her laughter pealed out and she lifted her head. Her lips flitted onto his but he couldn't let them leave; he cupped the back of her head, his mouth tender on hers. After a moment she lay back down.
"What about you?" he asked. That couldn't have been enough for her. "Don't you want..." Tom had little notion of how to make what had just occurred in him happen for her, but it seemed churlish not to at least try. Once he'd mustered the strength to sit up, that was.
She stroked his chest idly. "We can get to that later," she said. "But thank you for offering." She sat up and looked down at him, tracing a fingertip over his cheekbone, her eyes soft grey blurs in the darkness. He felt an ache deep in his chest: she was so beautiful. It pained him a little, the knowledge that all he'd get to keep of this moment would be an imperfect memory.
Soon enough the future came to claim them. Sybil got up and took off her bra and stockings, then went over to his bureau for a t-shirt to sleep in. Reluctantly, Tom sat up as well and pulled on his boxers. Hewas tired, though, especially now.
They settled into bed. Sybil fitted her head into the hollow of his shoulder, draping an arm across his midsection. Tom closed his eyes and began to drift off almost immediately.
"It's been lovely so far, hasn't it?" She murmured. "Us, I mean."
"Mm hmm." He rubbed her arm.
"Tom, whatever happens..." her tone brought him slightly more alert, and he thought of Senegal or wherever she'd end up. Just as quickly he pushed it from his mind. That wasn't for tonight. "Whatever happens..." she seemed to be having trouble finishing her thought. Finally he felt her rustle against him as she shook her head. "Never mind," she yawned.
-ooo-
Tom's mother usually had at least two of her children and their families up for Sunday tea, and Skype chats while they were there were not so much conversations as family reunions. The children fought over who got to be in front of the computer and the adults shouted over each other trying to be the first to give Tom the latest gossip, with the result being that he understood none of it. After twenty minutes of this, Eileen shooed them all out of her room so she could actually talk to her son. "The kitchen's a disaster!" She yelled. "All of youse, go clean it up. When I come out there those worktops had better be sparkling." She gave her eldest son a playful swat on his way out.
"What'd you fix?" Tom asked, as he always did.
"Roast pork," his mother answered. "It didn't turn out." She always said that too, and it was never true.
"Ahh, I doubt that. Can you send me what's left?"
Her eyes crinkled in a smile. "I'll express post it. So,Tommy, how are things?" This was part of their ritual as well: he would tell her things were fine, then raise a few mild complaints about the weather or how standoffish people here were so she could make sympathetic noises. Until a few weeks previous, she had also been in the habit of asking if there were any new girls in his life. She'd become so used to his answer that Tom almost wished he had been recording the chat on the day he told her about Sybil, just so he could play her reaction for her later.
Now, of course, instead of asking about women in general she asked after "this Sybil girl you've been seeing so much of."
"She's grand," Tom answered. "We're getting on well. It's nice."
"Nice?" Eileen raised an eyebrow, a gesture that Sybil would have recognized on her son's face. "Son, I know she's English, but you don't have to start talking like her."
Tom laughed. "All right, Ma, it's puppies and fairy dust. The wedding's next week."
Eileen looked affronted. "I was just asking," she muttered. "God forbid I should take an interest in my son's life."
He hated it when she got like this. "It's only been a month and a bit, Ma. I like her and she seems to like me, so that's where we are now."
"That's all I wanted to know," she said, feathers smoothed somewhat. "I just like to make sure you're not too lonely over there."
As if she'd ever believe Tom wasn't lonely, an ocean away from them all. "I'm all right. Busy."
"Not too busy, I hope. You're eating well? Getting enough sleep?"
"Yep."
"What about mass?"
"I go when I can, Ma."
"Well, I hope that's oftener than I think it is," his mother said primly.
Tom changed the subject. "Katie find anything yet?" His younger sister had been made redundant almost a year before and been unemployed since.
Eileen sighed. "No, and she's been making noises about going across the water. Something about a lead in Liverpool."
Better England than moving back with Ma, Tom thought. Katie and their mother had always had a difficult relationship, and they'd be like cats and dogs if they had to live together now. "Well, that's not too far," he said encouragingly. "You can always go for a visit."
That just seemed to make Eileen feel worse. She shook her head sorrowfully. "First you, now Katie. Who'll be next, I wonder?"
