Etienne's eyes flew open and Emma pounced on him and pressed her lips to his. A squeal of surprise popped out when her hand went to his crotch.
Oh, hell! I've got a drunk, irrational woman...
"No squeezing!" he gasped as his family jewels tried to drawl up inside of him for protection. Sadly, Emma's death grip on them kept them painfully in place. He had to grip her wrist with one hand and place the other on her forehead and push her away. For such a slight woman, she was pretty strong, and it took a good shove on his part to get her off of him. She sat back, looking confused, hurt, angry, drunk, and possibly honestly aroused but he wasn't sure if she was truly wanting him, or if she was just drunk, or possibly trying to get back at Emma.
What ever it was, he could not have sex with her.
"You don't find me attractive?" she pouted.
"You are très jolie," he assured her, holding her hands, mostly to keep them from doing more damage to his now rather sore testicles. "But I do not zink you are really wanting to have sex with me."
"But I do..."
"Did you want to do so earlier? Say, before dinner? Or even just after, as we were all talking?"
"Well, I don't think so, but..."
"And did you not tell me zat you would only have sex with ze person you married?"
"If Richard can break the rules, why can't I?" she asked. Her head came up proudly, stubbornly, defiantly.
Oh, bon. It is about Richard as well! It just keeps getting better!
"It is not a rule, belle Emma. Not really. But, it is somezing zat should not be done on a whim, not ze first time. And, it should be with someone you truly care about."
"But Simonne..." Etienne put his finger over her lips.
"Zis is not about Simonne, or Richard. Zis is about you, et peut-être moi. You are a beautiful woman, Emma. If circumstances were differtent, I would probably take you up on your offer. But tonight, it is not ze night for us, belle Emma. It has been an exciting evening for you, many...ah, unexpected zings occurred. Et, you are drunk..."
"No. I'm not...well, a little."
"More zan a little. And you would regret it in ze morning."
"I won't. And even if I did, I would live with it. It wouldn't be the first time."
"Oh, and what could a woman as beautiful as you possibly regret from life?" Etienne asked, trying to distract her.
"It's this really stupid..." Emma trailed off. "Oh no! You're not changing the subject on me like that!" She lunged at him again, once more pressing her lips to his. Etienne gently but firmly pushed her away once more.
"Alright," he said. "I have warned you, mais, you seem intent on doing zis, so let's go." He stood and held his hand out to Emma. She took it, Etienne was disturbed that there was no hesitation in her at all. He led her to his bedroom.
While back in Richard's hotel room...
Simonne sat on the bed, clad only in that pair of stocking Richard had loved so.
Sadly, he didn't know she was wearing them.
When they had gotten into the room, the sudden warmth made Richard realize he was drunker than he thought he was. And a wine drunk was a completely different creature than a liquor drunk, he now knew. He stumbled slightly as his sense of balance caught wind of the alcohol in his system, and Simonne had to help him to the bed.
"Are you alright, mon chér?" Simonne asked as he sat/collapsed onto the mattress.
"Drunker, mm. Than I thought. Give me a. Few minutes. And, mm. I'll be...um, fine." He looked up at Simonne with a goofy grin on his face. "You're so. Pretty, mm." He loved the way her eyes crinkled when she laughed.
"And you, mon chér, are so cute. I must use ze salle de bain. Will you be naked when I come out?" she asked over her shoulder as she went into the bathroom.
Richard nodded and started unbuttoning his shirt eagerly, which wasn't all that easy with fingers numbed by both cold and drink, but since Simonne was a girl, and girls always took forever to do whatever it was they did in the bathroom, he figured he had plenty of time to get them undone. He did finally manage it, pulled his shirt tails out from his waist, worked on unfastening his pants, realized standing to removed them wasn't going to work, so he laid back, lifted his hips and slid them down to mid-thigh. He laid there, his head spinning and his body feeling slightly numb and thought 'I'll finish getting undressed in a minute. I'm just going to lay here, close my eye, let the world stop spinning...just a minute.'
Simonne found him with his shirt unbuttoned, his pants partway down, feet on the floor, not quite snoring.
