ACT VII

"'In THAT direction,' the Cat said, waving its right paw round, 'lives a Hatter: and in THAT direction,' waving the other paw, 'lives a March Hare. Visit either you like: they're both mad.'

'But I don't want to go among mad people,' Alice remarked.

'Oh, you can't help that,' said the Cat: 'we're all mad here.'"
—Lewis Carroll, Alice In Wonderland

Chapter 68: A Renewed Route

Even with the meager ingredients in his cupboard and refrigerator, really a matter of cans and packets and leftovers with only a few fresher items strewn around here and there—more like a handful of potatoes and a couple onions threatening to sprout—Troy was again surprised by Cully's attempt to cook them some sort of dinner. Lying next to her in bed a quarter of an hour ago, he was already struggling not to think about the short minutes turning into hours, running their course too soon. She was warm and soft, buried by his side under all those layers even as she sneezed into his chest once or twice; he probably wouldn't remind her of that, but you never quite knew until you could be certain it would elicit an eye-roll or a playful slap across the shoulder.

But louder than those sneezes were the growls of her stomach against his. Rousing her with the thought of dinner hadn't been too difficult, apart from his grumble that he hoped they didn't send another round of chopsticks in the delivery bag. She only rolled her eyes before asking if he ate anything but takeaway. "No," he began protesting, before Cully pressed her hand to his mouth.

"You really are hopeless sometimes, you know that?"

"Can't be that bad."

"Why?" she asked.

"Well, you're still here."

"So are you." She finally tossed all those layers aside, reaching for his hand as she stood. Troy couldn't quite tear his eyes from her naked body, still glistening just a little from sweat. "Come on, Gavin, let's get on with it." And so after a minute of struggling to put on pajamas and pull a shirt over his head without really looking at what he was doing, Troy couldn't deny that he watched her intensely, entirely distracted. He both enjoyed watching her dress and felt rather disappointed as she donned the nightclothes she had packed in the overnight bag she scrambled back to the front room to retrieve. But now he was again standing back, just looking on as she cooked from whatever he had in his kitchen—or at least trying to.

"I don't think I've ever seen you like this," he said after a few minutes.

"What, cooking for you? Because you have."

"Not looking put together is what I meant."

"That's not true."

"It is—"

"How so?"

Sometimes, Troy didn't understand Cully even as he still enjoyed simply watching her. But perhaps that was for the best: it promised a future of peeling away her layers, learning more and more as days and weeks—and more?—sped by. He wasn't sure he could ever tire of seeing her...do anything, even as he ran his eyes over the worn t-shirt hanging from her shoulders and the ragged plaid trousers that just brushed the kitchen floor. "Well, you normally don't wear pajamas that have seen better days."

"Just because you haven't seen them before doesn't mean they aren't comfortable."

He sighed. It was something to reaccustom himself to, her words that rarely shied away from the truth as she saw it. "I'm sure they are."

"So don't complain," she said with a shrug as she turned back to the counter again.

"I'm not—just observing."

"Good."

Dinner was simple and easy, the perfect end to a day that had begun as one merely one tainted by their shared new normal only to turn lazy and deliciously slow—that new normal suddenly, happily gone. While they continued to talk about the last few days, jacket potatoes with cheese and beans were whirring in the microwave, all while Troy reminded himself he didn't need to touch her every few minutes. If she was here—and pleased to stay—all those caresses and the heat of her skin beneath his palm no longer had to be stolen and jealously guarded, at least for the rest of the night and as long as she was able to linger the next morning. But he kissed her one last time before they sat down at his small kitchen table opposite one another. Finally taking another few seconds to just look at her as she sat still rather than searching for this or that, Troy spotted an already blue and yellow bruise peeking from beneath the neckline of her t-shirt, just where..."Are you all right?" he asked.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Just...your neck," he whispered, reaching toward her, almost able to touch the half-hidden mark.

She almost blushed, like she newly remembered the last hours as clearly as he did. "Well, what else did you expect, Gavin, with—everything?"

"I didn't think it would be that noticeable."

"After all that?" she asked, covering it with her hand. He was certain he heard her laugh to herself.

"Only—it looks so sharp."

Biting back a small smile, Cully dropped her eyes to her plate and Troy wondered if her cheeks were about to go red. "I think you only have yourself to blame if you don't like it."

"I didn't say I didn't like it," he said quickly, his hand finally falling back to the table. "Just maybe I'll be more cautious next time."

"Next time?"

"Yes." And now across from him, her face definitely flushed, driving his pulse faster.

"Can I ask you something?" Cully said quietly after a few moments, dropping her silverware onto the edge of her plate.

"If you want."

She propped her elbows on the table's edge, folding her fingers together beneath her chin. "And you don't have to answer if you don't want to."