"Don't be silly, Ma. Everyone else is settled, aren't they?"
"I already lost your da too early," she continued. "Worked his fingers to the bone, he did. Never even got to enjoy his retirement."
"Ma, you're getting sentimental on me," Tom teased. She must've had wine with dinner.
Now his mother was the one to change the subject. "Mag's pregnant again," she said, naming one of Tom's sisters-in-law. "Three months gone. Dunno if you could tell when she was in here before."
"I didn't notice. Give her and Ciaran my congratulations, will you?"
"I hope she won't put on too much weight this time. She puffed up like a souffle with Saiorse. And she used to be such a pretty thing." Tom's mother gave a regretful little shake of her head.
"Ma." Tom rolled his eyes. "She's pregnant. She can gain as much as she likes." His mother had a good heart, truly she did. It was just a pity that it was so well hidden by her sharp tongue sometimes.
"I'm only thinking of your brother. He likes his women trim, I know that much," Eileen said sagely. "His girlfriends were always little slips of things."
Tom was thoroughly tired of this topic. "I'm sure he's as attracted to Maggie as ever. She's up the pole, isn't she?"
"Stephen Thomas!" His mother giggled, her hand going to her lips girlishly. "The mouth on you. You haven't changed a bit."
"I save it all up for you, Ma."
"And no sass left for your English rose? Too bad." His mother glanced away, hearing a noise offscreen. "Well, I'd best be off before they break all my new dishes," she said. "Take care of yourself, son." She smirked. "And take care of that girl as well. You'll have to bring her in on one of our chats soon."
"I will, yeah." Tom wondered what his mother would make of Sybil. Truth be told, he wasn't half as apprehensive about her meeting his mother as he was about himself with Sybil's family, assuming that meeting ever happened. "See you, Ma."
"I love you, son."
-ooo-
A few days into November, Tom was in the library when Sybil texted him. Just got off Skype with the hiring panel. She'd had her initial job interview.
Yeah? how'd it go?
don't think I've got it :(
"Damn," Tom muttered, truly feeling sorry. You all right?
yeah I'll be ok. thx.
Did they tell you anything abt when they'll make a decision?
They'll email me either way next week, She replied. I really don't think it went well though. I don't know why I even thought i had a chance at it. urrrgh.
She must really be gutted, Tom thought. He looked around: the stacks in his immediate area were deserted, so he rang her.
"Hey," she answered, sounding defeated.
"Don't get discouraged," he told her. "How long did the interview last?"
"Almost two hours." She groaned. "And every time I answered a question they'd just pause afterward like they were waiting for me to say something more. It was excruciating."
"So it's been a slog and you're tired," Tom said levelly. "It probably didn't go as badly as all that."
"No... no, it did." She drew a long, shaky breath and Tom wondered if she was crying, or trying not to.
"Well, don't worry," He said. "Even if this doesn't work out, you'll find something."
"Of course. I could always go back to England and have Papa set me up in a nice flat in Chelsea. Maybe I can help my mother organize fashion shows for charity." Her voice dwindled as she spoke, clotting with unshed tears.
Most people would cheerfully accept that version of failure, Tom thought, even if they'd never had to worry about money in their lives. It said a lot about Sybil that she wouldn't. "I mean you'll find something that makes you happy," he said. "Don't worry. This is just a setback."
"I know. I'm being dramatic." Sybil sniffled and he could hear her pulling herself together. "I suppose you think me terribly spoiled if that's the worst thing I can think of."
"I don't," he said. "There's no rule that you've got to be happy if you have a certain amount of money." He ran a hand through his hair. "Look, why don't I come over. You can cry to me about it all you like."
She laughed, and it made him feel better to hear it. "I never cry," she lied. "I learnt not to early on. It was like blood in the water at Marlborough."
"Our formative years weren't so very different, then," he joked.
Sybil laughed again. "Are you sure you can? I hate to think of you taking time away from your schoolwork. I know you've got loads of writing to do."
"Don't give it a thought," he said. "It'd be a poor sort of boyfriend who wasn't there for you in your hour of need."
She sighed. "Tom Branson, I don't deserve you."
-ooo-
She did not come to the door when he knocked, but as he knew she was expecting him he turned the knob and poked his head in. "Sybil?" There was no sign of her in the main room.
