Tyler was deeply absorbed in Dostoevsky's Notes From the Underground. He'd been reading by the low light from lamp by the window, slouched in the oversized and overstuffed armchair, admittedly somewhat ratty, that Elias had scored for him at some expense. Angie had changed into her bunny jammies and gone to sleep some time ago. Late November nights could be chilly even in L.A., especially considering her mania for open windows. When she spoke, low and quiet, it took him by surprise.

"I'm not pregnant."

"Huh?" He tried not to sound too surprised at the sound of another voice.

"I said, I'm not pregnant." Angie didn't know, exactly, why that came to mind as she'd lain awake for the past few minutes, but since it lingered in her head she figured she might as well tell him.

Tyler laid the book down and sat up a little to face her. "And you're telling me this…" he left the statement unfinished.

"Because I felt you seize up when I was puking my guts out on the transport. I just wanted you to know, it can't happen."

He remained seated, but a suspicion hardened him. "So that asshole father of yours,"

"No, not my dad. Nothing like that." Angie rolled to face Tyler where he sat. "It wasn't him, not directly anyway. You could say that when I took off from the excuse I had for 'home' I was, well, reckless in my pursuit of personal relationships." She paused, realized how foolish she sounded, and continued, "I slept around. I got a few little bugs, and ignored them for too long. I'm clean now, no question, but you could say they finished my procreative potential." PID, various other STD's, had burned up her reproductive system so completely that getting pregnant was pretty much out of the question. After a moment or two of Tyler's silence Angie asked, "Is that important to you?"

"Only if it's important to you."

"Not very much." In her life Angie had been attached to guys who knew exactly what to say. But Tyler was the first one who actually knew why and said it without agenda. "No, it's not. I like kids fine, but I don't think I could ever be the right person to raise one. Maybe lack of role models, or maybe just the way I am. And I've believed that since before I knew I couldn't have one."

He sensed it was time to change the subject. "So, jonesing for Oreos, huh?"

"I guess it just never came up. Lots of stuff doesn't, until it does, I guess."

"You are a master of logic."

"Whatever," Angie mumbled and pulled the covers over her head again. Better to just hide and sleep until she could make sense again, whenever that might be. She heard the light click off, felt the bed shift under Tyler's weight.

"C'mere."

He was sitting with his back against the wall where a headboard would have been if Elias had really scored. She turned back a little. "I'll be okay."

Tyler reached over and rubbed the top of Angie's head (the only part poking out of the covers) in acknowledgment. "I know. C'mere anyway."

He was inviting her, so she accepted. She crawled into his arms and let him take over, still and solid and quiet, his chin resting on her head and one thumb rubbing slow arcs between her shoulder blades. She lost herself in the sound of Tyler's heartbeat and the fragrance of gun oil and leather as he savored the softness and warmth that gave his hands a reason not to clench.

"Ten o'clock tomorrow," Angie said, finally, in a distant voice. When the business of war would start again. She could feel Tyler's chin moving against her head when he answered.

"Yup. But not here, not now. We're good."


He was mostly asleep, but felt something… fingers softly stroking his face, mouth working in slow kisses under his ear… Angie's weight against him shifted, one soft hand stroking his beard, another stroking him, clasping and stroking,

oh jesus…

"Jeesuss,"

his sleep-drugged mumble was stopped by her mouth and he opened to welcome her, his hands running up her back, skin hot from flannel,

where's the flannel … jesus

"ssh," warmed his ear as he dropped his head back, eyes still closed, jaw locked to contain the groan that would surely carry at this hour, whenever it was…

oh yeah, jesussss…

god but he loved it this way, her on top and in charge, maybe the only time she was, hot-wet-velvet, not as fast as she wanted, not as slow as he would have, wanting who he was not taking what

jesus-god, baby, the only time that endearment escaped him, good, we're good, when had it ever been this good? Ah-ah-ah slow down, Angel

"Never, never, you're my last never," moan/whispers against his ear, face pressed hard against the side of his head and sliding down his bent-back throat, "never lie to me, never disappoint me, never…"

Never leave you, the words couldn't get past his mouth, though it suddenly unlocked to fasten on her wherever he could reach, her one hand locked on his against her hip, the other locked into his in midair,

"love you, Ham, love-you-love-you," whispers to gasps to whimpers that barely formed the words he could hear anyway

slower than she wanted and faster than he would have, the war a million miles and seven hours away,

good-good-good, we're so good, i'll never leave

more than what they were doing and more than what they believed they deserved moving and breathing and almost quiet where no war existed and through the movement and gasping his own voice echoed in his head

always quiet, always know me, always with me,

always need you

then it rushed him, turned his brain off to everything but the feel of her on him, around him,

ah-AAhhh-ahh-ahhangel-angel...angie

her tears spread in his sweaty beard, his hands spread on soft hot skin

you're my last always, Angel, my last... always


Angie woke first for the first time ever, sunlight filling the room, soothed by Ham's heartbeat and surrounded by gun oil and leather and his whole body, the war a million miles and three hours away. She'd have blown up every clock on earth to keep it from coming closer.