A/N: As always, thanks to my beta, Le Chat Noir. Especially for the ballet scene in this one
A bit of a lighter episode this time
Episode 38: Teacher's Pet
By: Elektra
Dean Giry's office
"Antoinette?"
So caught up in her current paperwork, Giry found herself jumping at the sound of the familiar voice above her head. She quickly glanced up at the air-ducts. "Erik?"
"Who else?" came the answer as Erik's shadowy form dropped down from the grate, his duster billowing out like a cape before settling back into place once again. "You left a message on my voice mail about a new assignment?"
"Yes. One that might be of great interest to you," Giry replied. She met his eyes. "How would you like to join my dance class on a March break field trip?"
She could see Erik's brow furrow beneath the white cotton of his mask. "Pardon?"
Of all the assignments Giry could have presented him with, this was certainly not what he had expected.
"We are going to the International College Dance Festival and I was wondering if you would be interested in being our accompanist and sharing your knowledge of music."
"You have never asked me to assist you like this before," Erik replied.
"Well, you have done an admirable job with Christine's music lessons - her professors are quite pleased with her development - and I understand a few of my students already met you at the Halloween Masquerade," she explained. "I feel your skills might be useful to us on this trip."
Giry studied him for a moment, seeing his eyes narrow as he thought about her offer.
"Of course, you will be paid for your work," she explained, hoping the promise of money might persuade him. "Good accompanists are hard to find and I am quite aware of your musical skills." She grabbed a folder and handed him a stapled collection of papers.
"This is an example of the itinerary, if you accept. You will be teaching classes on composition and phrasing in the mornings, and will join us for classes and rehearsals in the afternoons," she informed him.
Erik took the papers and flipped through them, his jaw set in concentration.
"Keep in mind, however," Giry continued, "that your morning classes, while mostly made up of my students, may attract some outsiders from various other schools. You would need to be comfortable with that."
"I understand. When do you need an answer?" Erik asked.
"As soon as possible. If you do not want to do it, then I need to find someone else."
Erik took a deep breath and thought about it. Hopefully he would be given a reprieve from stares and whispers if he were presented as an authority figure.
He turned to Giry again. "It will be only for a week?" he asked. Giry nodded. "And I will be well paid for my time?" She nodded again. "And I will be able to spend time with Christine?"
Giry knew this question was coming. "Christine will be busy for most of the mornings, afternoons, and evenings, you understand. This will be a hectic trip," she pointed out, "But since you will be considered freelance and NOT an official representative of Ravelle, who you fraternize with in your spare time will be your business, no one else's."
He nodded. "Very well, Antoinette. I will take you up on your offer." He made to leave, but Giry had one more thing to say.
"Erik, I am going to need you to wear dress pants and a button down."
Erik simply stared at her, incredulous at such a request.
"Is there a problem?" Giry asked.
"Yes. I do not believe I own something like that."
"Perhaps Christine should take you shopping then." She replied.
Erik frowned. "She rather likes my clothing as it is."
"You need to look somewhat formal, Erik."
"Antoinette…" he began in a warning tone.
"Dress appropriately – or I will find someone else."
Erik was silent for a moment.
Finding someone else would mean he would be left alone during the week long break – and he had become far too used to Christine's company for that. "Perhaps I should go shopping after all."
"Thank you, Erik."
With one last glare and a muffled curse, Erik disappeared into the air-ducts once again.
Ravelle Chartered Coach – Three weeks later
Jammes and Sorelli were displeased as they glanced over at Christine and Erik, currently sitting a few seats away playing Texas Hold'em with Meg for the contents of her box of Smarties.
"Why does Chrissy get to bring HER guy and I had to keep MINE back at school?" Jammes pouted.
"Because I have asked him to help out." Giry answered when she heard the complaint. "Erik is well-versed in musical composition, and he will be teaching our class about such matters every morning for the next week."
"But… why?" Jammes asked.
Giry seemed put out at the question. "You DO realize there is more to ballet then simply dancing, Jammes? I want my students to understand the way a score is composed. It makes for better dance."
Jammes paled at this bit of information. "You mean, we actually have to learn MUSIC?"
It took all Giry's inner-strength not to throttle the girl.
Sorelli finally spoke up. "So wait… are you saying Erik is going to be our superior?"
"She is," Erik answered, having over-heard Sorelli's incredulity. "And you would do well to act more respectfully towards me." He smirked coldly, "Or I can make this a very unpleasant trip indeed."
