Warning:
This chapter contains implied adult, consensual sex. NOTHING GRAPHIC. If this sort of thing is offensive to you, please skip this chapter. Thanks!
When next John opened his eyes, the light of the apartment was dim, illuminated only by a tiny bedside lamp of low wattage. Night had fallen.
John's first thought was of Meg. His last conscious memory being of her sitting beside him, her hand to his face.
How he had missed her! Even he had not realized how much until he had seen her again.
There had seldom been a day, in all those months in China when she had not been in his thoughts, had not invaded his nightly dreams. Shot and bleeding, he'd refused to postpone their escape, as the monks had suggested. In spite of their insistence that he understand the health risks he would run. If he died getting his mother and sister out of the land of their birth and near destruction it would have been worth it. But he knew he would not die. At least not until he'd had a chance to see Meg once more.
He had never allowed himself to consider that he would have a life beyond getting his family out of China. For all his sins, he knew he did not deserve any kind of normal life. For the last several years, he had been focused solely on surviving long enough to do what he must to free sister and mother.
But now...
Where was she?!
John shifted, realizing that Meg was to his left, sprawled on the bed beside him. Exhausted from holding vigil, she must have laid down to rest, finding the chairs in the room too uncomfortable and spartan to accommodate her tall frame for any length of time.
He did not mind. In fact, he'd dreamed her beside him many a time.
Quietly, he reveled in her proximity, drinking in the sight of her. He had noted earlier that she had become somewhat more conservative in dress in the months since he'd last seen her, less gothic in her appearance. The change suited her. The henna tattoos on her hands, the razor blade necklace and punk outfit replaced by well manicured nails, a yin/yang pendant and a flowing dress of flattering line and pattern that fell just above her knees. She wore her hair in an upswept style that favored the shape of her face. She looked... beautiful.
But then she always had been.
He intended at first, merely to enjoy the sight of her as she slept peacefully and companionably beside him. But the months of separation had created a hunger for touch, and almost before he realized it, he was reaching out, using the back of his left hand to touch her face, trace the line of her hair. He continued the contact, moving his fingers to follow the line of her neck, her shoulder, her arm.
She came awake slowly, languorously under his touch, her beautiful brown eyes opening and looking at him, their pupils large. She looked vulnerable, young.
She lifted her head up, propping herself on one arm, reaching out to touch his face. He seized the opportunity, slipping his left hand around her neck, and urging her near, until her face was close, their lips touching. Hungrily, he drew her down to him, loosening her hair, then kissing her deeply, tenderly, exploring her with his tongue.
She responded in kind, moving close to him, molding her soft curves against his body.
He felt no pain, amazingly, and the lack of discomfort freed him. He dared not move as he would have wished, his right arm stubbornly immobile, but his left explored Meg's body at will even as she trailed kisses from his face to chest to abdomen. He eased her dress up her thigh, stroking the soft skin beneath the cloth. Taking his lead, she slipped the dress over her head, revealing her naked body to him, shaking her golden brown hair down around her shoulders. He caressed her, exploring the peaks and valleys of her body with a light, sensual touch. Her body, like her face had grown thinner, and it worried him, her ribs plainly felt beneath the surface of her
torso. He tried to put the concern from his mind, to concentrate with all his being at expressing his need for her.
He had wanted this for so long, dreamed of it every night for six months. And now it seemed that Meg had wanted it as well.
His injury dictated that he had to leave most of the work to her, but unspoken communication told him that it was a task she was willing to assume. Gently, tenderly, she lowered her body onto his and they melded into one.
He'd come home.
Meg's head laid on his chest, both of them breathing hard from the pleasant exertion.
John had never felt more happy, more complete. Their lovemaking had been everything he had dreamed and more. Even the pain that was returning to his body dimmed in contrast to the warmth and well-being that filled his spirit, fed his soul.
"Are you all right?" Meg was asking softly, lifting up her head to meet his gaze, worry mixed with love in her beautiful face.
"Yes... absolutely," he assured fondly.
"That wasn't a doctor recommended activity for someone in your condition. But I don't regret it," she admitted, her features suddenly painfully vulnerable, her body tense.
