A/N: There's a pretty intense love scene later in this chapter. Consider yourselves warned.

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Disclaimer: I do not own Watchmen or any of its characters; they belong to Alan Moore, Dave Gibbons, DC Comics, and Warner Brothers. Chloe, Elsie, Hank, Nixon, and all the other residents of Jubilation, however, belong to me. So hands off!

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Snow piled in deep drifts, a desert of crystalline flakes. It muted sound, reflected the sun to burn vulnerable retinas. This was the season of sleds and snow forts, angels and men. Angels, imprinted like nuclear shadows on the powdered ground; men, portly and spindle-limbed, smiling to the bitter end.

Walter leaned his weight into the snow shovel's handle. The broad, curved blade plowed through the easily crumbled blanket, made a prolonged scraping noise against the unseen walkway. Walter had no idea shoveling snow was such intensive labor. It fell from the sky so lightly, yet accumulated to such a degree that the stuff weighed a ton. He sweated beneath his thick parka, felt new blisters form on his hands despite the callouses and heavy gloves. He raised the laden shovel with a grunt and dumped its clean white contents to the side. Fump. He stood the shovel on its edge and leaned on the handle, his heavy breaths puffed from his mouth in lazy clouds. Walter turned his head to view his progress, then wished he hadn't. Not even halfway through. He let out a sound between a groan and a sigh, then got back to work.

From the kitchen window Chloe watched his progress with a sympathetic smile. It had been a heavy snowfall during the night. The radio broadcast school closings all over the place, much to the local kids' delight. Chloe's little car was a freestanding hill in the equally concealed driveway; it brought to mind pictures of ancient burial mounds. Needless to say, she'd called Lila to let the doctor know she probably wouldn't make it to work today. Then Walter had insisted on clearing some of the mess away.

Chloe smirked as a laden overhanging tree branch suddenly dumped its burden just behind the laboring man. Walter turned, took in the fresh powder on the previously cleared path. His shoulders sagged.

Elsie joined her niece at the window, a steaming mug of cocoa in her hands. "You'd think he'd never cleared his own walkway before."

Chloe looked at the older woman with a get-serious expression. "Els, he's a New Yorker. The only New Yorkers who have their own walkways are the ones who can afford to hire someone else to clear it."

"Huh. Guess he never knew how good he had it." Elsie took a sip from her mug. "You're gonna have to tell him sooner or later, y'know."

"Yeah," Chloe sighed, "But I just know it's an argument waiting to happen."

"But if you don't say anything he'll resent being left out. It's how their minds work."

The younger woman quirked an eyebrow. "'Their minds'?"

"Men's. What'd you think I meant?" Elsie took her niece's arm. "Now come on back to the table. You still need to look at the swatches."

Chloe rolled her eyes and followed her aunt to the breakfast nook. Bits of fabric littered the tabletop; every conceivable shade of blue. Not even Chloe, who adored the color, realized there were so many different shades. "I don't even know why I should have bridesmaids anyway," she grumbled as she took a seat, "We just want a simple wedding. Byron and I didn't have bridesmaids at our wedding."

"That's because you and Byron eloped," Elsie chided, "And the town still hasn't forgiven you for that."

"Why is my marriage any business of theirs?"

"You two are planning to live here, right?" Elsie raised her eyebrows for emphasis. "Then you're gonna have to let them get involved, at least a little bit. Doesn't have to be anything lavish."

"That's a relief." Chloe held up two swatches, one labeled "Aqua," the other "Pacific." They looked exactly the same to her. Bridesmaids, for god's sake. She didn't even have any close girlfriends. Who was she supposed to ask? And what about Walter? Who was he going to ask to be his best man? He was a homebody. The only people he'd really hit it off with were still in grammar school.

"Well?" Elsie prompted, interrupting the other woman's brooding.

Chloe stared at the expensive rags. Hell. She picked one at random and tossed it to her aunt. "That one."

Elsie read the label. "'Cerulean Sky'?"

"Sure." Whatever.

Elsie made a note in the "wedding book," a three-ring binder which contained every detail of her niece's upcoming nuptials. "Alrighty. Now, about the reception--"

"I really don't want it held in the civic center," Chloe interrupted, brow furrowed, "I don't wanna encourage the whole town to show up."

