****
It'd been three weeks since the bust on the waterfront and Litha had flown out of his life again. Despite calls to D.C., he'd been told nothing of her location or activities. He didn't sleep too well in those weeks and he was once again the cranky bear around the office. They'd been given another assignment, one that wrapped up quickly. Anything to keep them occupied... or was it just him that needed to be kept occupied?
He looked around the office. Everyone else had gone out to dinner to celebrate the end of a successful assignment. The world looked like shades of grey to him right now. So, he put his coat on and headed home. It was a few days to Valentine's Day, but he wasn't in the mood to hear the love songs on the radio. He only wanted Litha back close to him so he could just see her again.
The apartment was dark when he opened the door. Somehow he missed the trace of sandalwood and ginger orange that lingered in the air as he turned on a few lamps and walked into the kitchen. Somehow he also missed the bottle of vintage merlot that was on the countertop and the crystal goblets, one trimmed with beige lipstick. Frank Donovan was oblivious, his mind a 1000 miles away in Washington D.C. with Lillith Sinclair.
He walked down the hallway, shucking off the shoulderholster and dropping it across the back of the sofa. He stripped off his shirt and dropped it onto the floor as he walked. The bedroom was dark, the door open. He reched over and flicked the lightswitch on, kicking off his shoes as he unfastened his watch and set it on the dresser.
Behind him, the woman lay sleeping still. The lights coming on didn't disturb her one iota. She dreamed a sweet dream in the cool white sheets even as Frank Donovan remained in his own little world.
But those two worlds collided when all the out of place items finally caught up with him. The scent tickled in his nose even as he grasped that he didn't have a bottle of merlot in the apartment, let alone a guest with beige lipstick - and he certainly didn't wear lipstick, even undercover. He heard the slight breathing behin him, the sheets rustling as the woman turned over.
He slowly turned around, bare from the waist up with only the triskele necklace around his neck and the belt to his pants unbuckled and hanging loose. Slowly he rubbed his eyes. This had to be a dream. but it was't in shades of grey, it was in crystal clear black and white... She was in his bed, sleeping. Silently he padded over in socking feet and looked down. Litha was sound asleep, one of his shirts on. Her hair was splashed over the white pillowcase like a raven's wing on the snow.
Slowly he sat down on the edge of the bed. This vision was something he'd dreamed about seeing for years, and here she was in living color. Her eyes fluttered, then opened. Crystal green eyes looked back at him, even as her pale lips curved into a sleepy but sensual smile.
"Where have you been?" she whispered.
****
EPILOGUE
He no longer dreams in shades of grey. He no longer cries for hours in his sleep, and he no longer hits the bottom.
Instead, he just shifts, the slender pale arm of his love sweeping over his own arms in an embrace as he snuggles her closer, determined to not let her go ever again.
And she, she smiles a serene smile as she feels his body pressed against her back, his breath ruffling her hair as he sleeps... both of them sleeping peacefully for the first time in many, many years.
------------------------------------
*The poem used in Chapter 7 is titled "Spirits of the Dead", by Edgar Allen Poe.
It'd been three weeks since the bust on the waterfront and Litha had flown out of his life again. Despite calls to D.C., he'd been told nothing of her location or activities. He didn't sleep too well in those weeks and he was once again the cranky bear around the office. They'd been given another assignment, one that wrapped up quickly. Anything to keep them occupied... or was it just him that needed to be kept occupied?
He looked around the office. Everyone else had gone out to dinner to celebrate the end of a successful assignment. The world looked like shades of grey to him right now. So, he put his coat on and headed home. It was a few days to Valentine's Day, but he wasn't in the mood to hear the love songs on the radio. He only wanted Litha back close to him so he could just see her again.
The apartment was dark when he opened the door. Somehow he missed the trace of sandalwood and ginger orange that lingered in the air as he turned on a few lamps and walked into the kitchen. Somehow he also missed the bottle of vintage merlot that was on the countertop and the crystal goblets, one trimmed with beige lipstick. Frank Donovan was oblivious, his mind a 1000 miles away in Washington D.C. with Lillith Sinclair.
He walked down the hallway, shucking off the shoulderholster and dropping it across the back of the sofa. He stripped off his shirt and dropped it onto the floor as he walked. The bedroom was dark, the door open. He reched over and flicked the lightswitch on, kicking off his shoes as he unfastened his watch and set it on the dresser.
Behind him, the woman lay sleeping still. The lights coming on didn't disturb her one iota. She dreamed a sweet dream in the cool white sheets even as Frank Donovan remained in his own little world.
But those two worlds collided when all the out of place items finally caught up with him. The scent tickled in his nose even as he grasped that he didn't have a bottle of merlot in the apartment, let alone a guest with beige lipstick - and he certainly didn't wear lipstick, even undercover. He heard the slight breathing behin him, the sheets rustling as the woman turned over.
He slowly turned around, bare from the waist up with only the triskele necklace around his neck and the belt to his pants unbuckled and hanging loose. Slowly he rubbed his eyes. This had to be a dream. but it was't in shades of grey, it was in crystal clear black and white... She was in his bed, sleeping. Silently he padded over in socking feet and looked down. Litha was sound asleep, one of his shirts on. Her hair was splashed over the white pillowcase like a raven's wing on the snow.
Slowly he sat down on the edge of the bed. This vision was something he'd dreamed about seeing for years, and here she was in living color. Her eyes fluttered, then opened. Crystal green eyes looked back at him, even as her pale lips curved into a sleepy but sensual smile.
"Where have you been?" she whispered.
****
EPILOGUE
He no longer dreams in shades of grey. He no longer cries for hours in his sleep, and he no longer hits the bottom.
Instead, he just shifts, the slender pale arm of his love sweeping over his own arms in an embrace as he snuggles her closer, determined to not let her go ever again.
And she, she smiles a serene smile as she feels his body pressed against her back, his breath ruffling her hair as he sleeps... both of them sleeping peacefully for the first time in many, many years.
------------------------------------
*The poem used in Chapter 7 is titled "Spirits of the Dead", by Edgar Allen Poe.