Flame Turns Blue

Category: CJ/Sam, post-War Crimes

Rating: R--language, sexual situations

Summary: I never noticed, hadn't seen it as it grew; the void between us where the flame turns blue.

Disclaimer: Yeah, I'll take one of those.

Thanks: To who else? The muy fantastica Jessiquita--for not mocking me that first time I said, "So I've changed my mind about CJ/Sam..."

_________________

Okay, I tried, I really did. I kept my distance for seven days. That's 168 hours. That's impressive.

Well, all right, it wasn't quite 168 hours. Round about hour 153, I lost what little remained of my self-control, and I called CJ. When she didn't answer, I hung up on her machine and it took me about fifteen seconds to decide on a course of action. I left the house so fast the neighbors were probably choking on my dust. My car is in the shop and CJ's place is a little over two miles away, but I didn't care. It was pissing down rain and I had left my umbrella and my jacket at home in my haste, but I didn't give a damn. I wanted CJ. I had to see her. My body had felt every second of those 153 hours without her, and I had to be near her again.

I don't know what I was expecting to happen when I showed up. Maybe I thought she'd be amused at my eagerness, maybe I thought she'd be slightly irritated that I'd shown up uninvited. I tried to prepare myself for all possible scenarios during that long trek to her house, but the one situation I hadn't prepared for was her anger. She was angry with me, and--I think--she was hurt. She accused me of playing games and I was stunned. Didn't she know? Couldn't she see? Staying away from her--keeping a distance roughly the size of a football field between us--was all that was keeping me from begging her to come home with me. And I'm not ashamed to tell you that 'begging' would not be too strong a word.

I was trying to be strong, and she thought I was playing games?

Not that any of that matters now, although it makes me wonder, and not for the first time, how CJ can be so frighteningly intelligent about so many things, and yet be so utterly clueless as to the power of her own appeal. I've seen how she handles compliments: tell her she looks beautiful or she's got a great body, and she grins and acknowledges the flattery as truth; but go deeper, go beyond that, tell her that she brings sunshine to a room, that the sound of her voice makes your whole body go into Red Alert, that seven days without her scent and her taste and her teasing is enough to make you lose your mind, and she's stunned. She can't say anything, she can't even meet your eye.

She's sleeping in my arms now...God it feels good to have her in my arms again. The room is darkening in the evening light and the rain is still falling softly against the windows. I love rainy days. I love the way the sky goes gray and the wind seems thicker somehow; I love the smell of ozone and wet pavement in the air, I love splashing through puddles--

"What are you thinking about?" CJ's breath is suddenly warm on my neck. She stirs softly against me and lifts her head.

"You're awake."

"Astute deduction, my boy."

"Go back to sleep."

"It's only--" CJ glances at the clock on her bedside table "--six- thirty in the evening, Sam. I'm not tired."

"Oh, I don't know, you seemed exhausted earlier."

"Yeah, but that was because we spent about two hours having the most vigorous form of bedroom exercise I have ever been fortunate enough to--" She breaks off, catching my delighted grin. "That's exactly what you wanted to hear, isn't it?"

"Well..." I say guiltily.

She grabs a pillow and thumps me over the head with it. "Egomaniac."

"Just glad I could please my woman."

Oh, that got a look. CJ arches an eyebrow like Cruella DeVille. "Your *woman*?"

"My amazingly-intelligent, incredibly-independent, highly-capable sex goddess of a woman?" She thumps me again. "Ow!"

"You were doing really well until you got to the 'sex goddess' part."

"But you *are* a sex goddess," I protest.

"Shut up, Sam." She tosses the pillow aside and lies back down against me, resting her chin on my chest. "I am *a* woman--I am my *own* woman; I am, if I may say so, *the* woman. But I am not any *man's* 'woman'."

"Okay, but...you can be a sex goddess, right?" I ask hopefully.

"Well..." she pretends to ponder this for a moment, head tilted to one side. God she's adorable, "goddesses were revered, right? They had temples built in their honor. They could sic a curse on you if you didn't show them proper respect. They weren't, like, playmates of the month or anything. So yeah, I could be a goddess. I could live with that."

"The goddess Claudia," I grin, running the pad of my thumb over her lower lip, thinking just how much she looks like one right now, laying here naked, the crisp white sheets tangled around her long, golden limbs, her hair mussed, her eyes dancing.