John sought to ease the fear her saw deep in her eyes. He knew how desperately she guarded her heart, her emotions. One wrong word now could destroy her and the future he was beginning to envision with her, so he stuck with the truth, "I've dreamt of this since I left you. But reality is so much better than the dream..."
Meg buried her face against his chest for a moment, a moment in which he felt the tension that had overtaken her fade away. When she looked up again, he cupped her cheek with his good hand. She closed her eyes, leaning into the caress.
"I love you, Meg Coburn," he said quietly, tenderly.
Her eyes opened and he saw in them that the emotion was, in fact, reciprocated, but he knew she would not yet be able to say the words. She'd shielded herself so fiercely for so long, it simply wasn't possible to admit it to herself or to him. At least not yet. So the reply she gave did not faze him. Instead he found it oddly endearing.
"Your fever's broken, John, you're gonna be all right, you know?" She said quixotically, her voice small, quite stripped of her usual bravado.
"I know," John Lee said and smiled, drawing her to him for another kiss.
Meg stood looking at her reflection in her bathroom mirror, trying to force the smile from her lips. She'd dozed beside John for hours, made languorous by the intensity of their passion, for all that it was necessarily understated. She had awakened to a lightness of spirit that she was hard pressed to contain. Fearing she might impulsively wake John, she had repaired to the bathroom.
They'd made love. Who would have thought it possible? Just hours earlier she'd been convinced she was never going to see John again, never even have the comfort of the knowledge that he was alive.
What a world of change a few hours could bring...
She tried to make herself to feel guilty for taking flagrant sexual advantage of a sick man. But however hard she tried, she could not rally the appropriate feeling of culpability. He had wanted it as much as she had, had made the first overtures. The act had been life affirming itself in the face of what had seemed desperate odds mere hours before.
And his fever had broken. He would continue to need antibiotics to keep it at bay, and he was far from ready to resume any kind of normal activity. But he was improving with heartening rapidity. Meg suspected that blood loss and dehydration had felled him more than the infection, which seemed incipient judging by the rapid response to the antibiotics. When he was feeling better, she'd have to lecture him about fluid replacement during long airline flights and after blood loss.
God forbid that either would ever be part of his future again....
For herself, the emptiness she'd felt all these long months, the longing, the sense of missed opportunity was gone. She felt as if she'd been granted a second chance, a new start.
Contentment settled deeply in her bones.
He had said he had loved her. John never said anything he did not mean. She knew him well enough to be assured of that.
She, on the other hand, had not been able to say the words. If she felt guilty for anything, it was for that.
He'd fallen asleep again, spent completely by the exertion of their lovemaking--as tentative and tender as it had been. She knew he was in pain, again regretted the lack of a strong painkiller on hand.
That was a situation easily remedied. She glanced at her wristwatch, noted that it was only two am. Busby would still be hanging around, two alleys down. He got most of his business at this hour.
But how would she explain the sudden appearance of medication to John? He'd been adamant that she should not try to buy anything on the street, and she doubted he would believe a story about a forgotten current prescription suddenly found. He might take her action as a betrayal.
She knew there was one thing she never would be able to bear. And that was to see disappointment in her reflected in John Lee's eyes.
Meg splashed water on her face, then buried it in the soft plushness of the towel hanging near the sink. She moved back into the bedroom. She laid herself down on the bed next to John, slipping under the covers, carefully molding herself to him, relishing the feel of her bare skin against his. Possessively, she placed her arm around him. He responded without waking, turning into her embrace instinctively, and to the limits set by his injury.
She was home. For the first time in her thirty years, she was home.
Meg awakened to dawn light and a feeling of abandonment.
Her fingers clutched, expecting to feel John's body beneath her hand. Instead she came away with a fistful of bedclothes.
It had NOT all been a dream....!
She sat up, looking around frantically, her eyes finally settling on the dark head that was just visible above the far side of the bed. Panicked, she slid out from under the covers, grabbed the dress she'd tossed aside in abandon the night before, threw it on, and ran to John's side.