"Should I be worried?"

"No, but..." He heard her take a deep breath. "Why don't you ever talk about your family? Really?"

He supposed he should have expected her to wander down this road again after he'd only given her half an answer once before. "How much time do you have, Cully?" he asked, setting his own knife and fork aside and trying to truly decide where to begin. For the next little while, Troy meandered here and there through his childhood, still endeavoring to avoid the most unpleasant memories. But even the least painful were enough to make the point: the arguments and the silences, the tense visits to family as he lost himself in The Hawk's latest adventure and hoped a different world would hide him away from the bickering and occasional yelling, and all the times his family—most particularly his cousin Colin—mocked his choice to enter the police force. He didn't like watching her face, as perhaps she finally truly understood.

"I didn't mean to pry," she said quietly.

"No, it's fine. I should have told you earlier. I just—don't like thinking on it if I don't have to." The conversation petered out for a couple of minutes, just the returning clink of forks and knives to break the fresh awkward silence. It still wasn't quite like before, the silence newly not one of answers destined to be left unspoken but one of contemplation as Troy tried to decide what to say next. "I suppose I should be happy you're curious at all," he managed.

"Why wouldn't I be? I want to know—"

He shook his head. "I don't mean it like that."

"Then what?"

"Maybe I thought you've tried to do what I've—"

"I don't understand."

"I've spent—too much time, Cully, trying not to think about you. You're still my boss's daughter. And there's no changing that." That at least was the truth for the foreseeable future.

Cully pushed her plate to the side, then again folded her hands beneath her chin. "What did he say to you?" she asked quietly.

"What do you—"

"You know what I mean. And I know it was a long while ago, but what was it?"

Troy sighed—but refused to look away from her. She at least deserved an honest answer—like a few moments ago, like she had given him a few hours ago. "He just reminded me—more than once—it's a hard life, being...around a policeman." Something about the last hours was nearly unbelievable, still remembering her reply to something that wasn't even a question: "You're not going anywhere." "No." Time to stop running away, he told himself. Just because it's what Barnaby thinks doesn't mean we need to live with it. "And that you may have not had a choice being his daughter, but you have one now. He didn't need to say much more."

"Well, bully for him, because I've made my choice."

"Have you?" he asked softly.

Cully nodded. "Yes." And for perhaps the first time, Troy really understood he needn't ask her what that choice was.

With dinner finished, it was hardly a few minutes to wash the plates and silverware and water glasses, occasionally bumping her elbow as she handed him each piece to dry. Once, he heard her mutter a little grumpily she wondered if he was doing it on purpose. It wasn't true, but Troy certainly didn't mind. And after everything was clean and in its place, he led her back to the settee, their forgotten clothes from the day that had almost found its end still scattered on the floor. He tossed them out of the way before they collapsed onto the cushions and Cully tucked herself into his side, her knees drawn up almost to his chest as he let his arm fall around her shoulder to hold her as close as he could.

Even with something playing on telly, the noise hardly louder than an echo, it was another few minutes before he finally said, "Cully?"

She lifted her face, almost bumping the top of her head against his chin. "Hmm?"

"I can only wonder...where do we go from here?"

"What do you mean?"

It was one of the hardest questions he had ever asked—especially of her. "Just what happens tomorrow—and the day after that?"

"You're not still going on about—"

"No, it's not that," Troy said as he shook his head, not wanting to drift back to this same spot earlier in the day; he might want all of that again as he loved the heat of her body against his yet another time. "But the two of us?"

"I—can't say, just that I want it to be better than the last few weeks."

"I was hoping one of us really had a clue. Can we start with one thing?"

"What?"

"At least let me say 'sorry' when I should?"

She sat up, pulling her knees back down. "Gavin—"

"Only then?"

"As long as you don't use it as a way to avoid talking about things you'd rather not."

"So, all the time?"

Cully punched him lightly on the upper arm, though he only laughed with her as she did. "No—" She fell silent for a second as he kissed her cheek. "But some things need to be talked out."

"I think we both know that now," he said quietly. If he'd only listened—really listened for the past few weeks...well, maybe everything could have been different and easier.

"Yes." Pausing, she tucked herself against him again. "Then, one more thing?" she asked as she lightly traced the line of his other shoulder.

"Of course."

"Don't hide from—us? And don't run away from me if..."

"I don't think I'm quite ready to go into battle with your dad," Troy muttered before he really had a chance to think about it. It wasn't as though...well, he didn't know where that twisting path was going. "I'm not sure I even have to think about it."

Cully clenched her hand, stronger on his shoulder than he anticipated. "I'm not asking you to, just don't act as though...we're nothing."