"Goddess of press briefings," she says with a satisfied giggle, pressing her mouth against my stomach in a brief kiss.

I groan in contentment. "And goldfish."

"And the Jackal...and reporter smackdowns..." Her lips move against my skin in whispers. I close my eyes, allowing her to have, as she likes to put it, her wicked way with me "...and Sam-sex."

"What?" I'm pretty sure my burst of laughter ruins the mood.

CJ lifts her head again, smirking like the proverbial cat. "Goddess of Sam-sex," she repeats impishly, pressing her body closer against mine, curling one arm around me. "You get to be goddess over what you're good at, right? Aphrodite was goddess of love and beauty; Zeus was the god of thunder...you get my drift? Press briefings and the Jackal are my forte...as is Sam-sex."

"I think I'm flattered." I also think I'm giggling like a pig-tailed schoolgirl. Really, our conversations can just get too absurd sometimes.

"Also my domain," she continues. "Mine and mine alone. Sam-sex is hereby officially off-limits for anyone else." She taps my chest for emphasis and by now we're both giggling. I've never laughed as much in my entire life as I do when I'm with CJ. To tell you the truth, it's as big a draw as the sex.

Of course, with this woman, everything is a bonus. It's not enough that she's beautiful, she's also sharp and quick and clever; it's not enough that she's sexy, she also wants to have sex with *me*; she's sassy and she's sweet, she's fire and ice, she's liquid gold...This woman is everything and she's killing me.

So far my relationship tactics have failed spectacularly, as far as CJ is concerned. I told her I could be with her without wanting anything else, but the first thing I did was plead with her for more than she was willing to give. I took myself away, I gave her some space, but after the first day my entire body went into withdrawals and I could feel my spirit flagging, and after a week I couldn't keep myself from her any longer.

I really am astoundingly inept in the ways of love.

We go out for dinner and I wonder if the people around us can see that CJ and I are more than just two friends in rain-soaked clothes grabbing dinner. When the man taking my order asks me to repeat my request, and leans closer to me, I wonder if he can smell CJ's body on me. I wonder if the people around us see the proprietary way my hand rests at the small of her back. I wonder if people will see the White House Press Secretary and the Deputy Communications Director dining together and keep adding two and two until they make four.

Probably not. This is, after all, a Taco Bell on the outskirts of Georgetown at 9.30 on a Thursday night. The hapless citizens of DC currently chowing down on Double Decker tacos and Crunchy Gorditas are more intent on bickering amongst themselves and slathering as much Fire-hot hot sauce on their meal as possible, than they are with determining just who the tall, gorgeous woman and her shorter, obviously-besotted companion are. As far as they know we're just two urbanites making a run for the border.

Actually, I'm kind of a little bit excited right now. This is the first time CJ and I have been out in public together since we, you know, saw each other's fun parts, and somehow that seems like a big deal to me. As far as first 'dates' go, it's a far cry from the dinner at the Ritz CJ deserves, but she seems pretty happy, so I'm just going to go with it.

"God, I was starving!" she exclaims as she wipes a slithering trail of hot sauce from the corner of her mouth.

I lift an eyebrow in what I hope is a suave and sophisticated manner. "I'm glad to hear it."

She pauses in the midst of her chewing to shoot me a 'you have got to be kidding' look, punctuating it with a roll of her eyes. "Uh-huh," she says, managing to make the pseudo-grunt sound downright condescending.

"I'm just saying--"

"Uh-huh," she says again--and how a woman can be so damn sexy while chewing something called a Cheesy Gordita Crunch is just beyond me. "You men are all Peter Pan after sex, you know that?"

"Explain to me this metaphor, please."

"Peter Pan!" She gestures with her Cheesy Gordita Crunch and a blob of something orange--I'm assuming it's the cheese--flies off and lands on the table with a splat. "Don't you remember that first part where Wendy finds him bitching and moaning because he can't get his shadow back on? She sews it on for him, being the nice little Victorian English girl that she is, and what does he do when she's finished? He jumps up--and I believe the word Barrie used was `crows'- -he *crows* about how clever he is for getting his shadow back on. Completely neglecting, may I add, to acknowledge that Wendy did all the work."

"Are you saying I make you do all the work in bed?" I ask huffily.

CJ gazes at me in shock and then begins to snort with laughter. "You are *so* missing the point," she informs me. "I'm just saying that men are always really pleased with themselves when the end result is good, and they like to, you know, remind everyone of that."

