M'Benga was on duty when McCoy arrived in Sickbay that morning, busy discharging an Ensign from Cartography who had reported with a migraine.
While he waited to take report, McCoy got a coffee, changed his long sleeved shirt for a scrub, and called up the day schedule in his office, stifling a yawn. He had dozed for a few minutes just before time to get up, comfortably wrapped in T'Phol's embrace, her hair fanning across his shoulder and her breath soft against his neck. He didn't think she had slept at all; she watched from under the covers as he got up and slipped into his clothes to make the trek to his own quarters. He had barely enough time to shower and throw on a fresh uniform and hurry to Sickbay. No stranger to functioning on short sleep, he knew he would be more awake as the morning progressed and he got involved in the work routine.
He heard Chapel come in and presently M'Benga tapped on the open door ready with PADD in hand. McCoy motioned him in and took the tablet, glancing at the report. M'Benga took a seat across from him and regarded him with an air of amusement. McCoy looked up from the report.
"Your mama didn't teach you not to stare?"
M'Benga shrugged, a little smile playing across his features. "Sorry. How was your evening?"
McCoy's eyebrows drew together in a scowl. "My evening was fine, Geoff. How was yours?"
"I enjoyed the concert."
"Yeah." He signed the report and pushed it to the side. "Thank you for not needling T'Phol last night."
M'Benga sighed. "It was not my intention to make her uncomfortable. I mean her no harm. It is true that I would like to talk with her about her path since she returned to performing. Informally, of course, not to publish." He shook his head. "She overcame quite a lot of adversity to have success as an adult, especially being Vulcan in an area that sees very few."
"Maybe she finds it hard to talk about."
"Maybe she does. I won't approach her again, but if she'd like to talk about it, I'd like to hear. You can tell her." He got up from his chair. "Well, I'm off to my racquetball game. You have a good day." He hurried from the office, tossing a greeting at Chapel as he passed. McCoy followed him into the front office.
"Morning, Chris." He leaned a hip on her desk.
"Good morning, Doctor." She looked up from her PADD, her professional smile becoming wider. "Apparently your evening went well." She ducked her head to hide her grin.
McCoy crossed his arms. "Doctor M'Benga was laughing at me, too. What is it? Do I have a brand on my forehead or something?"
Chapel looked at him in fond amusement. "Not on your forehead anyway. Go look in the treatment room mirror."
She heard his footsteps travel across the room, then his quiet curse, followed by rummaging in the cabinet drawers. "There's a dermal regenerater in the third one down on the right," she called.
A few minutes later he reappeared, flushed and smiling sheepishly. "I guess the scrub's collar doesn't cover as much. Uh, thanks."
Chapel nodded. He was grateful when she went straight into the day's schedule without further comment. He was busy with several mandated physicals, treating a small chemical burn from one of the science labs, and getting the supplies ready for delivery to the clinic on Aminta. It was late afternoon by the time he finished. He signed off to Sanchez, debating how much energy reserve he had. He decided on food first, as he had not eaten since the evening before. He went to gather T'Phol for their customary supper meal. Sama and Cassady were both in the alcove. Cassady waved him over.
"Mister Scott asks if any special medical precautions will be necessary to move Vartheb off the ship tomorrow?"
"I don't see why he can't leave the same way he came on. He can't be burning that stuff, of course. Get someone from environmental science down here to scan him first, make sure he's not contaminated. Hazmat precaution. In fact, scan everything, including Kelan and their equipment." He paused. "How are they?"
"No issues at last check-in."
McCoy shook his head. "I'll be glad when they're off our ship. All right, boys, carry on."
T'Phol was sitting cross legged on the floor with the Moog keyboard, several data chips, and a PADD. The Moog was open on the table, lights flashing. She held up a finger in a wait a minute gesture. He paused to look at the Aura-Lumina, quiet and dark in its stand. He wanted to pick it up, but went to sit on the bunk instead. He laid back against the pillows, watching her through half closed eyes as she concentrated on her task. She presently either finished or reached a stopping point and scooted across the floor to him. He reached out and touched a loose strand of her hair, twirling it around his finger. "Hi, Gorgeous."
She laid her hand on his chest. "Hi, yourself. Apparently you made it through your day."