"Mon chér?" she said softly, leaning over him. "Oh Ree-shard..." she sang, running her hand along his body. He murmured, shifted slightly, but other than that, nothing. Simonne gave a rueful smile and shook her head before she went about getting Richard undressed and arranged more comfortably on the bed. It wasn't easy...he was heavier than he looked, and although he roused somewhat when Simonne was trying to tug his shirt off, it wasn't enough to be truly helpful to her. But she finally managed. She carefully removed his mask, taking great care with the delicate tin. She held it in her hand and regarded it for a long while. It was an amazing bit of work, she thought, almost a piece of art. But she couldn't help but hate that Richard, and so many others like him, found need for such a thing. Like Etienne's false leg, it made it easier for Richard to move around in the world. But while Etienne's leg literally made it easier for him to move, Richard's mask was really more necessary because humans were very vain creatures deep down, with silly ideas of how one should appear. It was ingrained in everyone what was 'normal' and there were very few who could break from that norm without feeling alienated from society. Simonne knew Richard wasn't one of those people. She would always hope that someday he might be, but she doubted it would ever happen. He saw his injury as too horrific.
She carefully set his mask on the nightstand, then pulled the blankets up to cover him. She planned to curl up beside him eventually, but it seemed like a good time to finish her thinking, so she sat beside him on the bed, gazed at him fondly, and went over what she had already worked out.
She had always been attracted to him, that much she had known for a good long time. But it wasn't just a physical attraction, she now understood. It was also an emotional, spiritual attraction. When she was with him, something inside of her heart and her mind seemed to awaken. It was like standing in a warm patch of sunshine, or that first oh-so-satisfy stretch in the morning after a good night's sleep. It was like a small piece of heaven had nestled inside of her. She was fairly certain it was love. She had told him, as they made love that night in Atlantic City, that she could see herself falling in love with him. True, she had told him this in French, because she knew he couldn't understand her, and while she wanted him to know how she felt, she wasn't sure if he felt the same about her. Whatever was or would be between them, Simonne would be there for Richard in whatever way he needed or wanted her. And if it turned out that Richard did not need or want her, then she would content herself with the memory of the time they had together. It would be hard, she knew, but she wanted him to be happy above anything.
She wondered if he would return the farm with his sister. Which made her try to picture herself on the farm with them. It didn't take her long to realize Emma was most likely right in that Simonne would never survive on the farm. She'd only recently just seen a real live cow, but it was at a distance, as the train had gone by. She had seen chickens, but had no real clear idea how they went from the smelly squawking feather covered messes to dinner. She really could not cook, and firmly agreed with her brother that she should not be allowed near a stove. She couldn't keep a plant alive to save her soul, so she'd be useless in a garden. She could do laundry, and basic sewing. She was also good at cleaning. But that meant she'd make a decent maid, not a farm wife. Would she be happy? That she didn't know. She thought she might be, if Richard was there. It would be peaceful, she might find that solitude she occasionally craved but could rarely find.
But, what if she wasn't happy? She would likely make everyone else around her miserable, as well. And she didn't want to do that.
But she realized that all of this was pointless thinking until she knew what Richard had planned. She could worry about potentially being miserable on a farm once she knew if he wanted her in his life.
She shifted her position, laying down on her stomach, her chin resting in her hand, and studied his face. On one side he looked so peaceful in slumber, young and innocent, with a life of honest, simple happiness before him. But the other,...Simonne could not imagine a more fitting image for a soldier. His ruined face seemed to capture the horrors seen so perfectly. The wide eye, shocked and blank. The mouth open in an eternal scream. The scars, always a reminder of injury and pain, both suffered and delivered. It made her sad to think that so many young men went through what they did. Especially young men that she cared so much for. She closed her eyes in a moment of silent reflection. When she opened them, she looked at Richard a moment more, then planted a gentle kiss on his lips before she crawled under the covers and snuggled up beside him. He shifted in his sleep, wrapped his arm around her and pulled her closer to him, his breathing, his heartbeat, and a small contented 'mm' from his throat all the lullaby Simonne needed to drift to sleep.
Richard awoke some hours later in desperate need of the bathroom. At some point, Simonne had rolled over and thrown an arm and a leg over him, so he tried to slide out from under her gently but quickly.
