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Squinting against wind driven daggers of snow, Oliver O'Toole stepped to the curb outside Denver International Airport and raised one arm. Even before the arm had moved, a taxi had seen him and steered to his aid, stopping so that the passenger door was just one step away from the Postable. The storm forecast by the Weather Service had arrived, sweeping down out of the mountains and battering Denver with fury. Snow came in horizontal sheets, transformed into wind driven skeins of needles hurled at storefronts, vehicles and pedestrians alike. Mother Nature was in a mood and Man was in her way.
After giving the cabbie the address, Oliver settled back and let exhaustion claim his limbs. Three days of hearings to reach a verdict obvious in the first three minutes had taken its toll. Exhaustion born from much deeper than muscles buoyed a longing that he found delight in.
Home. The word itself brought a sweetness that his soul had craved for so long.
"You look worn out, my friend," the cabbie said.
Oliver jerked his head up and blinked his eyes open. The face staring at him in the rearview mirror was a stranger, but the voice had sounded like Jordan Marley. Something in the man's eyes told him that yes, he was looking at a friend.
"Yes," he said. "Weary. Deep weary."
The man's face was not that of Marley, but the smile offered was. "Home is where your treasure is," he said and offered the smile again. Oliver was going to offer an appropriate Christmas-ish response to the proverb, but it slipped away as the warmth of the cab lulled his senses. "It's called a micro-nap," Marley said.
"What?" Oliver asked, blinking his eyes open.
"We're here," the cabbie said. "You're home, Oliver."
Oliver blinked again and stared out the side window. It was true, the cab had stopped in front of Oliver's house. How quickly the drive had passed. Weariness forgotten, he paid the driver and hurried along the walk to the porch, and unlocked the front door. As he pushed the door closed against the buffeting wind, the sound of his wife's padded slippers rushing towards him brought a grin to his lips and he turned and opened his arms wide.
Home welcomed him as Shane filled the embrace and claimed him as her own once more. For many minutes the two stood doing nothing except 'being' with each other. His hands moved across her back, massaging gently. "Home," he whispered.
"Home," she answered. "Wine or hot chocolate?"
"Is the gas fireplace lit?"
"Of course."
"Then wine it is."
She took his briefcase, dropped it beside the door, then took his overcoat from behind and slipped it off his shoulders and left it on its hook. Taking his hand in hers, she led him to the living room, then slipped an ottoman under his feet. "Be right back." She returned with two glasses of red wine, and settled down beside him, snuggling under his arm.
Oliver exhaled slowly, watching the flickering light of the fireplace and letting muscles relax as the joy of having Shane beside him refilled a reservoir of peace that had been emptied over the last few days. With one hand, she curled and uncurled her fingers in his palm, kneading and needing in a persistent rhythm. He could feel her watching his face and smiled.
"Better?" she asked finally.
"Am now."
"Is it over?"
"Yes."
"And Steve?"
"Suspended without pay for six months and ordered to never show his face in Denver again."
"Too bad. He is a very good agent."
Oliver sighed and sipped wine, unwilling to step into the same old debate. "In this present environment of "Me-too", his fate was sealed the moment Becky reported his actions. You and I both know that."
"Yes," she agreed.
"Becky says "hi" by the way."
"I'll call her tomorrow. Was the verdict unanimous?"
"Yes, it was. The man misused his authority and abused his position to manipulate you into a romantic situation. Emotionally kidnapping you proved the actions of an immature teenager, not a seasoned agent who should know better. He got what he had coming."
"Were you glad?"
"I was glad when it was over. Did I wish ill on Mr. Marek? No."
"Oliver, I closed that chapter long ago, you know that. Right?"
"Of course. And now I have closed it too."
"Time for jammies and a snuggle?"
Oliver laughed. His answer was one simple word. "Home."