"Oh, yeah. A little tired, but I'm all right. Thought you might want to go get a bite to eat. Did you rest today?"
"If by rest you mean sleep, then no. I did meditate for a while. Most of the day I have spent loading comm protocol into the Moog. It has to interface with three different formats on Aminta. I just finished the last one."
McCoy smiled. "Perfect timing." He pulled her closer for a minute, then sat up. "Are you ready?"
They ate in the officer's mess. As they finished, they were joined by Uhura, Sulu, Chekov, and Tamura. They were a lively group, laughing and chatting. McCoy mostly watched and listened to the younger crew. Their energy reminded him of how tired he was and their youth made him feel old. There was more than a decade between him and Uhura, and Chekov was only a little older than his own daughter. He gave himself a mental shake before he progressed into full blown maudlin self indulgence, bringing his attention back to the conversation. They were discussing the previous evening's concert and the possibility of one more impromptu jam session before the ship reached Aminta.
"Everyone had such a great time before. Kyle is up for another run, and a couple of others want to give it a go, too." Uhura looked at McCoy. "You should join us with your guitar, Len."
T'Phol looked at him in surprise. "You did not mention you play guitar."
McCoy waved his hand dismissively. "It's good finger exercise for dexterity and strength."
"He's very good," Uhura said, turning to T'Phol. "He doesn't share that skill often, though. You've already been so generous, I don't want to keep imposing. But are you interested in participating in another session?"
"Certainly. Recreational playing is a great pleasure and no imposition. This time you may have the MC duties."
"That's fine," Uhura said. "Shall we meet in about an hour in rec room five?"
McCoy and T'Phol left the others to finish their meals. She stopped him in the corridor.
"Will you play? I would like to hear if you are not too exhausted."
McCoy rubbed his face. "I don't know. Let's go to my quarters and I'll think about it."
He let them in, then turned to her, holding his arms in invitation. They held each other for a minute. Then he let go and reached underneath his bed for the guitar case. He took it out and handed it to T'Phol.
"Have a look while I freshen up." He grabbed some clothes from a drawer and went into the bathroom. T'Phol sat on the edge of his bunk and admired the guitar. It was an old Martin, in very good condition, well cared for and inviting. She angled it so the intricate bird and flower design on the pickboard reflected the light. The same design was inlaid on the neck. The label was signed and indicated number thirty-one in a limited edition of fifty. She tuned it and was softly playing when he emerged. She looked at him, shaking her head.
"This is a fabulous instrument. Surely you do more with it than exercise your fingers, Doctor. There are things you are not telling me."
He shrugged and sat beside her. "I wasn't keeping it a secret. Lots of people own and play guitars. I didn't realize I was so singular."
"Not singular, but unusual. This is a special edition Martin, among the finest steel string acoustic guitars ever made. If I am not mistaken, this one is vintage, certainly prior to twenty-one hundred?" She paused, taking a closer look at him. He had changed into jeans and a button up shirt in light blue, tucked in but no belt. The sleeves were rolled halfway up his arms, and his feet were slid into loafers without socks. His hair was damp and a little wavy. She knew he was tired, but his eyes were bright and he carried himself with his usual relaxed and easy movements.
"Twenty thirty-five. It's a Fourth Series Purple Martin. This belonged to my great-Grandpa's grandpa. He was alive during First Contact. As far as I know, I was the first in our family to really play it since he died. I also have his handmade mandolin at the farm, but I don't play." He looked at T'Phol, his smile crinkles deepening. "Playing guitar is supposed to be a girl magnet, so naturally I was eager to learn. Daddy wouldn't let me take this one out of the house. I discovered lesser guitars are not as effective in attracting the fairer sex. Or maybe it was me."
T'Phol leaned close to him, touching the little waves at his temple. "I do not think it was you." She traced her fingers along his jaw feeling the roughness of his emerging beard stubble. "No, definitely the guitar was defective. This one seems to work just fine." She nuzzled into his neck, felt his shiver. He stroked her hair, then straightened away.
"It is almost time to go. And I'm not a young buck any more," he added ruefully. "I might muster enough energy to play a bit, only because you and Uhura asked. I'll probably crash after that." He reached into the bedside table and took a pick from the drawer, slipping it into his pocket. He stood, offering a hand to T'Phol, and hung the guitar over his shoulder.