Sorelli frowned at him, then turned back to Giry. "Shouldn't this be illegal or something?" she asked. "I mean, to get a student's boyfriend to teach us?"
"Not when he has skills beneficial to the class, no," Giry replied, "And considering he is not a Ravelle employee, there should be no concern over his personal relationships either." She then raised an eyebrow. "However, you will henceforth refer to him as SIR, not Erik, while he is teaching."
"And Sorelli…" Giry quickly added before the girl could say more, "I WILL be expecting you to learn from him and to use that knowledge in MY class. Otherwise you may be stuck with me far longer than you would like."
Sorelli swallowed nervously at that and turned away. "Yes, Madame," she replied ashamedly, her protests now thoroughly silenced.
Erik chuckled quietly at Sorelli's public admonishing. My, but this is going to be a fun week!
Garrison Convention Centre – Seminar room #6 (the next day)
Erik stood at the front of the room, studying the faces of the students before him. He was in a foul mood, the security guards giving him the third degree upon his entrance to the building.
For some reason, they had trouble believing a tall, intimidating masked man had any right to be there… and kindly pointed out that the Horror convention was three blocks down.
It had taken Giry quite some time to convince the guards that Erik was indeed in the right place, and there at her behest.
And now, every young man and woman in this room was staring at him.
You are their teacher, Erik had to remind himself. Where else would you expect them to look?
With a deep breath, Erik turned to the dry erase board and brushed a self-conscious hand over his mask and through his tied-back hair, checking that all was in place before picking up a red marker and writing the words Igor Stravinsky in large scrawling letters across the top.
Pretend you are merely teaching Christine. Pretend she is the only one here, he thought to himself. She would come to you for help on this regardless. The others do not exist.
Erik focused all his attention on the petite brunette with the beautiful blue eyes as he opened his backpack and placed a pile of paper neatly on the chair beside him, indicating that she take the pile and hand each student an information packet before he began.
"Igor Stravinsky," he said once everyone had their papers, "was a Russian composer who developed an international reputation for composing numerous ballet suites, some of which you may have heard or even danced to. He was considered by many to be the greatest composer of the 20th century."
Erik was silent for a moment, noticing that he had somehow captured the attention of all the female occupants in the room. They seemed, in fact, to be hanging on his every word.
He glanced towards Christine, brow furrowing beneath the pale cotton mask as if to ask her why he suddenly had such a rapt audience.
She simply smiled and mouthed two words:
Your voice.
This earned an agreeable nod from Little Giry, who had witnessed the silent interaction while she sat beside her friend.
Of course. How could he forget? Christine had commented on the effect of his timbre on more than one occasion.
Whatever works… he thought, then proceeded to use his voice to the fullest extent as he continued.
"If you will forgive me getting technical for a moment, Stravinsky was best known for using a short pulse unit which fell into irregularly occurring groups of 2's, 3's or 4's, creating a constantly changing metric accentuation and necessitating new time signatures to almost every bar."
Although still enraptured by his voice, he heard some very audible sounds of confusion from the students.
"Sir?" A voice spoke up. Erik turned to see a boy he was unfamiliar with raising his hand. No doubt a student from another school. "Um… why do we need to know this? It seems like a waste of time."
Erik focused his attention on the blonde teenager who dared question his lesson plans.
"Boy," he hissed. "I have been asked to teach all of you how to distinguish the underlying tempo in a piece of music when you interpret your dances. If you have issue with that, you may take it up with your professors!"
He then stepped forward threateningly, amber eyes focused on the intimidated student. "Though I trust you do NOT have issue with that!"
The young man shook his head, eyes wide. "No sir. Not at all!" He sputtered quickly, then bowed his head low. "Sorry. Go on."
"Well thank you for your kind permission!" Erik spat icily, then turned to the rest of the class. "Any other questions regarding the relevancy of my teachings?"
There was an audible muttering in the negative, and Erik offered a self-satisfied smirk. "Very well then. We will continue."
Hallway – Two hours later
"Did you see that teacher from Ravelle?"
Christine's ears perked up at the sound of two unknown girls gossiping behind her.
"What the hell was he wearing on his face?"
She glanced at Meg, who waved her hand as if Christine should ignore the talk.
"He's probably one of those eccentric freaks - artsy and all that. Maybe he thinks he's some kind of special!"
