London After Midnight

DISCLAIMER: Sorry about the long wait for such a short chapter, but I spent the weekend on vacation in Atlantic City. The next chapter will be much longer and include a little bit of that conflict everyone's jonesing for, lol. I got a lot of ideas for it and I finally know exactly where this fic is headed, so just sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride.

MANY THANKS: Thank you Nikki, ShadowyFigure, Aesear, canadianfan, and jtbwriter for your continued praise. Special thanks to Watson for your constructive criticism that continues to show me the way. I love you all!

Chapter Ten

"All Good Dreams"

Jordan

I'm sure I dream. I must, because when I wake up I feel them, rapidly fading memories of comfortable river-water dreams that flow around me, every so often one of them brushing against my skin as softly as the pillowy cotton of the striped comforter I'm laying under. Dreams of Mom and being very small, cinnamon toast and the swing in my grandmother's backyard and the way my Dad would dance my mother around the kitchen to cassette mixes of their favourite songs from the Sixties. Dreams of the ocean lapping against the sand in San Francisco, and the smell of shish kabobs and cotton candy, Tyler's stupid Nautica cologne and how he always wore too much of it, the sensation of marijuana smoke filling my lungs and making my whole body tingle, and a purple dress on a rack outside a little shop on the boardwalk, just begging me to buy it. Dreams of rain and red wine and the Cure, and being wrapped up with Nigel Townsend in a midnight waltz that moved from the darkness of the dance floor to the dim lamplight of a cheap and ugly little motel room. All good dreams that vanish like dry-ice fog through my fingers when I reach for them and try to grab on for too long.

"Love." A voice breaks through the struggle to return to sleep, soothing English syllables that remind me of all my dreams. "I promised I'd wake you, love, so I am. I'm sorry. You can go back to sleep if you like. Check-out isn't for another four hours. But I've got to leave for work. Jordan, are you awake?"

It takes a moment to realize he's asked me a question and I should respond. "Yes," I say, my voice uncharacteristically soft and quiet.

I feel the backs of his fingers brush against my cheek. "I've got to go, love. I do so wish I didn't have to, but Garret would have a fit if two of his best ME's weren't on the clock today."

My hand makes a slow and difficult crawl from beneath the pillow to cover Nigel's hand on my face. His is surprisingly cool and smooth and, I realize, smells like the bar soap from the bathroom. He must have just showered. "I'll probably go back tomorrow," I murmur, still in that docile, feminine tone. I don't yet have the strength to open my eyes.

"I've left you some cash on the nightstand to take a cab home. I'd drive you if you wanted, but you're tired?"

"I have money, Nigel," I weakly protest.

"Yes, but I feel bad that you've even got to take a cab at all," he replies, his thumb stroking my cheek. "So are you too tired to ride with me?"

"I'll fall off," I say, smiling for no reason at all. His fingers find their way to my lips, exploring the thin line of the expression.

"Shall I pick you up on my lunch break, then?"

"Go to work, Nigel," I beg him, smiling wider. All I really want is to go back to sleep and with each passing second that task proves more and more difficult. Finally I relent to opening my eyes, just a little bit, the lids sliding up halfway.

It's so strange waking up to Nigel Townsend kneeling next to the mattress I've been sleeping on - we've been sleeping on, his arms were around me for most of the night - and seeing him in yesterday's clothes, a sincere, pleasant expression on his face, his fingers roaming from my lips back to my cheek, and from my cheek to my shoulder, as bare as the rest of me. The blanket is pulled down around my ribcage and there's nothing covering my breasts. I'm too exhausted to feel really self-conscious but I halfheartedly cover them with my forearm anyway.

"There you are," Nigel whispers. His voice seems quieter now that my eyes are open. "I'm sorry I woke you."

"It's okay," I assure him. "I made you promise."

"You look like a Grecian muse in the morning."

I narrow my eyes at him in scrutiny, but he seems to be completely serious, which makes me laugh. "You're fucking crazy."

"I know, love, but that is neither here nor there." Nigel leans forward suddenly, something I'm totally unprepared for. I flinch and squeeze my eyes shut as he presses his lips to my forehead. He chuckles softly. "I haven't got the black plague, you know."