The rec room was already crowded. Kyle had his clarinet, Uhura's lyre was unwrapped on a table. Lieutenant Painter was taking a flute from its case, and Chekov held an odd looking stringed instrument that resembled an small, oval banjo, but with only three strings. T'Phol approached him immediately, curious about an instrument that was new to her. She accepted his offer to inspect it, experimenting with a scale or two before handing it back to him.
Uhura crossed the room to greet them, her smile wide.
"I don't know how you did it, but thank you for convincing him to bring his guitar. I haven't heard him play in ages and most in here have never heard him at all. I'm calling Scotty. If Len can do it, so can he." She went to the comm unit.
"Great," McCoy complained. "Scotty will be pissed at me for a week." He got a cup of coffee and sat, watching T'Phol confer with the crew members and look at their music scores. Uhura returned from her call, looking a little smug.
"He says he'll do it, but he's not getting dressed up in regalia. You look spiffy tonight."
"Yeah, I wanted to look the part. You know, scruffy rock star. From three hundred years ago. Minus the drugs and fame. And the groupies, dammit."
"I can probably round up some screaming fans." She studied him closely "You look beat. Are you all right?"
He smiled. "Ya know what? I am tired. And I feel pretty good."
"I am glad to hear you say that. We'll talk later." She patted his hand and waved at someone across the room. He sat back, relaxed and observing. Something moved in his peripheral vision and he glanced up to see the drone hovering near the ceiling. Tamura was standing just inside in the door, controlling the flight. He motioned her over.
"You're taping tonight?"
Tamura nodded. "Uhura is going to ask each participant if they object. I'd like to post it later on intra-ship. I have the edited result ready from last night. I thought I would present it to T'Phol first." She looked at his guitar. "That is beautiful. May I record you?"
He hesitated, then nodded. "I'd like a copy when you get it put together. Unless I screw up. Then I want every copy destroyed. The Snitch, too." He chuckled at her incredulous expression. "Never mind. We'll see how it goes." She nodded and moved away with a last doubtful glance.
Scott appeared from behind and thumped down into the chair next to him. He was holding his bagpipes and looking tired himself as well as a bit put out.. "Thanks," he said glumly. "She woulda left me alone er fer you."
"Sorry. I didn't exactly volunteer, but they both asked and I couldn't say no. They'll be busy when we get to Aminta tomorrow. If I can do it, you can, too."
"Aye, but yer good."
McCoy shrugged. "I'm no entertainer."
Scott muttered something in Gaelic that McCoy didn't understand, although the meaning came through without translation.
The rec room was filled to standing room only as Uhura made her way over to their table. T'Phol sat at the piano
"We are ready. Len, are you OK with going last?" She leaned closer. "You might be a little intimidating to follow."
"Aye," Scott said. "I'll nae be goin' on the stage after him. In fact, I'll go first and start yer program. Then I can enjoy the rest."
McCoy shrugged. "It doesn't matter, I'm good for a while longer. If I pass out, shove me under a table until it's time. But I'll need a stool. And the mike on."
Scott snorted. "I dinnae need a mike." He looked at Uhura. "I'm ready. Let's get it done."
Uhura patted his arm. "You'll do fine." She stepped up on the stage and introduced the engineer as the first performer.
Scott went up front, looking uncomfortable. He made a self-conscious bow to the applause. "This is my Granda's Great Highland Pipe. I'll play Scotland the Brave fer ye tonight."
He blew into the mouthpiece, the drones commenced buzzing, and he began. The soulful sound filled the room with the old patriotic Scottish song. He finished and his fellow crew members appreciated his performance with warm and eager applause and cheers. Scott was touched and encouraged, and was persuaded to play another, choosing Amazing Grace. He played one verse, then Uhura motioned for a repeat and she led the audience in a sing along. McCoy was surprised how many people knew the words. Another enthusiastic response followed, making Scott's lead-off performance a rousing success. He bowed, bashful but pleased and took his seat beside McCoy.