Christine frowned, hands clenching into fists.
"Chrissy, let's just walk on…" Meg offered.
"Walk on when people are talking about my boyfriend behind my back?" she snapped, then turned to the gossipy girls behind her.
"Are you two that shallow that you'd insult a man with his talent and intelligence because he's a little eccentric? How about you shut the hell up before I'll tell your professors you're being disrespectful!"
The girls paled at that and silenced their conversation before immediately walking past Christine and Meg.
Garrison Convention Centre – Two days later
When Christine and Meg finished changing in the washroom , they pulled thick knitted socks over their soft ballet shoes to make the trek to the ballroom. As they neared the large door and the sign that said, "Intermediate Ballet," Christine could already hear the rolling melodies off the lone piano. Meg smiled at her.
"You know, I wouldn't think he'd have to warm up."
Christine shrugged as she pulled the door open. The piano was in the corner of the room, turned at an angle so that Erik could have a view of the dancers as he played. She noted several girls already stretched out on the hard ballroom floor, chatting and pulling their legs into ridiculous positions. Turning to see if Erik was catching any of this posturing, Christine gaped at the sight before her.
About seven dancers were hanging around the piano: some simply listening, one or two moving gently to the music, improvising little waltzes or port de bras gestures.
A boy of no more than 19 peered over Erik's shoulder, intently watching his hands fly across the keys. Christine recognized one of the groupies as Holly, another Ravelle student, who smiled a little too warmly at Erik for Christine's tastes.
Holly clasped her hands behind her back, arching and stretching her shoulders, and Erik looked up to view her movement. As he neared the end of the piece , Christine watched hotly as one of the dancing girls did a double pirouette, only to land gently on her knee beside Erik's bench, her arms outstretched to him dramatically.
Soft clapping followed. Christine and Meg set their bags down in one corner and added their applause. Erik caught Christine's eye, and began to stand from the piano. Christine shook her head and smiled; while in class, he was the accompanist, she the dancer, and never the twain shall meet. He watched her and Meg grab chairs to serve as ballet barres, and settle themselves right in front of him.
I ought to refrain from talking to him, but that doesn't me I can't give him a good view while we work, she reasoned.
The room filled quickly as class was less then five minutes from starting. James and Sorellli pranced in and took front row spaces next to Christine and Meg. "I hope your boyfriend is a decent pianist," said Sorelli. "I mean, does he even know about ballet? How to play for a class?"
Meg grabbed her foot and pulled her leg straight over her head. "Oh Sorelli, don't worry! I'm sure you'll be able to work on your balances just fine." Christine stifled a smirk: Sorelli was forever in competition with Meg over such things as numbers of fouetté turns or duration of balances in a difficult positions. She snuck a glance over to Erik, who regarded the conversation intently.
"I'm not worried at me, Meg. I'm worried about the noobs from other schools. I mean, surely it would look bad if no one could follow Ravelle's accompanist."
Meg let her leg down and stalked over to Sorelli. "Given what I've heard him play already, I'm looking forward to class. It'll be refreshing to have someone other than Dan the "I only know one Brahms tune" Man or lifeless CDs."
As Christine touched a hand to her hair, checking to make sure her bun was secure, she heard Madame Giry enter with a sharp command: "Ladies and gentleman, first position, left hand on the barre." Meg scampered back to her chair and winked at Christine.
Antoinette stepped over to Erik, saying softly, "This is the plié exercise. I need a 4 count introduction, then 10 8s and a 8 count break for them to change sides."
Erik frowned. "Tell me that's not how you teach them to count music."
"Well, that's why they need you here at this convention. To right the wrongs of a centuries-old oral tradition," said Antoinette with a smile.
Erik watched Christine and Meg move in and out of positions gracefully. He observed that Christine furrowed her brow in concentration during the quick battement tendu combinations, and that Meg could indeed extend her leg nearly to her head without the use of her hands.
At the end of the développé exercise, Antoinette waved her hand at him to stop playing while the dancers attempted to balance in attitude as long as possible; one by one they dropped away until only Meg and a young man from another school stayed perilously perched on the balls of their feet.
Antoinette tapped her cane twice on the ground, at which Meg gently extended her leg into arabesque and closed her body into a tight fifth position. She looked over at her mother and Erik just beyond her: Antoinette nodded and the silent accompanist regarded her with a look of appreciation.
