March 25
"Good night, sir," Gy called after the young child as the boy walked down the school stairs, adding a polite, "Good night, ma'am," to the boy's mother.
He smiled a moment longer, then, as the door closed, let the smile drop, sighed heavily, and turned to Jean-Luc. "Man, that was a class," he muttered softly.
"I thought it went quite well," Picard offered.
"Oh, it did - thanks to you - but that's the biggest class we've ever had. Forty-three students - and only the two of us to teach," Gy replied, sighing as he sank into one of the chairs in the parent viewing area. "Take a load off, John," he said, pointing to another of the chairs.
Picard took the proffered chair, but rather than reclining as ge was doing, kept himself more upright. "Have you considered requiring the students and their parents to either advise you of when they are coming to classes, or scheduling certain ages and ranks at specific times?"
"Of course. It's a standard practice - but until recently, there's been no need. I didn't have enough students to make it worth my time, or their effort. Now... well, now they're all used to being able to cherry-pick the days and times, and the kids have gotten used to being to skip a day now and then and make it up later. I'm not about to damage the goodwill I have with my long-time students just for my convenience," Gy said.
"Yes, but if the quality of the education suffers..."
Gy smiled, straightening slightly. "It's not suffering. Having you here is helping in part with that, you know - you're quite the disciplinarian, though I don't think the kids see that. No, they're more attentive, more focused, now that you're here."
"I hardly think that I'm the sole cause for that change, Gy," Picard declined politely.
Gy laughed. "Oh, I'm not giving you all the credit, John! But having a second, full-time instructor here has taken a lot of the burden off my shoulders so I've been able to do some real class planning and therefore get more accomplished in the classes. I'm not pulling ideas out of my ass at the last minute like I used to do - and it shows in the classes and in the kids."
He stopped for moment, glancing up at the clock, then back at Picard. "It's only seven-thirty; Ma and Beverly won't be back for another few hours."
Picard glanced up at the window to their apartment - then sighed as he accepted the fact that Beverly wasn't there. She had accepted - grudgingly - Pat's invitation to go shopping while he and Gy taught the evening's classes, and for the first time since they had become lovers, she would not be there, waiting for him, at the end of the class.
Waiting for him, he thought, almost laughing at the image of a domesticated Beverly standing at the top of the stairs, anxiously waiting for him to return home from work, a hot supper prepared and on the table. Few things could be further from the truth - but he had found himself looking forward to meeting with her after classes, talking with her about what he had done during the day, listening to her tales as well, their walks and runs along the river, the meals they shared, the lovemaking.
He sighed - then glanced up quickly as he realized that Gy had continued to speak, seemingly unaware of his companion's distraction. "...for a beer?"
Picard's brows raised. "Pardon?"
Gy grinned. "Earth to Picard. I say Beverly's name and you're off in la-la land. I said, how about we go over to O'Brien's and grab a beer?"
"Umm..." Picard began to demur.
"Man, don't tell me she's got you whipped," Gy complained. "I didn't take Beverly for being that kind of woman."
Whipped? Picard repeated silently. "Gy, Beverly would never strike another person..."
Gy's laugh interrupted his protest. "Not that kind of whipped, John - though I suppose if Beverly was into leather..." He thought for moment then shook his head quickly. Beverly was a beautiful woman, and while he wasn't into that kind of thing, the thought of her in black leather and carrying a whip...
No, he told himself. I'm not going there. "I meant that I didn't think Beverly was the kind of woman who told you what you could and couldn't do. Like go out for a beer," he added with a grin.
"She isn't," Picard insisted.
"Then go change out of that do-bahk and let's head over the O'Brien's. Leave her a note. She can join us if she gets home early," he added.
"I appreciate the invitation, Gy, but we like to have our dinner together..."
Gy shook his head. "Hate to burst your bubble, John, but I'd put money on Mom insisting they have dinner on the way back. We're on our own tonight."
A wave of disappointment washed over Picard. It was one thing not having Beverly upstairs to share their evening together - but their dinners had become something... special, he thought.
It had only taken him a few days to realize that Beverly had enveloped their dinnertime into their lovemaking in order to entice him into eating more - and while he had quickly caught on to her ruse, he had found no reason to stop the practice. If anything, he had found the practice had prolonged their passions, forcing them to slowly savor one another's bodies as they savored the food that she brought to their bed.