John Lee had apparently tried to rise and collapsed getting out of the bed. He was sitting on the floor, his back against the side of the mattress. His eyes were closed, legs splayed out in front of him. Bedclothes swirled around him, providing a semblance of modesty.
"JESUS! John!" Meg cried in alarm. There was no telling what kind of damage he'd done himself.
Men! All alike, every one of them. They got laid and figured they were invincible...!
She dropped to her knees beside him, feeling for the pulse at his neck. Strong and steady. Good.
His eyes opened at the contact, his gaze meeting hers. She thought she detected a trace of sheepishness in them.
"John, what the hell were you thinking?! You're in no condition to try to get up! Did you hurt yourself? Are you all right?" She ran her hands over his body quickly, checking for damage.
He was smiling at her, the cupid's bow lips turned up in amusement, the smile lines around his eyes became prominent. She'd never noticed he had them before.
"Your dress is on inside out," he commented quietly.
Meg glanced down. He was right. It hardly mattered however, she'd thrown it on to cover herself in case Liu Shen or Lee Ma happened into the room. While she was not ashamed of their actions the night before, she also didn't want to offend the sensibilities of her guests.
Damn him for trying to change the subject, deflect her anger!
"I'll worry about that after I've seen to you! Damn it, John! Who told you you could get out of bed? For Christ's sake! How long have you been down here?"
John looked at her equitably, his left arm cradling his right. His features were serene and not at all contrite, which made her all the more angry.
"Just a little while. I wanted to bring you breakfast," he explained as if it were the most natural thing in the world for a wounded man to amble off to the kitchen and start cooking.
Meg took a deep breath and counted to ten, forcing her anger to dissipate. Then she reached out, placing her palm on his forehead. His temperature was elevated, last night undoubtedly had been too much for him, as beautiful and precious as it had been.
She needed to get more antibiotics into him and change his dressings again, she knew...
"You're delirious!" Meg chided, never realizing that her tone lacked any real bite, was instead affectionately indulgent. "Going all domestic on me, are you? Okay, you're living proof that chivalry isn't dead. And I do love a man who knows his way around a kitchen. But cooking can wait until you're well. Then I'll let you make me a seven course dinner. Let's get you back in bed."
She thought about calling for Liu Shen and Lee Ma to help her, but realized it would probably only cause them undue worry. With no little effort, she aided him up back up onto the bed, admiring his naked form as surreptitiously as possible, reinforcing visually all that she had explored tactilely the night before. He owed her that much for the scare he'd just given her.
Easing him back against pillows she hastily arranged from the disarray of the night just past, she sat down next to him, kissing his forehead in relief. Then, putting on her sternest expression she leaned back.
"You try that again and you're dead meat, got it? I swear I'll kill you with my bare hands, " Meg scolded. She reached for the drink bottle and shook it. Liquid still remained, so she reached for the antibiotics and tipped out another dosage, once again adding ibuprofen. Only then did she allow herself to look John in the eyes.
He was gazing at her intently, his expression one of thoughtful regard, "You are beautiful when you first wake up."
Threats had no effect on the man, it was obvious.
"Sweet talk will not improve your situation, mister," Meg commented dryly as she slipped the pills between his lips and offered the straw from the bottle. Dutifully, he drank and swallowed.
"So are you, by the way. Beautiful when you first wake up, I mean," she added by way of abashed afterthought.
John smiled in response to her admission, and for the second time in as many days, Meg found herself reddening. She looked away, taking special care to place the antibiotic pills and juice bottle on the night stand.
"And even more beautiful when you blush," John continued.
Meg, mortified that she still possessed the ability after the life she'd led, dropped her gaze down to her hands in her lap.
"I'm going to go take a shower," she said, forcing her voice to remain even, "And then I'm going to find you something to eat. In the meantime, you should try to rest."
"Meg," John spoke, his left hand moving to caress her arm, "look at me."
She looked up, reluctantly. She wasn't used to being told she was beautiful, to see such tender regard in the eyes of another. She felt helpless, unsure how to respond. She didn't like the feeling at all.
