Journal Journeys_The Dress

After parking his bike in its spot next to their porch, William slung his jacket over his shoulder and trotted up the steps for the front door. "Humming," he noticed. He was quite happy. And why not? It was a magnificent spring evening, he had solved the latest case – sure to make the papers again, much to the delight of the Inspector, and he was even early… early getting home to his beautiful, brilliant wife, and their miraculous baby boy.

The smell of dinner, a mouthwatering mixture of fresh-baked bread and fish, filled the air. As he hung his hat, a smile slipped onto his face, for next to it on the rack was one of Julia's more ridiculous little hats, and he found himself feeling so grateful – grateful that he could be Dr. Julia Ogden's husband, a father, and even keep his Catholic traditions, like eating fish on Fridays.

William Jr.'s playful scream pierced the air, the delightful sound coming from the kitchen, drawing William to it with a bounce in his step. The nearly four-month old infant smiled at him exuberantly as he flung himself up and down with all his might in the baby bouncer. William quickly noticed that Eloise stood at the stove. She must have been watching over the boy for Julia was nowhere to found.

"Good evening, Eloise," he greeted, squatting down in front of the baby, "smells quite delicious."

"Evening detective," she replied. She took a glance at him. "Such a handsome man," she thought, not for the first time. He already had removed his jacket, uncharacteristic for him. "Our William Jr. sure loves his bouncing. I must say, that is one of your more wonderful inventions," she complimented. She could tell he was about to ask, beating him to it she said, "The doctor is upstairs… said something about picking a dress for the party tomorrow night." She smiled to herself at his expression, "It seems the party must have escaped the detective's mind," she thought. As she turned back to the stove, her head betrayed her thoughts, shaking side-to-side, and she stifled a giggle. "Not his cup of tea," she remarked to herself, admiring him even more for trying so hard, going along, being such a good sport. It was probably her favorite thing about the man, how much he loved his wife.

Before William had a chance to wholly focus on his son, the boy had taken a solid hold of his tie and inserted a significant section of it into his mouth. Now in his daddy's arms, he sucked away on the delicacy, his big brown eyes gazing up at its true owner.

Already accepting the fact that, after being cleaned, it would be none the worse for the wear, William asked playfully, "What is this fascination you and your mother have with my tie, hmm little man?" He pulled a bit on the tie, hoping to keep enough of it out of the tiny child's mouth to save him from choking on it.

Eloise answered him, teasing, "It's how they each keep a handle on you detective, don't you know." They shared a smile.

"Neither of them needs a tie for that," he chuckled, "They both already have me wrapped completely around their little fingers."

Laughing in agreement she said, "This is true."

William took his son on a quick tour of the house, talking and adoring the boy, enjoying having various parts of his face poked and prodded, and letting his heart feel the joy that even the tiniest smile on the infant's face could bring. After a few minutes, he asked Eloise if she would keep an eye on the baby, placed him back in the bouncer, encouraged him for a few moments, supplying him with a cherished toy to hold while he bounced, and then headed upstairs. Unsure which he wished for more, catching his wife in a gorgeous dress or catching her not in one, William hurried, skipping over every other step.

Julia had finished adding the finishing touches to the outfit, the necklace and earrings, gloves, even the black feather in her hair. She stood from the chair at her vanity and evaluated the results in the mirror. She had not worn this dress for years – she tried to remember if William had ever seen her in it, finding she couldn't think of a time he had. It was black, low cut – very low cut… "But," she thought, "It sure does enhance my bosom," bringing her to raise an eyebrow at herself... "They look quite … amplified." The design trimmed her to the waist with the top's classy v-shaped stitching down front. And she so loved the three elegant jeweled loops that hung down over each shoulder.

She hadn't heard him coming up the stairs, but their eyes met when William walked in the bedroom door. "Detective," she said.

William's body seemed to turn to jelly with the sight of her, allowing for every cell, every atom, in his body to change orientation, to turn to face her. His heart thumped and pounded, racing to supply needed blood. His lungs burned, having been halted, stunned, suspending needed oxygen for the brain, causing his head to begin to spin. Blood-hot jolts ran directly to his groin. His very essence reached for her, like the Earth reaches for Sun and the Moon reaches for the Earth.

Julia could not help but smile, for it was obvious that her husband was floored. "I wore it once for a party Darcy and I held," she said. Julia turned to one side, put her hands on her hips, then turned to the other side, then swung her hips at herself in the mirror, further assessing the dress, and mercilessly teasing her husband.

William forced himself to swallow, finding it helped restart his breathing. It happened so quickly. He imagined her walking into the Montenegro's party on his arm, his mind's eye seeing the other men react to the sight of her, aroused, eyes bulging out of their sockets. Instantly – instantly – jealousy surged through his veins. He felt it, his fingers curling into fists, his jaw tightening.

Julia fussed with the black skirt, talking. He hadn't heard what she was saying. "What? What is she saying?" he asked himself, trying so very hard to regain control of himself.

