I Had To Keep Things Rather Clean, And Almost-Vague.

But, You Should Be Able To Piece Things Together, Like Reading The Lips Of A Person Being Censored.

I Hope You Enjoy It, And Sorry, Yet Again, I Was Kind Of Cut Short.

It Wasn't Long Before I Slept.

I Didn't Really Have Anything Holding Me Back, Save For Excitement,

Excitement That Tomorrow, I'd Be The Captain's Favorite Again.

However, The Things That Usually Pressed Sleep Away From Me: Noise, Restlessness

They Were All Gone.

I Slept Easily With A Mind Steeped In Happiness Over Rip's Advice.

I Had Imagined It.

I Would Casually Open The Door, Throw My Arms Around Him In Unrealistic Passion,

And Pour Everything That Drew Me To Him In The First Place Into His Ears.

Then, He Forgives Me, And Quietly Strokes My Ears, And I Sleep At His Side, Like Old Times.

Somewhere Between My Freshly-Lit Imagination And Rip's Advice, I Fell Asleep.

I Dreamt Happily Of The Day To Come.

I Awoke Just As Excited As I'd Slept.

With The Vigor Of A Person Living Their Last Days, I'd Pried Myself From My Pillow,

Showered, And Slipped Into My Best-Ironed Uniform.

Today Was The Day; The Day I'd Wow Myself Back Into His Heart.

But, I Was Missing Something.

I Searched Frantically, Until I'd Found A Tiny Glass Flask Beneath All My Clothes.

A Bottle Of Cologne I'd Won In My First Card Game.

I Remember Asking The Soldier What Made It Worth Betting,

And His Crude Replies About Attraction And Allure.

It Had A Thin, Drifting Aroma, With A Clean, Woodlike Scent.

I Dabbed It On, And Raced Back To The Mirror To Make Sure My Hair Looked Nice.

It Had To Be Perfect.

Everything Did.

I'd Shined Up My Buttons, And Straighten My Tie.

And Passed Rip Through The Hallways, With A Smile.

I Have To Smile, I Have To Be Proud, I Have To Be As Perfect As My Clothes.

Then, A Raincloud Formed Over My Entire Parade.

"Good Morning Schrodinger; Or Should I Say, Good Afternoon?"

The Familiar, Eccentric, Scholarly Tones Of The Doctor.

"You've Slept Quite A Long Time!"

I Tried To Explain To Him That I Was In A Bit Of A Rush, But To No Real Avail.

He Adjusted His Glasses, And Tipped Them Over The Brim Of His Nose,

"Now That You've Had A Moment To Mellow Out Your Head, I Trust You're Ready To Test?"

I Followed Him, Defeated.

I'd Given Him My Word I'd Come, But Now,

The Person I'd Fled From, And The Person I Was In A Rush To Greet Were The Same.

He Always Gets The Better End Of Any Of Our Promises.

He's Always In A Better Position, It Seems.

I Sat There In The Sterile Stink Of His Office, Making Quick Calculations,

And Read Short Clippings Of Books, While He Timed, And Documented Everything.

A Perfectionist At Heart, The Doctor Is.

I'm Sure The Clipboard He's Writing On Is Packed To The Margin Each Task I Finish.

I Don't Know How Long Passes, When The Doctor Peers Contently At The Clipboard Below Him.

"Still Novice's Work…" He Mutters, Somewhat Dissapointed,

He Shows Me An Odd, Toothy Smile.

"But, Very Good, And Improved."

The Doctor Set The Clipboard At His Desk, And Shoos Me To The Door.

I'm Worried, Now.

Did My Hair Fall Out Of Place?

Is Everything Still Perfect?

I Rush Back Into My Room, And Check.

I Straighten Out A Little Bit Of My Hair,

Flash A Quick Smile To The Mirror, And Straighten My Tie.

Perfect.

I Dab A Little Bit More Of The Already-Fading Cologne Back On.

I Slip Past My Door, And Into The Captain's.

He Is How He Usually Is; Reserved, Spending His Spare Time Pouring Past Books.

The Captain Sometimes Makes Me Laugh; For Someone Who Never Utters A Word,

He Cares Very Much What Long-Dead Men Had To Say In Their Works.

I Replay The Dream Over, And Over, And Over Again In My Mind,

But My Mind Knows I Cannot Be As Extravagant As I Was.

I Wrap My Arms Over Him Shakily, Already Doubting Myself.

The Word 'Perfect' Somehow Died With My Confidence As I Passed His Door.

"I…" I Begin,

I Can Already Feel My Head Sink.

"I Really Should Have Thanked You."