The only drawback was that it was rare that they finished their dinner - or their passions - before midnight, which left Beverly only a few hours to sleep before she had to wake for her early morning shift at the coffeeshop. For the last few days, she had managed by catching a quick mid-afternoon nap - but that wasn't something that she could do for too long - and truth be told, it wasn't what he wanted for her either.
Which had made tonight, Friday night, one of their cherished times; Beverly didn't have to report to the shop in the morning, and while he had classes to teach, it wouldn't be until nine, allowing them both time to sleep in.
But, he sighed, she could hardly express her thanks and appreciation to Pat for taking them in and helping them for so long without occasionally sacrificing something - although in this case, they were both paying that price, he thought.
Nor could he properly thank Gy by declining the offer.
Indeed, he added, he could go one step further and repay him, in very small part, by buying the drinks.
Fifteen minutes later, the two left the school and walked across the street, busy with Friday night traffic, to the small pub.
Inside, the bar rang with noisy patrons roaring at the television situated over the bar.
Gy glanced at the screen, then shook his head. "Hockey - but it's not the Hawks. Let's get a table where it's not so loud," he decided, then smiled at the young woman who stood at the hostess' stand.
Grabbing two menus she guided them to a chair in the main bar, only to move close to Gy as he whispered in her ear. Nodding, she quickly led them away from the bar and into one of the smaller adjacent spaces.
"Will this do?" she asked as she pointed to a table.
"It's fine," Gy replied. "Could you ask the waitress to bring us a couple of Sam Adams?" Gy asked - then glanced at Picard as if seeking his agreement.
Not knowing what a Sam Adams was, Picard nodded, then followed Gy's lead in shucking off his coat and placing it on a wooden peg on the wall - clearly designed to serve as a coat rack in the small establishment. The two then quickly seated themselves as an older woman carrying a tray brought two bottles and two glasses to the table.
"Are you gentlemen ready to order?" she asked, pulling a pen and pad of paper from her apron.
"We're going to need a couple of minutes," Gy replied. "But we could use a plate of nachos while we're looking," he added. "Beef. And extra jalapenos?" he added, again looking to Picard for verification.
Again, the older man nodded uncertainly.
As the woman left, Gy took his bottle of beer and poured it carefully into the glass, letting the amber liquid slide along the side of the glass, preventing too much foam from developing.
Picard did the same, knowing that this was one task that hadn't changed since his time. He allowed the head of the beer to settle for a moment, then raised his glass to his friend. "Cheers," he offered.
Gy touched the edge of the glass with his own, then, as Picard took a generous swallow of the brew, Gy quickly drained the glass, smacked his lips and sighed contentedly as Picard watched in amazement.
"Damn, that's good," Gy sighed - then smiled reassuringly at his acquaintance. "Don't worry; I'm not going to get wasted. I've got to work tomorrow too," he said - then raised his hand, waving to the hostess once again. "Same again," he called to her.
"Another round!" Gy happily called out three hours later, then looked at Picard. "You'll have another one, right, John? he asked with a grin. "You're only on your second! I'm wa-a-a-ay ahead of you," he added.
"I appreciate the offer, but two is fine for me - and don't you think you've had enough for tonight, too?" Picard asked with gentle firmness.
"Not to worry, John, not to worry," the inebriated man replied. Looking around the room, he found the young woman who had been serving them throughout the evening and waved her over. "Ellie, my sweet - it was Ellie, wasn't it?"
"Sandra," the woman corrected him nervously.
"Sandra," Gy repeated blearily. "Sandra. That's a beautiful name, Sandra," he added, staring at the woman. "Almost as beautiful as you," he continued, smiling at her dreamily.
She smiled uncomfortably, then glanced at Picard beseechingly.
Picard looked at his friend. "Gy, you're making the young lady uncomfortable. Perhaps it's time to go home..."
"Nah," Gy replied amicably. "It's still early! It's Friday and we don't have to be at the school until nine and the place is open for another coupla hours, right, Ellie?" he asked the waitress.
She nodded with a tired sigh.
Glancing around the room, Picard realized that they were the last guests in the restaurant; there were still a few patrons in the bar area, but the bartender was serving that crowd; clearly the young lady was waiting for them to leave her section of the restaurant so she could depart for the night.
He sympathized with her; he was more than ready to leave as well.
Gy, however, clearly was enjoying himself and seemed to have no intentions of leaving before the place closed for the night. At least, Picard sighed, he was a pleasant drunk.