She continued her story, "Much to Darcy's chagrin, I had had the audacity to bring up contraception. Lamont wanted to argue about it … Even put up a feeble attempt to do so …"

"Julia," William said, his voice taking on that rational, logical tone he used when making a point, "If you want to win an argument with a man, you want him to be able to think." His hands stressed his point as he continued, the right hand seeming to chop into the left one, "A man can't think if his brain is soup from looking at someone like you wearing that dress."

Her big, blue eyes lifted away from the mirror, settled and nestled into his. Oh, he knew it was coming… Her smile grew mischievous, "Is your brain 'soup,' William?" she flirted. Surely the temperature shot up 15 degrees in the room.

"That's not the point Julia," he defended. "That dress is too, uh …"

She turned away from him and said, "I like the advantage it gives me. But my question was does it look alright now that my breasts are bigger?"

William had not heard her ask that question, although he was sure she probably had. There was a part of him that took on the task of coming up with an answer for her. "It looked a hell of a lot better than alright," is what he thought. Another part of him strove to find a way to make sure she never wore that dress around any other men, ever. But what most surprised him was that some other part of him – Julia would say it was his subconscious – it just wanted to touch her, wanted her to never take that gorgeous, breathtaking dress off, and wanted to enjoy getting her out of it at the same time.

"Well?" she asked, her eyes honing in on his.

William chuckled at himself, then wrinkled up a corner of his mouth…

"What?" she demanded.

"Julia," he said, stepping close to her, "Truth be told, I just want to get you out of wearing that dress… At least …" He slid his hands up her forearms to her shoulders, and his eyes dropped down to soak in the dizzying, breathtaking sight of her. My God, he wanted his mouth on her. He wanted to squish her breasts together and bury his face in her bosom… And taste. He really, really wanted… "I don't think you should wear it to the party," he said.

"Why?" she asked.

He swallowed and stepped back. "Julia," he said with a twinge of pleading." She held his eyes firmly. He would have to explain. Finally, he pushed it out, "I would get jealous."

Her hands moved to her hips, signaling he would not be getting what he wanted. "William," she half-heartedly scolded, "You need not worry about other men, you know I have eyes for only you. Besides, I would think you would want me look good."

"This is … too good," he replied.

Julia laughed, and then headed out the door. "Men!" she declared as she marched down the stairs to ask Eloise her opinion.

By the time Julia returned, carrying William Jr. in her arms because he had been fussing, William had removed his tie, his shoes, his cuff links, his badge and his vest. He stood at her closet, looking through her dresses. Julia halted at the door, "Oh, he had best not be picking out a different dress for me to wear," the infuriating thought pumped through her veins. She needed to nip this in the bud.

"William," she said, trying to sound calm. He turned to face her, stepping back from the closet. His eyes shifted to the baby briefly before returning to hers. She could tell from his look that she had failed in hiding her annoyance. She took a deep breath, so hoping this would not lead to a fight. "We have a modern marriage, based on equality, yes?" He nodded. She walked into the room, needing to soothe the baby with a few bounces and a quick kiss. "One of the things I don't think the husband should have control over is what the wife wears," she stated plainly.

Although William agreed with her, he found himself feeling defensive. "I wasn't trying to control you Julia. You asked me..." he explained, knowing in his heart that he did want to control her. And still, from the moment he had told her his reason, when her hands went up on her hips and that beautiful jaw jutted up in the air, and his heart skipped a beat because when she was so strong and so stubborn it rocked him to his soul – he had known since that moment that he did not have an inkling of control.

The baby threatened to start to cry, Julia warding it off by switching him to her other arm and talking playfully with him momentarily. Her eyes met William's again, "Don't sound angry," she told herself. "I asked you something very specific about the dress – not whether or not you thought I should wear it…"

"True," he thought, "But wasn't that question implied in … What exactly did she ask?

William's confused look irritated her. "William, I just wanted to know if my breasts looked too big for the dress – now that I'm nursing," she rushed to explain, her head shaking with a twinge of anger, setting her frame of wayward curls and the black feather into a lovely dance.

"Oh yeah, that was it," he thought. He cleared his throat – it took courage to speak to power, even when your plan was to deflect it, and asked, "And did Eloise help you with an answer?"

Eloise was way too smart to get in the middle of a potential argument between them, thus, she had not. Julia had no desire to tell William that she had gotten the impression that Eloise had agreed with him about the dress looking too sexy, though the woman would never say such a thing, even when asked, and further, she was from an older, more reserved, generation. Julia knew that. She stalled, changed the subject. "Could you change him William, while I change out of this dress for dinner? … Eloise said it would only be about ten minutes," she asked.

William smiled and reached out and took the baby. "I'd be glad to," he said. However, he stayed, waited, for the he knew the issue was still unfinished.

Julia's beautiful eyes softened as they looked into his. She sighed and said, "Eloise described a method to tell if a dress fits." Julia turned and went to the vanity, (she had already known this same method). She pulled the feather out of her hair and then removed the earrings as she continued, "You look to see if your flesh bulges out over the seams." She sat, turned to look at him and then turned away again quickly. He wasn't sure if anger had surfaced, or maybe it was her steeling her resolve. She grit her jaw and added, "This dress fits."