The dancers struck the chairs to the side of the room as Antoinette demonstrated the first center exercise. She indicated for the dancers to divide up into four groups, so Meg and Christine stayed together in Group One.
As Erik played a sumptuous adagio for them, Christine felt herself relaxing into the movement as she'd never done before. Her leg went slightly higher in développé, she felt her center more keenly, and she even indulged in the delicate port de bras, letting her head tilt softly upstage as she bared her neck the way Madame Giry always commanded them to.
As they left the floor, Meg whispered to Christine, "Best adagio I've ever done."
"Mhm," agreed Christine, as they watched the next group dance.
When it came time for the petit allégro, Christine flushed a little. This wasn't her best part of class, and she didn't want to mess up royally in front of Erik. She and Meg marked the exercise next to Sorelli and Jammes, both of whom simply gestured with their hands to learn the combination.
"Let's have Group Two on the floor, please," said Antoinette with a quick rap of the cane. Christine thought she saw Erik smirk as Jammes and Sorellli took their place in the front.
When his hands launched into the introduction, Christine watched in horror and amusement as Erik purposely obscured the downbeat, leaving Jammes and Sorelli fumbling over their feet. Sorelli stopped dancing and stood with her hands on her hips.
Madame Giry brought her cane down mercilessly. "NO!" she roared, and narrowed her eyes at the girl. "How dare you stop in the middle of the exercise?"
Sorelli dropped her hands from her hips immediately and clasped them behind her back. "I'm sorry Madame. The music was simply indecipherable."
Erik stared at her. "Certainly not. The 'counts,' as you call them, were obvious. You, however, must not have been paying attention in my class. Otherwise, they would have been apparent and you wouldn't have lumbered through Madame's choreography."
Sorelli's eyes widened and her cheeks burned. Antoinette rapped her cane again. "Never stop a combination in the middle, regardless! A disgrace to yourself and your craft! Group One, on the floor, NOW!"
Meg squeezed Christine's hand. "Get in the second row, right behind me. I think I can follow the beat, and you can watch me if you want." Christine nodded and they ran out to the center. Antoinette gestured to Erik, and he began to play.
The notes were still somewhat obscure, but Christine could hear the downbeat being ever so deliberately accented this time. She lifted her chin and deepened her plié to jump higher, sensing that Erik was slightly slowing the tempo when he knew the dancers would be airborne.
As they landed finally in fifth positions all around, she held her stance as Erik looked at her and winked. Her shoulders shook with tight laugher as Antoinette called forth the next group.
Erik kept up this game as the class progressed to combinations across the floor. The other dancers shied away from Sorelli and Jammes, who never seemed to be able to count correctly or perform the exercises with any modicum of grace.
Christine, however, enjoyed a little extra time to land her pirouettes—Erik must have noticed that I can't turn very fast, she mused—and richer music for her balancé, which only encouraged her to bend her upper body more than ever to Madame's approval.
Meg started going with different groups than Christine: for her, the tempo was crisp during turns and legato when as she leapt into her tour jetés, inspiring her to nearly float in the air before landing in correctly placed positions.
As they prepared for the final combinations before révérance, Sorelli butted her way next to Meg. "Seems like you are always able to count the music. Mind if I join you?"
"Suit yourself," Meg said, aloof as she stretched her feet and rolled her ankles.
From the moment the music started, Meg was in heaven: Erik held out the note for Meg's first pique arabesque so that Sorelli had to come down before her, then sped up slightly for the pas de bourée and transitional steps. Meg easily kept up with him, breaking into a smile as he again gave her musical room to indulge her suspended positions.
She leapt higher than she ever had, turned into the spiral of a sutenu with ease, then floated a grand jeté effortlessly only to step up into a final attitude balance, her arms extended and her chin lifted.
When at last she came down, the whole room gave a discrete round of applause, including Erik. Antoinette nodded sharply at Meg, then turned to Erik with warm eyes.
As they performed the final combination— the ritualistic bowing sequence— Erik was taken aback when the little clapping dancers turned from Madame Giry to bow for him and clap again. He shifted uncomfortably on the bench and hesitantly acknowledged their thanks. Christine and Meg clapped a little louder before breaking with the rest of the group to gather bags and towel off.
Garrison Hotel, Room #665 (that night)
"Erik! Stop eating the poker chips." Christine muttered as Erik raised another piece of crunchy caramel popcorn to his mouth. He looked down at his pile of so-called tokens and realized most of them had made their way to his stomach.