But even so...
"Gy, the young lady would like to leave for the night - and perhaps we should as well. As you said, we do have to work in the morning."
Gy grinned, gave Picard a friendly punch in the arm, the sat back in his chair. "That's hours away, John - we've got plenty of time! And Ellie, here... Ellie, I'll make it worth your while. Here's..." he reached into his back pocket, pulled out his wallet, and handed her all of his cash. "There. That should cover you for the night. Boy, I'd like to cover you," he added with a goofy smile.
"Gy," Picard said sharply, lowering his voice.
Gy looked at the woman, his expression falling. "I'm sorry, Miss Ellie... That's what we call the ladies at our school: Miss. Doesn't matter how old they are. We call them Miss. Even my mother. Miss Pat. Miss Beverly." he looked at Picard - then his smile widened. "That's why you're in a hurry to get home; you want to see Miss Beverly.
"You should go," he continued a moment later. "She's waiting for you, I'll bet - she's gonna be so mad that you're out..." he added sadly. "I'm sorry. I should have let you go earlier..."
He put his head down on the table, and Picard looked at the waitress. "I think we need the bill," he said quietly.
"Would like some coffee before you go?" she asked worriedly.
"No, no coffee," Gy murmured from the table. "Tea. Iced tea. Something cold," he insisted.
Sandra looked at Picard who gave a brief nod, then hurried away.
Turning his head to one side, Gy looked at Picard. "God, you're lucky, John. You've got Beverly. She's hot. You ever realize she doesn't call you John? She calls you Jean. All romantic and soft and French-like. It's hot. She's hot. Not to worry; I don't poach," he assured his friend. "But she's something more. She's... smart. No, not smart. Something else. Yes, smart, but something else, too. She thinks - and she's not afraid to let you know she's thinks. I like that. I like people who have opinions and stick up for them. Takes balls. That's what it is, John; Beverly's got balls. I like that in a woman," he added - then barked out a laugh. "No, no, I don't mean that. I mean..."
Picard understood the man's meaning: Beverly was a dynamic and powerful woman who knew what she wanted, and was intelligent and capable enough to get it - but with a strong sense of ethics and morals that focused that dynamic energy. In this time, they would say she was 'empowered' - but it was a term he loathed. It suggested that at some point she hadn't possessed that internal strength - that someone, somewhere, had given her those capabilities, when in fact she had always had them.
But in this time, this place, people were often repressed by the situations in which they found themselves - or by those around them. They weren't given the opportunity to demonstrate their innate abilities and talents, let alone use them to build a successful career - and a successful self. Perhaps it was not that different in their time, he admitted, but in Starfleet, one tended to see less of it than he found here. 'Empowerment' seemed to let people shine at their finest: at who and what they really were.
No wonder Gy found it exciting to find someone who valued herself as both a person and as a woman.
"I understand, Gy," Picard said sympathetically. "Beverly is her own person."
"That's it!" Gy announced. "That's why I like her. She's her own person. I want to find a woman who's her own person. Ellie! Are you your own person?" he shouted across the room.
Picard sighed, placed a restraining hand on the man's arm, and chided him quietly, "Gy, if you're trying to make an impression on the lady, I assure you that you're doing just that. But… it's not a good one."
Startled by the pronouncement, Gy looked at the approaching young woman with a shocked expression. "Ellie! Am I making a bad impression on you?" he asked pitifully.
She sighed, placed the tall glass of tea on the table, set a paper-wrapped straw beside it, then walked away.
"Ellie? Ellie?" he called after her plaintively.
"Her name is Sandra, not Ellie," Picard reminded him. "Why don't you drink your tea and we'll get you home?" he said.
"Home," Gy repeated dully. "Can't go home. Can't drive when I'm drunk - and I'm sooooo drunk," he said. He began to stand, stumbled slightly, then pulled his car keys from his pocket. "Take 'em."
"I can't drive," Picard reminded him.
"You've only had two beers!" Gy protested.
"That's not the problem. I don't have a license," he explained.
"S'right!" Gy said. "No problem. Ellie! Ellie, my love, would you call me a cab?" he yelled, then looked back to the table and smiled in befuddled amusement. "Tea! I love tea. Except for these things," he added, pulling the slice of lemon off the edge of the glass and squeezing it, the juice and a seed flying off into the air. "Lemons. You know what they say about lemons. When life gives you lemons..."