"Good," he said with an uncomfortable bow. He caught her eyes, seeing the flames in them subside. Then he pinched his lips together and repeated, "Good." He turned his attention to their son and said, "Now … This little man needs a new diaper. I know. I know. You've been trying to tell us …" he spoke to the boy as he walked out of the room.

Julia undressed, carefully placing the black dress on its hanger. When she went to put the dress back in her closet, she noticed which dress William had been stuck on. It caused her pause, for it was the red dress – the one she had worn to the Policemen's Ball – the one she had worn to tell him she and Darcy had parted – the one she had worn to tell him she expected nothing of him, but … she loved him so much she could hardly survive it and she prayed with all her heart that he still loved her the same way – and he had said he had seen the future – and it was her. My God, she loved this man.

After dinner, the Murdoch's sat on the porch enjoying a warm spring evening. William and Julia played with the baby and discussed a myriad of things – whether they should use some of Julia's insect repellant on the baby, the plan to eat freshwater fish from the lake rather than that shipped from the Atlantic Coast with the hopes that it is a safer food source, especially in light of the meatpacking case William had worked on, whether or not to tell the new nanny about the secret passageways in the house, even whether or not Eloise would have thought they had made love before dinner because Julia came downstairs in her pajamas.

Risking bringing up a touchy subject, Julia asked William, "When was the first time you remember feeling jealous? I mean, was Dr. Tash the first one?" she added with a giggle.

William pretended to be insulted, "What makes you think I was ever jealous of Dr. Tash?" he demanded.

"William," she laughed, "Don't you remember all the questions you asked me about my relationship with him … after he had helped you find the crime scene where Richard Hartley had been initiated into the rowing team…"

"That doesn't mean I was jealous," he tried to insist, quite unconvincingly, for it was obvious he was holding back a laugh.

"William," she said, somehow tucking her chin in to look down at him, "You have to know Isaac told me about your conversation… Where's that journal of yours?" she suddenly asked.

William's eyes grew wide, "Oh no," he declared.

"Oh, I do think so," Julia stated, giving him a nudge. "I'll read you mine…" she said, handing him the baby and standing excitedly. He acquiesced, laughing and shaking his head, and she rushed upstairs to collect their journals.

Later, Little William Jr. finally tucked into bed, the couple sat in the living room comfortably nestled together in the reclining chair, hot chocolates half drunk on the side-table along with William's brown journal. Julia read from hers:

Isaac said William brought it up, asking how we had met. Much to my glee, he insists the man has a crush on me, although I dare say here that I do so hope it is quite a bit more than a crush. He said William cited the exact date that he had met me. Of course, Isaac doesn't know about William's brain – it is possible he just remembers the Clayton Bowles case that clearly. But there is plenty of other evidence to consider – the rising of the blue liquid in his truthilizer being the most significant, but then all those questions. Oh my God how my heart soared as he probed and prodded, "You and Dr. Tash were more than just acquaintances … you and Dr. Tash courted?" Absolutely lovely! And then there was that moment – when I was certain he was going to kiss me. Now that was lovely, complete with weak knees and stolen breath. Perhaps the wait won't be as long as I had thought. My God I hope not!

Julia closed her journal and challenged, "Tell me I had it wrong, William." From her position sitting across his lap, she reached over and put the journal, with its flowered cover, down on the side-table next to his. She undid another button of his shirt, teasing and taunting him. Her fingers slid up the inside of the fabric to caress his neck, soon followed by her lips. She kissed up to his ear, then took his earlobe into her warm, slippery mouth, sucking and nibbling on it, inflaming his desires and his groin. He had thought of a response, but it was gone now. She let go of his flesh and asked close to his ear. "Do you deny it detective?"

William's sigh, deep and giving-up, made her giggle. "Fair is fair," he said, shifting under her and reaching for his journal. He read:

The first time I felt it – the gut-wrenching heat of the emotion, pure jealousy, I was able to deny it. She had said something about the dead boxer's muscular arms. At the time I felt my jaw clench and my fingers curl, and all of a sudden my arms felt puny and decrepit … And such nausea overtook me with the helplessness of it.

William reached up and rubbed his forehead. He truly abhorred this emotion.

Julia felt a pang of guilt, for he was clearly stressed, and yet, her heart fluttered with palpitations knowing he had cared for her so much, in a romantic way, even way back then. It was true what he had always said, that he loved her from the moment they had met. She reached up and traced his lips, her eyes drawing his out of the journal. She offered him a smile, receiving one in return. She so hoped he saw her gratitude … and her love.

His hand left his forehead, took one of her curls appreciatively. He sighed again, and put his beautiful chocolate eyes back to his writing from nearly a decade ago…

And then there was the way Arthur Conan Doyle looked at her, kissed her hand. And Julia was clearly impressed by the man. He had every right to flirt with her – she is beautiful, brilliant, a rare woman in deed. I had to turn away not to punch him in the mouth. Monstrous jealousy was once again clearly housed within me, complete with its feelings of inadequacy and insecurity, seeming to burn with such power it reached up to the stars and at the same time drown all hope, creating a massive cloud of steam the challenged my ability to breathe, to see, to think. But compared to him, what do I have to offer her, he a world renowned author with wealth and fame, me nothing more than a detective's salary and, well truth be told, nothing more. She looked stunning in that dress, like a princess … Came from the Princess Theatre she had said, probably out on a date with a wealthy man, one more worthy of being her prince.

