Boone came awake slowly the next morning, becoming instantly aware of the totally unexpected feel of a body nestled up against his back. He pulled away carefully and turned, smiling at the sight of Andrew, peacefully sleeping. Being the sound sleeper that he was, he hadn't even been aware of the boy crawling into his bed with him. He wondered why he'd done it, and if he'd tried to wake him, perhaps needing comfort after a nightmare. He'd inherited Shannon's inclination for them, unfortunately.
He tucked the covers back around the pyjama clad sleeping form, and pulled on his boxers' before heading across the hall to the shower. It was way too early to wake the boy yet, but Boone's day started at the crack of dawn. There would be customers waiting at the front door before he even got down there, he knew all too well. They'd be on their way to work, wanting to pick up a homemade muffin, or cinnamon bun, along with their freshly brewed coffee and tea. And he had to make Andrews' lunch as well, and put the bread in the oven, and…well the list of chores seemed endless. He stopped in the kitchen long enough to take what was ready in the oven, out, and dump it into waiting baskets; they always set the timer the night before, so the stuff would be ready at exactly the right time; then he the slid the already loaded and waiting trays in, in their place.
After a while, Tom came in to take over for him in the store, so round two started in the kitchen with Heather, until it was time to go back upstairs and wake Andrew.
Heather realized that Boone was gone much longer than he should have been, and was just about to head up to check on things, when she heard him on the stairs, his tread heavy and slow. She was already expecting that something was wrong, her suspicion confirmed by the look on his face.
To her inquiry, he took a shuddering breath, and squeezed his eyes closed, briefly. "He asked why Shannon left us. He skipped the middle part of the cycle this time, where he asks me to tell him stories of when the three of us were happy; I was kind of expecting it last night. It explains why he was in my bed this morning, though." He sat heavily at the table and dropped his head into his hands. "I didn't cry this time, I wanted to, but I didn't." He looked up at her, hopefully, "Maybe I'm getting better?"
"I'm sure you are, dear." She encouraged, though, thinking about yesterday, seriously doubted it, unfortunately.
When Andrew came down, she didn't think he looked any worse for wear, but then kids bounced back from things pretty quickly.
She was in the office when Boone came in to tell her they were leaving, and that he'd be back around lunchtime. He'd had the doctors' office permanently reschedule the time of his appointment, so he could drop Andrew off, as well as pick him up, and was heading directly there after stopping at the school.
Hearing the roar of the motorcycle, Pamela stood and moved over to the window, watching, with a smile on her face, while Boone switched off the bike, waited for Andrew to dismount, and then put the bike on its' kickstand, so he could liberate the boys' backpack from its' restraints. He waited at the curb until Andrew was safely inside the front doors. He'd assured Boone at breakfast that he knew his way to his classroom. Catching sight of her at the window, Boone waved a hand in greeting, before restarting the bike and riding off.
She felt slightly stalkerish at her continued desire to observe them, but there was just something about the two of them that drew her to them. The child was absolutely precious, and the man undeniably gorgeous. She'd actually fallen asleep the night before with an image of Boone in her head, and had laughed as she recognized the first signs of a teen aged type crush.
Andrew entered the classroom and headed for his assigned seat. Putting his backpack down, he extracted something from it and headed for her desk. She was already sitting back down behind it when he approached.
"Miss Phillips?" He got her attention. He was holding out a rectangular object wrapped in a grocery bag, "Boone sent this for you."
She took it from him and opened it, inside was a plastic wrapped loaf of homemade bread, still a bit warm. She smiled at him in appreciation, "Thank you."
"I told him you said homemade bread is really special, so he made an extra." He pulled a piece of paper out of his pants' pocket and put in on the corner of the desk, "These are the 'gredients, in case you're allergic to something, Boone said."
The man thought of everything, she reflected, chuckling.
He turned to go back to his seat, but she stopped him, "Andrew?"
"Yes, Miss Phillips?" He responded, politely.