Picard sighed with increasingly diminishing patience. "Yes, I know. When life gives you lemons, make lemonade."
"No!" Gy announced. "That's NOT what you do! When life gives you lemons, don't make lemonade. Make life take the lemons back! Get mad! Tell life, 'I don't want your damn lemons! What am I supposed to do with these?' Demand to see life's manager. Make life rue the day it decided to give you lemons! 'Do you know who I am? I'm the man who's going to burn down your house down, with the lemons. I'm going to invent a combustible lemon that burns your house down!" he shouted loudly - then drained the glass of tea in a single gulp.
Slamming the glass onto the table, he grinned at Picard, laughed triumphantly - then fell face forward onto the table.
"Damn it, Gy," Picard sighed, then rose from the table and made his way to the waitress' station. "Excuse me, miss, but could you call a cab for my friend? He's not able to drive home."
"I'd be more than happy to," she said, "but it's after midnight. I don't think anyone will come out."
Picard sighed. While he had driven cars on the holodeck, his few experiences in the cars of this time had demonstrated that he would need to practice a bit before trying to drive one - and while two beers had not seemingly impaired his abilities, he knew the local police, quite correctly, took the matter of driving while intoxicated quite seriously.
That left two options: calling Pat and asking her to pick up her son - or letting the drunken man sleep off the beer on the couch at the school. Not a happy option, he thought, but the best one available.
Pulling some money out of his pocket, he placed it on the table, then reached for Gy's coat; despite the man's almost total unconsciousness, he managed to slide the man's arms into the sleeves, then put on his own, pulled Gy's arm around his shoulders and carefully lifted him.
To his surprise, as he reached the front door, he found the Sandra waiting for them - her coat on and a set of keys on her hand. "Come on. I'll drive you."
"Ma'am?" Picard relied, surprised.
"Mike," she nodded toward the bartender, "says your friend's a good customer – and he'll pay me to get him home safe. But no funny stuff – okay?" she added firmly.
"I assure you, you're completely safe - but there's no need. Gy can sleep it off at my apartment. We're just across the street," he added, pointing toward the school.
She followed his gesture - then looked at Picard. "You live at the karate school?" she asked in surprise.
"Taekwondo," he corrected gently. "And yes, I live in the apartment over the school. I teach the self-defense classes at the school. Gy," he glanced at his sleeping companion, "owns the school."
"No shit," she said, looking at the sleeping man, clearly surprised – and more than a little impressed. "He didn't seem the type."
"To teach martial arts?" Picard replied.
"To run a business," she countered. "Most of the guys in here can't hold a job, let alone run one."
"Two, actually," Picard corrected her. "He also owns and operates a construction business as well as teaching martial arts."
She looked at the man and shook her head. "Impressive – but I don't think he's teaching anything tomorrow," she informed him. "And I hope to hell he's not building anything, either."
Picard looked at Gy, then sighed as she realized she was right.
"It's no biggie, Slim," she continued. "My boss said to drive him home. Says he's a nice guy; I guess he's a nice enough drunk, at least compared to some of the guys in here. But no funny stuff from you, okay? I don't care if you teach karate, I'll kick your ass if you try anything - capisce?"
Picard nodded uncomprehendingly, then followed the woman out.
Opening the door to the front of the restaurant, she guided Picard and his burden to a small parking lot adjacent to the building. Holding open the back door of the vehicle, she watched as Picard maneuvered the body into the rear seat, the pushed Gy's legs in, and closed the door.
"You know where sleeping beauty lives?" she asked.
He recited the address, then added, "Straight down 25 from here."
She started the car, then turned out the parking space and headed down the street.
"Lemons," Gy chuckled sleepily from the back seat. "Combustible lemons," he sang out – then his voice trailed off into a faint snore.
"Cave Johnson," Sandra offered.
"Pardon?" Picard said.
"The lemon speech. It's from Portal 2," she said, then glanced at Picard and smiled. "It's a video game," she explained patiently, having decided that a man of Picard's age would have clue about such things. "The lemon speech is, like, a classic. Well, a classic that's been around for like a week. But it's like... iconic. Better than Portal; I mean, like, 'the cake is a lie'. What the fuck does that mean?" she asked.
Picard blinked, wondering how much of his inability to understand what she was saying was due to the two beers - and how much was simply a reflection of his being from another world and another time.
He made a non-committal noise, then pointed out the approaching turn.