He relieved himself, washed his hand, and took a few moments to brush his teeth to remove the sticky, sour taste the wine had left in his mouth. While he did so, he mulled over the odd dream he had had while he slept:
He was back on the farm, living with Emma. She asked if he would kill a cow and a couple of chickens. He said he would, and he went to his room, only it wasn't his room at the farmhouse, it was his room in Atlantic City. He strapped on his knife, wrapped an apple and some cheese in a handkerchief, put his dog tags on and tucked them into his shirt, grabbed his rifle and headed out. He walked to the pasture and created a blind, where he settled himself in to wait for the cow to make one small mistake so he could get the perfect shot. While he was waiting, Simonne came in. He watched her with one eye while the other eye continued to look down his sight. Simonne took off her clothes, then undressed Richard while he continued to patiently watch the cow. Simonne was suddenly under him, and he was making love to her, but he was still watching the cow. But now the cow had the face of Manny Horowitz, and Richard itched to pull the trigger, but not yet, it wasn't the perfect shot. "Shoot him, mon cher!" Simonne urged, her hips thrusting against his frantically as she begged him to pull the trigger. "She's not right for your world!" Emma screamed from behind them. And Jimmy and Angela were there, arm in arm. Angela looking sad yet serene, Jimmy looking conflicted yet somehow finally at peace with himself. "Have you ever loved anyone?" Angela whispered. "Don't let it slip away Richard," Jimmy said fiercely. "I had everything, but I didn't hold on to it. Don't make the same mistakes I made." Richard exploded inside of Simonne, pulling the trigger as he did so. As the gunshot echoed through the pasture, everything faded except for Simonne. He lifted himself off of her, saw that one of the tags had come off the ribbon and was resting between Simonne's breasts. He reached for it, but it sank into her skin as soon as he touched it. He stared at the spot where it had rested, and as he did a warm, silver glow began to emanate from her skin. He felt himself surrounded by and drawn into that light, it was like being embraced by everything that Simonne was.
That was when he woke up. And as he stood in the bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror, he was no closer to knowing what any of it meant. He only knew that his life was suddenly much more complicated than he would have thought possible six months ago.
Back at Etienne's apartment...
"Go ahead and get undressed," Etienne told Emma, moving to one side of his bed. He began taking off his clothes. Emma watched him as she began unbuttoning her dress. His back was to her, so she was able to see the gruesome scarring he had incurred. She could not imagine how painful it must have been for him. The scarring started just below his shoulders, covering most of his back in what would have been a beautiful swirl of angry red ridges and smooth pale swirls if it had been anything other than the result of a horrific injury. There were some small scars on the backs of his arms as well, and when he dropped his pants, she realized the scars went down to the middle of his thighs. Well, thigh. His right leg had been amputated about six inches below the hip, leaving him with enough stump to wear a prosthetic leg. He sat down on the bed to remove his leg, leaning it against the wall before inspecting his stump for chafe marks or sores. When he was satisfied there were none, he looked over to Emma, who was standing at the foot of the bed in only a shift.
"Come," he said softly, patting the bed beside him. Emma walked over and sat down next to him.
"You are still wanting to do this?" he asked softly. Emma nodded but said nothing. "I will stop ze moment you tell me to."
"I won't," Emma replied. Etienne had to suppress a sigh at her stubborn pride. He told her to lay down, and when she had done so, he moved his body to lay along side of her. He gently turned her face to his and kissed her softly. It was a proper kiss, not her version of just pressing her lips to his, and it took her a moment to catch on.. But he felt her relax into it, eventually. He ran one hand up her side, bringing it up to tenderly cup her breast. Her back arched as he gave a gentle squeeze.
"Close your eyes, belle Emma," he whispered in her ear. She did, and he began nuzzling her neck, flicking his thumb over her nipple, teasing her through the soft cotton of her shift. He heard her take a deep breath, moved his mouth a little further down her neck. He kept his touches very light, barely there...
It wasn't long before Emma's breathing was the deep, even breath of slumber.
"Dieu merci!," Etienne said quietly. He tucked the blankets around her, put on a pair of pajamas, grabbed his crutch, and went out to the living room to spend the night on the couch.