"I need to speak to your dad when he picks you up, can you remember to tell him that?" She asked. Pamela had talkedto her colleagues the day before and they'd come up with a bit of a strategy. She needed to discuss it with Mr. Carlyle, though, and arrange for him to meet with all of them.
Andrew nodded, "Kay, Miss Phillips," he responded, and continued on his way.
Not being able to resist, Pamela unwrapped the loaf and pulled a chunk off one corner, popping into her mouth. She smiled and made a sound of appreciation at the delicious homey goodness of it, sorry that she couldn't go to the staff lounge and cut herself a couple of slices and put them into the toaster. Regretfully, she wrapped it back up and stuck it into her briefcase.
Boone was apprehensive about that days' session, he found himself actually easing up on the throttle as he got closer to his doctors' office. He knew he'd have to come clean about what had happened the day before, keeping secrets from the guy wasn't going to help him at all; but he was more than a little disappointed. Just last week they'd discussed cutting back on his daily dosage of meds, and he figured yesterdays' meltdown was going to negate that decision. Dr. Andersen had thought he was doing a little better, and Boone had been understandably excited about the minor milestone. He wanted so badly to be normal again, or whatever it was that passed for normal in the fucked up world. He figured everyone was screwed up somewhat, it just all came down to a matter of degrees; unfortunately he was a little more screwed up than average.
Heather heard the motorcycle, and breathed a sign of relief. She knew he could just as easily off himself in a car as on the bike if he really intended to, but the bike was just inherently more dangerous. She knew he was as careful on it as Boone was with everything, still when he rode it to his therapy sessions; she always waited anxiously for the sound of it pulling into the driveway, never knowing what his mood would be, and if he'd just decide to toss it all on the way home, too despondent to go on any longer. She rose and went into the kitchen to fetch his lunch.
Boone hung his jacket up on one of the hooks inside the back door, and briefly considered going directly upstairs. The session had gone as badly as he'd feared, and he'd cried, in spite of promising himself he wouldn't. He felt the tears threaten again, but willed them away, successfully. He forced his feet down the hall to the office so he could tell Heather he was home, before he became a hermit for the rest of the afternoon.
Heather was sitting at her desk, she looked up at him in greeting, her smile faltering for a second as she took in his demeanour, realizing that this was one of the bad times, knowing that he'd want to go and lock himself in his room before too much time had passed. "Hello, dear," she forced the smile back on her face. She was glad she'd come up with a bit of a game plan; she just hoped it would work.
"Hi," he said quietly, his head lowered, his eyes darting around the room, looking anywhere but at her, he closed them and frowned. "I'm going to lie down for a bit." He informed her, already turning.
"Oh, Boone, no, I need you down here. There are some things that only you can take care of, and I made your lunch." She gestured at his desk.
He met her eyes briefly, furrowing his brow and biting at his lip, "Okay," he said dejectedly and crossed the room to his desk, her barely disguised subterfuge working easily in his distracted state. There was a sandwich and some veggie sticks on a plate beside his keyboard, and a glass of iced green tea. He felt himself start to lose it at the simple thoughtfulness of the gesture that, in his current mood, he didn't think he deserved, "Thanks." He didn't trust himself to say more than the one word without breaking down.
Heather kept him busy, but not too busy, for the rest of the afternoon. She didn't want the work to replace the cooking frenzy that he often distracted himself with so he didn't have to think about whatever it was he'd discussed with his doctor. As a result there were several lulls, where he spent a few minutes looking sad and pensive, before sighing and moving on to the next task she set in front of him.
When the time in the lower right hand corner of his monitor read three-thirty, he pushed himself away from the desk, and rose. "Got to pick Andrew up," he leaned down to kiss her cheek. "Nice plan, thanks, I needed a bit of a kick in the pants." He whispered in her ear.
"You're too smart for your own good sometimes, Boone Carlyle," Heather said with a smile, he'd seen through her smoke and mirrors after all.
"Yeah, that's it. I'm cleverer than I give myself credit for." He responded, sarcastically. "Later." He left the room.
Andrew was waiting for him just inside the door of the classroom, though he didn't have his jacket on or his backpack over his shoulder. He smiled happily at the sight of his dad and ran forward to hug his arms around Boone's waist.