"They will anyway." Elsie shrugged. "Might as well let 'em in out of the cold."

Chloe sighed. She's right, damn her. "So, what about it?"

"You still need to decide what to serve: chicken, beef, or fish. Also, any ideas on the hors d'oervres would be helpful"

Chloe was tempted to suggest they throw everything into a huge trough, since the guests--which she didn't want showing up in any case--were going to stuff their faces with free food like a bunch of pigs anyway. Instead, she reined in her recalcitrant tongue. "Why don't we wait for Walter to add in his two cents?"

"Okay." Her aunt turned the page in the notebook. "Flowers. Jesse Laurent says he can get them at cost from his cousin's greenhouse. Just needs to know what kinds you want."

"Bluebells," she responded without hesitation, "and baby's breath."

Elsie smirked. "I'm sure the Hens will appreciate the visual pun." She scribbled it down. "Oh, and Deb wants to know if Walter will be having a groom's cake."

"No!" Chloe could just imagine it; a white oval dotted with black blotches. Deb Blascoe's humor was notoriously tasteless. "And make sure the wedding cake isn't red velvet, okay? I hate that stuff."

"Yes, dear." She'd only told her aunt three times.

The sound of the front door opening interrupted the discussion. Chloe rose from her seat and hurried into the living room, grateful for the distraction.

Walter let the door swing shut behind him. Already the heat of the house's interior began to melt the snow which clung to his legs up to the knees, creating a twin set of puddles around his boots. He pulled off his gloves and stuffed them into a pocket of his coat, removed his sunglasses and placed them on the little shelf which held the various sets of house keys, unzipped his coat. Chloe approached as he sat on the bench by the door to remove his wet boots.

"Looks like you survived in one piece." She grinned.

Walter glanced up at her, his face ruddy. "Can't feel my toes."

Chloe laughed sympathetically. "I'll go toss a coupla logs on the fire." She walked back into the living room, to the black woodstove which stood a couple of yards to the right of the TV stand. She slipped her hand into an old potholder, grasped the handle of the stove's door, and pulled it open. Orange light danced across her features. Her eyes watered from the sudden blast of heat. From the woodbox beside her she selected a couple of logs, tossed them in, then used the poker from the stand to nudge them into position. Satisfied, Chloe slammed the door shut. The modest-sized woodburner radiated enough heat to warm the entire house quite comfortably and was especially vital during winter blackouts which often occurred after the nastier ice storms or blizzards.

Walter stepped into view, his outdoor garments removed. He stood in his sweater and thick trousers, the legs of which were stained dark with snowmelt below the knees. He sighed in relief as the stove bathed him in delicious heat, wiggled the toes of his woolen-socked feet as numbness faded into pins-and-needles of circulating blood. And to think he'd scoffed at the idea of a primitive woodstove! But as the winter progressed the device quickly endeared itself to him. Plus, he rather liked the scent of burning wood. Walter rubbed his hands together, held them towards the stove's black surface. His damp clothes began to steam.

"Walter?"

He turned his head to look at Chloe. Her brown skin was flushed from the radiated heat. Strands of hair, come loose from her ponytail, framed her face. The skin around Walter's eyes relaxes and the corners of his mouth upturned. She looks so pretty.

"There's something I need to tell you about," she said, eyebrows curved in a faintly worried expression.

Walter gently brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "What?"

"Um…did you hear about the reparation payments? The government's handing them out to any New Yorkers who lost their homes in the attack."

Walter shook his head. He hadn't been keeping up with current events, mainly because every time he saw or heard Veidt's name--which came up often--he felt the urge to smash something.

"It's supposed to be enough money to help the survivors get back on their feet," Chloe explained, "Put them in new homes, provide for their families until they can find work, pay off medical expenses, that kinda thing. I still qualify for it, even though we've already got a home here. It's quite a bit of money."

"And…?" He knew from her expression there was something else; something he wasn't going to like.

Chloe bit her lip. "Well, the thing is, a sizeable chunk of the money was donated by…Adrian Veidt."

His expression went cold, as she'd known it would. But knowing didn't make the experience any less unpleasant.

"I got a form in the mail," she went on, forcing herself to meet his eyes, "asking me to fill it out if I decided to accept. I said yes. I'm gonna mail it off as soon as the snow's been cleared."