"So you're saying the work I do in bed isn't worth crowing over."

"Jesus."

"Then I'm lost."

An expression of confusion passes over CJ's face. "You know, this all sounded much better in my head. I was just trying to give you a hard time, but over-explaining really takes all the flavor out of it. Never mind."

"Okay," I agree amiably, pausing for a moment. "You do realize that Wendy was of the Edwardian age, not the Victorian, right?"

CJ gazes at me blankly. "I beg your pardon?"

"Peter Pan was published in 1904--as a play, rather than a novel, although that's neither here nor there--during the Edwardian age of England."

"I'm frightened that you know that, Sam."

"Although, seeing as the Victorian age ended in 1901, and the Edwardian age *began* that same year," I say thoughtfully, "you could almost argue that Victoria's era had influenced Barrie significantly more than Edward's, since he'd only ruled for three years by that time. You could even argue--"

"I don't wanna argue it, Sam. We were discussing your bedroom skills and somehow we got onto the subject of dead kings and queens and their influence on a children's playwright?"

"Actually, Barrie wasn't just a *children's* playwright, as such. He was a journalist first, and he wrote other novels and plays until he created Peter Pan to entertain the children of--"

"Stop!" CJ barks, before dissolving into laughter. "Oh my god, Sam, you are such a *dork*!"

I would be offended, but she's laughing too hard, and I know she's teasing me. Instead of being hurt I'm amused. "What? It's not cool to know about Peter Pan?"

"Not quite to this extent, no."

"My mom read Peter Pan to me every Christmas," I shrug. "I got interested. It's actually kind of a depressing story when you look closely enough."

"Let's not," she says, shaking her head indulgently at me as she begins to crumple up her wrappers.

"Okay."

"And by the way, the work you do in bed is plenty to crow about."

"Yeah?"

"Oh yeah," she assures me, winking as she sips at her drink. "Especially that one thing you do--I'd sure as hell gloat if I were you; it's pretty fantastic."

My face lights up, I'm sure. "Oh--the thing with the--"

"Oh yeah. And the way you--you know..."

"Yeah." Hell yeah! I am the *man*. I am also, apparently, channeling Josh right now.

"That something you picked up in college?" she asks, with mock- serious curiosity.

"Let's just say there are many things an older woman can teach you."

"Sam!" she exclaims with a choke of laughter. Then she narrows her eyes at me. "So, what, you have, like, a thing for older women?"

"I wouldn't call it a 'thing'. And let's not start the whole age discussion again. Last time I checked, five years was hardly grounds for cradle-robbing."

"I was learning to tie my shoelaces while you were eating your first solid foods!"

I grin. "I need a more convincing argument than that, CJ."

"I got my driver's license while you were still playing with GI Joes."

"I gave up GI Joe when I was six, so that's irrelevant."

"I'm taller than you."

"Well, I just find that sexy."

"Do you really?" she practically purrs. I hear the sudden clatter of her shoe hitting the floor, and then her warm, bare foot sneaks up my pant leg while she fixes me with a beguiling smile. "And what else do you find sexy about me?"

"Plenty, but we don't have all night."

"Come on..." She leans over the table, suddenly the picture of seduction. All she has to do is tilt her head at the right angle, let her eyes go all soft and hazy, and I'm a goner.

"Are you trying to seduce me, Ms Cregg?"

"Maybe."

"In a Taco Bell?"

"Anywhere is good for the goddess of Sam-sex," she coos. "The world is my temple."

I feel a fatuous grin spreading across my face. She reaches over and takes my hand in hers, bringing it to her lips, kissing the tip of each of my fingers, her tongue flickering gently across my skin. I have to keep myself from shuddering. "I think...I think this may be a little inappropriate in the current setting, Claudia."

She looks up at me, wrinkling her nose. "I like that," she says, still holding my hand in hers.

"You like what?"

"The way you say my name. With Josh, it's always, I don't know, an exclamation or a--a reprimand or something. When you say it..." her smile broadens, "it's like..." She stops and blushes. "Never mind. I just like it, that's all."

"Okay." I slip her hand into mine this time, closing my grip around her slender fingers. I bend my head over her hand, pressing my lips into the delicate center of her palm, smelling the gentle warmth of her lotion and the faintest trace of Taco Bell sauce. "Claudia," I say again, and it's a whisper this time. It catches in my throat and almost comes out a sob, much to my embarrassment. I don't think I've ever put so much feeling into one person's name.