John was smiling at her, his hand moving up to touch her cheek. Before she knew it, he was drawing her in for a kiss.
end of chapter four
This chapter contains implied adult, consensual sex. NOTHING GRAPHIC. If this sort of thing is offensive to you, please skip this chapter. Thanks!
When next John opened his eyes, the light of the apartment was dim, illuminated only by a tiny bedside lamp of low wattage. Night had fallen.
John's first thought was of Meg. His last conscious memory being of her sitting beside him, her hand to his face.
How he had missed her! Even he had not realized how much until he had seen her again.
There had seldom been a day, in all those months in China when she had not been in his thoughts, had not invaded his nightly dreams. Shot and bleeding, he'd refused to postpone their escape, as the monks had suggested. In spite of their insistence that he understand the health risks he would run. If he died getting his mother and sister out of the land of their birth and near destruction it would have been worth it. But he knew he would not die. At least not until he'd had a chance to see Meg once more.
He had never allowed himself to consider that he would have a life beyond getting his family out of China. For all his sins, he knew he did not deserve any kind of normal life. For the last several years, he had been focused solely on surviving long enough to do what he must to free sister and mother.
But now...
Where was she?!
John shifted, realizing that Meg was to his left, sprawled on the bed beside him. Exhausted from holding vigil, she must have laid down to rest, finding the chairs in the room too uncomfortable and spartan to accommodate her tall frame for any length of time.
He did not mind. In fact, he'd dreamed her beside him many a time.
Quietly, he reveled in her proximity, drinking in the sight of her. He had noted earlier that she had become somewhat more conservative in dress in the months since he'd last seen her, less gothic in her appearance. The change suited her. The henna tattoos on her hands, the razor blade necklace and punk outfit replaced by well manicured nails, a yin/yang pendant and a flowing dress of flattering line and pattern that fell just above her knees. She wore her hair in an upswept style that favored the shape of her face. She looked... beautiful.
But then she always had been.
He intended at first, merely to enjoy the sight of her as she slept peacefully and companionably beside him. But the months of separation had created a hunger for touch, and almost before he realized it, he was reaching out, using the back of his left hand to touch her face, trace the line of her hair. He continued the contact, moving his fingers to follow the line of her neck, her shoulder, her arm.
She came awake slowly, languorously under his touch, her beautiful brown eyes opening and looking at him, their pupils large. She looked vulnerable, young.
She lifted her head up, propping herself on one arm, reaching out to touch his face. He seized the opportunity, slipping his left hand around her neck, and urging her near, until her face was close, their lips touching. Hungrily, he drew her down to him, loosening her hair, then kissing her deeply, tenderly, exploring her with his tongue.
She responded in kind, moving close to him, molding her soft curves against his body.
He felt no pain, amazingly, and the lack of discomfort freed him. He dared not move as he would have wished, his right arm stubbornly immobile, but his left explored Meg's body at will even as she trailed kisses from his face to chest to abdomen. He eased her dress up her thigh, stroking the soft skin beneath the cloth. Taking his lead, she slipped the dress over her head, revealing her naked body to him, shaking her golden brown hair down around her shoulders. He caressed her, exploring the peaks and valleys of her body with a light, sensual touch. Her body, like her face had grown thinner, and it worried him, her ribs plainly felt beneath the surface of her
torso. He tried to put the concern from his mind, to concentrate with all his being at expressing his need for her.
He had wanted this for so long, dreamed of it every night for six months. And now it seemed that Meg had wanted it as well.
His injury dictated that he had to leave most of the work to her, but unspoken communication told him that it was a task she was willing to assume. Gently, tenderly, she lowered her body onto his and they melded into one.
He'd come home.
Meg's head laid on his chest, both of them breathing hard from the pleasant exertion.
John had never felt more happy, more complete. Their lovemaking had been everything he had dreamed and more. Even the pain that was returning to his body dimmed in contrast to the warmth and well-being that filled his spirit, fed his soul.
"Are you all right?" Meg was asking softly, lifting up her head to meet his gaze, worry mixed with love in her beautiful face.
"Yes... absolutely," he assured fondly.
"That wasn't a doctor recommended activity for someone in your condition. But I don't regret it," she admitted, her features suddenly painfully vulnerable, her body tense.