I Was Hardly Able To Sound The Words Back My Knotted Throat.

He Looked, Well, Very Taken Back.

The Most Astonished I've Seen A Person Without Changing Faces.

It Was One Of The Few Things The Captain Had Trouble Masking.

He Looks Questioningly At Me As The Tail Of Wood-Scent Cologne

Dances Past His Nose, And I Can Tell What He's Curious About.

I Hang My Head Again,

I Know I'm Failing.

It's Like Counting The Doctor's Impatient Sighs As I Test.

It's Nothing Like The Dream Convinced Me It'd Be Like.

He's Not Blown Away, And I've Crumbled.

He Cups My Chin, And Lifts My Gaze Into His,

Still Peering With That Interrogating-Look Into Me.

"I Wanted To Be Perfect…" I Admitted, Guiltily.

I Had To Admit It, Because I'd Failed, And Now,

I Could Tell I Had, By The Confused Looks Of The Captain At Me.

"For You." I Confessed.

His Confusion Ebbs Away, And He Smiles Sadly At Me.

He's Almost Apologetic, And Presses His Lips To My Forehead.

I Remember My Regrets About The Last Time I'd Come This Close With The Captain.

The Regrets That I Hadn't Done Anything.

I'd Simply Stayed Like I'd Started This Time, Defeated, And Nervous.

Not This Time, I Wouldn't Spend Any Time Dreaming What It'd Be Like,

Had I Only Had The Courage To Act On My Feelings,

I Couldn't Spend Another Day At A Different Camp, Begging Fate That He Was Thinking Of Me, Too.

I Pull My Hands From His Back, And Crane Myself To Him, From His Shoulders.

I Uneasily Bring My Lips To His.

Never Again Would I Question Myself As To Why I Hadn't Done That.

He Returns It, No Longer The Chaste Kiss We'd Nervously Shared So Long Ago,

And I Can Feel My Face Burn As He Does.

Each Kiss Is Like Lighting Fireworks; They Burn Passionately, Then Sputter Out As Another Comes.

I Feel His Fingers Beneath Me, Deftly Working To Undo My Meticulously Straightened Buttons,

And I Feel Swept Away When I Realize What Exactly He's Doing.

But, I Don't Want To Stop Him.

I'm Nervous, And Excited, And Terrified, But I Inwardly Beg For Him To Continue.

I Slip Out From Beneath My Jacket's Sleeves, And Pull Myself Back To Him,

I Need That Firework's Burn, That Excitement, From Him.

He Tugs, Frustrated At My Tie, Until It's Strewed On His Bed With My Jacket.

I Kick Off My Newly-Polished Boots.

I Work Up The Courage To Reach Up, And Slowly Undo His Coat.

He's A Master Of Concentration.

I Can Feel His Fingers Burn Chills Beneath My Undershirt, Unerring As I Work At Him.

The Captain Stops My Hands, And Hastily Unfastens All His Buttons, Tossing His Trenchcoat Aside, As He Works On His Uniform Just As Quickly.

His Hat Falls To The Floor With An Idle Clop.

He Peels Away His Shirt, Finally, And I Do The Same.

He's Very Strong, Strong In A Subtle, Commanding Way, But Strong Nonetheless.

His Eyes Trace My Thin Form As A Toned-Down Smile Crosses His Lips.

I Feel The Heat Of His Breath Race Down My Neck As He Holds Me Closer To Him Than Ever Before, And The Chill Of His Fingers, Caressing My Side.

I Wasn't Able To Move. He'd Blown Me Away.

I'd Come To Amaze Him, And He'd Turned The Tables.

We Stayed Like That For What Seemed Like Ages, Until He Moves Again.

I'm Inwardly Screaming.

He Fumbles With The Button At My Waist.

I Look To The Side, My Face Burning As He Drags Away The Last Of My Uniform,

Gazing Down At Me; Reluctant, Exposed And Sprawled Across His Bed.

The Rest Of It Left Me Whimpering In My Inexperience.

I Remember The Sinking Feeling Of The Captain,

I Remember Grasping Helplessly For His Shoulders Like An Infant.

I Remember The Tender Ache Of Tearing Muscle,

And I Remember The Captain's Gentle Stroking At My Ears,

As We Both Lay Exhausted, Sticky With Sweat, Half-Covered With Sheets,

And Yet, Somehow, We'd Managed To Remain Quiet Enough To Wake No One.

I Slept There, Full-Knowingly Aware Of The Man I Was Next To,

Of The Terror He Could Become, But Also Of The Love We'd Shared.

He Was My Unholy Savior, My Beautiful Savage,

And I Wouldn't Love Him Any Other Way.