Summary: Terry can't sleep. Neither can Don. And since when does Don have a cat?
Disclaimer: See me: poor, working, in bigtime current and future debt. Obviously I don't own them, cause if I did, I wouldn't be poor, working, or in debt. Or still living with my parents, for that matter.
Quackers
Terry pulled out the key Don had given her for emergencies only. Well, depending on how she worded it, it could be construed as an emergency, right? Granted, she wasn't sure what that damned man was going to make of her explanation that she couldn't sleep because he wasn't with her.
Not that she planned to tell him that. Maybe that she'd had a nightmare – which was also partially true – but that opened her up to the ribbing of her life. Tough decision. But, as sleep-deprived as she was feeling at the moment, she was willing to risk it.
Done convincing herself, Terry turned the key in the lock and slid the door open. She was so glad that he'd moved into her building a few weeks ago; their new living arrangements meant that she didn't have to traipse through LA in the middle of the night in her PJs. She opened it just far enough for her to slip in and shut it quietly behind her. She slipped her shoes off and was heading in the direction of Don's bedroom when an orange and white blur streaked past. Terry was so startled that she only just contained her squawk of surprise. The little blur resolved itself into an absolutely adorable kitten with that largest blue eyes Terry had ever seen on a cat in her life.
The kitty cocked its head to the side and considered her for a second and then its mouth opened and…
Terry gaped. Did that cat just quack at her?
She was perfectly willing to write it off as an over-active imagination and extreme sleep-deprivation when it quacked at her again! Was it not aware that cats weren't supposed to quack? Terry leaned down and picked the obviously confused animal up, confirming its gender at the same time (female). The tag on her collar told Terry her name was "Princess", and the silly creature mewed happily at her and commenced purring like a little motor.
Well, at least the little thing knew how to make noises other than quacks.
Who ever heard of a quacking cat anyway?
As if to confirm Terry's mental commentary Princess quacked again.
Terry quickly let Princess go, having decided that a cat that made strange noises was far too much to take at three in the morning, especially with as little sleep as she'd been getting lately.
It took the work of moments to strip down to the thin cotton nightshirt she slept in and to slide in next to Don. To be honest, she was a bit worried that he'd wake up and ask her why she was there, but the dratted man merely rolled over onto his side, wrapped an arm around her and pulled her in close to his chest.
Terry sighed as her muscles finally relaxed and she fell asleep.Don was having the most fabulous dream. In it, Terry planted hot, open-mouthed kisses down his neck and across his collarbone while she lightly massaged his chest muscles. One of his hands wrapped around her back and pulled in so she was pressed against him from their chests to their knees, and he used his other hand to pull her head up so he could kiss her the way he'd wanted ever since he'd moved back to LA. While their lips were busy (hoo boy, were they ever), he palmed one of her incredible breasts through her shirt.
Wait a second; Terry was never clothed in his dreams. While his head marvelled at his own imagination, his hands were very busy removing the impediment to skin-to-skin contact. Now that there was nothing between them, Don rolled them so that Terry was beneath him and he shivered when she wriggled seductively against him. Terry broke their kiss off so she could catch her breath, but he followed her and captured her lips again in the hottest kiss he could remember getting.
It wasn't until he felt the tiny footsteps on his back and heard an indignant quack that Don realized that his fantasy was no fantasy and he really had Terry next to naked under him. His eyes snapped open and stared into Terry's; her pupils were so dilated that her eyes were almost black and she was gasping for breath. Don gaped at Terry for a second before she pushed at his shoulder and he shifted off of her – getting an outraged quack and a back full of claws in the process. The kitten padded forward and settled by his ear, purring madly. Don sighed and petted the kitten while he waited for Terry to find her nightshirt.
He knew she had succeeded when the mattress dipped a little as she sat down beside him. "Morning, Terry."
"Morning, Don." To his amazement, she sounded a little sheepish. He lifted the kitten free and rolled over so he faced her. Only to watch as little, quacking Princess Teresa (and he would never ever tell Terry that he'd named his cat after her) went straight for his partner and snuggled right into her arms. "And, good morning to you too, Princess," she added with a smile.
Princess quacked at her.
Terry raised amused eyes to his. "And what's up with the confused feline?"
Don shrugged. "I, uh, accidentally ran over her mother. So I brought her home with me. I've been thinking of getting a pet and at least cats are fairly self-sufficient."