"Well, since I was winning, I thought I would grant you ladies a reprieve," he answered.
Meg and Christine simply stared at him.
"Surely you don't expect me to regurgitate them?" he asked.
Meg wrinkled her nose. "No. But thanks for that mental image."
Erik glanced over at the clock on the night-table. "Either way, it is time for you ladies to retire to your room. You have an early class in the morning."
"Oh yes. Because I love starting my day with a grumpy music teacher," Meg frowned.
"I was not that grumpy, was I?" he asked as he glanced at Christine.
"Beloved," Christine started. "you almost made a student piss his pants when you yelled at him the first day."
"Hmmm… I seem to have that effect on college boys," he mused. This earned an appreciative snicker from Meg, as she knew he had had a previous effect on her ex.
"Truth be told," Erik continued, "I am taking this job quite seriously. I do not fail when a task is presented to me."
Meg glanced at Christine, eyebrow raised. "Maybe he'll end up living up to your dreams after all."
"MEG!" Christine hissed, her face flushed.
"Angel?" Erik glanced at the brunette, brows furrowed beneath his white mask.
"Umm… uh…" Christine bit her lower lip. "No lusty dreams. None at all!"
"Lusty?" Erik repeated.
"Oh please," Meg rolled her eyes. "Don't tell me you've never noticed Chrissy's affection for you goes beyond this whole sappy emotional thing you two got going."
She ran her eyes over him for a moment. "And seriously, Erik… considering the way you're dressed right now, can you really blame her?"
"GOD, Meggy!" Christine sputtered, her face turning an even brighter shade of red as Erik self-consciously crossed his arms.
"It's… comfortable…" he muttered quickly. Meg was quite sure he was blushing beneath the mask.
"You should come to class like that," Meg indicated the black t-shirt, form-fitting trousers, and knee-high leather boots he had put on once he had changed out of the teacher-wear. "The girls – and some of the guys even – would certainly pay more attention to you." She shrugged. "Not necessarily what you were saying, mind you."
"Thank you, Little Giry!" Erik interrupted. "Were you not just leaving?"
"Was I? " she asked, then stood up suddenly, a smirk on her face. " And here I wanted to thank you for making me look good in class. Chrissy won't mind if I take you with me and show you my gratitude, will she?"
Ducking a flying pillow thrown by Christine, a laughing Meg rushed out of the room, leaving the remaining two quite alone.
After a few moments of awkward silence, Erik finally spoke. "Popcorn?" he indicated the remains of their game on the table.
Christine nodded and took a handful of the treat, nibbling on it quickly.
"Care to tell me about these dreams?" he asked.
He received her answer in the form of a hard kernel beaning him on the head. He quickly caught the offending treat as it fell and popped it into his mouth.
"I will take that as a no then," he muttered as he stood up to stretch.
Before Erik could sit down again, Christine suddenly jumped into his arms. His reflexes catching her quickly, "Chris-"
He could not finish, her mouth suddenly upon his. With an encouraging brush of her tongue, his lips parted as her fingers slid into his hair, nails gently pressing against his scalp.
When they broke away, Erik was struck silent unable to do anything but stare at the amorous girl before him.
Christine smiled shyly, her cheeks flushed as she tried to catch her breath. "I've wanted to do that all day - but somehow I didn't think it would have been appropriate in the middle of class."
She studied him for a few moments, tracing a finger down his mask. "There's something about you. You make me want to-" She stopped, not daring to say more. "Um… I just… love you… that's all," she said quickly.
She could see from the confounded look in Erik's eyes that he had no clue what she was talking about. "Does this have to do with what Little Giry was saying about your dreams?"
She brushed her lips over his ear, whispering gently. "Maybe I'll tell you about them someday."
Erik swallowed hard and released a shaky breath, then remembered how he was holding her.
"Christine… I…" He awkwardly tried to shift his hands from her backside to elsewhere, but doing so would have sent her crashing to the ground.
Christine's giggle was almost musical. "Erik, you can keep them there. I'm not offended." She rested her forehead against his. "But I love the whole shy and gentlemanly thing: it's cute." Her fingers slipped beneath his mask to brush his cheek. "Don't ever stop."
Erik nodded, taken aback by her choice of words. Of all the things he had been called in his life, cute was never one of them.