We stare at each other for a while, hands clasped over crumpled taco wrappers and scattered remnants of cheese and tomatoes. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the two of us reflected in the glass against the darkness of the night, frozen in a moment like a snapshot, and I wonder where we go from here. I'm holding her hand now, and she's smiling at me like I'm the most important person in her world, but it won't always be like this. Because she likes me, but she'll never love me--and she wants me, but she'll never need me-- and I make her laugh, but I'll never make her happy.

"Let's go," she murmurs suddenly. "People are staring, and I'm feeling a little…frisky."

I glance out at the people surrounding us and see more than a few inquiring glances in our direction. "I hate to sound elitist, but I doubt many of the people here pay attention to press briefings or stump speeches."

"True, but I'm pretty sure they'd still bat an eye if I were to take you right now, right here on this very cold, very messy formica tabletop."

The blood immediately surges south from my head. "Check, please."

"Sam," she snickers, "this is a fast food joint. We've already paid for our food."

I nod hastily. "Right. Then what are we waiting for?"

She's already on her feet, grabbing her jacket and slipping into it, unfolding her long legs from under the table. More than a few men glance in her direction, watching the sway of her hips, the curve of her back, the easy saunter that's both confident and come-hither. They look from her, with her slim, elegant body and million-dollar face, to me, standing short and hopeless, staring after her like a lovesick schoolboy. Once again I feel a surge of amazement that this woman--this utterly amazing creature, with all her layers and flaws and complexities--has chosen to be with me.

I must have done something really, really good in a past life.

The next day at work is much better now that CJ and I are back in each other's good graces. When we pass each other in the halls we grin like idiots and hope no one notices. We send vague, inoffensive emails substituting 'paperwork' for 'sex' and 'your office' for 'your bed', and we address them to 'Peter' and 'Wendy'. During Senior Staff she sits next to me and casually runs her hand up my thigh underneath the table while arguing with Josh about the rider Fitzgibbons has attached to the new health care bill.

We even manage to have lunch together in her office. It's all very innocent, with the door open and everything, but somehow it still manages to be sexy and fun. You'd never know just two days ago we were avoiding one another like the plague.

"You have banana pudding on your nose," CJ says, indicating with her spoon.

I swipe at my nose and a spot of pudding is transferred to my index finger. "How is that possible? I didn't, like, dip my face in the container."

"Perhaps when you eat the food of a five-year-old, you develop the table grace of a five-year-old."

"Don't mock my dessert, CJ."

"No, it's cute, it's just--banana pudding and Nilla wafers, Sam?"

"What?"

"Not creme brulee--not baked Alaska--not even apple pie..." CJ shakes her head. "Banana pudding and Nilla wafers."

"Leave me alone," I say, spooning the last of it into my mouth and tossing the container into her trash can.

"It's just, I can think of some fun things to do with banana pudding." She raises one eyebrow and gives me a knowing look.

A shadow falls in the doorway and we look up to find Toby staring at us both in a typically inscrutable, Toby-like way while twirling a pen in his fingers. I choke on the last bite of pudding. "Name one," he says.

"One what?" CJ asks in a strained, cheerful voice. Or maybe it's only strained to me because I know we're both wondering just how much of that he heard.

"One fun thing to do with banana pudding," he says dryly, still twirling the pen.

"Now don't tell me you've forgotten so soon, Tobas," CJ responds, fluttering her lashes at him flirtatiously.

He grimaces. "How could I have? The delightful memory still haunts my every waking hour," he says in a perfect montone.

CJ winks. "Thought so. Whadda ya need, anyway?"

"I just wanted to ask you something, but if you're busy..." he glances over at me quizzically.

"It's just Sam," she says, waving in my general direction, and even though I know she can hardly say 'Sam and I were engaging in a little verbal foreplay, if you'll please excuse us', it still stings. My face burns with embarrassment and I concentrate on the styrofoam cup in my hands.

"Should I go?" I offer.

"Nah, it's no big thing," shrugs Toby. He looks over at her. "I just wanted to ask you--Will Sawyer's back?"

CJ nods. "Yeah."

"Yeah, 'cause I saw him in the pressroom yesterday, so..."

"So that was your first clue, huh?"