"In here," she called from the bathroom. It was original to the house and mostly taken up with a squared-off tub in chipped white porcelain, which was currently full of soap bubbles and Sybil.
"I came in to have a quick shower and decided that a day like today called for a bath," she said apologetically, lolling her head toward where Tom fidgeted in the doorway. "And then I couldn't get out."
Tom wasn't sure whether he was glad or sorry the bubbles were there. He went in and sat on the closed toilet lid. "You seem as though you're feeling better."
"I am. I still don't think they're interested, but I don't feel quite so gloomy about it now," Sybil said, sitting up and resting her elbows on her knees. "Maybe I'll ask them if they know of any voluntary postings. That's probably a better place to start."
"Sounds like a plan." He reached down to lave soapy water over her back. She'd piled her hair up on her head, and a few damp curls twined down her neck.
She arched into his touch. "Mm. Tom?"
"Uh huh?"
"D'you want to have sex?"
His hand, cupped full of water, stopped halfway up her spine. "Er... yes."
Sybil laughed throatily. "I guess I don't need to ask if you're sure." She lay back in the tub and fixed him with a mischievous look, rubbing the foam off her breasts and watching his eyes flick down and then back up. She gestured with a slender arm. "Can you reach me that towel?"
He helped her to dry off, though it wasn't so much helping as an excuse to touch: she still had bubbles clinging to her in several places when they got to her room. Tom rubbed them off as she undid his jeans and pulled the shirt over his head, his hands moving confidently down her back and over her arse. He felt much more in control of things than he had on his first night here, though he remembered he'd felt fine then too, until he hadn't. Now, though, it seemed to him that a similar episode would be less a humiliation than a missed opportunity.
Sybil soon had him as naked as she was, but she gave no sign that she thought time was of the essence. Once they'd fallen onto her bed she seemed content to just kiss for a while, slow and sensual and taking frequent pauses to smile into one another's eyes, much as they'd done many times with their clothes on. Even the way she moved against him was the same.
But it was heightened with being skin on skin. Their kisses became more and more heated and Tom slid his hand down her shoulder, along her side, over her hip. His fingers found the wetness between her legs and a surge of adrenaline went through him when she gasped. His excitement ratcheted up several levels as he explored further and she groaned, her head falling back to expose her throat to his lips. He'd never touched her there before. He could sense it now - the beginning of how to give her what she'd given him the other night - in the slick heat of her and the way she thrust her hips into his touch.
But he could feel the pressure building up inside him so much faster than it seemed to be building in her and after all she was the one who'd started it, so he said her name. She opened her eyes and smiled and rolled the two of them over so she was on top, straddling him. She reached for the condom she'd left on the bedside table and found eye contact with him again.
"You sure about this, then?" she asked with a gleam in her eye. She tore open the wrapper, in no doubt of his answer, but he answered anyway.
"Feck, yes." She grinned at that.
"Just relax," she said as she began to put the thing on, but that was the only sign that she was even thinking of what had happened before. Then she was hovering over him and guiding him inside her and however he tried to recapture the moment in his mind later, he couldn't do it. His eyes fell shut for a moment and he felt her lean down and brush her lips against his cheek.
"How's that?" Sybil murmured. She hadn't even moved yet, but her voice was low and sounded so sensual that Tom had to bite his lip to suppress a groan.
How's that?! "Fine," he managed, along with a wide smile. Trust me, love, you don't have to worry about me. I'm feeling absolutely fecking amazing right now.
"Good," she said, smiling back, and then she kissed him and she did begin to move, setting a deliberate pace. Tom responded to her rhythm, trying to move along with her. They weren't quite in sync but when he did manage to match her it began to leave fecking amazing behind and edge into territory that could only be inferred in ragged breaths and inarticulate sounds, in the whisper of damp skin on skin.
She was going faster now, rolling her hips, her eyes half closed in concentration and something else. She gave a little grunt with each thrust and was clearly enjoying herself. That was the problem: the more Sybil got into it, the more difficult it was for Tom to keep control. She leaned over again and her breasts pressed into his chest and the orgasm reared up in his lower belly as her tongue traced his throat, searching for the vibration of his moan. He made himself lie still. She paused for a second as well, but soon she began again and, leaning close to him, whispered, "Go on, darling."