But, this time, with Tash, I lost control. I can't believe I asked such things of the man – and then of Julia herself. I actually asked her if they had courted. So unprofessional! And I have to figure she and Tash will talk about it, for they have a deeper bond, a more intimate bond. He will tell her I asked him the same thing when I was with him – "Were you involved?" – My God how is that any of my business? And why would I be driven to ask such things in the first place?

I remember it had started like an itch – a picture in my mind of Julia and Tash laughing together, one that I could push aside and ignore easily enough, but with it came the stirrings of my jealousy, and it seemed that once it started, like a chain reaction, it grew and grew, exponentially. And then my mind did it, crushing and exploding me in the same instant, for I envisioned them kissing. Still now the flash of the picture of it has the same detonating and devastating effect. My mind should have been on the case – Richard Hartley had been beaten, probably killed out in those woods – and instead of doing my job … I was walking through the crime scene picturing Julia kissing Tash, and I was letting such thoughts eat me up … and spit me out. I've lost all dignity in its wake. There's no hope she took it to be simply small talk. "You seem quite taken with Dr. Tash," she had said. That sure shut me up.

But my feelings for her still loom, dreams that taunt and tease me with what could be, but of course never will. And now those dreams have moved on to such dangerous levels, leading me to fantasize – completely out of control. Today was unbelievable, shameful really. It seemed so real, and she must have just stood there watching me imagine it, right in front of her like that. My God, the kiss I imagined was wild and out of control, and I dared to imagine she returned it just as passionately. And it does so hurt to think that, never, will I know such a thing, and I can't ever let something like that happen again. All the confessions in the world won't be able to repair our friendship if I let myself fall, and I know now, that even more so than the feelings I have for her, it is the feelings of jealousy – a completely unwarranted jealousy for she is not mine and never will be, it is those disgusting feelings that will undo me if I don't keep them harbored. Never again. I truly must focus on work – I am a detective, she a pathologist, and yes, we are friends. Draw the line William – and hold it.

William closed the journal, keeping his eyes down on the plain brown cover. "I managed it for a while, holding the line," he said, still seeming far off. He chuckled, spurring a light inside of her, bringing her back to him, there and then once again. His laugh had pulled her eyes to his, and with that touch, love was back, filling the air, and all was well once again. William took a slow deep breath, letting the feelings sink deeper into him. He placed the brown journal on top of the flowered one and turned back to her. His hand rested on her thigh, giving it a soft caress. Her eyes asked … about his laughter.

"Right after you so admired the boxer's arms, Amos Robinson I believe," William scratched his cheek and continued, "I went out and bought my weights. I started working out, building up my muscles," he said, jokingly lifting his forearm and bulging his bicep for her.

She giggled, taking the opportunity to slip her fingers down his shoulder to feel the solid, strong muscle through his shirt. "So," she said, her voice taking on that seductive tone that shot straight to his groin and raced his heart, "It's not all bad that comes out of jealousy then. You were well on your way to becoming my, "intelligent thug," she giggled again at such a bizarre notion, one he had come up with in the morgue after her ramble on Darwin and sexual selection. Her hand had slid under his shirt and was exploring, sometimes with a squeeze, sometimes with a scratch, the sculptured curves of the muscles on his chest as she continued, "… my intelligent hero."

The fuse was lit. Her kiss guaranteed the fire. Slow, white heat … buttons and sashes enticingly pinched and popped and slid, clothing slipped and dropped. Mouths tasting flesh, bodies and skin dancing, sliding, melting, she mounted him, there in that chair. He rose to her, strong and fierce, and she fanned the flames, over and over and over. This lovemaking was hot and welding, fusing them into one. Finally spent, they remained merged, complete and satiated, only the slowing pace of hearts and breathing reminding of the impermanence of the perfection. Reality floated down, cloaked them, covered them, seeped into them. After a time, she slid off of him, rested her head on his shoulder, basked in his gentle kisses and reassuring strokes, and listened to his heart and his breathing, becoming more and more aware that it was his, and not hers, and she loved him more than words could ever say, and he knew it, and she was happy, and so was he.

William had decided not to tell her, but the jealousy he felt about the dress was not the same as that he felt towards an individual man, like Tash or Darcy. It was more primal, more male – founded in the deep unyielding urges that, once triggered, were so hard to extinguish or even control. There was a tipping point; he knew it and it seemed she did not, would not. He would need to keep his jealousy at bay but he also knew he would need to guard, for she was quite desirable, and she was his, and there would be wolves mixed in among the gentlemen, hidden in sheep's clothing, and any man, every man, can weaken and become a wolf.

Needing to clear his throat first, William asked, "And you milady, has jealousy pumped through your veins?"