John sought to ease the fear her saw deep in her eyes. He knew how desperately she guarded her heart, her emotions. One wrong word now could destroy her and the future he was beginning to envision with her, so he stuck with the truth, "I've dreamt of this since I left you. But reality is so much better than the dream..."
Meg buried her face against his chest for a moment, a moment in which he felt the tension that had overtaken her fade away. When she looked up again, he cupped her cheek with his good hand. She closed her eyes, leaning into the caress.
"I love you, Meg Coburn," he said quietly, tenderly.
Her eyes opened and he saw in them that the emotion was, in fact, reciprocated, but he knew she would not yet be able to say the words. She'd shielded herself so fiercely for so long, it simply wasn't possible to admit it to herself or to him. At least not yet. So the reply she gave did not faze him. Instead he found it oddly endearing.
"Your fever's broken, John, you're gonna be all right, you know?" She said quixotically, her voice small, quite stripped of her usual bravado.
"I know," John Lee said and smiled, drawing her to him for another kiss.
Meg stood looking at her reflection in her bathroom mirror, trying to force the smile from her lips. She'd dozed beside John for hours, made languorous by the intensity of their passion, for all that it was necessarily understated. She had awakened to a lightness of spirit that she was hard pressed to contain. Fearing she might impulsively wake John, she had repaired to the bathroom.
They'd made love. Who would have thought it possible? Just hours earlier she'd been convinced she was never going to see John again, never even have the comfort of the knowledge that he was alive.
What a world of change a few hours could bring...
She tried to make herself to feel guilty for taking flagrant sexual advantage of a sick man. But however hard she tried, she could not rally the appropriate feeling of culpability. He had wanted it as much as she had, had made the first overtures. The act had been life affirming itself in the face of what had seemed desperate odds mere hours before.
And his fever had broken. He would continue to need antibiotics to keep it at bay, and he was far from ready to resume any kind of normal activity. But he was improving with heartening rapidity. Meg suspected that blood loss and dehydration had felled him more than the infection, which seemed incipient judging by the rapid response to the antibiotics. When he was feeling better, she'd have to lecture him about fluid replacement during long airline flights and after blood loss.
God forbid that either would ever be part of his future again....
For herself, the emptiness she'd felt all these long months, the longing, the sense of missed opportunity was gone. She felt as if she'd been granted a second chance, a new start.
Contentment settled deeply in her bones.
He had said he had loved her. John never said anything he did not mean. She knew him well enough to be assured of that.
She, on the other hand, had not been able to say the words. If she felt guilty for anything, it was for that.
He'd fallen asleep again, spent completely by the exertion of their lovemaking--as tentative and tender as it had been. She knew he was in pain, again regretted the lack of a strong painkiller on hand.
That was a situation easily remedied. She glanced at her wristwatch, noted that it was only two am. Busby would still be hanging around, two alleys down. He got most of his business at this hour.
But how would she explain the sudden appearance of medication to John? He'd been adamant that she should not try to buy anything on the street, and she doubted he would believe a story about a forgotten current prescription suddenly found. He might take her action as a betrayal.
She knew there was one thing she never would be able to bear. And that was to see disappointment in her reflected in John Lee's eyes.
Meg splashed water on her face, then buried it in the soft plushness of the towel hanging near the sink. She moved back into the bedroom. She laid herself down on the bed next to John, slipping under the covers, carefully molding herself to him, relishing the feel of her bare skin against his. Possessively, she placed her arm around him. He responded without waking, turning into her embrace instinctively, and to the limits set by his injury.
She was home. For the first time in her thirty years, she was home.
Meg awakened to dawn light and a feeling of abandonment.
Her fingers clutched, expecting to feel John's body beneath her hand. Instead she came away with a fistful of bedclothes.
It had NOT all been a dream....!
She sat up, looking around frantically, her eyes finally settling on the dark head that was just visible above the far side of the bed. Panicked, she slid out from under the covers, grabbed the dress she'd tossed aside in abandon the night before, threw it on, and ran to John's side.