"Sybil - " Her name passed through clenched teeth. He wasn't quite sure why he felt it was so important, but he wanted to hold on for her.
"Go on," she said again. She changed her movements, made them more swishy or something, and Tom couldn't help but let go, his faint sense of defeat more than made up for by the pleasure of release.
He wrapped his arms more tightly around her as his body relaxed. He felt a powerful urge to say something, but he couldn't think of any words that would be equal to what had just happened, so he did not speak. Instead he kissed her neck, her cheeks, wherever he could reach.
-o-
In the previous few weeks, the bright blue days of Michigan's early autumn had changed into weather that was more like winter at home: heavy grey skies and near-constant drizzle, only with a bitterer edge to the air. Night did not descend so much as steal upon the day by quick degrees. When Tom had arrived at Sybil's apartment, sullen light still struggled through the windows. Now, barely an hour after he'd come in, it was full dark.
Tom lay on his back in Sybil's bed. He gazed out the window at the sky, colored an eerie orange-pink by light from the streetlamps bouncing off the ever-present cloud cover. Sybil rested her head on his chest and he stroked her hair, his fingers tangling and untangling in it, the movement of his hand combining with the rise and fall of their breathing to create a soothing rhythm.
"So do you feel any different?" Sybil asked.
Tom smiled. "I suppose I do, a little. Did you, after your first time?"
"I did, actually." She took his hand. "Though I suppose people make a bigger deal of it when you're a sixteen-year-old girl. Rite of passage and all that." She chuckled. "I remember my boyfriend at the time was annoyed with me 'cos I didn't tell him it was my first time before we did it. As if he would've wanted to spread rose petals on the bed or something."
"It's nice you had someone who wanted it to be a good experience for you," Tom said.
"Oh, I don't know about that. Looking back, I think he might've just wanted to know at the time that he was taking someone's virginity."
"Sounds like a catch," said Tom. "Whatever made you give him up?"
Sybil laughed. "As it happened, he finished with me. Went off to Cambridge and found someone more suitable than a bleeding-heart earl's daughter from Yorkshire." Her thumb rubbed along the side of Tom's. "I heard he ended up working in the City. He was probably in the LIBOR scandal up to his neck."
"Were you upset when things ended with him?" Tom asked. Sybil sounded quite cavalier discussing it, but then again it had been several years.
"I wasn't really," she said. "I've no idea what I even saw in him. Yes I do: he was fit and popular and I was flattered to have him paying attention to me. But we had absolutely nothing in common and God, was he rubbish in bed. Six months of having sex and he never once made me - " she cut off suddenly. "And here I am bad-mouthing ex-boyfriends. I'll stop now."
"He never once made you what?" Tom thought he knew what she'd been going to say, and why she'd stopped.
Sybil played with Tom's fingers, tapping the tip of each one with the tip of hers. "Let's just say he was not a generous lover."
If nothing else, Tom thought, I'll make sure she never says that about me. "Earlier..." he began, "you did seem to enjoy it. But I don't think you... you weren't, er, satisfied, were you?"
She raised her head to look into his eyes. "Coming and being satisfied are two entirely different things," she told him, "at least for me. It can be just as satisfying to give as to receive, you know." She raised an eyebrow and smiled, and Tom wondered if she was thinking of the same thing he was.
"But so far I've only been on the receiving end." He ran his thumb down the curve of her cheek. "I can't imagine that would be fine for you all the time." His thumb reached her lips, and he moved it lightly over them. "I want you to be happy."
"And I have no doubt you'll make sure I am." She kissed his hand and then stretched up to give him a quick peck on the lips. "Tom, there's no reason for you to worry. Though you're a dear for thinking of it."
Tom took a breath and decided to just come out with the thing he was really concerned about. "I'm afraid I might need a little help," he said. "You might have to tell me what to do."
Sybil laughed, but kindly. "Oh, Tom, that's not really how it works. I don't know that I'll be able to tell you what pleases me." She kissed him again, only this time her mouth lingered on his.
He felt a rush in his lower belly, a marshaling of forces, at the feeling of her hand sliding down his side. He rolled the two of them over so she was on her back, him kissing her neck, moving down over her collarbone. With his face he nuzzled her breast and then he took her nipple into his mouth, smiling when he heard her make a noise. He propped himself up to look at her. "But I do want to please you," he said. "Very much."