"No." The word fell heavily from his mouth. The rage boiled behind his arctic eyes.

"I'm not asking permission," Chloe said, her voice subdued, "I just thought you should know."

Walter's hands, loose at his sides, balled into fists. The muscles of his jaw twitched and writhed. "Taking blood money from a mass murderer," he snarled.

"Not blood money, Walter," Chloe disagreed, still quiet, "It's not a bribe to keep quiet about what we know. Veidt doesn't even know you're still alive, and he didn't know about me at all. The check's coming from the federal government, not him."

"Splitting hairs," he scoffed through gritted teeth, "Compromising your integrity for a handout. For tainted money. Like a whore." The second Walter uttered those terrible words he wished he could take them back. But words, once spoken, could never be unsaid. The hurt in Chloe's eyes tore at his heart.

Chloe used her responding flare of anger to push aside the sadness, let it harden her voice so it might penetrate the lump in her throat. "Goddamn you, we need that money! We're doing okay now, but what happens when the baby comes, and me the only one in this family with a steady job?" Chloe's voice rose as her control slipped and all her pent-up fears spilled from her in a rush. "I'm forty years old, Walter. The risk of birthing complications increase with the age of the mother. What if it's born premature? What if it has some kind of birth defect? What if I hemorrhage during labor? And even if everything's alright, something else could happen later on. The baby could get sick or hurt! My insurance won't pay for everything, Walter. How're we supposed to handle the medical bills on my salary? How do we pay for all the food and clothes and school supplies and college? Would you rather we end up on welfare for your principles? Fuck that! I care about our baby's future more than your sense of righteousness and if that means accepting money from a mass murderer, then that's what I'll do! I'll gladly make myself a whore if it means our baby won't have to struggle to make something of its life. And if you weren't so goddamned pig-headed you'd feel the same way!"

She turned away from Walter and stormed up the stairs to the second floor. Her turmoil made heavy thumps of her footfalls. Seconds later the bedroom door slammed shut.

Walter remained by the stove, stunned by the woman's outburst, his own anger forgotten. All too soon guilt reared its ugly head. He'd let the pain of his failure to stop Veidt get the better of him; let it cloud his emotions, overwhelm his reason. He'd taken out his enraged self-reproach on Chloe, who only had their child's interests at heart. She was only trying to be a good mother, and for that he'd called her a whore. Bile rose in his throat. Walter took a step towards the stairs.

"Don't. Give her a chance to cool off first."

Startled, Walter's head whipped around towards the kitchen. Elsie stood in the doorway, wedding book clutched to her chest, her expression unreadable. "Hell of a thing. People think hate's brutal, but there's nothing in this world more vicious than a fight between people who love each other."

Walter swallowed. "My fault."

"Damn right it is." Now there was no mistaking the simmering rage in her tone. "What're you gonna do about it? You gonna sulk, or are you gonna man up and ask her forgiveness?"

Eyes downcast and welled with tears, the redhead's chin trembled. Hopeless. It was hopeless. "I…"

Elsie sighed, her expression softened. She walked up to the despondent man and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Walter, speaking as a woman who was married, I can tell you this won't be your last fight with Chloe. There'll be lots of them over the years, some of them worse than this one, if you can believe it," her lips curved in a somber smile, "It's what happens after the fight that tells you whether the marriage will last. Not the fight itself."

Walter stared at her wretchedly. "I called her a--"

"Yes, I heard," Elsie interrupted in a flat voice. She sighed, patted his shoulder. "Give it about half an hour, then go on and make your apology. Leave your dignity at the door." She walked away, leaving the redhead to his brooding.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chloe stood at the bedroom window and looked out at the clean white world. Her arms were crossed, one hand unconsciously rubbed her belly. Her eyes were red and puffy; she'd spent a good twenty minutes soaking her pillow with her tears until her sinuses throbbed and her throat felt shredded. The pain from Walter's harsh words was still a raw wound. She wondered if it would ever subside.

Behind her came the sound of the door opening and then clicking shut, the soft tread of wool-clad feet. Chloe didn't bother to turn; she knew who it was. She could see his dim reflection in the windowpane, overlapped by her own. A moment of hesitation, then the feel of two strong, slender hands on her shoulders.

