A/N: OooOoh, Wah, I'm a bit behind. I've been working like crazy the last few days. I'm behind on reviews, I'll try and get to them tomorrow. I'm really, really excited to hear everyones thoughts on this chapter.

I may post another chapter later tonight, but if not tonight tomorrow for sure.

As always my friends.

Enjoy!

I finally feel like me and not some drug-soaked sponge version of me by around 8:00 pm.

And since I've slept all day, I'm completely wired.

Wide awake but not well-rested.

And I feel kind of crunchy, like stale bread.

But that was the last wisdom tooth.

And hopefully the last time I have to do anything like that for a while.

Hopefully.

And David…

"Hey."

I rub my eyes.

He's standing in front of me with a bag of frozen peas in his hand wrapped in a tea towel.

"Hey."

He extends the peas to me and I take them.

"Oh, that feels nice…" I say blissfully, settling the bag over my swollen cheek.

"Do you want another Percocet?"

I shake my head, "It's okay. Maybe later when I'm trying to sleep."

"Okay."

The TV's off. It's dark outside and I'm in that weird twilight fog of having no attachment to my internal clock. I know it's 8:00 because the cable box tells me so… as far as my body's concerned it could be four in the morning or two in the afternoon tomorrow.

The shop lamp next to the chair is on and a library copy of Fellowship of the Ring is spread over the arm of the leather chair.

I smile.

That hurts.

"Ah. How, uh, bad was I?"

He chuckles and sits down in the chair, "You weren't bad. You were pretty funny."

"I try."

"And succeed."

"Was… was Rory here?"

"For a little while, yeah."

"God… drugs. I… kind of remember that. Kind of."

"Do you remember calling him Dad?"

I balk, "No! Did I? How weird!"

"Hmm," he's grinning.

"I had a dream…" I push myself into a seated position, "it seemed so real."

"The, uh, unicorn?"

"What?!"

He laughs, "Not the unicorn then."

"I'm afraid to ask…"

"You told me in the car that you saw a unicorn, but that it got away from you… you got a little emotional."

"God, David…" I shake my head, "I'm sorry."

"I don't mind," he says, and the sound of his voice is warm, honest.

Close.

"So this other dream…?"

"Oh. I, uh… I met a mouse."

"Uh-huh."

"And he was my friend. Then he turned into a bear. And then… I think he betrayed me."

"What do you think it means?"

"Don't befriend mice?"

"Probably a good policy. In general."

I laugh, "Ow. Yeah. Probably."

We eat dinner, he makes a sandwich and I warm up the soup that Mum made for me two days ago, and then I call Mum to assure her that I'm fine and to check on Mickey who I left there with her, not knowing how up to taking care of an enormous dog I'd feel.

When I tell her I'm not alone, I can hear her beaming through the phone.

When my peas start to get mushy, I stand up and slowly drag myself into the shower.

While it feels amazing to let the water wash away that stale bread feeling, the steam makes me dizzy and I end up sitting on the floor of the tub.

I sit there for a while and let the water hit the top of my head while black crowds into my peripheral vision.

Standing up seems like the wrong choice to make at this venture.

So I sit.

My limbs and torso just kind of folded up under the shower water.

After a few minutes, I lift my head and tilt it back, eyes shut tight and let the water hit my chest.

"Rose?"

My eyes snap open.

"Wha, uh, yeah?"

"I was… checking. You, um, you've been in here a long time."

"Have I?" I reach forward and turn off the water.

I can't see him through the curtain, but I can hear from the echo that he's at least poked his head into the bathroom.

"Yeah."

"I, uh…" I push wet hair out of my face, "I got a little dizzy."

"That can happen," he sounds calm, closer.

"I'm fine… I sat down."

"Okay."

"Feeling better."

"Okay."

"Still sitting."

"Okay. Do you…"

On the one hand, I'm completely naked in the same room that he's in, and that… I mean…

I've been thinking about this happening for a while.

