Reflections
He stands before the armoire, the early morning light slanting in through the shutters to stripe him in bands of gold. He turns his face just so and a molten bar of sunshine flashes green fire from his eyes. He blinks in surprise then settles. He decides that he rather likes the effect… and would rather die than admit it. He turns this way then that, striking quietly heroic poses before he shakes his head, huffs a faint laugh, and resumes dressing; boxers, socks, trousers, shoes, and now the shirt.
As he ponders his choices, running a hand down several neatly pressed candidates, he thinks, not for the first time, What does she see in me? What does she see that I can't? How am I holding her attention? How do I KEEP her attention? What if I make a mistake? Would she give me a second chance? How many second chances do I get before she gives up on me? His thoughts in the usual anxious turmoil, he slips today's winner off the hanger, checks it for total correctness then nods, Yes, it radiates total 'Chief-ness', and he can't help smiling.
Me. The Chief. At first, I was sure Dwayne was just winding me up… but when Fidel started saying it, well, I had to accept the fact that it was not meant as an insult. It was my new title. And I liked it. It took me a while but I also came to like the fact that SHE never called me 'Chief', not once, which put her on a different footing than the others, a footing she shrewdly realized well before I did. Clever cat.
As he slips the shirt on, he watches the last vestige of private skin slowly disappear as his base human masculinity is covered with a thin veneer of civilization. Now showing to the world… the suit; my camouflage, my defense, my disguise. Hidden beneath the suit is the man, and beneath the man… he shakes his head. Thanks to his job, he knows that beneath SOME men there is a beast but according to Camille beneath MOST men there is a beast. Whenever he tries to refute this outrageous statement then all she has to do is look at him in a certain way and his argument crumbles and he can't help himself (despite his best efforts, mind!) and he succumbs and she was proven correct once more!
He frowns at his reflection. Really! It is most appalling! I've spent most of my adult life running roughshod over my male nature and she can reduce me to a quivering animal wreck within moments with just a look or a sound or a touch! Oh, life is SO unfair! He pauses once more to regard himself quizzically, holding his shirt open. What does she see when she looks at me? Why can't I figure it out?
With a mild snort, he straightens up, squaring his shoulders. Well, whatever it is, there'll be no more of THAT! Starting today I will take back my personal sovereignty and manifest my Homo sapiens sapiens status. No more Cro-Magnon Man! Today is the start of a new start. Just as he nods with determination, he hears a tiny noise and before he can turn, two slim arms slip around his waist to run slowly and possessively inside his unbuttoned shirt. By the time her hands brush over his chest, he is a quivering animal wreck once more! Again! He simply can NOT believe it!
Remembering his new resolution, he captures her hands and holds them off his tingling skin. At her small sound of inquiry, he swallows twice before he can say, "Camille, not now, please! I'm meeting with the Commissioner and several Ministers this morning. A driver will be here within the half hour and I have no time for…" His jaw clicks shut before he says 'you'. His old self wouldn't have caught this rude word… but his new self does. His new self is smarter.
He hears a low chuckle and knows he hasn't fooled her in the slightest as she murmurs, "For ME, you mean." He drops his eyes in chagrin but knows she can still see him in the mirror. He has very few secrets now. Before he can dig himself into deeper trouble, he feels a kiss pressed onto his shoulder. It burns right through the light cotton of his shirt. "That's all right, Cherie," she chuffs, "I'm not insulted. I was enjoying the floor show but just had to come over here to help out."
He raises his eyes to meet hers in the mirror, such saucy deep brown eyes watching him serenely from over his shoulder, and mutters, "Help? This will be a first as you are usually helping me OUT of my clothing… at speed. What's different today?"
As she buttons up his shirt, she purrs, "There's a first time for everything, darling." She pats down his shirt-front, "And I kind of like it. It's fun… and exciting."
"Exciting?" he asks just before she begins tucking his shirt in. "OH!" he gasps, "Oh, I see. Yes, it IS rather exciting, isn't it?" he whispers as she does a very thorough job of it too. In fact, she checks twice to make sure everything is neatly laid out and properly smoothed down to ensure nothing mars the neat lines of his suit. By the time she is done, he is practically incapable of speech.
She sees this and gives a very satisfied, very smug, very complacent little laugh, "There now, you're all wrapped up nice and neat. Time to choose a tie." Blindly, he reaches out and takes a tie off the rack. She slips it beneath his collar and calmly knots it. This is one of the first things she had asked him to teach her. Now he knows why. As she gently tightens the knot and snugs it into place, he opens his eyes and sees himself. When she slides his jacket onto him, brushes her hands over his shoulders and down his arms and steps back, he is Detective Inspector Poole of the Sainte-Marie Police Force, groomed and attired and ready for battle.