"I'm clever that way."

"Is that all?"

He shrugs again, shifting on his feet and looking decidedly uncomfortable. "Um, Leo and I think you might need to tone down the flirtation a bit."

CJ flashes him a fierce, disbelieving look. "I beg your pardon?"

"I'm not saying you're being shameless, I'm just saying now is not the time to show favoritism."

"Yeah well, Will *is* my favorite," retorts CJ, "so you and Leo need to suck it up and move along."

"People are noticing."

"Noticing what? That Will and I have a good laugh together?" Her voice is steadily rising in octaves.

"That you were extremely happy to see an old crony back and might possibly feel a little warm toward a reporter who hasn't been lambasting you since the President's announcement!" Wow. I don't think he took a breath through that whole sentence.

"Crony?" repeats CJ with a roll of her eyes.

"CJ," Toby argues in that voice that sounds patient but in fact isn't, "we're in the middle of one of the toughest popularity battles we're ever going to have to fight. We're trying to make friends with the right people, and you're starting to pick the class geek over the cool kids!"

"It wouldn't be the first time," she says coolly.

"CJ."

I watch as CJ's temper flares in her eyes. "Toby! This is ridiculous. I haven't seen Will in three years. I *like* him. I've always liked him. We have a rapport. You want me to ignore him from now on, is that it? Fine, I'll ignore him."

"Don't be childish, CJ."

"I'm being *childish*?" She puts a hand to her chest, outraged and wounded at the same time. "How else should I be? You're reprimanding me like I'm back in junior high, so forgive me if I revert back to adolescence here."

Toby runs his hand over his forehead, giving a long-suffering sigh as I sit on the sidelines, my head whipping back and forth between them like a spectator at a tennis match. "CJ...it's just..."

I gaze back at CJ, who suddenly looks very tired, her posture relaxing as she sinks deeper into her chair. She tosses aside her container of salad and frowns. "I get it, Toby."

He's silent for several moments. "Everything counts right now."

CJ snorts and says nothing.

After another pause, Toby leaves, casting me a helpless glance before disappearing into the hallway. I walk over to CJ's desk and lean against it, putting my hand on her shoulder. "Hey," I whisper, "you okay?"

"I guess," is all she says in reply.

"CJ..."

She raises her head and her eyes are heavy with fatigue. "I just get tired of it all."

"I know," I say. And I do know. I see it in the lines around her beautiful mouth and the exhaustion that is so deep within her it seems to make her limbs heavier when she moves. I would give anything to make things easier for her.

"You get tired of the hypocrisy, and I get tired of the--well, I get tired of the hypocrisy too, but..." she groans. "I get so damn tired of being the face of this administration. I get so sick of being the frontline."

I try not to let my shock show on my face. I know CJ has had debilitating moments in her career, and it wasn't that long ago that she was ready to quit, but still--To hear her admit that she's sick of the job itself is something else entirely. With no idea what else to do, I move my hand to her neck, trying to rub away the stress and tension there. She shrugs me away.

"You shouldn't be touching me, Sam," she murmurs.

I lift my fingers away immediately, a mixture of hurt and resentment in my chest.

"I should go talk to Will."

I look away, out her window into the gray afternoon. "Okay," I say, shoving my hands into my trouser pockets, trying to adapt an air of nonchalance. "So I'll go then."

I want her to stop me, of course. I want her to tell me she wants me to stay, or to put her hand on me and keep me from moving. I want her to decide that she'd rather talk to me than Will Sawyer, no matter how much she likes him.

But she doesn't do any of those things. She just nods and turns back to her salad and says nothing as I walk out the door. I don't say anything either, I just walk away, wondering for the thousandth what the hell I've gotten myself into.

The thing is, you see, I don't hate Will Sawyer. In fact, I downright like the guy. I couldn't hate him if I tried. And strangely enough, the fact that the sight of him suddenly fills me with blind, fierce, overwhelming jealousy, does nothing to alter that fact.

Later that afternoon I see him in CJ's office. The door is open and he's perched on the edge of one of her chairs, notepad resting on his knee. They're deep in conversation and she's laughing at something he's saying, and I almost hate him for making her laugh--after all, it's one of the few things I can do for her--but something stops me. It would be hard to hate Will when he's done nothing wrong. The only thing he's guilty of is being someone CJ actually likes having around, and what kind of man would I be to want to take that away from her?