Her mouth met his lightly, growing to a deeper kiss. Her arms snaked around his neck, her legs his waist. Instinctively, his hands tightened their grip on her backside, bringing forth a small gasp from Christine, but no end to the kiss.
"Sir?" came a female voice through the door. "I was told your room was here. I heard you playing piano for the Ravelle students."
Christine and Erik exchanged confused glances before he placed her back on her feet.
Erik cautiously went to the door, his suspicious nature coming into full effect. Why would a student from another school seek him out?
He quickly glanced around the room, making sure his could grab a weapon should the need arise, then glanced through the door's peephole.
A young blonde girl stood waiting patiently. He frowned at her odd choice in clothing – what little of it there was consisted of a short white tube top and low-rise blue jeans that seemed far too tight. Considering it was still a chilly March, there was no way she could possibly be comfortable in such clothing.
Erik looked back over at Christine and shrugged, then opened to door to see what the girl wanted from him.
"May I help you?" he asked coldly.
"Oh!" the girl gasped, startled by his current choice of clothing. She looked suitably intimidated, and far too appreciative.
Erik stood impatiently, waiting for her to speak.
"I… I'm Leslie," she smiled sweetly as she held a hand out. Erik ignored it and she brought it back to her side. "I… wanted some music advice and I was told you were the best person to ask. Can I come in?"
Christine immediately joined Erik's side, looking less than pleased.
Leslie seemed rather surprised to find that Erik had company and took a few steps back.
"Sorry. I didn't know you were busy. Maybe another time." She turned and headed down the hall before either Erik or Christine could ask her any more.
Erik tilted his head out the door for a moment, then turned back to Christine. "I feel as if I've missed something," he said.
Christine shook her head. "Beware scantily clad girls asking for music advice after hours." She replied as she turned back to the room.
Erik shut the door behind him and faced her. "If I recall, we met under rather similar circumstances."
"Um… well… that… that was different!" she insisted. "I mean… I didn't even know you'd be in the Arts building and… uh…" She sat on the bed. "Ok. Never mind. But trust me! My intentions were NOT the same as hers were." She then silently added, at least, not back then.
"And what were her intentions?"
Christine looked at him, eyes wide. "You seriously don't know, do you?" she realized.
He shrugged. "I'm afraid my knowledge is woefully inadequate when it comes to females."
She let out a deep breath. Her poor Erik couldn't understand that a handsome face was not the end all and be all when it came to a woman's attraction to a man.
"Um… not important. Probably just wanted, you know… counting lessons or… something," she answered before she flopped back on Erik's bed and kicked off her shoes. "I'm dead tired right now." she muttered.
Erik hovered beside the bed Christine had currently made herself comfortable on. "Last I checked, you were assigned to stay with Little Giry, beloved."
She cracked her eyes open ever so slightly. "I'll just take a quick nap. I'll leave in a bit."
The masked man released a soft sigh and sat down on the bed, studying the girl curled on her side.
"While I do appreciate your company, I am supposed to be somewhat professional. Antoinette informed me that we are free to eat together and associate with one another… but if the other students find you leaving my room in the middle of the night, we would hear no end of it. As if that young lady who was just here was not enough."
Christine waved away his concern. "My room is only three doors away from you. I can leave quickly without anyone wondering why I'm walking down the hall."
"Sneaking around is my specialty," he said. "I don't know if I should be worried or impressed that you have picked such a skill up."
Christine's hand wrapped around his arm, tugging Erik down beside her. "I'm tired. Let's just sleep."
He saw his protests would be useless and quickly proceeded to divest himself of his boots, shirt and mask before making himself comfortable beside her, a click of the lamp dousing the room in darkness.
"Just be sure you leave shortly. You have a morning class, remember? With a rather brilliant teacher, I might add."
"Modest, aren't we?" she smiled. Christine snuggled closer, her voice growing soft. "Erik…?"
"Yes Christine?"
"I kind of like that your knowledge is… woefully inadequate…" Christine replied as she brought his mouth to hers.
He slid his arms around her and pulled her against him, deepening the kiss as her fingers trailed down his back, gently brushing over the scars.
"I thought…" he pulled his mouth away for a moment, "that you wanted to take a nap?"
"I prefer the smooching."
"You had no plans to return to your room tonight, did you?" He asked.
"None at all," she answered. "Good night." She gave him a quick peck on the chin, then tucked her head beneath it, allowing sleep to take her shortly after.
END OF EPISODE 38