Thinking about it a lot, actually.

Often in here.

Actually.

But…

I'm not exactly at my prime right now.

Sitting here like a drowned rat.

And had swollen cheeks.

That would be terrifying.

"Do you need anything?"

I laugh, and feel it shake in my throat, "Sitting's good. I think I might, just, do that."

"Okay…"

"Would you mind, uh," at this point Rose, what does it really matter?, "Sometimes, I um… I need something to distract me, from feeling like I'm going to pass out. Like, I think about it too much and psych myself out and… umm…" I smile and look up at the shadow of him through the curtain, "This is weird, but would you mind just, kind of, staying and… talking?"

"In here?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't mind. Do you want some water or anything?"

"I've got lots of water in here."

"Okay, Ishmael, I meant to drink."

"Oh… uh… yeah?"

Okay…

So…

This is happening.

This is not sexy.

This is not…

I hear the sink turn on and off, and a second later the curtain pulls back just enough to let in a hand bearing the glass of water I brought in here with me and left on the counter.

I take it.

He closes the curtain.

I drink, "Was that a Moby Dick joke?"

He laughs, and the way the sound echoes in here send the sound directly into my chest.

And… other places.

Perfect.

Just…

Perfect

My body betrays me, my skin is buzzing, as well as other parts of my anatomy.

Damn body, you Judas. Now is not the time.

"It was a Moby Dick joke. Sorry."

"No, I… I think there's not enough… literary… humor in my life."

"Hmm."

Seriously…

Between the laugh and the 'hmm'.

Judas, you are not helping.

Not helping with the dizzy.

Or with anything else.

Nope.

"Have you ever read Moby Dick?"

For the love of god, can we stop saying Dick?!

"Uhh… in high school." Shortly before I dropped out.

"I liked it. Melville's take on fate was really… interesting."

Dick.

Fate.

"Fate?"

"I mean… if our fate can be inherently bound to someone else, or something else, where does our own control end and theirs begin? An Ahab, or a whale… they can control us more than we do ourselves?"

"Uhh…" come on, Rose, you used to have these kinds of conversations all the time! And you read Moby Dick, once. Okay, no you didn't… you read the Spark Notes and watched the movie. Ten years ago. The one with Patrick Stewart… oh, god, Rose, why didn't you at least watch the one with Gregory Peck?! Or read the damn book?!, "I think that… in order to have our fate controlled by an other… there is always a moment of choice. When we… choose to give them authority. And in that moment... we have all control."

Yes. That was definitely in the Spark Notes as a major theme.

"Hmm…" he thinks about it, "you think there's always a choice?"

"I like to think that there is, yeah."

"That's a good answer," he pauses, "What was your big choice?"

"What?"

"If there's always a choice… what was yours? Or have you made it yet do you think?"

I love that this is his light, I'm-going-to-distract-you-from-passing-out conversation topic.

Not like, 'Gee, Rose, these are my favorite kinds of sandwiches.'

"Uhh… to not be alone?"

"Hmm… That's a… good answer."

"What about you?"

I finish my water while I wait for him to answer.

"The same, maybe. I think I've made more than one."

"Can you do that?"

"Sure. Maybe," he laughs, "I don't really know."

I think he does.

I think he knows.

"You're reading Fellowship of the Ring?"

"Yeah…" I hear the lid of the toilet close and see the shape of his shadow sit.

This is ridiculous.

"I've never read it before. Never had time. Elves and talking trees."

I laugh and set the glass down in the corner-edge of the tub and unfold my limbs a little, "What's wrong with elves?"

He chuckles, "Nothing, I guess I'm more of a science fiction sort of bloke."

"Fair enough! It's one of my favorites."

"Yeah… I like Gandalf."

"You would."

He chuckles.

"He's good," I say, feeling significantly less dizzy and the thought of Gandalf, of all people, "'Not all those who wander are lost.'"

