Note: And now, we'll end for the week with this. I hope it'll be enough to sustain everyone until Monday. Enjoy!

(BTW, a couple quick notes. First-I'd forgotten to mention this, but the play Diane quotes from, last chapter-"A spirit, too, needs fuel", etc.-is Ideal, by Ayn Rand. Diane's no Objectivist, certainly...but I think she'd probably appreciate Rand's advocacy for Romanticism in art.

Second-for the following "chapter", I had actually written it, sort of, to Gustav Holst's "Venus, The Bringer Of Peace". I'm not too sure it fits the "pacing" of the scene...but it certainly fits the mood, I think.)

Two mugs—a bag of tea, each: "Earl Grey"…Sam wasn't sure he ever tried it; the label just said it was British, and Sam was sure he remembered Captain Picard on Star Trek loving "Tea, Earl Grey—Hot".

Whatever. It was tea.

He heard a shuffle of fur—and there was Christopher on the counter, watching.

Sam sighed, and spread out his hands. "What am I doing, huh?" he asked quietly.

Christopher said nothing.

"What am I thinking…? What does she think this—oh, forget it; I dunno…" Sam muttered as he filled the teapot and set it.

Christopher looked at his free hand, and pawed at it.

Sam chuckled, and shook his head, "You're really something, you know that?"

Christopher looked up at him.

"Okay…let's pretend for a moment you know what the heck I'm saying. Is she really as alone as she's coming across, right now?"

The cat tilted his head.

"Sure, you can't talk. Okay…geez, this is nuts—okay, would it be too much to say, 'Meow for yes, yawn for no'?"

"Mew!"

"That mean 'meow' it's too much, or 'meow' she's alone—?"

Christopher snuggled up to his hand, and Sam found himself petting the furball, despite himself. Christopher let out a purr.

Yeah, he likes me…and I'm not even a cat guy—I'm a dog guy!

Sam chuckled despite himself, as he leaned to the cat, "Hey…you know, if you ever find a girl—uh, you're not fixed, are you?"

Christopher stopped, giving him what looked like a really severe Look.

"Okay, forget I said it…anyway, you ever find a girl, make sure you got a good idea what she wants, okay?"

The cat looked off—and jumped down, to near Sam's feet. Christopher pressed his head against Sam's ankle—in the direction of the living room.

Sam shook his head, "Okay…okay—I know it's not like you're telling me something—you're just a cat; you're just playing around. But you know what—if you have a point, I'd say you're sure making it."

The pot started sounding off. Christopher looked up at him, head tilted again. Sam could swear the cat was thinking, "Well, then…?"

Sam let out a sigh, and went to work, turning off the pot and filling the two mugs. He carried them over to the couch, setting them on the table, where Diane could reach hers. He'd have handed it to her…but she was using both hands to try and work one of the nylons off. She clearly didn't want them to end up inside out. At any rate, she wasn't making any progress from the looks of it—the darn things were all but sticking to her skin.

Finally, she huffed, giving up and leaning back, eyes closed, "Forget it," she muttered…her voice sounding like it was trailing off.

Sam smiled warmly at her. You are tired, aren't you, sweetheart?

"Okay…" he whispered, as he sat back down…and went to work where she was leaving off…inching it gently, so as not to disturb her. In the process, he found his hands moving up and down her leg…all the way up to just past where the nylon stopped, way up her thigh.

Sam managed to suppress a swallow. Take it easy, Sammy…. But this was Diane, for goodness sake—driving him crazy just by being there. The fact that he was getting reacquainted with her legs was just—

Stop it, he mused, as he kept on working.

He was about halfway done with the first one, when something made him look up—and discover that Diane was watching him silently.

Sam froze for a moment, and chuckled as he let go, "Okay," he said, calmly, "If I said it's not how it—"

Diane reached out and laid her hand on his…and she gave that little amused smile of hers. "Sam," she said, warmly—gratefully.

Sam returned the smile…and let her move his hand back. She moved her hand away, and relaxed again, leaning back, resting her head on the couch arm, closing her eyes.

Geez. Now Sam's mind was really going crazy. But he went back to work…and within a few minutes, that stocking was off.

"Okay, now the other one," he muttered. This time, there was less worry—she'd given him permission, after all. Gently moving his hand down with the end of the material…feeling the warmth of her, taking in the softness…

"Oh, my…" he heard her whisper—in dreamy, vacant…excitement…laying back, her eyes open but looking at nothing in particular.

Sam's emotions started racing, and he had to fight to keep his cool. How do you do that, Diane? Do you have any idea what you're doing to me?