She got a strange look on her face then, arousal tinged with embarrassment. Her right arm had been stretched above her head, and now she brought her hand down to fiddle with her hair. "Maybe..." she flicked her eyes up to his almost shyly. "Maybe I should show you how I like to be touched." Holy fuck. Tom's face burned at the image that lodged inside his head. "Unless it would make you uncomfortable," Sybil continued.
"No..." He swallowed and leaned back a bit. "That sounds... helpful." Can't promise I'll be able to stop myself joining in, though, love, he thought, and he felt a slight smirk come to his face.
One side of her mouth quirked up as well, along with her eyebrow. She brought her hand down her body, dragging it between her breasts, as its mate pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. Tom's eyes fixed upon that hand, following its leisurely progress. "The main thing is not to hurry," she said. Her fingertips drifted lightly down her lower belly, and she shivered. Tom watched as they reached the neat triangle of hair between her thighs and began to play with it.
"But when it's time... it's time." She opened her legs and, just for a moment, his attention shifted to her face as she closed her eyes and pressed her head back into the pillow.
-ooo-
"Hey, Tom? You got a minute?"
Tom turned back to see Reverend Daniel Pereira striding up the aisle behind him and paused to allow him to catch up. "Sure." Tom liked the parochial vicar, an energetic, dark-haired man in his mid-thirties. He seemed constantly to be moving, but there was a calm solidity about him that was reassuring. And he was one of the few clergymen Tom had known of any age who seemed to remember what it was like to be young. Tom definitely preferred him to the pastor, a pale, stringy septuagenarian who rarely opened his mouth except on the pulpit. Still, he eyed Father Daniel warily, hoping he wasn't going to want to discuss further what Tom had revealed in the confessional.
To Tom's relief, the priest didn't mention it. "I wondered whether you might be up for joining the social justice committee," he said. "They've had a few people move away, and they're always looking for new blood. I thought it might be up your alley."
And what would give him that idea? Tom wondered if the man had somehow dug up one of his old papers. He'd written some fiery indictments of European economic and social policy in his time. But no: "Tina Powell's the committee chair, and she says she always sees you putting money in the donation box," Pereira continued, shrugging. Tom had never actually spoken to Tina, a rather twitchy-looking middle-aged woman who never seemed to miss a Sunday mass, but apparently her small black eyes were as sharp as they looked.
Tom almost asked if this was his real penance, but Father Daniel hardly seemed the passive-aggressive type. It was on the tip of his tongue to say no: he had barely enough time to himself as it was. Then he thought of Sybil and the shifts she put in twice a week at the women's clinic. Volunteering might look good on her CV, but that wasn't why she did it.
Father Daniel seemed to sense his hesitation. "It wouldn't be a huge time commitment, just a couple, three hours a week. They've got a really great volunteer program going, but they could use some help on the communication end," he said. "That's kinda your wheelhouse, isn't it?"
"It is, yeah," Tom admitted. Again he wondered if the priest - or the observant Mrs. Powell - had been doing some detective work. But what was the harm, if they were just trying to help people? And Tom guessed it wouldn't hurt him to get out of himself a bit. "I suppose I could help out."
"Great!" Father Daniel beamed. "Let me just give you the paperwork. You can drop it back by whenever you have time." He ushered Tom through the vestibule and off to the side, into a hallway lined with doors. "You know, my mom's from Dublin."
Tom raised an eyebrow. "Really?"
Father Daniel laughed. "Don't look so surprised. I take after my dad. His family's Brazilian; it made for some interesting Christmases, I'll tell ya. But my middle name's actually Ciaran." He opened one of the doors into a small office.
"I've got a brother named Ciaran," Tom told him, lingering inside the doorway as the priest rifled through a desk drawer.
"Is that right? He still in Ireland?"
"My whole family is. Most of them live around Dublin."
"You must miss them," Father Daniel said.
"I do, yeah. But we keep in touch."
"That's good," the priest said. "Family's important. They keep your feet on the ground."
Tom chuckled. "My ma does mine, that's for sure."
Father Daniel handed Tom a thin sheaf of paper. "All right, there's your volunteer registration form, your events calendar, the minutes from the last few committee meetings. Some light reading." He grinned, taking half a decade off his face, and shook Tom's free hand in both his own. "And thank you."