And yet I'm jealous. I'm so jealous I can't see straight.

God, this would be so much easier if I could just hate him.

I'm not a jealous lover, by the way, so this is all new to me. In the past it's never bothered me to have a man openly admire my girlfriend, to talk with her or laugh with her, or be a friend to her- -and it's nothing to do with macho, showing-off-my-woman, chauvinistic bullshit; I just don't have a problem with it. I'm a grown-up about it. If some asshole decided to paw CJ in a bar, I'd like to think I could beat him to a bloody pulp, but other than that, I don't let it get to me. After all, I'm with a beautiful, remarkable woman, and I know there are going to be other men who realize that. I just don't let it get to me.

For some reason it's getting to me now.

And later that evening, in her apartment, as CJ unbuttons my shirt and trails her lips down my bare chest, I suddenly understand just why it is. It hits me like a goddamn bolt of lightning.

It's because I know what he has that I don't. It's because out of all the men who admire CJ, it is a man like Will Sawyer who will take her away from me. Sex is enough for her right now, but it won't always be; one day she's going to be ready for more, and when that time comes, she's going to realize she settled for less when she chose me, that she wasted however-many weeks of her life on a man who doesn't deserve her and never will; a man who can never be half the things she wants him to be. So we have great sex, so what? It's a lot, but it's not everything. Couples spontaneously combust when physical attraction is the only thing involved--myself and Lisa are a prime example--but a match of mind and spirit and intellect is the glue that holds two people together. CJ and I don't have that. She towers over me in every possible way; she outshines me and there's nothing I can do to change that. I can't be more than I am, and what I am is not enough for a woman like her.

She moves her body over mine, pressing her gorgeous breasts against me, kissing me and murmuring my name over and over, completely unaware that I'm not really here. I kiss her back, slipping my tongue past her teeth, tasting her, savoring her, and all I can think is that I'll never be good enough. She wraps her legs around my waist and our bodies move together slowly and I try to remember every detail, because I know my days are numbered.

We lay together afterward, our legs tangled together, her hand resting on my stomach. I listen to her breathe, tracing my finger over her damp collarbone and neck, and I know that I can no longer convince myself I'm not in love with her. The ache I feel at the knowledge that I'll lose her one day is too much for me to ignore. It doesn't mean I'm afraid of not knowing what I feel; it's proof, it's confirmation, that I know what I feel and I'm afraid to admit it.

The realization is suffocating. I have to move--I have to get out of here. I gently lift her hand from my body and settle it next to her on the bed. I start searching blindly around the room in the dark for my clothes, finding them, and closing the door gently behind me. I dress in silence in her living room, my eyes fixed on her discarded blouse where it lays on the floor.

I grab my car keys and blazer. Tonight I will be the one to leave. She will be the one to wake up in the morning with empty arms and a cold bed instead of a warm, welcoming body. It's a small thing, but it gives me a feeling of control. It's a comforting lie somehow to tell myself that she doesn't have as much power over me as she did only today.

The crisp air of the DC night envigorates me and I wish I had walked again instead of driving, because a walk on a night like this would do me a world of good. Instead I get into my car, fire up the ignition, and then stop. I drop my head to the steering wheel helplessly.

Ever since CJ and I started this, I've always known what I should do. I've always had a motive, a tactic, a strategy. And now--now I don't know what the fuck I'm supposed to do next.

-FIN-

___________________

I went looking for someone I left behind
Yeah but no-one, just a stranger did I find
I never noticed, hadn't seen it as it grew
The void between us where the flame turns blue

Different places, yeah but they all look the same
Dreams of faces in the streets devoured by names
I'm in collision with every stone I ever threw
And blind ambition where the flame turns blue

Worlds dismantled, hey and all the books unbound
Conversations though we utter not a sound
I heard a rumour, I don't know if its true
That you'd meet me where the flame turns blue

So I venture underneath the leaden sky
See the freight train with its one fierce eye
And then I listen as it tears the night in two
With a whistle where the flame turns blue

In the morning I will sing
In the morning I will sing

Through the lemon trees the diamonds of light
Break in splinters on the pages where I write
That if I lost you I don't know what I'd do
Burn forever where the flame turns blue
Yeah if I lost you I don't know what I'd do
Burn forever where the flame turns blue

In the morning I will sing
In the morning I will sing

--Flame Turns Blue, David Gray--