"Do my best?" He tightened his arm around her and her gasp at that new pressure.

"As long as it is your best," she managed after a moment.

"As you wish."

For the next few minutes—he didn't really know how long—Troy was content to just explore Cully and really learn the shape and feel of her body. Whatever he once thought he knew was long muddled and half forgotten by the weeks of growing distance. The lines and curves, the occasional lump or bump around her hips and joints, a soft rounded and raised scar on her belly that almost caught on the just healed one on his own palm. ("Tripping over a log into a thorny bush puts you off games for a spell when you're young," she answered when he asked what had happened.) More than anything, he loved how she responded to his touch as he finally pushed her down again, straddling her: shivering, shuddering, sighing, even giggling when ran his hand over her arm and her waist a bit too fast. "Don't!"

"What's the matter?" he asked, his fingers rising along her sides. Until today, Troy had almost forgotten how much he enjoyed the sensation of her skin against his.

"That tickles!" she gasped, struggling to squirm away from under him—but unable to move and trapped beneath his body.

"Sorry," he whispered, his hand drifting back to her abdomen and the heat wafting between them.

"There's no need, you didn't—"

"I know, but—"

And there it was again: the new ringing of his phone from across the room just like before, tinny and shrill. Troy groaned, his face falling heavily against her shoulder. "We really can't have a moment to ourselves, can we?" Cully whispered into his ear, one arm looped around his neck.

"At least not here today." He kissed her gently, still wanting to tarry against her lips. "But I really can't ignore it any more."

"I know."

With one—two more kisses to her cheek, Troy shoved himself up and away from her, almost tripping over his bare feet when they found the floor. He hadn't even reached their jackets on the odd chair where they had landed hours ago when they had just stepped inside his front door before his phone was silent as suddenly as it started. I could— No, there really was no pretending now, he knew, fishing into the pocket of his windbreaker for his small mobile.

Whatever fresh disaster he expected—some grisly murder demanding his attention and probably the worst tongue lashing he'd ever received from Barnaby, or some sort of unpleasant news regarding their suspect sitting in custody ahead of his hearing in the coming week—Troy would rather have that awaiting him than what actually was. Three missed phone calls, all from the same person. "Not again," he hissed as he turned back to Cully.

"Just like before?" she asked from across the room as she sat up and tugged her clothes back into order.

He knew what she was thinking: all those times work had demanded his presence and attention, and sundered whatever had been passing between them in that moment. "No, but I'm not sure it's any better." Breathing deeply as he searched for the proper name and phone number, Troy pressed the send button and brought his mobile to his ear. "At least for me."

Cully shook her head. "Gavin?"

The ringing as the line searched for an answer ended far too soon. "Well, thank you for finally calling me back."

"Hello, Mum," he sighed.

"Glad you finally saw fit to answer."

Her raspy voice never changed. Troy wondered if she was still sitting in that same scratched and battered rocker she had loved for years, the same ancient quilt he remembered from his youngest years tucked around her legs as she often smoked her way through a whole package of fags while the day wound away to the night. "Sorry. Just didn't get to the phone in time."

"Three times?"

"I was—"

"If you get three calls like that," she went on like he hadn't said a word, "it might be important, love."

She was good at this, she always had been, twisting the smallest knife beneath his ribs. "I know."

"So you're ignoring—"

"That's not what I meant."

"Then what?" she snapped.

"I was busy."

"Busy?"

"Cully's round, and I haven't seen her for a time—"

"Cully?"

"Yes," he muttered, pacing before he realized. He thought he remembered once mentioning her name to his mum, but nothing more than that. Probably not the best thing to blurt out.

"And who is she?"

Troy didn't bother thinking before he spoke: "My girlfriend." And just at the corner of his eye, he saw Cully's face snap toward him. One sentence too far? he wondered.

His mother was silent for a second. "You've never said anything about her—at least to me."

"It's not that—"

"So why not?"

This wasn't what he wanted the last precious hours of his time alone with Cully to become. "Look, I've got to go," he finally said. "Can I call you tomorrow?"

"Just don't forget like you did before."

"I won't—" Without another word from her, Troy heard the line go silent. Maybe for the better, he thought as he closed his mobile, shoving it back into the jacket pocket where it had lain hidden before. He was far happier to retrace his steps to Cully's side, sinking back onto the settee by her side and winding his arm about her shoulder again.

"I wish you needn't have listened to that," he said softly, hoping they could find where they had been before. "She—"

"So I'm your girlfriend now?" she asked, pulling her knees up to her chest but not shifting away from the weight of his arm around her.

Troy felt his face go red, the flush that had so amused her a few hours earlier burning with a renewed vengeance. "Well, it got her to shut up, didn't it?" Perhaps it really was one sentence too far, one thing too much to hope for.