"I like that," he says quietly.

"Me too."

After a while, I start to get cold.

I need to get out.

He offers to help, but I tell him I'm fine… because… I…

How embarrassing is that?

I'm like an old, wet geriatric.

I take my time, get my feet under myself and wait, then stand up slowly.

Really slowly.

I'm okay.

I push the curtain back.

Whoa.

I have a hand against the tile, but I'm dizzy, slipping.

"Hey!"

I don't fall.

My vision's dark and blurry.

But I feel arms around me, and a chest against mine, cold tile pressed against my back.

And I don't fall.

"Fuck. Sorry-"

"Don't apologize. It's fine."

He is very strong.

He holds me up, pinning me between himself and the shower wall, until I can do it myself.

"David?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you s-see my?"

He's still pressed against me, and I feel his whole body shake as he laughs, "No. I didn't."

"Okay. Good. Because…" I swallow, "because this isn't how I want," I can't help it, I start laughing too, "this isn't how I want that to happen."

"It hasn't… happened yet. Are you okay to…?"

"Yeah."

He leans back tentatively, and looks up at my face.

He's actually blushing.

He makes a real show out of keeping his eyes high, looking up at the ceiling as he turns and steps gracefully out of the tub and grabs my towel of the rack, extending it to me without lowering his eyes.

"Thanks."

"Anytime."

I get out and make a b-line for my bed.

Sitting there, my hair dripping, I feel a lot of things.

Mild dizziness still being one of them. But, other things too. A lot.

When he follows me in with another towel…

I feel more things.

He holds it out to me.

I take it and start drying my hair, leaving it up around my head and shoulders.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"Why am I always a mess?" I keep drying, scrubbing the towel into my hair.

"You're not a mess."

I laugh and point at my cheek, "Not a mess? Look at me!"

"I am."

Oh, fuck.

He is.

"David."

It's warm in here, and dark except for the one little stupid round lamp by my bed.

It's warm.

And safe.

And one of us is not wearing pants.

And we are both very much aware of that.

I hear him swallow.

"How do you feel?"

What a question!

"Much better."

He nods.

He takes a step closer.

"How much?"

"Much-much better."

"I…" he's close enough to touch, close enough to touch me, "I…"

It's funny how everything changes with the seemingly small ignition of want.

It's like the chemical reaction of a match being struck.

Strike.

Flare.

Flame.

And it is a chemical reaction. Because with him this close, and with his eyes on me and that dark, black and just a little brown through thick lashes, I don't feel any pain.

I'm not dizzy.

I've never been dizzy.

Wisdom tooth?

What wisdom tooth?

"This is… so not the right time…" his voice has dropped to a different register and I feel it between my lungs.

"It's so not."

"Are you… I don't want to do anything that… I don't want to hurt you. Your," he touches his own jaw, a mirror to mine.

I shake my head, "If you can stand the sight of me like this…"

"Stand?"

He bends down, hands digging into the mattress on either side of my towel-wrapped hips.

He kisses me so softly.

He's being so careful.

And the affection in that kiss is enough to bring tears to the corners of my eyes.

He pulls back.

"Sorry. Sorry-"

"No," I shake my head, "No. You didn't… I'm fine. I'm…"

I swallow.

One side of his mouth tugs and he reaches over and pulls the towel around my shoulders off and away, leaving my head exposed.

My hair is a wet tangle of uneven matted and thick enough that it still drips cold water down my back.

"Tell me to go and I will."

I blink, "I don't want you to go."

"Tell me to stop and I-"

"I don't want you to stop."

He smiles.

"Are we…"

I nod, and I feel water drip down my unswollen cheek, "I think we are, yeah."

He leans in again, and I feel the heat of his lips, and then his tongue as he chases the drop of water.

I moan and grab his upper arms.

"David!"

He kisses the muscle between my neck and my shoulder, and then lightly presses the side of his head against mine, "Is this too… weird?"