Maybe not…but Sam had a pretty darn good idea what he was doing to her. And that thought just stirred him up inside even more.

Just…get done!

He finally did…smoothed the hosiery out, and set them on the table. He turned to her. Diane was sitting up again, hugging herself, staring down into her lap. She swallowed, and met his gaze. With the vulnerable girlishness of her actions, Sam found himself reading in her face, It…it's been so long, since a man touched me like this...stir up these feelings within me—these passions, these…sensations.

Sam smiled at her, "You okay?"

Diane nodded, "Thank you, Sam," she said in a small, soft voice.

Always something so innocent about her…something that tugged at his heart, bringing out his protectiveness towards her. Even when they were unleashing all their mutual passion, it didn't quell that part of her—it made their intimacy always something deeply beautiful and meaningful. Sam often wondered if that had been part of it—what made it so that no woman could ever satisfy him like Diane Chambers could: the fact that she saw "physical love" as something high, and pure, and even something…spiritual? Well, what the heck—he'd often found himself thinking she looked like an angel. She was certainly "heavenly" enough—he'd always thought she was the prettiest girl he'd ever seen. Still was, and it's a good bet she always would be. And this angel chose a "mortal" like him…and in their nights together—just when he was sure he knew all there was to know about it!—she'd taught him all that it could be.

Well, whatever the reason…no woman was ever able to replace her. Certainly not Rebecca. That one night was great (as he'd tried to tell the guys), but…heck, that didn't even compare to what he was feeling just a moment ago, just touching his princess again, so personally, after all these years…!

They stared at one another in silence, saying nothing. And then Diane blinked a little, and smiled faintly.

That was it. Sam couldn't bottle it up anymore…but he was strong enough, somehow, to ease it out carefully. And so he took her legs gently, lifting them, and letting them rest across his lap. Diane let him…and when he was done, she blinked away the welling up in her eyes, her smile growing a little.

She extended her arms, reaching to him. Sam held the curve of her waistline, bringing her close. She took hold of his shoulders. They paused for a moment longer, staring into one another's eyes. As Sam remembered from all the times before…Diane's wide, innocent eyes seemed to stare right into him, perceiving everything, if not necessarily understanding all of it. And in those eyes was a desire to learn to understand…to know—to know him, in every way.

"Sam…" she whispered. And then her eyelids lowered, as she leaned to him…and their lips met. So long…so long, and now feeling her lips against his own—intense, desperate after all this time….

It was all they could do to limit it to just that one kiss, for now. This was a couch, after all—right next to a table. Their lips parted, and they smiled at one another. But they both knew that neither one was content to just remain there.

Sam let his gaze fall to the highest secured button on her blouse…and he let a hand move up from her waist to unbutton it. Just the one, enough to show the right hint of curve…and he lowered his hand back, waiting. Diane frowned for a moment, looking at him questioningly…but then the answer came to her, and her smile returned. She moved a hand of her own up to Sam's shirt, and mirrored his action. But she kept her hand up there, slowly and absently doodling in the hairs of his chest she'd freed from the unbuttoning.

Diane sighed, shaking her head. "So long…" she whispered.

Sam nodded. "I know…."

Diane lowered her hand a little, resting it over Sam's heart…and left it there, closing her eyes as she felt its beat. Sam took in the feeling of her hand pressing against him…and he could feel his own heart pulsing against it, strong and firm and determined.

Diane blinked and met his gaze, her eyes sad. "How could it have been so long?"

Sam said nothing, as he moved his hand back up…to rest over Diane's heart, in kind…and he took in its warmth and felt its intensity. After a moment, it was as though the rates of their hearts adjusted to flow and beat in sync.

Sam smiled at her, and said, "Lot of time to make up for."

Diane's eyes widened in realization, her mouth open in a slow and silent gasp. She swallowed, and nodded, lowering her hand as Sam did the same. Sam moved a hand under her legs, the other around her back, and she wrapped her hands behind his neck. They kissed once more as he rose to his feet, and then he carried her as he walked to the door of her room.

"Spirit refueled yet?" Sam smirked at her.

Diane beamed at him, resting comfortably in his arms, "Shall we find out?"

And they shared a chuckle, as he moved to flick the lights of the living room off with his elbow. And then he carried her into her dimly-lit room, closing the door behind them with his foot. He paused to take in the sight of the angel, the princess in his arms…and he whispered, "Good night, sweetheart."

Diane leaned to him as Sam sat down on the bed, and she whispered, "Bon soir, mon coer…."

And their lips met once again…and no more words for the night.