They rode in awkward silence as she signaled the turn, then started up the steep road leading out of the river valley. "So, you been teaching long?" she finally aksed.
"A few weeks."
She smiled. "Not much of a conversationalist, are you?" she teased.
Picard managed a quiet laugh. "My apologies, miss."
"Apology's not needed - but it's either we talk or I put on the tunes. It's been a long day and I'm ready to drop," she explained.
"Then by all means, let us talk," he agreed, having heard GY's preferences in music, and not being interested in enduring that cacophony again.
"So, gathering from the fact that you've only been at the school for a few weeks, and that you've got that accent, you're not from around here, are you?"
"No," he agreed, then remembering her earlier comment, hastily added, "we arrived a few months ago."
"We?"
"My…" He quickly searched for a word to describe Beverly – and found himself at a loss. Lover? No, that was too much information to reveal to this stranger. Friend? True enough – but Beverly was so much more. "…companion and I," he hastily informed her.
"So what brought you to scenic Batavia?" she asked.
"Actually, an accident. Pat and Gy put us up while we were recovering, and we're still here," he added.
"Man, most people can't get out of here fast enough," she chuckled. "There was a time when Batavia was the place for folks with money, but that was years ago. Oh, yeah, there are some really nice houses out by 59 or Randall - but not in the heart of town. Not anymore. I would have left two years ago, but I lost my job. I was on unemployment for a long time, then I lucked out and ran into the owner of the restaurant. We got to talking and he hired me."
"That sounds fortuitous," Picard opined.
"Fortuitous? Slim, I have a freaking master's degree in economics - and I'm pushing beers in a bar! Nothing against the place: the hours aren't great but the money's enough to pay my bills - and I'm damned glad I've got the job, but get real. As soon as something opens up, I'm out of here. It's like your friend said: when life hands you lemons, make life take them back."
Picard smiled. "I gather you don't hold with the concepts of fate and destiny," he said.
She chuckled bitterly. "Destiny? Fuck destiny. The universe had a destiny once, and it still does, but what it was was the inevitable heat-death of everything eventually collapsing back into a black hole. Or so the scientists from Fermi Lab tell me.
"But you know what? Something happened," she said. "Somewhere down the line, somehow, something started thinking. Not just life, sentient life. That came along and it made a choice, and that choice was the first real step in the universe's lifetime away from heat-death. Since then humans have come along and we've started making thoughts and choices too. Slim, every time you make a choice you're taking a step on your own path, and nothing and nobody can tell you where that path is going to go. Each and every time you choose something, you're crushing destiny's fragile form under your heel and the pieces left behind make another form, another shape. Another destiny.
"Oh, destiny is there, all right - but as long as you're alive, as long as someone thinks, as long as there are choices being made, destiny is being changed and rewritten. That's what we live for; that's the function of our existence. Sentient life doesn't exist just to propagate itself, it exists to change the future, to walk towards the one it wants. So fuck the destiny you had, and embrace the one you want. Fate's a bitch, but when you can make your own decisions, fate is your bitch."
Picard stared at her for a moment then murmured, "I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul."
"Invictus," she countered. "William Ernest Henley," she added – then gave him a slightly embarrassed smile. "Minor in English poetry," she explained. "And a minor in philosophy - hence the destiny diatribe. Sorry about that. It's all crap of course: there's always events outside your life that you can't control... but you got to accept responsibility for your own life, Slim – whether it's the decision to drop the English lit degree in favor of the Economics degree, or to take a crap job at a bar rather than standing in line at the unemployment bureau for another two years. My life, my decisions – my future. Same for you. Same for everyone. Turn here?"
Picard looked at the woman for another moment – then realized what she was saying. "Next corner, and turn left. Fifth house on the right."
Five minutes later, Pat had helped Picard move Gy to his room and was walking the man to the front door. "Please don't be too angry with him, Pat," Picard began.
"I'm not angry, John. Gy's a big boy and makes his own choices - good and bad. He's going to pay for it tomorrow, so that's probably punishment enough. But you shouldn't pay for it as well," she added. "Let me grab my coat and I can drive you to the school."
Picard glanced around the small living room and realized that they were alone. "Sandra?" he asked Pat.
"I sent her home. Poor thing looked exhausted – and I can take you home."
Picard hesitated. He was more than capable of walking the few miles from Pat's house to the school - but by the time he got there, it would be close to two in the morning. A life spent as a Starfleet officer had made him more than familiar with the necessity of working long hours with little sleep - but it was a practice he hadn't followed in a long time.