I laugh, which is quite a feat with no air in my lungs, "I have a pretty high threshold for weird."

"Yeah I do too."

"I just…" I smile, "How swollen am I?"

I feel his smile.

"I don't want to be vain, but if… if this is the first time we… leave second, I mean, just… I don't want you to remember my face being…"

"It's not that swollen," he says quietly, "really. You think it's worse than it is."

My hands are against his sides, and I can feel the speed of his breaths, the shape of his ribs.

"But if you want to stop, we can stop… but… you know, stop me now."

I smile.

He's got more self-control than I do… but I just heard it give a little.

"What are we… leaving second?"

There is after all, just a thin layer of white terry cloth between second and third base.

He nods, "I'd like to."

I let out a long shuddering breath that ruffles his hair.

"David?"

"Yeah?"

"I…"

He kisses my pulse, "Just say it, it's okay."

I make a pained noise in my throat, "I can't suck on anything or I'll get a dry socket."

The laugh that erupts out of him takes me by surprise.

He pulls back, and bends with his hands on his thighs, laughing so much.

No.

It's not even laughing anymore.

It's a giggle.

And it's adorable.

He stands up, taking off his glasses and wiping his eyes.

"Oh, fuck it, Rose!"

"So… uh, rain check?"

"Yes. Absolutely."

"Because… I mean…" I try to look composed sitting there in my towel, "I want to, and, I… um… I think we're ready."

"I think so too."

"But… not tonight."

"No. Not tonight."

"Stay with me tonight, though?"

He nods.

I set up my laptop and start playing The Royal Tenenbaums while David hops in the shower himself. I drop my towel and leave it on the floor and pull on a pair of hot pink pajama bottoms.

Despite feeling so wired earlier, I fall asleep again before all the principal characters are introduced or the water shuts off.

When I wake up, it's dark in the room.

I'm on my side, which is never how I sleep.

I'm facing David.

Who is also on his side.

Facing me.

My arm is stretched out across the pillow.

And under his head.

He's sleeping on my arm, the solid weight of it resting on my bicep.

He's not wearing a shirt, and what little light there is from the sliver of moon outside comes in, down, from the window over our heads and his shoulder just looks… perfect.

Smooth.

The white scars look elegant, deliberate and crisp.

Like the rest of him.

I feel his breath on my chest, even and deep and comforting.

We've slept in the same bed a handful of times now.

But… barring the air mattress which more or less folded us in together, we've kept to our own sides for actual sleeping.

Out of… I don't know what.

Boundaries.

Some boundary is being crossed here.

I'm okay with that.

I'm really okay.

I bend my arm at the elbow and dig my fingers into his hair.

He smells like my shampoo.

I know this because I've pulled him in closer, and my lips are pressed against his forehead, my nose in his hair.

His hand is between our chests, and I hold it in mine.

He's awake.

"Mmm."

I smile, lips still against his hairline.

"It's been a long time since I woke up like this," he says to the center of my cleavage.

I nod, "Me too. David?"

"Mmhm?"

"What are you wearing?"

He laughs quietly.

"My boxers."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"You wear boxers?"

"Err… boxer briefs."

"Can I…" he looks up at me and I can see him smirking in the dark, "see?"

"It's dark."

"I have excellent night vision."

He sighs and lifts the comforter.

It's too dark to see anything, but I look anyway.

"Aha!" I say quietly, approvingly, and he lowers the blanket.

"Happy?" he settles back in, scooting closer, his head more against my shoulder than my arm.

"Very."

His arm is folded up against his chest again, between our bodies.

I feel one crooked finger stroking near the center of my chest.

I trail the tip of one of my fingers lightly along his spine, and when I hit a certain spot just above the small of his back he curls forward and smiles.

"Is that good?"

"Yeah," he answers, pressing his face against my neck.

I do it again.

He smiles against my throat.