Terry nearly melted. That was just so… cute.
Ah, shit. Not cute, not cute, not cute; he was NOT CUTE!
Now all she had to do was convince herself and things would be dandy.
Crap.
"I don't know where she learned how to quack, though."
"But, I bet the moment she did your big soft heart just melted."
Don scowled at her. "Who said I had a heart?"
Terry laughed at him.
"And what are you doing here, anyway?"
She blushed a bright pink. "I, uh, couldn't sleep," she confessed in a murmur.
His right eyebrow arched and a smug smile appeared on his face. "Really?" There it was again; that intrigued, superior tone that had been driving her crazy for days.
Terry took the hand that had been scratching Princess' ears and smacked him with it. "Shut up. There was absolutely nothing sexual in it until you decided to get grabby."
"I'm a man who discovered a beautiful, barely-clothed woman in his bed. You do the math."
"I prefer to leave math in Charlie's hands, thank you." She decided to leave the fact that he'd called her "beautiful" alone. The phone rang, interrupting their moment and Don broke their eye contact to answer it.
"Hey, Charlie."
Terry decided that it was high time that she left and got ready for the day and returned to her own apartment.
Don had let himself into her apartment, showered and dressed for work, and was waiting with a pot of coffee by the time she stepped out of the shower and Terry took the mug he handed her gratefully. "What time is it?" she asked as she sipped the perfectly doctored brew.
"A little before eight." As it was Saturday, they weren't due in the office until nine-thirty. "Charlie wants us to stop and pick him up on the way to the office and he and Dad thought we might want breakfast if we get there a little early."
"Did they invite us, or you?"
"Well, me, because they don't know you're with me, but I'm officially extending the invitation to you. Besides, do you honestly think you can pass up one of Dad's Saturday morning breakfasts?"
Terry considered that for all of a second. The way her mouth watered decided it. Alan Eppes' meals were not something to be missed if one possessed any sanity at all. "Count me in."
Don grinned at her as if it was a foregone conclusion. "Of course you are."
Terry took their mugs and rinsed them out while Don grabbed her purse and case files and they walked out together.
Don opened the door to his childhood home without knocking and ushered Terry in. Some demon of mischief gave them the idea to take their shoes off and see how close they could get to the kitchen without being heard. They entered the kitchen and Alan and Charlie merely glanced up, obviously far too used to such pranks to fall for it.
"Just in time," Alan said as he delivered the last plate to the table. Terry sat down and quickly counted place settings.
Why was the table set for four?
"Did you tell them I was coming?" Terry hissed to her errant partner.
"Nope," Don denied.
"Then how-…?"
"Don't ask."
"Everything looks fabulous, Mr. Eppes," she complimented sincerely and was pleasantly surprised to see him flush.Terry didn't see it until the workday was over. The office was completely empty save for her, David, and Don, though Don had sent David on some errand, so it was just the two of them and Don had rolled up his sleeves and taken his tie ("the noose!") off and undone the first couple of buttons.
Terry stared, admired, and drooled (discreetly, of course) over the picture he made and that was when the little discoloration at the point where his neck met his collarbone caught her eye. A closer look revealed that it was what she thought.
A hickey.
Her first instinct was to rush over and inspect it much more closely, but she admirably restrained herself and resorted to staring, absolutely fascinated.
Don noticed her intent gaze and looked down at his shirt, expecting to see a huge coffee stain, or something, but found nothing. "What?"
Terry fished a compact mirror out of her desk drawer and tossed it to him. "You have a hickey!" she hissed.
Don caught it and held it up so he could inspect the spot she indicated and shrugged, a smug smile appearing on his face. "So I do. You couldn't keep yourself from branding me, could you?" he added with a raised eyebrow.
Terry completely missed his teasing tone and chucked her stapler at him. "Jerk! Cover it up, or something."
Don adeptly caught the stapler and placed it on his desk next to her mirror. "How about "or something"?" A hand drifted up to the buttons on his shirt and slowly released one… two… He reached for a third but changed his mind and spread the collar wider so that what could have been construed as a figment of the imagination was up front and centre in full, raging Technicolor.
She made a sound that was almost a growl. Grabbing her purse, Terry rose and stalked towards him, her ire growing as he merely tipped back in his chair to look up at her. "Either you cover it up, or I will," she threatened.