"I'm sorry," Walter murmured, voice unsteady with emotion, "I'm so sorry I hurt you."

Chloe shut her stinging eyes, bowed her head, bud didn't move away from him. This gave Walter some meager hope.

"You were right," he went on, "I haven't done anything to help with the baby. Never considered how this has affected you. Never tried to talk with you about it. Was so preoccupied with my own fears I didn't think about how scared you must be."

"I am scared," Chloe whispered, her throat too painful for speech, "I'm so scared of losing the baby. And I'm scared of losing you because of the money. I…I just didn't know what else to do." She sniffed. "I don't want you to end up taking a job that you'll hate, 'cause I know you'd hate anything involving too many people. I'm afraid you think my taking the money means I don't trust you to be a good father, but I do trust you. Earning money isn't what makes a good parent, Walter. I know you'll be a good parent." She was almost babbling now, she was so upset. "Please don't be mad at me."

Walter's arms encircled her. "Shh. Don't cry. Don't be sad. I'm not mad at you, Chloe. I was never mad at you." He held her as she was wracked with fresh sobs. Their sounds broke his heart. Warm tears spilled down Walter's own cheeks. "I love you. I'll always love you, no matter what."

"I love you," Chloe echoed. Her sobs gradually subsided. She leaned her weight against the man behind her. Her bleary eyes stared out through the window. So pretty, like a Christmas card. So pure. Until you stepped outside and felt the bitter cold.

Chloe glanced at the sky. "Think it's gonna snow again," she muttered absently.

Walter sighed. "Just finished the walkway."

A faint smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "Meant what I said," she told him, calmer, "I'm okay with you not taking a job. Can't really imagine you at a nine-to-five, anyway."

"Used to keeping my own hours," he agreed, relieved beyond words that things seemed alright between them, despite the hurt he'd caused.

They stood together in silence for several minutes, Chloe's back against Walter's front, his arms snug around her waist, both gazing out into the white.

"You should think about who to ask to be your best man," Chloe said out of the blue.

Walter blinked, caught off guard by the change in subject. "Why?"

"Because I have to pick a maid of honor. It's only fair."

"Oh." A tremor ran through him, hysterical laughter hastily suppressed. One moment they're at each other's throats, the next consoling, and now they were chatting about wedding plans almost as if nothing more serious than a minor spat had occurred. It was ridiculous. "Um, couldn't you ask Elsie to be your maid of honor?"

"Of course not! She's giving me away."

"Can't she do both?"

Chloe thought about it. "Well…it would be one less gown."

"Gown?"

"Bridesmaids always wear matching gowns in the bride's chosen colors." Her tone suggested he must have been living in a cave not to know this vital fact. "Els and I just spent all morning looking through swatches." She snorted. "Half the colors looked the same to me. Finally just picked one at random. 'Cerulean Sky.'"

Walter frowned. "The hell is that?"

"Dunno. Just another shade of light blue to me." Chloe laughed softly. "Name sounds like a mixed drink. Y'know, White Russian, Screwdriver, Sex on the Beach…"

Warm air expelled from Walter's lungs tickled the back of her neck. The sound was suspiciously like a chuckle.

"Like to try that last one."

"You don't drink!"

He breathed into the shell of her ear. "Who said anything about drinking?"

Chloe giggled even as a warm tingle rose in her. "Something to look forward to this summer. Course by then I'll look like a beached whale."

"But the prettiest beached whale." His hands roamed against her stomach, sending little electric shocks through her.

"You flatter me, sir."

"Where will flattery get me?"

"Well," she said coyly, "I don't know." Her hand reached behind her, slid down the flat plane of his stomach, past his waist, came to a rest on the hard bulge it encountered. "Where would you like to go?"

Walter emitted a low groan at her touch. It vibrated through his chest; Chloe felt it against her shoulder blades. His hands slid under her white sweater, found the clasp of her bra and unfastened it, then reached under the loosened garment to cup her soft breasts. Chloe arched into his touch, her breathing heavy with desire. Walter kissed the side of her neck, felt the flutter of her pulse against his lips. His hands left her breasts to tug her pants down. Chloe obligingly stepped out of them. She leaned forward, rested her hands against the windowsill. The sound of Walter's fly coming undone sent a thrill through her. She shifted her stance to spread her legs apart, leaned her weight against her arms. The sight of her in this position made Walter even harder. His pants dropped around his ankles. He pressed himself to her, hot and hard against the skin of her exposed bottom. Chloe ground against him, eliciting a moan from the redhead. He steadied her with one hand, grasped his erection with the other, guided it to her waiting heat. Warm wetness enveloped him. He grabbed her hips and thrust, burying himself to the hilt inside of her.