"I feel like we're doing this all out of order," I murmur.

He shrugs, "Someone elses order."

"Hmm."

We just kind of lay there for a few minutes.

And it's good.

And then my mouth starts talking.

"Hey, have you ever been in a fight?"

"Uh. Yeah."

"Like a fist fight?"

"Yeah."

"More than once?"

"Yes."

"Oh. I haven't."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Never."

"Huh…" his knuckle goes still against me.

"What?"

"I… used to get into a lot of fights."

I don't really know what to say to that.

I stroke his shoulder blade with my thumb with a rhythm I try really hard to keep even.

"When I was eighteen, I moved to New York. It wasn't. ..what I thought it would be, but it was better than where I'd been."

I press my lips to his forehead again and listen, eyes wide in the dark.

"I lived in a shelter for a while. After… I stayed wherever I could. For a night, for a week. Some places were better than others."

He's quiet then for a while, and I feel the flex of muscle in his back as he shifts slightly.

"You end up finding yourself in fighting situations pretty regularly when you're living like that."

I swallow.

"And a part of me went looking for them, so that didn't help."

"Yeah?"

"Mmhmm. Yeah. I was indestructible," he laughs, then swallows, "You know how it is."

"I've always felt very destructible. My parents had to go to a parent-teacher conference about it when I was in the first grade. I was deeply concerned about mortality in the first grade."

He kisses the sensitive spot at the corner of my jaw, then lifts his hand and traces a line on his scalp, from hair line to crown, "I have a scar, here. A… fight. I woke up in the emergency room-"

He stops.

Abruptly.

He laughs derisively, "I really know how to ruin a moment, don't I?"

I shrug, "You didn't ruin it. I brought it up."

"Hmm. Yeah. That's true."

He nods, and snuggles in deeper, closer.

We're not lying flush together, but we're close to that.

"Are you wearing socks?"

"Yeah. My feet get cold."

"Mine too."

"Do you want a Percocet?"

"Nah. I'm good… doesn't really hurt now," I pause, "Do you want one?"

He laughs softly and unfolds his arm, finally, letting his palm rest warmly against the curve of my waist.

"No. I'm good."

We don't talk after that.

But it's comfortable. So, so comfortable.

I have no clue what time it is. None.

I hope that my internal clock will reset when I wake up.

But this weird lost day with him?

I've really enjoyed it.

Actually. I've really enjoyed it a lot.

At some point during the night, I almost wake up and I swear he's kissing me, so softly.

And I want to wake up the rest of the way. I want to be fully awake with him, now.

I want to kiss him back.

I want to know the story of all of his scars.

I want to hear about every battle he's ever been in.

And survived.

Because while it hurts some deep rooted part of me that lives in my chest and doesn't have a name… I feel like I'm ready for it.

I'm so ready.

I'm ready to get past my own demons, my insecurities.

I want us to do it together.

I want to roll him over on top of me, I want him to take me.

I want to hear him, feel him, say my name.

But my body is so unbelievably, unnaturally tired.

My body just does not cope well with those kinds of drugs.

I want to…

He says something to me… but I can't hear him.

I'm falling too fast and too deep.

And I fall asleep saying what I think is his name.

OoO

"How have we never discussed this?!"

I shrug, "I don't know."

Amy huffs and folds her arms across her chest, "I wondered why we never did anything for your birthday. No cupcakes. No singing. No nothing. I thought maybe you just didn't celebrate it, like, a…" she looks over at Rory who is looking decidedly tired today… and by that I mean disheveled and mildly psychotic, "what's the religion that doesn't celebrate birthdays? Not Mormons-"

"You thought I was Mormon?!"

"Jehovah's Witness," he answers glumly, not looking up from the laptop.

"Yeah! That's it," she looks up at me, "but… you're a Christmas Eve baby? Tragic."

"Yeah. It sucked as a kid…" I look at Rory, "What's up with him?"