Don almost asked how she intended to do that but he took in her thunderous expression and decided he'd taken his life in his hands enough for one day. However, he was curious so he made absolutely no move to re-button his shirt.
Terry scowled at him and dug in her purse for a second. When she came up with a small silver squeeze-tube and waved it in his face, Don eyed it enquiringly. He was about to ask what she planned to do with it, but decided that maybe her showing him would be more interesting. She unscrewed the lid and set it aside and then, with Don watching avidly, squeezed a flesh-coloured substance onto her fingers and moved her hand to his neck.
Despite his better judgement, Don reared back and eyed her fingers suspiciously. "What is that?"
Thankfully, Terry pulled her hand back. Unfortunately for him, she also smirked dangerously. "You refused to do it the easy way. Now it's my turn." She put the tube down and moved his shirt collar aside. Don forced himself to stay still as she daubed the concealer onto his skin. He'd only brought it on himself by being difficult, after all. She finished and surveyed her handiwork. He got a bit worried when she made a dissatisfied noise, but she merely set the scary tube aside and did up a few of his buttons. She nodded and stepped away to re-cap the tube and hid it back in her purse where it belonged and Don grabbed up the compact mirror to inspect her work for himself.
He had to admit it; he was impressed. Between the make-up and his shirt he could barely tell that he'd had the hickey in the first place.
Damn it.
"I don't know why you're not more upset about this," Terry said as she took her mirror back.
The look Don gave her clearly said, "What, are you kidding?". "Come on, Terry, a beautiful woman marks me as hers – a favour I fully plan to return, by the way – and I'm supposed to be upset about it?"
He grinned when her cheeks pinkened. A diabolical notion occurred to him and he stood, flashing her his best smile. He moved towards her and cornered her against a wall. "What's wrong, Lake? Can't take the heat?" The question served as a challenge and her acceptance flashed in her eyes.
Uh-oh. He was doomed.
Instead of trying to escape like she had been, Terry's attitude did an abrupt about-face. A wicked smile appeared on her lips and she leaned into him. "Oh, I can take it, Eppes. The question is: can you?"
Don leaned down and Terry stretched up and their lips were mere inches from each other and Don braced himself for the make-out session of his life to rival their hottest in the Academy.
And then David walked in with the files they'd asked him to retrieve.
Damn it!
Don reared back and away and hid his heaving chest behind his desk and a thick file. Terry followed suit and clutched another file to her chest. While David delivered some of the files at his own desk Terry made herself scarce. "Any breakthroughs?" David asked, oblivious to the tension.
Don had to clear his throat before answering. "Uh, not exactly. Look," he continued, checking his watch, "it's already nine; why don't we just call it a night?"
David gave him a slightly confused look, but wasn't about to pass up the opportunity to skip out before Don changed his mind. "Sure. Night." David quickly gathered everything he needed and nearly ran out the door.
Don grinned triumphantly and faced the office at large. "He's gone."
Terry appeared from behind the conference room door and smiled sheepishly. "Good. Ready to go?"
Don grabbed the files he fully intended to study back home and waited patiently while Terry collected her things. They shared a fond, slightly awkward smile as they walked onto the elevator but remained largely silent throughout the entire ride back to their apartment building.Three in the morning found Don sneaking into Terry's bed. He'd tried to sleep, honest to God he had, but that blissful state had been more elusive than their serial bomber and it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out why.
So here he was, risking life and limb for just a few hours sleep. He slid beneath the covers on the side of the bed Terry wasn't occupying and sighed as her scent enveloped him.
All the designer perfume in the world had absolutely nothing on Terry Lake.
Don smiled as she rolled over and snuggled right into him. He gladly accommodated her knee between his, her arm around his back and her face in his throat and wrapped his arms around her and simply wallowed, marvelling at how perfectly she fit him.
Finally, peace at last.
He was just drifting off to sleep when a small fur ball leaped onto the bed beside him with a quack of greeting.
He swore to God that the bloody cat was magic…
FIN
AN: I have actually met a quacking cat. Unfortunately, Duckie never actually quacked for me, but I have it on good authority that the little Spawn of Satan can, indeed, quack. Either way, I thought it was so funny that I couldn't help putting it in. ) Never mind tele-porting cats...