Epilogue: Dick
"I always thought this would be a death sentence..." Dick runs his fingers along his letters, thin silver pieces against her chest.
Mac is beneath him, her flannel pajamas spread open for his enjoyment.
She runs her fingers along the cool metal and his fingers, "I'm a death sentence?" Her voice is low. She wants him and it causes him to rub himself against her, she's unimaginably warm between her legs and it seems to be calling to him.
"That's not very romantic." She tells him a moment later, her eyes closed, she's trying to shimmy out of her pants, her breathing is getting labored, her chest rising up to meet him a little more urgently and quickly.
"You know I'm shit at that romance crap." He grumbles, leaning down to taste her skin, a long strip up her chest to her ear. The way her breath hitches and the tremble of her body does something amazing for him.
One of her hands trails down his body, she always seems to enjoy his skin probably more than is normal, not that he has a problem with that. She can do whatever she wants as long as it's with him, even that weird thing she likes that they only do on her birthday.
"Isn't it enough that I love you? Do I have to pen a song about how deep and brilliant your eyes are, or write your name in the sky?"
She shakes her head, those deep, brilliant eyes pulling at him, claiming all of him, body, soul, all those unnamed in-between bits.
He doesn't do grand gestures and thank God he was right about her because that's not what she wants either.
It's in the fact that he always has her coffee waiting, that he buys those terrible vegan brownies, that he's teaching Ryan how to surf.
The fact that he could last this long without surfing is just beyond him.
"I love you, too, weirdo." Her fingers are in his hair again. She fucking loves his hair. He got it cut once and she cried a little.
"I want to spend the rest of my life hearing you say that."
She smiles in response, it's gentle and for him only. It's the kind of smile he expects her to wear matched with the white dress he's been seeing almost every morning for two years when he opens his closet.
"Hey, you wanna?" He asks and is met with an eye roll that looks painful.
"No, I have my hand in your boxers because I don't want to have sex with you."
"Not that, perv." He moves away from her, reaching for the bedside table.
It doesn't have the shrine in it anymore. That stuffs in the office, clumped together with Mac's stuff. All that's left are post it notes and a velvet box.
He snatches it up and moves back to her, leaning on one hand he flicks the box open against his leg and hands it to her.
"You wanna?"
"You're early..."
"Is that a try again later?"
"This is a proposal, not a scratch and win." Her voice has an odd quality he's trying to pin down. He's not exactly sure what it is, but she takes the ring from the box and looks it over.
Like she's a penguin trying to decide if his pebble is worthy.
If he had known everything hinged on the ring and not their long standing love for each other he would have taken Veronica with him, not Logan.
It would be a lot easier to focus on the task at hand if her free hand wasn't in his underwear, sliding slowly towards him; if her legs weren't wrapped around his own, pulling him down close to her.
She puts the ring back in the box and removes her hand for him. He would have rather she kept it there, it was distracting, sure, but it was a big neon sign that she still wanted him.
She's pulling away from him and it's making it hard to breath.
"Go ahead." She waves him on and he's not sure what to say. Isn't this the part where she tells him of course she'll marry him, throw her arms around him and they make love until neither of them can move anymore?
"Go ahead what?" He's looking down at her confused, sweeping her body like it will give him some sort of hint, but all it does is make it harder to focus. Obviously this was not the best time for him to ask her because she's all hot, wonderful skin, calling to him, hot and wet. He's fairly certain that she had been a siren in another life because she's calling him into the rocks with the movement of her chest and the slight roll of her hips up against him.
"Ask me." She tells him, voice a little hard and he likes that, too.
"Ask you? I already asked you like forever ago?"
"No, never at any point have you said, Cindy will you marry me."
"Seriously?"
"Yes..."
He pulls his focus from his letters resting between her breasts, up to her face. She's biting her lip, eyes wide and sweeping across him as well.
She's nervous.
He softens and lowers himself, resting on his forearms and her body. So close to her now that he's positive he can feel her heartbeat against his skin.
"Cindy Mackenzie, will you marry me?"
She's trying to smother a smile, but he's having none of it. He kisses her softly and when he pulls away her smile is wide, and bright, and fucking fantastic.
"You mean it?"
"Duh. I'm going to marry you sooner or later Cindy and I'd like it to be sooner if you'll have me."
"Okay."
"Okay what?" Two can play that game.
"Okay, I'll marry you."
"Good."
"Good." He pulls the ring back out of its box and slides it onto her finger, "You're going to be my wife." He waits to see doubt flicker across her face, fear, but there's nothing but that beautiful joy she has every so often, "You really love me, don't you?"
She runs her fingers through his hair and he can see little pieces of rainbow thrown across her and the bed.
"Yeah... I really do."