"Of course," she answered, "With Liza and Mrs. Jones." She took a deep breath, let her mind run, to be halted and stung with the various memories. "Even Eva… And of course Anna," she added. It did seem she could go on and on. Julia lifted up off of him to find his eyes. Her eyes narrowed, like the archer inside of her was honing in on a target with her arrow, "I think my first really powerful jolt of feeling jealous was when Ruby showed up in her showgirl costume and her bodice…" Julia pinched her lips together, revealing her annoyance with the whole affair. "Her flirting with you," she went on, slipping her fingers up his jaw to play with his ear, "it caused blatant jealousy in me. Of course, you know Ruby saw, she could tell I was jealous and she poked at it even more. It caused such a rush in me, a panic, that called me to action, although it was frantic, it was clearly undeniable."

He smiled and pulled her close for a quick hug. "I was only interested in her to learn more about you," he said.

Julia rested her head back down on his shoulder, "Then of course, there was Sally Pendrick…"

In his mind William corrected, "Sally Hubbard," wanting to remind himself that she had not been what she had seemed. A shot of worry pumped through him, for a time he had thought it was his relationship with Mrs. Pendrick that was driving Julia away, causing her to doubt his love and flee to Buffalo.

Julia began to laugh, sitting up, "Do you remember the painting William?"

Her laughing was contagious. But considering everything, he couldn't help but blush. "Julia," he said, trying to sound confident, "I knew all along it was a naked woman…"

"Oh, not a landscape with a red pyramid?" she teased.

William braced himself, telling her, "I had seen Mrs. Pendrick modeling for the artist… when I went to question her … at their estate."

"In the nude, William," Julia said, pulling away even further, eyebrow shot up in the air, "You saw Sally Pendrick in the nude?"

He nodded. He sighed as his shame bubbled up to his consciousness. "It seems it was her intention all along … to seduce me, distract me … play me, really … for a fool."

Moving closer to the flame, them both feeling the heat of it, Julia asked, "And were you seduced William?"

He knew he had been. And yet the whole experience mixed so painfully with Julia's telling him she was leaving him … with their heart-wrenching discussions in the morgue … that he had trouble holding on to the memory of being beguiled by the sinister woman. His brown eyes reached for her. "On some level I suppose I was," he admitted, his mouth rising at one end.

Julia dropped her eyes away and responded, "I guess I should have been more jealous than I was, then."

Their thoughts drifted… both feeling regret and soreness.

"Who was the first one? … I mean after Liza of course," he asked.

Her head on his shoulder, the weight of it, the intimacy of it, reassuring, she replied rather quickly, "Ettie … twice."

Of course William knew of the most recent time, from while he was undercover on the meatpacking case, right before William Jr. was born. It had been one of their very worst fights … the wounds, the memories, now healed but still sore. He sighed, and reached up to rub his forehead. Julia wondered if a man as bright and as observant as her husband would ever discover his "tell," admitting to herself she hoped not.

"Twice?" he asked, his mind racing backwards in time. "Perhaps when we first used Plan C at her father's lake-house and I told her about Ettie…" he thought…

Julia remained in her cozy position on his shoulder but reached up to find his hand. She took it in hers, brought it down from his ruffled brow and kissed it. "I saw the two of you – to close for just business, just acquaintances, too charged for just friends – when I arrived at the Music Academy to examine the body at the crime scene."

William remembered the time … That he was concerned Ettie wanted to refuel their relationship.

Julia slid up and placed her lips at his ear, "That is why I teased you so ruthlessly about your relationship with her, and meeting her at a Church Function," she whispered, her voice enticing, starting a tingle down his body to reignite his groin. "I was definitely jealous detective. Little did I know how jealous I should have been, truth be told, hmm?" she asked with another kiss, this one less alluring, for it followed a reminder of the complicated web of it all – and the pain.

Julia asked herself if there were any other women she had felt jealous of, mostly as a means to move on from the still tender memories of his secret rendezvous with his past lover and … Suddenly, it hit her hard, in the gut, prompting her to gasp, the sound drawing William out of his thoughts.

She looked so devastated – wounded. William didn't have time to think; he just asked, "What is it?"

Her eyes bolted, and she hurried to get away. She stood up, put on her robe and reached for the empty cups of hot chocolate on the side-table, cleaning up. She said, "It's getting late," and headed for the kitchen.

Rising right behind her, William quickly put on his trousers, "Julia?" he called. He followed her into the kitchen, stood next to her at the sink as she rinsed the cups and then placed them in the dishwashing cupboard. "What?" he asked again.

A big sigh flowed out of her. She turned to face him. "The waitress," she said, "I remembered the waitress."

Such guilt and regret immediately filled William's heart. He had never seen Julia so distraught over something he had done as she had been then. His mind replayed it – the moment his eyes met Julia's after having been called from his lustful imaginings of having his way with the waitress who had just flirted with him and then moved on to bend over and enticingly clean and scrub the table behind them.

