Chapter Nineteen: Red Eye, and the Rules are Reiterated

They fell asleep in first class, shortly after take-off. When they awoke, it was dark, and they were somewhere over the Midwest.

They had figured out that the arm rest between them could be lifted, and leaned against each other for comfort. The only other passenger in first class was an older businessman, more content on his scotch and his laptop than on what was going on three rows ahead of him.

So they ignored him. They were tired and happy and filled to the stuffing with the picnic dinner Lila had given them. They had made fools of themselves in the airport, laughing over the sandwiches – watercress and dainty little cucumber things – and the red checked blanket she'd thrown into the basket. In post-9-1-1, such a basket was a giant target for security, a reality Lila couldn't have known. But they'd taken out each item for the security guard, feeling giddier and more amused with each little delicacy they found.

Her mother was matchmaking, they both knew, and it just seemed hilarious to them to have it done before an airport audience. But the food had been delicious, and much more satisfying than airport fare, and both Tracy and Simon had secretly enjoyed the spectacle of eating a picnic lunch in the Northwest terminal while waiting for their plane.

Now they woke over North Dakota, or Iowa, or one of those middle states, full and sleepy and not quite ready to return to the world of reality. Tracy shivered in his arms, reaching up to check the "little blower thingy" as she called it. It was already off, but the cabin was still freezing.

"Hold on," Simon said as he stood, opening the overhead compartments in search of pillows and blankets. He came back with two of each and tucked a pillow under Tracy's head and spread a blanket over her. Then he squeezed back in to the window seat and did the same for himself.

"Still cold," Tracy yawned, her voice a little pouty and very, very cute to Simon's ears.

"Gimme a second," he whispered, not wanting to disturb the other first class passenger, who had apparently fallen asleep over his laptop computer while surfing porn. Simon reached up, adjusted the blankets until they were both covering Tracy, then pulled her into his arms to share the blankets. "Better?"

"Much," she murmured, burrowing into his embrace, more (he suspected) for his body warmth than for any erotic purpose. But he wasn't going to complain as her scent filled his nostrils and her breasts lay soft against his abdomen. Her hands were clutching the lapels of his jacket lightly, and she felt good against him as she dozed.

It wasn't much for the position to lead to a kiss, first tentative, then a little more exploratory. It wasn't much for the kiss to lead to tongues intertwined, bodies hot, hands exploring under the blankets. It wasn't much.

Actually, it was too much. Tracy pulled out of the kiss, her face flushed, a look of embarrassment in her eyes. "Whoa, Einstein," she breathed. "Let's pull back here."

"Sorry," he said, but he wasn't. He wasn't sorry at all. In fact, he was ready to get past this whole talking thing and back to the warmth sharing. But he controlled himself. He let himself be controlled. It was still Tracy's game. It would always be Tracy's game, as far as he was concerned, and that was fine with him.

They would play it anyway she wanted to play it.

As long as they continued to play.

"Do we need to reiterate the rules, Professor Fullerton?" she whispered, her words breathy and arousing in his ears.

"Knock yourself out, Boss Lady," he said, kissing her neck playfully. She protested, but not too hard. Encouraging….

"Rule Number One—"

"Business first. Always business first," he recited, licking her earlobe.

"And family. We should add family," she said, flustered.

"Okay. Rule One: Business and family first."

"And why do business and family come first, Professor?" Her hair was tickling his skin, and he nipped at it with his lips.

"Because business and family are why we're here."

"Exactly. We are not here for fun, or for games, or for moonlit strolls through the garden of life…."

"But fun and games and moonlit strolls are what make life worth living, Boss Lady." He had his fingers in her hair, toying with the strands. In the dim light of the cabin, she seemed luminous, mysterious, and he wanted her more than anything or anyone he'd ever encountered. It occurred to him that this might be like all the other times, that there would be this closeness, this togetherness, and then she'd pull away, run away from him for months or even years until she managed to get her bearings again. But he didn't care. He didn't want to live his life in fear of her reactions. He kissed her again, firmly but with respect. He let her know, in the force of that one kiss, that the hesitation was coming to an end. That he loved her and wanted her and wasn't going to be pushed away by her fears or her nutty family or her hesitation.

And she kissed him back, with equal force, with equal determination. When they parted this time, her eyes were locked squarely with his. She wasn't flinching, she wasn't running, and she wasn't avoiding his intensity. She smiled, her entire face brightening with the motion of her lips. "Sure of yourself, Professor?"

"Very. Sure of myself, and sure of us."

She lowered her eyes. "Look, Simon. I appreciate everything you've done for me in the last 48 hours. More than you'll ever know…" She met his gaze again, resolute, but kind. "So much has happened. I don't think it's fair of us to start something like this now, when there's so much chaos around. I'd hate to think that we would ruin our friendship—this family we've created—for a moment of confusion."

"I'm not confused. I wasn't confused last week when I loved you, and I wasn't confused twenty-four years when I fell in love with you across the table in that crowded Student Union. And you can run, you can go back and hide behind your work and your distance, but know this, sweetheart. I'm here. I'm solid. I love you, and I'm not going away"

She nodded, her hands on his shoulders, her hair glimmering in the dim cabin light. "I know. I…love you, too. I know that. And believe me, sex is not a bad thing, and I won't rule it out for us." She gulped, as if that admission had taken its toll on her. "But to do it now, like this, after everything that's happened…"

"Yeah," he admitted, still staring at her. "I know what you mean."

"I'm not going to disappear," she whispered, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I'm done running."

"You said it, kiddo," he cheered, his voice lost in her hair, his heart lost too. For good this time.