More importantly, he realized, he wanted to get home. He wanted to see Beverly. Even if she were long asleep, even if he couldn't make love to her, he needed nothing more than to sleep beside her.
But Gy's words and Sandra's had struck at him deeply. The long walk might give him a chance to clear his own mind and to evaluate what they – and Beverly – had been saying.
"Thank you – but I think I'll walk," he said at last. "Sleep well," he added, then opened the door and stepped into the cool night air.
He pulled on the handle of the front door of the school – but the doors stayed stubbornly closed. Locked, he realized with a sigh. Was this a sign that Beverly was angry with him for his late night adventure, or simply her good judgment at protecting herself and their home?
Their home.
Those words had been filling his thoughts as he had taken the long walk back to the apartment.
For so long he had not had a real home; as comfortable as he had been on the Enterprise, as familiar as he was with the quarters than had been his for so many years, he had never truly considered himself 'at home' in that space; even on the Stargazer, his ship for so many years, he had never quite accepted his dwelling more than a temporary abode.
But in only a few months, he had somehow accepted that this place was now... home.
Perhaps, he acknowledged, it was because he realized that there was nowhere else he could go - the stars were off limits to a man of his age on this world - or perhaps the reason was simpler: Beverly. Wherever she was was home.
Even if she might be quite justifiably angry with him, he added.
He unlocked the doors, reminding himself as they groaned open that he needed to oil the hinges in the morning – no, the afternoon, he amended; he had classes to teach in the morning, and he suspected that Gy was not going to be in any shape to teach anything tomorrow... no, today, he corrected himself again - then sighed as he realized how close that class time now was. Still, a few hours sleep was better than none.
Locking the door behind him, he moved up the stairs quietly, letting himself into the school, then walked up to the apartment as quietly as possibly, hoping not to wake Beverly.
He gave his eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness of the space, staring at where the bed was until he could make out the unmoving form of his lover.
A faint sensation of disappointment washed over him: after the long walk, he wanted to talk with her, to voice his thoughts on the evening and to listen to her ideas and opinions - but he was not about to wake her just to indulge himself in a conversation that could easily wait for the morning.
Slipping off his coat, he hung it over the coat hook at the top of the stairs, then moved to the closet, undressing quickly before slipping into a pair of sweat pants. Moving noiselessly to the bed, he slid under the covers, trying to disturb the bed's other occupant as little as possible.
For a moment, Beverly lay unmoving beside him, then somehow sensing the change, turned, nestling against him, her hand settling on his chest.
Picard smiled at the familiarity, turning slightly so he could wrap an arm over her as well.
The slight movement was enough to stir her from the depths of her sleep. "It's late," she murmured.
"I'm sorry," he apologized.
"'Sokay," she answered, then shifted again, moving so she could lay her head on his chest, her fingers caressing him sleepily. "You're home now."
With a surge of joy he couldn't remember having felt before, he kissed the top of her head. "I love you," he whispered.
"Mmmm," she replied in a sleep-bound sound of acknowledgement.
Smiling, he closed his eyes, relaxing against the pillows.
They lay in silent stillness in the dark room for a few minutes, then Beverly drew a deep breath. "You smell good," she murmured.
He gave a short laugh, suspecting he smelled - but not 'good'. "The heady aroma of working out for three hours, not taking a shower, then sitting in a bar for three more hours, followed by a long walk in a coat that was far too warm for the weather," he explained.
"Masculine," she informed him, her fingers playing in the short curls on his chest. "Arousing," she continued. "I missed you," she added, kissing his chest.
His brows rose at the implication. "I missed you, too," he agreed. "I wanted to talk with you."
Her hand moved lower, fingering the curls at his waist, her lips following them in torpid succession, then sliding beneath the waistband of his sweat pants. Finding its goal, her hand wrapped around him, slowly caressing him.
"I wasn't thinking of talking," she informed him.
He groaned softly at her touch. "Beverly," he managed softly.
She slowly worked her way back up his chest, kissing him as she moved, her hand grasping his growing firmness, then looked at him, their eyes meeting in the near blackness of the unlit room.
"I love you," she said, then lowered her face to his, kissing him deeply.
In his last moments of coherent thought before he surrendered himself to her completely, a single word filled his mind, leaving him with a sense of contentment he could not remember having ever known before.
Home.