"I suppose." Even curled up into herself, Cully reached for his free hand. "But..."

"What?"

"What if I didn't argue the point?" she asked softly.

He took a deep breath. "I wouldn't complain."

For the next few moments, Troy truly lost himself in her: her feel, her taste, all the small twists and turns he was still so eager to relearn—properly learn. But perhaps the best feeling of all was just knowing she was here, pressed hard to him, and going nowhere.

"I guess I understand a bit more why you don't really talk about your family," she whispered after a few minutes. That new silence had been easy, everything else shoved aside as they just sat and were.

"Easier to see and hear it yourself."

"I'm sure she means well."

"Maybe," he said with a shrug. "It's hard to tell sometimes."

"Has she always been like that?"

Troy nearly laughed. "Probably as long as your dad has been a workaholic."

"So, forever?" Cully asked quietly.

"Near enough. But that's enough on her."

"It might be nice to meet her some day."

"You say that now," he muttered, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "

"Well, you never say that much about her—why shouldn't I hope for the best in the end?"

"You haven't had a chance to be disappointed by her."

"And you could stand to be a little more optimistic."

"Maybe," Troy said as he slid his arm down her back. "But, could we talk about her later?"

She sank deeper into his embrace, her face pressed to his chest for a moment. "I suppose," she said. And after another few seconds, she didn't struggle as he pulled her between his legs, her back against his chest and his hands clasped together on her belly. Something about it was just so right, feeling her breathe beneath his fingers, her whole body contained within his—everything still comfortable, almost easy.

Honestly, Troy had expected another phone call to break through the easy evening together. It seemed too much to hope nothing would interrupt a simple evening together, still just watching something meaningless on telly, only half listening. But other than that unexpected phone call from his mother, the evening wore on rather uneventfully, apart from when he kissed her a couple of times without even thinking about it (well, maybe more than a couple of times, if he was honest) or the moment she groaned at one of the actors and dropped her head back against his shoulder. "What's wrong?" he asked even as he tightened an arm around her waist.

"It's so bad."

"The papers are okay with—"

"But he's so wooden."

"Everyone else seems to like it."

He heard her sigh. "That doesn't mean it's done right."

"I guess I'll have to trust you on that one."

"Just that?"

"Well, maybe more than that," Troy murmured as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

"Good."

The next morning arrived too early for him. It felt only a few minutes since he fell asleep with Cully nestled next to him, her back again flush to his chest and his arm slung around her waist when his eyes last closed, everything just a little bit rumpled about them. Some time overnight, she had fidgeted away from him, now on her other side with her arms folded into her torso. She was still close enough that he heard her breath whistling through her nose. Tousled through the night, her hair lay tangled against her face; and with the sheets and quilt worked down toward her waist, he noticed her shirt riding up halfway along her side. He reached out, unable to resist as it bothered him like something he'd corrected before. As he tugged it back down to her hips, she finally stirred and shivered beneath his hand with a yawn she hid behind the back of her palm.

"What time is it?" she murmured, her voice muffled.

"Can't say."

Cully raised her face a few inches from the pillow, narrowing her eyes like she didn't believe him. "Isn't there a clock on the table?"

"I haven't looked."

"Why not?"

"I'm not sure I want to," he said quietly.

Laughing at first, she asked, "No?"

"I like your being here," he whispered against her neck, "and I don't want to worry about the time."

For the first time since Troy had ever found Cully in his bed—many fewer times than either of them wished—there was no care about the hour, no worry about when their time together was destined to end, no desperation to clutch every second so close. Surely it was sometime in the morning, so they had until at least midday to talk, laugh, quibble—and satisfy all urges. Sliding his hand into the curve of her lower back, he pulled her closer and heard her breath catch against his chest.

"Gavin—"

"When are you supposed to be back?"

"Late afternoon," she answered softly.

"I'm glad to hear." Troy reached for her again, pulling her atop him as they laughed together and he pressed his mouth to hers, eager for anything of her. It was something he didn't think he would ever tire of: the weight of her body on his own, the flavor of her, the smoothness of her back beneath his palms. Just her, all of her. And as his hands rose up along her spine beneath her ancient t-shirt and he held her closer, she groaned against his shoulder. He didn't quite understand how to say goodbye to her later that day—even just for a little while.

A/N: I've gone back and done some editing on the previous chapter. There were a lot of little typos and I also attempted to clarify a moment in response to a comment from obamagirl, plus since people seemed to enjoy the extended version, I added a couple more moments I considered but left out. (This is why you never post right before going to work...I'm only HALF doing that today!)

Also, again, Troy's family is a matter of creative license extrapolated from book details/the practical realities of making a television show where he is not the star.