He frowns. Suddenly he doesn't WANT to be D.I. Poole etc. etc. etc. He wants to be Cro-Magnon Man tucked up in bed with his woman. How is that possible? How does she do it? Why can't I resist her? What is wrong with me that I can't resist her? His thoughts begin their anxious whirl once more.
She sees these thoughts flash across his face and smiles, turning him to face her. She knows exactly what he's thinking. Indeed, he has very few secrets anymore. "Oh, Richard," she whispers, "you are glorious in your suit of armor. Go, be my knight once more, fight your battles and be victorious." She holds up a stern little finger that rivets his attention nicely, "Remember, the valiant warrior returning home will always receive a most boisterous welcome."
He parts his lips, pauses then just has to ask, "Boisterous? Is that a promise?" She makes an 'X' over her heart and nods. Luckily for him she had slipped on a T after getting out of bed otherwise… He takes a deep fortifying breath, "All right, I'm ready to enter the fray. What are your plans for the day?" He turns to her, reaching behind to close the armoire door. The mirror darkens and loses the image of two lovers as it is once more shut off from the world.
She smiles and links her arm with his as she leads him to the kitchen, "Let's get some breakfast into you. As for me, I've got a ton of paperwork to do, Dwayne wants to show me something down at the pier, and I'm helping Fidel prep for his next exam. I'll be busy all day, won't hardly notice you're gone."
As she talks, a comfortable feeling of professionalism settles over him like another layer to his armor. Yes, Detective Inspector Poole is firmly in control now. Cro-Magnon Man is in abeyance as long as she doesn't… doesn't… well… whatever it is that she does to him! She doesn't. He is just setting down his teacup when the powerful purr of the Commissioner's car is heard. She hands him his briefcase and snaps a smart salute. "Sir!" she barks with a cheeky grin.
There is a brief beat before he leans in most seriously and brushes his lips over hers. Straightening back up, he gives her a chastising look and murmurs, "There's such a thing as carrying restraint TOO far, Detective Sergeant." As he turns away, he is pleased by the dreamy look in her eyes, "And I will hold you to your promise, Camille."
She blinks, looks a trifle dazed, "Mmm? Promise?"
He smirks over his shoulder, giving her a last lingering look, "Boisterous."
She comes back to herself with a start, "Oh! Oh, yes, of course. It will be like unwrapping the Christmas gift that I wrapped up for myself the night before, won't it? I know what's inside but I still can't wait!"
He shakes his head as he strides out the door into the freshening day. Honestly! So irrepressible. And so much fun. How could I ever think I was happy before winning her to my side? It doesn't really matter WHAT she sees in me… the important thing is that she SEES it! Just as he is getting into the car, he hears her parting shout, "EVERY day is like Christmas day around here!" He blinks, smiles, and slides in to close the door, settling into the cool confines of the air-conditioned vehicle. He shivers. It's too chilly. Truly, he is no longer 'Poole of The Met'. Then he sees the driver's curious glance up into the rear-view mirror and smoothly says, "We are organizing the work roster for the holidays."
"Yes, sir," the driver politely replies, knowing that the hols are still four months off. Also, the Inspector seems very calm despite the big meeting to come. The Commissioner scares everyone… well, almost everyone… THIS one doesn't seem scared in the least. How does he do it?
Checking the exterior mirror, the driver sees DS Bordey framed in a window, watching the car pull away. He wonders about her too. She is a renowned beauty and a serious threat to anything in pants foolish enough or brave enough to challenge her. Her rep is known far and wide on the islands. How does the Inspector manage to survive her? Looking back into the interior mirror, he sees the man going through his notes; calm, cool, precise, the suit, the demeanor, the sheer confidence. How does he do this too?
The driver shakes his head and returns his attentions to the road. These are all good questions… but questions that will never get asked because everyone knows Poole is dangerous, both professionally and in his personal life. The driver has heard stories and he's seen enough to know you must never draw Poole's attention. Unless disaster strikes. THEN you holler loud and run to the man for deliverance!
For Poole is a reef shark, pure and simple, everyone says so. Beneath the suit, a man, but beneath the man, a shark. Everyone on the island knows it. The driver sets his jaw and just gets on with the job. No chit chat. All business. Just like Poole demands.
In the back seat, Richard Poole prepares for his day, unaware of the impression he radiates out in all directions. He welcomes the professional courtesy of the driver's silence as he reviews his notes and… in the back of his mind… firmly under control but still humming… is the happy glow of a man patiently awaiting his return home.
END