"I'd be in serious trouble if you did, wouldn't I?" I grin, and then my mouth stretches involuntarily wider in a yawn that I forget to cover with my palm. "I'm so out of it," I explain apologetically, wrapping my arms awkwardly around Nigel's bony shoulders. "Lay down with me. Do you have a hangover?"

"Not really," he replies, and the bed shifts and rocks violently as he tries to maneuver his lanky body underneath the tangled mess of comforter and bedsheets. I squirm to my right to give him more room. "I've gotten well-practiced at drinking over the years. It takes a lot for me to get really pissed. I haven't got much time, love." He gathers me in both arms anyway, pulling me against his fully-clothed frame. His t-shirt is completely dry and sweet-smelling, but his jeans are still a little damp.

I burrow fully into his cradle, even slipping both of my legs between both of his much larger ones, totally flattening myself out. "We had sex last night," I whisper after a while.

"Indeed we did," he confirms it in a low, quiet tone, his chin resting on the top of my head. "Do you wish we hadn't?"

I take a few moments to think about this and come up with only memories, brief visual flashes that make my face grow warm. Nigel's hand on my panties. My dress on the floor. His hips on my hips, the jutted-out bones there bumping together. The awkward, messily choreographed movements of two skinny, capricious weirdoes making love. The way his neck smelled. My name on his lips when he came, when I came, when we came together.

"No," I firmly decide. "No, I'm glad we did, Nige." I experience a moment of total clarity; complete confident resolve. But that moment is all too brief, and what follows it is a jolt of panic. "Why?" I ask, my eyes widening in renewed lucidity but not daring to look up at him. "...Aren't you?"

"Oh, quite, love!" he cries, both of his hands grasping at either of my cheeks, gently urging my head up to find his eyes. "Absolutely! I only wanted to make sure... that we were on the same page, that's all."

His eyes look green when matched with the avocado pillowcase under our head as we lay side by side. He's every bit as beautiful as I thought he was last night, maybe even more so because he's not just good old Nigel anymore. Now he inhabits some obscure, subterranean part of me that has been occupied for so long by empty space that I feel incredibly full with emotion just looking at him. Now he's beautiful in a deeply personal way.

"I've got to go now, Jordan," he whispers, his eyes never leaving mine even after his body has begun to withdraw from the bed. I hold his gaze, watching him take his jacket from where he must have hung it over the back of the aluminum chair. Mine, I notice, is hung underneath his, and all of my clothes are folded in a neat pile on the seat, none of them looking wet at all. He must have put them under the heat lamp when he woke up, or maybe he didn't go to sleep as soon as I did.

Nigel slips his long arms into the jacket sleeves and smiles warmly at me, finally breaking our shared gaze as he maneuvers his way past the bed to the door. "See you later, Sally," he looks back to say.

"Hit the road, Jack," I reply without missing a beat. At first I'm content with watching him open the door and start out, but then a sudden jolt of urgency propels me up to a straight sit, the blanket falling down around my waist. "Wait!" I call out sharply.

The door swings open so hard it bangs against the opposite wall, and Nigel is on the threshold again, his attention completely focused on me. "What is it, love?"

"I forgot to say it last night," I explain quickly before I can even think about the option of chickening out. My voice is firm but jumpy with nerves. "I love you, too."

I don't know how he makes it from the doorway to the bed so fast; it seems like he takes two long strides and he is there, his knee resting on the mattress as he leans his whole body across it and plunges all ten of his fingers into my hair, pulling my lips to his. I struggle for breath as we kiss, grabbing tight fistfuls of his shirt collar, and just as I'm ready to collapse back against the bed and bring him with me, Nigel separates our mouths abruptly and withdraws. I collapse anyway, breathing heavily. Neither of us say another word to each other as he stumbles back to the door and opens it again, and in a moment he is gone.

Everything is changing, the whole world, and for once in my life I don't feel a shred of fear attached to the thought. As surely as I'm wrapped in this comforter and in the scent of Nigel's fresh, herbal cologne, I am also wrapped in complete serenity and I take the opportunity to bask in it, rolling over onto my stomach and diving into dreams again.