"Ohhh!" Chloe moaned. It felt different this way; the new position stimulated parts of her not normally reached when they made love face-to-face. She rocked against him, urging him on. Walter thrust in and out in a steady rhythm. He wanted the experience to last, but it was difficult. The sounds and sensations threatened to erode his self-control. His eyes wandered over the woman's back. Her ponytail had loosened, scattering long, graying tresses across her shoulders. His gaze traveled lower, to where the lower back emerged from the hem of her white sweater. He marveled at the contrast between the pale fabric and her dark skin. The flesh where the buttocks met the lower back dimpled. He let his eyes follow the curved mounds lower still, to where he and she connected. Walter saw himself sliding in and out of her. A small part of his mind recoiled at the sight in disgust. Another, stronger part found it so arousing he nearly came then and there. He closed his eyes.

Chloe grunted with each hard thrust. Her body rocked back to deepen the contact. Her head hung down, sweat dripped from her brow. She felt Walter's left hand move up to fondle her breast. His other hand traveled around her waist, brushed against her belly, glided down to the inverted V of her legs. Questing fingertips encountered her aroused nub. Chloe cried out, bucked wildly against him.

"Easy," Walter rasped, desperate not to lose his tenuous self-control.

Chloe gritted her teeth and made herself settle down. She followed his rhythm once again. Walter's fingers circled the little pearl of flesh. Chloe whimpered. And then it happened. She threw her head back and howled in release. Walter kept himself perfectly still as he felt her inner walls tighten around him. He breathed in slow, deep breaths. Soon, her climax passed. Chloe sagged against the window sill. She panted in exhaustion, eyes closed. When she had recovered slightly she realized Walter remained hard inside of her. She peered at him over her shoulder, surprised. "You didn't…?"

Walter smiled. He pulled out of her, gently turned her to face him. A light tug at the hem of her sweater was all the hint Chloe needed to raise her arms above her head so he could slip the garment off. She removed her loosened bra, let it drop to the floor. A smile began to grace her tired features. She reached out, pulled up the bottom edge of Walter's sweater. He lifted his arms as she had done and let the thick fabric slide off him. Chloe gazed in admiration at his lean yet muscular torso. She let her hands wander over his chest, hair rough against her palms. She leaned forward, took a nipple into her mouth. Walter tilted his head back and groaned. Chloe sucked on the hardened bead of flesh, nibbled gently with her teeth.

"God…"

Chloe released his nipple with a grin. "Amen." Her eyes wandered down until they encountered the fading scar on his abdomen; the wound that had driven Rorschach to barge through her bedroom window all those months ago (was it really only months?) and changed their lives forever. Her fingers lovingly traced its length.

"Chloe," Walter's voice was husky with desire, "Can't wait."

She nodded, brought her lips to his in a deep kiss. Walter's hands gripped the backs of her thighs and lifted her. Her legs automatically wrapped around his waist. Still kissing, one arm around his neck, Chloe brought her other hand down to steady his still-hard member as he lowered her onto it. As he penetrated her once again Walter moved forward until her bottom rested on the edge of the windowsill. Chloe's arms went around his freckled shoulders in a loose grip; she trusted him not to let her fall. Their prolonged kiss continued as Walter's hips began to thrust. They moaned into each other's mouths. Sweat-slicked bodies writhed in shared pleasure. Chloe felt her second climax build in her. Her mouth parted from his as the small, quick noises of her nearing orgasm escaped. Walter somehow forced her legs wider apart to better plunge into her. His hips moved in rapid thrusts. The volume of Chloe's cries increased. Her fingers dug into his back; the pain they caused increased the intensity of his pleasure. Walter slammed into her a final time, adding his own voice to hers in a shared, explosive release.