John Lee had apparently tried to rise and collapsed getting out of the bed. He was sitting on the floor, his back against the side of the mattress. His eyes were closed, legs splayed out in front of him. Bedclothes swirled around him, providing a semblance of modesty.
"JESUS! John!" Meg cried in alarm. There was no telling what kind of damage he'd done himself.
Men! All alike, every one of them. They got laid and figured they were invincible...!
She dropped to her knees beside him, feeling for the pulse at his neck. Strong and steady. Good.
His eyes opened at the contact, his gaze meeting hers. She thought she detected a trace of sheepishness in them.
"John, what the hell were you thinking?! You're in no condition to try to get up! Did you hurt yourself? Are you all right?" She ran her hands over his body quickly, checking for damage.
He was smiling at her, the cupid's bow lips turned up in amusement, the smile lines around his eyes became prominent. She'd never noticed he had them before.
"Your dress is on inside out," he commented quietly.
Meg glanced down. He was right. It hardly mattered however, she'd thrown it on to cover herself in case Liu Shen or Lee Ma happened into the room. While she was not ashamed of their actions the night before, she also didn't want to offend the sensibilities of her guests.
Damn him for trying to change the subject, deflect her anger!
"I'll worry about that after I've seen to you! Damn it, John! Who told you you could get out of bed? For Christ's sake! How long have you been down here?"
John looked at her equitably, his left arm cradling his right. His features were serene and not at all contrite, which made her all the more angry.
"Just a little while. I wanted to bring you breakfast," he explained as if it were the most natural thing in the world for a wounded man to amble off to the kitchen and start cooking.
Meg took a deep breath and counted to ten, forcing her anger to dissipate. Then she reached out, placing her palm on his forehead. His temperature was elevated, last night undoubtedly had been too much for him, as beautiful and precious as it had been.
She needed to get more antibiotics into him and change his dressings again, she knew...
"You're delirious!" Meg chided, never realizing that her tone lacked any real bite, was instead affectionately indulgent. "Going all domestic on me, are you? Okay, you're living proof that chivalry isn't dead. And I do love a man who knows his way around a kitchen. But cooking can wait until you're well. Then I'll let you make me a seven course dinner. Let's get you back in bed."
She thought about calling for Liu Shen and Lee Ma to help her, but realized it would probably only cause them undue worry. With no little effort, she aided him up back up onto the bed, admiring his naked form as surreptitiously as possible, reinforcing visually all that she had explored tactilely the night before. He owed her that much for the scare he'd just given her.
Easing him back against pillows she hastily arranged from the disarray of the night just past, she sat down next to him, kissing his forehead in relief. Then, putting on her sternest expression she leaned back.
"You try that again and you're dead meat, got it? I swear I'll kill you with my bare hands, " Meg scolded. She reached for the drink bottle and shook it. Liquid still remained, so she reached for the antibiotics and tipped out another dosage, once again adding ibuprofen. Only then did she allow herself to look John in the eyes.
He was gazing at her intently, his expression one of thoughtful regard, "You are beautiful when you first wake up."
Threats had no effect on the man, it was obvious.
"Sweet talk will not improve your situation, mister," Meg commented dryly as she slipped the pills between his lips and offered the straw from the bottle. Dutifully, he drank and swallowed.
"So are you, by the way. Beautiful when you first wake up, I mean," she added by way of abashed afterthought.
John smiled in response to her admission, and for the second time in as many days, Meg found herself reddening. She looked away, taking special care to place the antibiotic pills and juice bottle on the night stand.
"And even more beautiful when you blush," John continued.
Meg, mortified that she still possessed the ability after the life she'd led, dropped her gaze down to her hands in her lap.
"I'm going to go take a shower," she said, forcing her voice to remain even, "And then I'm going to find you something to eat. In the meantime, you should try to rest."
"Meg," John spoke, his left hand moving to caress her arm, "look at me."
She looked up, reluctantly. She wasn't used to being told she was beautiful, to see such tender regard in the eyes of another. She felt helpless, unsure how to respond. She didn't like the feeling at all.
John was smiling at her, his hand moving up to touch her cheek. Before she knew it, he was drawing her in for a kiss.
end of chapter four