'Miss Phillips wants to see you,' Andrew thought at him.
Boone winced, 'Out loud, Andrew.'
The boy voiced it obediently, looking a little apologetic.
Boone went up to the front to find out what was up, thinking it must have something to do with the special curriculum he'd requested for Andrew. Pamela confirmed that, and told him that he was expected at a parent/teachers meeting at five the next day.
He nodded agreement, "I'll see you tomorrow at five then."
"You won't be picking Andrew up at four?" The words were out, sounding a little disappointed, before she could stop herself.
Boone hadn't even registered her tone, "Oh, yeah right, too many things on my mind right now. I guess I'll see you at four and five." He turned.
Pamela reached out and put her hand on his arm to stop him, then immediately snatched it away, wondering what the hell she was doing. Boone looked back at her, questioningly. "I just wanted to thank you for the bread." It actually had been what she'd been planning on saying, she just hadn't intended on touching him.
He shrugged, "I was making some anyway. It was no big deal to make an extra." He downplayed the compliment and immediately regretted the throwaway nature of his reply. Awww fuck, open mouth, insert foot, Christ you're an idiot he berated himself.
Predictably her face fell a bit; his words making her feel a little inconsequential. She renewed her smile, making sure it reached her eyes, "It was a kindness, and I appreciate it."
He gritted his teeth at his stupidity, "You're welcome, enjoy it." He tried to salvage some of his dignity, and hers, by giving her what Shannon had always called his Carlyle Enterprises smile.
Pamela suddenly forgot what it was that they were even talking about, and just watched dazedly as the two of them left the room.
Shannon waited impatiently for the man moving on top of her to finish. His movements became a bit more erratic then he groaned heavily, after a few more thrusts he relaxed against her. She push him off her irritably, "Go clean yourself up."
Miguel rolled over onto his side to face her, his hand reaching out to touch her. She batted it away, "Leave me alone, I'm tired, just go." He was a nice guy, but it was time to end it, she needed to move on, she'd already lived there a few months short of two years.
He regarded her for a minute, a knowing look in his eye. He smiled a bit sadly at what he read on her face, and got out of bed.
Protected sex was so much less messy than unprotected sex, Shannon thought, but also so much less satisfying. Or was it that the only unprotected sex she'd ever had was with Boone, and was it really more the fact that it was Boone rather than that it was unprotected? Truly that was the only kind of sex she'd ever had with Boone, so could she really compare the two? Jack had been right when he'd told them he didn't think she'd ever be able to have any more children. She knew she couldn't conceive again, the amount of sex they'd had after Andrew's birth till the time she'd left, without any further offspring, kind of proving that, given that it was obvious that they could get pregnant. But there were other reasons for being sensible and using protection, besides unplanned pregnancy.
Damn that the first time she'd thrown caution to the wind, she'd gotten pregnant. She'd weighed the odds as the two of them had entwined themselves around one another on his hotel room bed all those years ago in Sydney. It had all been about control, and re-establishing it, she'd been desperate to after Brian had revealed her scheming to Boone and then duped her. She'd planned the whole thing in the cab ride over, needing to regain her position of strength in the pecking order. What better way than to exploit the one person she knew was weaker than herself? It had been so easy to manipulate Boone through his love for her, regaining control over him again. Taking the chance on getting pregnant, which she'd figured had to be a thousand to one, given that some couples tried for years unsuccessfully, or letting him out of her arms long enough to go to the bathroom to fetch a condom, she'd picked the former. There was no way she'd been going to give him a minute for the brain in his head to take over from the one in his pants, though by that time it had actually been hard and grasped firmly in her hand. Turned out the odds of the first were one to zero, who'd have thought?
Miguel crawled back under the covers with her, and rolled over to lie against her.
"Get away from me," Shannon pawed him off, "you know I can't sleep when someone's touching me." Except Boone, she thought to herself.
He moved back over to his own side.
She rolled over and wrapped her arms around herself, too proud and stubborn to cry herself to sleep.