She saw it on his face, watched as he ran through the emotions all over again. She tried reminding herself that he loved her and only her…

Stunned. Weak. William stuttered and then blurted out her name, "Julia… I'm so sorry… I, uh…"

Julia took another deep breath and made an effort to reassure him, "I know William. It's alright," she said. She cupped his cheek and then headed for the stairs. "William Jr. will need to be nursed soon. Will you finish up down here?" she said as she walked away. It had hurt so very badly. She worked to reason with herself, desperately searching for the thought that could erase the pain. "We resolved it. Let it go," the thoughts tried to gain hold in her mind.

It shocked him how powerfully the resurgence of the feelings burned. All over again, he fought the urge to hurt himself, wanting to punch, and stab, and punish, the battle between yielding and holding rendering him stuck. He remained there, in the kitchen for a time.

Upstairs, Julia went through the motions, brushed her teeth, combed her hair. William Jr. would wake soon, hungry. She knew so by the swelling and fullness of her breasts. Sitting at her vanity, she felt it grow, regret. She had taken pleasure in his jealousy, a fiery romantic pleasure. But now, feeling the revolting, helpless feeling devouring her, she regretted stirring it in him.

William came into the bedroom, carrying their shed clothing from their lovemaking, and their journals. Their eyes met in the dim light. How she tried to send him the message, that she loved him, that everything was alright. She found instead that she received his – he was hurting, beating himself up. He turned, placed her nightgown on the bed and then dropped the remainder of his clothes in the hamper. He placed the journals down on his dresser, keeping his eyes down on them as she started…

"Do you remember," she asked, "that it was Isaac who said that all men were dogs?"

William wrinkled the corner of his mouth as both, the memory of Julia telling him of this, and the admission to the fact that the statement was correct, collided with his face.

Julia stood and approached him. She so loved the look in his eyes, big, open, hopeful. "He was making a point William," she said as she reached him, stood in front of him, close and warm. He felt her fingers take his chin, her soft delicate skin catching over his day's-worth growth of whiskers…

The baby's first cry was soft, still drowsy and sleepy. It drew their eyes away from each other, to the hallway.

She turned him back to face her, her fingers still holding his chin, and finished, "You are only human William," she said, and then she let go of him, left to care for the baby.

Later, Julia brought him the baby to burp. Wearing only his pajama bottoms, William put a towel over his shoulder and spoke to the tiny child as he took him from his mother, "Good evening, William Lionel Henry Murdoch Jr. … I would wager that was pretty yummy? … Now, let's go see those stars." William took their son out into the backyard on this cool spring night. With the sound of crickets filling their ears, the smell of grass and trees in their nostrils, William's voice spoke with the awe that he felt in his heart for the universe, and William Jr.'s father pointed out the magnificent twinkling lights in the sky. William turned the boy around in his arms, so their eyes could be aimed in the same direction. "That one there," he whispered in the infant's small ear, "Its light shines blue and bright, like your mother's eyes, that one is Sirius. Once you find it, then you have found the 'Greater Dog,' or Canis Major."

His mind leapt and he heard Julia's voice in his head, "All men are dogs." Emotions mixed with emotions in his chest. His lips kissed the baby's soft head, he breathed in the infant's scent. The profound responsibility he had, that he held in his arms, his son, his – it grew heavier, for he was not just bringing up a child; he was bringing up a man.

Julia watched from their bedroom window. The bad taste from the memories of William's transgression, his ogling of the waitress, was dissipating. She so loved to watch them together, father and son. She knew that if more men had had a father like William then the world would be a better place. Julia giggled to herself, remembering the Eugenics Society, complete with the eccentric H.G. Wells, and she thought that maybe they weren't so wrong after all – they had asked William to become a member. Then a memory took center stage, swooping her whole body into the experience. It was of the time they had discussed the breeding of a prize stallion and a prize mare, and she had become extremely aroused, and only recently William had told her what he had imagined doing with her at the time. "Yes," her mind noted, "He is a man, through and through. But, my God, he is a good one." As she watched, William turned and brought the baby inside. She left the lamp on his night table glowing and slid into bed.

William Jr. quiet, content and asleep, William stepped silently into their room. It seemed Julia had gone to sleep. He sighed, unsure of what to do. Awful feelings of guilt and shame and regret drove his worry, his uncertainty. He searched for clues. She slept on her side with her back to him, implying a lack of connection. But, she had left the light on – that felt inviting, welcoming, like she wanted him in bed with her. And there was no bedding left out for him to use elsewhere. He decided the evidence suggested she meant for him to sleep with her. Taking a deep breath to fill his courage, William lifted a leg to sit softly on his side of the bed, never taking his eyes off of Julia.

Feeling his weight sink down into the mattress, bending space-time, tugging her to him, Julia rolled over onto her back and propped herself up on an elbow. She held the blanket to her chest and found his dark chocolate eyes, so very gorgeous in this low light.

"Should the dog sleep on the couch," he asked sheepishly.

She did not expect the question. It helped her see how strongly he was still fighting with his bad feelings – but the humor and self-deprecation of his statement offered healing. Letting the blanket fall a few inches lower to reveal the tops of her breasts, quite intentionally for she very much wanted to seduce him, she lifted herself higher and leaned closer. "Perhaps," she answered with her voice bordering on a whisper.

There was that wrinkle of the mouth. He needed saving.