Walter withdrew his softened member, slowly lowered Chloe until her feet touched the floor. They leaned against each other in a tired embrace, limbs trembling from exhaustion. Once they'd recovered enough to stand on their own the couple stumbled to the bathroom. Minutes later the two of them lay in the filled tub, back to front once again, Walter's arms wrapped around Chloe. He leaned his head back against the curve of the bathtub, eyes closed. The back of Chloe's head rested against his shoulder.

"Walter."

"Hmmm?"

"I won't accept the money if you really don't want me to."

He opened his eyes. "No. You've already made your decision. Should stand by it."

"Stick to my guns?" She smiled drowsily. "Then you're okay with it?"

Walter sighed. "Not really. But we'll need it later on, like you said." His arms tightened around her; he nuzzled her hair. "Sorry I called you…what I did," he whispered.

Chloe swallowed, no longer smiling. "I know you didn't mean it."

"But it still hurt you."

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry."

"I forgive you."

One of these days, he might do or say something that even Chloe would be unable to forgive. He could only be grateful it wasn't this day.

Chloe sniffed, wiped her eyes. "I hate this. My hormones are making me maudlin."

"Too much stress," Walter muttered, "Shouldn't hold it in. I didn't know you had so many fears."

"Yeah, well, you carry around so many of your own, I didn't wanna add to the burden."

"Don't want you to hide them from me. Have to be able to share these things, help each other cope. Why get married otherwise?"

Chloe shifted so she could peer up at him. "Goes both ways, you know. There's plenty of things you hold back from me. I see it in your eyes."

Perhaps it was this day after all. "I…don't think I can love this baby," his confession was uttered barely above a whisper. Walter met her steady gaze, deeply ashamed. "I tried. I care about it, but I think there's not enough love in me to give to both you and the baby."

Chloe's expression softened. She lifted a hand to caress his cheek. "I felt the same way at first."

Walter's eyes widened. "You did?"

She nodded. "Lots of expectant parents do, even if they won't admit it. I didn't feel any connection to this baby until that first sonogram, when I saw it's little heart beating." She smiled at the memory. "It's like falling in love, Walter. You can't control something like that. Just wait and let it happen on its own."

"What if it doesn't happen?"

"It will."

Walter could see her belief in this. "More faith?"

"Nothing wrong with a little faith, baby."

He smiled. "Been a while since you called me that."

"What?" she grinned, "Baby?"

He nodded. "Kinda missed it."

"Well, I'll try to say it more often, then." She turned away and settled against him again. "Thought of a way you can feel more involved with ours. Sort of a family tradition. If it's a boy, I name it, and if it's a girl, you name it."

Walter considered this. "You want me to decide on a name? How will that help?"

"Choosing a name's a big deal. He or she will be stuck with it forever…unless they end up on the run," she smirked and lightly elbowed him. "It'll become a part of their personality."

Walter frowned, unconvinced. "You sure?"

"Uhuh. Found a book that tells what people's names mean. It's uncanny how they match the person. Like yours," Chloe once again tilted her head to look at him, "Walter means 'powerful warrior.'"

The powerful warrior stared at her, amusement tugging the corners of his mouth. "What does Chloe mean?"

"Uh..." A flicker of embarrassment. "'Flowering' or 'young grass.' The name comes from the Greek goddess of grain," she added defensively, which only increased the redhead's amusement. "So it's not a hundred percent accurate. This doesn't invalidate my earlier point. Choosing a girl's name for the baby will help you feel more connected to it. You'll imagine the kind of person she'll be, the kind of person you want to help her become, and her name will reflect that."

Walter still had doubts--about a lot of things--but decided Chloe's suggestion couldn't hurt. Long as it isn't called Sylvia, he thought, mentally shuddering at his mother's name. "Hurm. Alright."

It made Chloe happy, at least.

They settled into contented silence. A few minutes later, Chloe lifted a hand from the water and stared critically at her pruny fingers. "We should get out. Water's getting cold."

"Five more minutes," Walter muttered.

Chloe laughed. "You said that twenty minutes ago!"

He pulled her close against him, nuzzled the side of her neck, planted a light kiss on her warm skin. "Just five more minutes," he coaxed.

Chloe sighed, feigning annoyance. "Fine. Five minutes." Smiling, she let her eyes drift shut.