Epilogue:

It was three in the morning, and Tracy Walker couldn't sleep. She shook the water from her hair, the short ponytail flapping behind her as she removed her raincoat and hung it on the coat rack inside the front door of the condo. The bag she held was plastic and contained two small acrylic frames from the all-night drugstore down the street. She'd brought the disk with her there, to print out the photos on professional paper, and picked up the frames on a whim.

Pulling off her sweatshirt, she tossed it on the rack next to the jacket, and went to her office wearing only her tank and sweat pants. The shoes had been abandoned on entry, and she padded barefoot through the condo, staring at the pictures she'd printed.

Jason, the photographer from AP, had done a wonderful job on the one of her with Ned and Brooke. She stared at them, three generations of her blood, smiling back from their table at the party. Each so different, but connected, continuous. She slipped the photo into one of the frames, and set it on her desk. The next picture was of her with Annabeth and Simon, her other family, not blood but just as connected. Three lost souls, brought together by money and pain and shared history. The mother who wasn't her mother, and the lover who wasn't yet her lover.

It seemed poetic, that the first pictures she'd have of herself in years would be these two. She put the one of her with Annabeth and Simon in the other frame, and set it next to the first one.

They looked great on her desk.

She picked up her phone and called Annabeth. When she heard the line click on the other end, she said, "Annabeth, I'm sorry."

The voice on the other end was accented and very groggy. "Tracy? What time is it?"

"Three in the morning."

"What's wrong? Do you want a drink?"

Tracy smiled into the phone. "Not really," she admitted.

"Nightmares?"

"Not a one."

There was a long pause on the other end. "Then what possible cause could you have to call me at this ungodly hour, young woman? And why do you sound like you're smiling?"

"Because I am smiling, you old witch," she teased. "And I couldn't wait—I just needed to know how you were enjoying your first night as a zillionaire?"

Annabeth laughed on the other end of the line. "Well, if you must know, my phenomenal wealth makes me terribly attractive to the opposite sex. I've been fighting them off with a stick ever since the market closed."

Tracy laughed as well, holding the phone away from her mouth as she did. "Listen, take it from the voice of experience. Boy toys are nice, but don't give them a key to the apartment. You'll never get them out of your house if you do."

"Is it okay to pay for dinner?" Annabeth asked in a tone of mock curiosity.

"Sure, and expensive gifts are good, too. It's not like they're there for your mind, sweetheart." She plopped down on the couch, not caring for the moment what her damp sweats would do to the upholstery. "So am I to take it that you got lucky tonight?"

"The only male I let in my bed is my dog Chester, and he's fixed, thank you very much," Annabeth said tartly, although there was no mistaking the affection in her voice. "Now, stop wasting my time and let an old woman get to bed."

"I love you, you miserable old woman," Tracy said.

"I love you, too, you little workaholic. Get some sleep."

"Yes, Mom," she said as she hung up the phone. It was six, Eastern time. If she could stay awake another half hour, maybe forty-five minutes, it might not be too early to call her mother. But she had promised to bring Ned and Brooke to the airport at nine, and she had to get at least a little sleep.

Tracy stared at her apartment. The walls opposite her reflected the glow of the city through the windows. It was a beautiful cacophony of light and color, playing on the surfaces of her home. She loved it here, and wondered how she'd ever failed to notice it before. She picked up the phone, and pressed a different speed dial.

"Hello?"

"Hey, handsome. How are you enjoying the lifestyles of the phenomenally wealthy?"

Simon chuckled at the other end of the line. "Insomnia?"

"Yup."

"Nightmares?"

"Nope."

"Well, you know, it's kind of rude to talk to you while I have a bed full of Mariners cheerleaders sleeping over."

She laughed—at him, not with him—and continued. "So, are you meeting us for breakfast at the Market tomorrow?"

"Wouldn't miss it," he murmured.

"Coming to the meeting with Chancellor and Ramirez on Thursday?"

"I promised I would, didn't I?"

Tracy nodded, pulling her bare feet up under her. "And are we on for our date Saturday night?"

"Date?" She could almost hear Simon's eyebrows rising. "Did we have a date on Saturday night?"

Tracy drew in a nervous breath. "If you want to. If you're still interested, now that you're rich as Croesus and of interest to nubile young cheerleaders, that is."

There was a long moment before he answered, and the silky tone of his voice made her skin prickle in a most delightful sort of way. "I'm definitely still interested. I've just sent the nubile young cheerleaders packing, if it matters to you."

"Thank you, Professor." She was biting her lower lip, edgy and excited and frightened all at once. "You know, if it's too soon—"

"It's not too soon, Tracy," he whispered into the line.

"Because I know that any life transition, even something as wonderful as gaining a tremendous amount of wealth overnight, can cause stress—"

"Stop playing the AA tape and talk to me. Do you want to go out with me on Saturday night?"

"Yes."

"And by date," he said with a mischievous tone in his voice. "We mean a hurried dinner, then frantically back to your place to act out our long-suppressed but overpowering passions in a healthy but terribly creative way?"

"Uh, by date, I meant maybe dinner and a show." She laughed at him, at his audacity, at his constancy (which she loved but found utterly unfathomable). She laughed at how much she wanted him, although she was certain she could describe every line on his face, every strand of his hair. "And if you're a gentleman, maybe a chaste kiss goodnight."

"I'm in," he said without hesitation. "Now, Boss Lady, you need to get some sleep. Your family is going to be waiting for you to take them to the airport."

"My family lives in Seattle, baby," she said as she hung up the phone. "My family never left."

The End