"William," Julia said as she shimmied over closer to him, "I was hurt. I felt … undesirable."

She was warmed and spurred on by the dazed shaking of his head. "No… No," he uttered softly, seeming as much to himself as to her and to the universe.

Even closer, her voice low and intimate, her breath humid as it flowed over his skin, she continued, "Guilt is a useless emotion, William – unless it motivates you to repair." She felt him open, listen, hope.

"But how," he thought, still lost.

"Do the opposite. Make the opposite happen. Show me that you find me …"

He got it! He understood! She was in his arms so quickly and he promised, "But you are Julia. You are. You are the one. The one I desire more than anything else in the world. Nothing in this world will ever mean more to me than you. You are my light, my pulse, my spark. You make my life worth living. Truly, I am only right when I am with you. It is the only time that there isn't something wrong."

Such relief and excitement surged through him with the feel of her fingernails scraping across his scalp, and her breath rumbling in his ear. "And when we make love?" she asked.

In his mind he imagined it – pushing her down on the bed, pushing into her, deeper and deeper into her, the rhythm, the pressure, the power building… My God he wanted her – wanted to be making love to her – wanted to hear her breathing call to him, hear her gasp as she pulled him and her moan as she yielded, over and over again with their primeval beat – to feel her tight and hot around him and to give her all of himself, everything he had, when he finally touched her in that one perfect spot.

He inhaled the delicious smell of her deeply and then turned to bring his lips over hers. Hovered, in the delightful anticipation of the touch, he waited for her tilt.

"It seems that if I want the man in my bed then I will have to take the dog too," she accepted as her lips grew closer, glancing with the words.

"Easy William," his inner voice coached when their lips touched, and they each felt the mingling of their breath, the rushing of their hearts and their blood, the familiar heat growing more and more prominent, demanding their attention with its expansion.

By the time her fingers had tugged at the string of his pajama bottoms, he had grown big with urgency. As he rose up onto his hands and knees, forcing her deeper down into the mattress, shifting the tilt of the world, swirling her with his gravity, she pulled desperately at the fabric, removing the final barrier. He planted his knees between her thighs and leaned forward, pushing up into her, widening her legs, opening, taking. Synchronous was the touch of his chest to her bosom, squashing and crushing with his weight, and the luscious touch – hard, penetrating, power into moist, lush, weakness. Moans bellowed and blended in the air. Finally together, yet now hurried for they were so close, and the closer they got, the greater the force pulled. Sheer desperation demanded complete effort. As hard as he could, he made love to her. There was nothing else in the world but moving closer, and closer, and closer … until a pausing silence stilled the world, announcing the imminent fall. He had her. She was right there, already tipping over the edge, her moan surging him beyond belief and the wave lifting him, breaking, flinging him into the abyss. He worked with all his might, milking the delicious pleasure out of each second, each surge. "Mmm," he melted into her. "My God I love you," he told her, still so close to her, still fusing her soul, still flooding - long and deep, and hot, so very, very hot.

The couple slept, affirmed, tight, safe and warm.

Saturday morning came quickly, the infant's cry functioning as the alarm clock. There was much to be done. William prepared their breakfast, and Julia went out to a charity meeting. While the baby napped, William lifted weights, working to maintain his ability to be Julia's intelligent hero, all the while listening in on the baby-monitoring device he had made. After lunch the baby got a bath. They each found a treasured few hours for their individual passions – Julia absolutely marveled in reading about the discovery of the XY sex-determination system that had been independently proven by both Nettie Stevens and Edmund Beecher Wilson, bursting into William's workroom, where he had coils and motors laid out all over the place, to tell him about it. William reported his results as well; he was getting closer to devising a way to refrigerate their food and, he hoped, to cool their house in the summers too.

By the time the woman who Eloise had recommended as a nanny rang their bell, Julia was prepared. William Jr. was awake, and nursed and dressed. And she had her list of questions. After answering the door, which she had hoped William would have heard and thus would have come upstairs himself, she briefly excused herself to go get him. He was dressed much more casually than most people would ever see, and he had a few spots of grease or some other form of dirt here and there on him, but Julia figured their nanny would need to know William the man more so than William the detective, so it did not matter.

Julia found there were moments where she was able to sit back and simply observe. She did like the young woman – Claire-Marie was her name. She held herself with confidence, yet she also had a natural respect for others. There was evidence that she had been well-educated, as she spoke well and was enthusiastic about discussing politics, literature, and even seemed to hold a good foundation in the sciences.

Julia watched as Claire-Marie and William carried on a conversation in French, at one point catching William's eye, giving him a Mona-Lisa smile, causing him to pause and prompting his mind to question, for he could not fathom its meaning. "Once again, he has no idea," she thought. Claire-Marie was obviously smitten. If Julia had had time, she would have delved into the effects William's blindness to female flirtation had on her jealousy, but they needed to decide whether or not to hire this woman, whether to bring her into their home, into their family, to play a part in the raising of their son. Thus, she breeched the subject of romantic relationships, making sure to hold her eye quite firmly to those of the young, attractive and alluring Claire-Marie. As she did so, she handed the young woman their son, both parents watching closely to see how she connected with the baby and how he seemed to be with her, and Julia sat on the arm of William's chair, wrapping her arm around his shoulders possessively. Instantly she knew Claire-Marie got her message. Julia also entertained a little giggle to herself, for her husband remained clueless, albeit he did seem slightly startled by the public display of affection.