She motions for me to follow her towards the pastry case, and says quietly, "He's past his deadline at work."

"Oh!"

She glances over at him, and says quietly, "His heart's not in it."

I nod and push around some Danishes.

"Why doesn't he just…"

"Quit? Do something else?" her mouth quirks, "He's contractually obligated."

"Poor Rory."

The door opens.

It's 10:00.

I wasn't sure if this would keep happening.

If he would still come in.

To buy tea.

It's coffee now.

But he does.

Every day.

He says he's addicted to the caffeine now.

"Go on," Amy purrs and puts the Danishes I've molested back in place.

"Hey!"

He smiles, "Morning."

I pour his coffee.

"Good morning, David," Amy says, passing behind him.

"Good morning, Amy."

He has money.

"You know," I say, withholding his coffee, "Jack even said that you should be getting this on the house at this point."

"Oh did he?"

"What with you being our artist and everything," I smile and hand him the cup.

He takes it and gives me the money, "Your artist?"

"Harkness'," I look over his shoulder at the photos, "Jack's thrilled. There's a lot of interest."

He smirks, "I'm glad to hear it."

Two of the photos sold yesterday. Clara had giddily taken care of the transaction, and the part of me that got all warm and squishy as she boasted to the buyer, a nice middle aged guy with a receding hairline, about how talented the photographer is was not small.

The little green sticker on the bottom of the frame means that they're off the market.

He sips his coffee and walks over to look at them.

I follow.

"Amy, can you...?"

She combs her fingers through Rory's messy hair, picks up an empty plate from his table and nods at me.

I stand next to David.

"Iceland and Mexico sold, huh?"

I nod.

"They're so good."

"Hmm. Who bought them?"

"Uh… don't remember his name…" I look at him sideways; the smile hidden in the corner of his mouth is almost entirely imperceptible… but I see it, "Do you, uh, wan to… go look at the, uh… uh…" I smile, and look over my shoulder at Amy who is ringing up a girl who looks to be about fourteen, "Do you want to come in the back and see the paperwork?"

"I do, yeah. If that's okay," his voice is low with an edge that's starting to be familiar… and I feel it in my gut.

"Okay, um, yeah," I see Amy roll her eyes at me as I lead him toward the stockroom.

I'm really doing this.

We're doing this before eleven in the morning.

I click on the light, we walk inside, I shut the door.

He sets his coffee down on an unopened box of vanilla syrup and puts his messenger bag down beside it.

"So, this paperwork?"

"Uh…" I grab the clipboard from off the wall, "his name is Dorium."

I gasp as he pushes me gently against the door, hands on my hips, body pressed against mine.

He smells like coffee and December and morning and David.

"Is that a first or a last name?" that edge is still there, a rough warm sound, and I curl down and into it.

"I don't know."

He chuckles, holding my face and keeping his mouth just enough away from mine to talk, "You don't know? It's right there, Rose."

Brain doesn't work now.

No brain here.

Only your mouth.

Your smile.

Lips.

"I don't remember."

He smiles.

I'm bold, and driven, like I've got tunnel vision, and…

With his fingers twisted in my hair, I taste his bottom lip with the tip of my tongue.

"Mmm..."

He growls and thrusts against me, pushing me into the door, and the immediacy of it startles us both.

"What are we…" he tips my face up, thumbs pressed to my cheekbones, kissing me hard, dangerous, and it's hard to stay quiet, and I feel a moan stuck in my chest like a physical obstruction, "Be careful what you start, Rose."

I'm completely, irrevocably horny as all hell.

I can feel the tension in his body as he stands there against me, strung tight.

The blood has rushed to my head.

I'm reckless.

I reach down and smooth a hand over his ass, pulling him in closer against me, closing my hand enough to feel the muscle flex. Perfect.

His forehead falls against my neck.

"What if…" I swallow, and move my other hand between our bodies, tracing the shape of him through his pants.