They decided to hire her. Excitedly, she agreed to return later that evening to help Eloise watch William Jr. while his parents went out to a dinner party. After Claire-Marie left, Julia warned William that he had best start getting ready for the party. He needed a shower. Before he went upstairs he commented, "And she is a remarkably pretty young woman," turning the tables on her after all those years ago when she had similarly admired the young man who had thought himself to be Sherlock Holmes.

Julia raised an eyebrow at him. "Remarkably?" she questioned, and gave him a playful shove.

William laughed and, with his eyes full of mischief, he winked at her.

Perhaps he wasn't as blind as he had looked," her voice inside her head noted. (Although in reality, it was William's curiosity and internal questioning, after he had detected his wife's pointed, "look," and suggestive public displays, that had led him to his understanding). She warned him, her eyes narrowing to tiny points, "You're trying to make me jealous…" prompting even more laughter from him. "You louse!" she declared and bopped him with a couch pillow.

Defensively, he pulled his wife into a hug.

"Don't try to make up for it," she said, fighting back her own smile, working to produce a pout and a threat, but finding the combination challenging. He gave her a kiss on the cheek, then a more heated one on the mouth. The moment he released her lips, she pushed back and continued, "Besides, her looks have nothing to do with her qualifications for the job," she argued.

William refused to completely release her, keeping her in his arms. "Oh, I beg to differ – I'm pretty sure William Jr. would thank me for it if he could," he countered.

Julia stopped to consider this, "Perhaps," she decided. Her brain was starting to hurt, struggling with what probably was and what she thought should be. "Go on," she said, stepping out of his arms and pushing him towards the stairs. "It has been too long since I have seen my gorgeous husband in a tuxedo," she called after him.

They waited in the living room, the two women, Eloise and Claire-Marie, and William, and the baby. It seemed that William Jr.'s new nanny was infatuated with the boy, and he with her. Eloise watched the detective out of the corner of her eye. It was not the first time she had seen the man in a tuxedo, but every time she felt her eyes stall and absorb the sight of him. Handsome was not a sufficient word, for it lacked the inclusion of the charm and genuine warmth the man had, but it was the word that always bounced around in her head.

William pulled his pocket watch out of his pocket for the third time in the last five minutes. His wife was late. He took a deep breath working to calm himself. She had had to nurse the baby, he reminded and explained in his mind, but their hosts and guests would not likely be given an excuse. Hopefully no one would notice, but with each moment that ticked by their arrival threatened to be more likely to stand out.

The bedroom door upstairs banged closed and all eyes, save for William Jr.'s, jumped to the foyer. Everyone stood up and went to wait at the foot of the stairs. William began to coach himself, preparing for the sight of Julia in the black dress, the dress that seemed to bypass his brain and hit directly in his groin, the dress that he knew would do the exact same thing to any other full-blooded male. Still, Eloise watched him, more intrigued by his reaction to the doctor than to seeing her in the dress again for herself. She tried to turn away, attempted to turn and look up the stairs instead, ashamed of her voyeurism, but she so wanted to see, to know if his heart stopped, and his eyes dilated, and his breath caught, and she glanced, ever so quickly, taking measure, providing a before-and-after comparison, at the apex of his trouser legs, experiencing a twinge of guilt at her secret dirty pleasure.

Because the staircase was divided in two, with a landing half-way down to change direction, they would all be able to take in the sight of Julia dressed for the party, from head to toe, in that one, initial moment. "William," her voice called as her footsteps started down, making a backbeat as her heels tapped on each step, "I'm sorry to make us…"

She stepped around the corner of the stairs, onto the elevated stage, the complete vision of her suddenly in view. "… late," she finished. The world paused, the air stilled. Her eyes devoured the sight of him. She knew in that instant, she knew that she had made him happy, so very, very happy.

Eloise's gasp had been delayed, loud enough that she felt the need to rush her hand up to cover her mouth, for that gasp had announced it, out loud, the surprise. Her mistress was stunning, beyond beautiful … but that was not why she had been so startled. No, it was because she had seen the detective's reaction, and it had been everything she had expected and more – and she swore he looked so joyful, so in love, that he seemed on the verge of tears. And she sensed it was because the doctor did not wear the black dress after all, but instead wore a dazzling red one. And Eloise was certain, absolutely certain, that the detective had seen his lover in that red dress before. She felt tears well-up in her eyes, as if she had been watching a fairytale, for somehow Eloise was positive that something very powerful, something very important, something magical had happened the last time the couple's eyes had met when the doctor was wearing that red dress. She looked on as Julia continued down the stairs, took her husband's hand, accepted his gracious and loving bow, with such a luminous smile gracing her face. And Eloise prayed, while at the same time she heard it being foretold, that the detective and the doctor would truly live – happily ever after.