The line of his cock.

His… cock.

I still haven't seen it, but I have all kinds of ideas about what it looks like. I've felt it, plenty. Through cotton.

It's impressive, almost frighteningly so.

I think it's perfect, and that idea has haunted and so improved my masturbatory life.

Large hard and curved and, oh god, thick.

Hard… because of me.

And real against my fingers through just a couple layers of fabric, and zipper and…

And here in the storeroom at Harkness'.

At work.

At, like, 10:20 in the morning.

"Rose…" he growls and his hands curl into fists against the wall behind me.

"Yes?"

"Unless you're actually prepared to do this, here, for the sake of my sanity… stop."

I seriously consider it.

But when, like something out of nightmare… one of those I show up to take the SAT's naked kind of nightmares, when I hear low boom of Jack's voice through the door behind me I am snapped back into reality.

"Yes, it is exciting!" I hear Amy say too loudly, "They just went in the back to look over the paperwork, Jack. I'll go get them."

"Dammit," I sigh shakily.

"Fuck," he pushes back from me and tries, in vain, to adjust himself into decency.

Hard as a rock.

I'm somewhat lucky, I don't have that problem, but my face is flush.

Just those black pants… that… oh, god, those pants-

"I'm sorry!"

Amy knocks lightly, "I'm so, so sorry…" she whispers.

"Your bag,"

He picks up his messenger bag and slips it on, crossing the strap in front of his chest so that the bag itself covers his hips.

And crotch.

He picks up his coffee.

I smile goofily.

Amy cracks the door.

"Your hair," he says, reaching up, trying to smooth it back into place.

He gives up quickly, and laughs silently, "Lost cause."

"Well fuck it then," I laugh. And kiss him quick, one last time, before walking out of the stock room separately.

Jack's one of those all-seeing, all-knowing types.

The quirked eyebrow he directs at me literally has me blushing, but he pulls David over and they stand there talking about the photographs, discussing future opportunities.

I dart back over to the counter with Amy to serve the sudden line of customers that have popped up.

My hands are shaking a little.

I wonder if everyone can tell.

I look over at David. His face is a perfect mask of calm, but the way that he's white knuckling the strap of his bag gives him away.

"Sweetheart!"

I look up.

Mum's in the line.

Perfect.

She waits her turn and then makes a fuss over how beautiful Amy is, telling her that she looks like a fertility idol (which, coming from her is a huge compliment).

"Hopefully I'm looking a little composed," Amy holds her own hips and grins.

"And she knows her fertility idols! Oh, Rose, your friends are just wonderful."

"What can I get for you?" Amy coos.

"Just a coffee, dear."

"Don't let her pay," I say to Amy.

"Wouldn't dream of it, Rosie."

I look over at David and Jack.

He's smirking at me.

It's like worlds colliding when Jack introduces himself to my mum.

She's completely charmed by him, not that I blame her.

He's damn charming.

He asks her what brings her in.

"Needed a little pick me up. Finishing up the Christmas shopping today…"

"You're doing better than me," he says, so charming, "I haven't even started yet."

They laugh.

David's standing next to me.

"What are you doing tonight?" he whispers, low, and only I hear him.

I turn to him.

"I think that would be lovely!" Mum exclaims to Jack, and I look over my shoulder at her, "A tree in here? Yes. We're going tonight. Rose and I."

I open my mouth and look at David, pained, "Buying a Christmas tree."

"I'll tell you what," Jack says, "I'm buying. We'll all go. It'll be more fun that way. Amy, what are you doing tonight?"

She glances over at Rory, then back, "No big plans."

"Oh, Rory!" Mum exclaims and he looks up at her, "I didn't even see you there!"

He smiles weakly.

Jack comes up with this plan quickly while Mum fusses over Rory, and it becomes more and more elaborate at a rate that is truly boggling.

Dinner and the Christmas tree far, all on him. Mum puts up a fuss when he offers to buy her tree as well… but gives in pretty easily when he touches her arm.

"Apparently, I'm doing this tonight. Please come with me to this," I say to David.

He laughs and rolls his head back, "Okay."

"Yeah?"

"Sure…"

I try, "It'll be fun! And, um… after that… uh… do you, would you… maybe want to, uh…"

"Just spit it out, Rosie," Amy whispers behind me sweetly.

David laughs and rubs his chin with his thumb.

"Come over after."

"Yeah. I'd like that."

OoO

He spared no expense on the dinner.

Fancy tapas.

Expensive.

Lots of wine.

When I heard what restaurant he was taking us to, Vincento's, I wore a dress.

I mean… I'd have felt bad not wearing a dress.

No one else dressed up.

Well, David did but he's almost always in a suit and tie.

Clara had kept tugging on it.

She really likes ties.

The food was amazing, the owner very obliging.

And talkative.

It was fun, and, I haven't been out anywhere with Mum for a long time in a social way. It was nice seeing her like that again.

The only person missing is Rory, who is at home and, by Amy's account, doing more sulking than working… but, still, work is happening… her doggy-bagged left-overs are, I suspect for him and the thought makes me smile.

But I'd say that about… 40 percent of my brain was there, engaged at the dinner.

The rest of it?

The warmth of David's body sitting next to me.

The way he holds a knife.

The muscle in his jaw chewing.

The line of his throat, swallowing.

Swallowing.

I inhale my food faster than normal, fast enough that Mum comments on it and offers me a TUMS because she thinks I'm going to regret eating that fast.

OoO

David and I arrived at the Christmas tree farm before anyone else.

Standing by the string light-lit sign in coats and beanies, I just want to pull him in close.

You know.

For warmth.

His hands are buried in his pockets, a really long scarf pulled up high, and he looks much colder than I feel.

Oh, fuck it.

I pull him in.

He laughs, but lets me.

Amy and Clara arrive next.

And then Mum.

And then Jack.

It's a whole thing.

"You said you know the owners?" Jack asks my mum as we walk through the candy cane gates.

"Oh, yeah. I know Howard from way back," she smiles, "He's been ill… lately. Poor man. Ahh, there we go."

A younger woman near the little wooden house where the register is leads us to the larger trees.

We meander, while Mum and Jack take tree selection very seriously.

Amy and Clara dart away on their own, gloved hand in hand.

I'm…

The smell of pine and peppermint and cold air is overwhelming.

It's Christmas.

It hits me for the first time.

I have a lot of feelings about this time of year.

I always have…

We're alone in the trees.

Just David and…

I want him.

It feels like, in the cold, that want is even more clarified.

So clear.

Feeling giddy, I reach for his face, holding it between my gloved hands.

His eyes are closed.

And he looks happy.

His arms are around my waist.

"I feel like we're in Narnia," I say, just before I kiss him.

"You…" his voice is thick, but calm, "always know exactly the right thing to say."

I smile and kiss him, sweetly.

But when he kisses me back, I feel something change, coil.

Want.

We're alone.

"I'm so… tonight, I…"

I don't remember words, but he nods between my hands.

"I can't wait to… feel you," he sighs, "I-"

"Howard?!"

A shrill female voice calls out past the thick layers of trees.

"Howard?!"

"Here I am!"

We stand together, hidden, and listen to these disembodied voices pass us.

"These people want these two trees," the woman says, heavily accented.

David's hands press into the small of my back, "How… not that I'm not enjoying this… but… how much longer are we going to be with everyone?"

The edge is in his voice.

I respond to it like one of Pavolov's dogs.

"Let's just leave now," I kiss him, "They don't need us. We can just-"

"Rose? Sweetheart?"

I sigh. "Yes?"

She wants us both to help carry the trees to the cars.

"Not long," I groan, kissing him with a new kind of desperation, "Oh, god… I hope it's not long."