Kyle was next, playing Dubussy on his clarinet accompanied by T'Phol on the piano. They were followed by Painter's flute and Aria from Bach's Goldberg Variations. Uhura sang twice, both modern songs, once with her Vulcan lyre, and once with the piano. One of the night shift sickbay nurses also sang, and did a good job, although following Uhura was not the position McCoy would have chosen if he had been singing. An ensign from astrophysics did a pop song on the piano. Then Chekov took the stage with his domra. He did a Russian folk song, a familiar and lively tune. What he may have lacked in technique he more than made up for in cheerful fervor, especially when he did a Cossack dance at the end to a delighted audience.
Uhura stepped up on the stage, laughing and clapping as Chekov caught his breath. "That was wonderful, Pavel. I am sure the Chekov fan club will meet in the corner later tonight!"
Chekov bowed in a sweeping gesture, flushed and grinning. "De fan club has lots of room for new members. Please see me or Nyota to sign up!"
"Oh no, Mister," Uhura said with a jab. "You'll have to be your own secretary!"
Laughter followed him from the stage. Uhura waited a minute for the room to calm before continuing.
"We have a rare treat tonight. You all know Doctor McCoy, of course, but many of you probably don't know that our chief surgeon is also a pretty fair guitarist. Unfortunately, he's a little shy about performing, so let's welcome him to the stage before he sneaks back to Sickbay."
The few steps distance to the stage felt longer. Kyle set a stool beside the piano. Uhura met him with a wink. "The microphone's on. It's all yours."
He perched on the stool and adjusted the strap around his neck. He looked out over the crowded room, thinking it was almost exactly what he had mentioned to M'Benga the day before, people gathered doing something they enjoyed. He noticed Kirk, Sulu, and Chapel sitting in the back. The Captain was not a regular visitor to the rec room unless he and Spock were having a game of chess. Kirk nodded, beside him Chapel waved and gave him the OK sign, Sulu a thumb up. McCoy took a breath and turned to T'Phol, still seated at the piano. "Know any Dire Straits?" He watched as her mental catalog flashed by, and she nodded.
"Yes, but not many. I do not know their entire discography."
"Then jump in if you want." He swiveled back to the audience, clearing his throat.
"Well, Chekov is a hard act to follow. Everyone has done a great job. Until literally ten seconds ago, I had no idea what I was gonna play for you tonight. I have a taste for twentieth and twenty-first century rock and roll, both in music and guitars. This song is from a band called Dire Straits and legendary guitarist Mark Knopfler. Customarily this would be performed on a solid body electric guitar and not an acoustic. So here goes Sultans of Swing."
He hit the opening licks and progressed quickly into the fingerwork. He heard T'Phol join in, holding back the piano, giving his guitar the spotlight. He did a basic cut without adding the extended solo that he sometimes did when it was only him and he was lost in the frets. It was not his best ever he was sure, but it was presentable, without excessive string noise and no major slips. He thought the audience appreciated it more than its merit. He dove straight into the next.
"This is the first 'serious' piece I ever learned, Cavatina, by composer Stanley Meyers. Classical work is usually performed on classical guitar, with nylon strings for a mellow and smooth tone. On steel strings the effect is crisper and more resonant."
Cavatina was not a long piece, but not easy to play. He liked playing classical once in a while for a change of pace. Cavatina was melodic and romantic, soothing to hear.
He spoke softly to T'Phol while waiting for the applause to finish. "One more. Pink Floyd? Wish You Were Here?"
"Yes, I know it."
McCoy dug a pick from his pocket and dove into the opening rhythmic chords without introduction. He didn't think he was going to sing until he actually began. He was still slightly hoarse, but the huskiness suited the lyrics
In the instrumental part following the verses, the guitar and piano were seamless. McCoy had not played with accompaniment since college. For that moment it was exhilarating and he let himself go without reservation. He sounded the final chord and people were on their feet before it faded. He stood, took a quick bow and waved. He glanced toward T'Phol, she had risen and was applauding, too. He held out his hand and she grasped it as they took a bow together. He stepped down from the stage and into Uhura's hug. Chekov and Kyle and several others gathered around him. By the time he spoke to them and worked his way over to where Scott sat exhaustion was creeping in. He realized he was still holding T'Phol's hand, and gave her fingers a squeeze before letting go.
Scott stood, clasping McCoy's shoulder for a moment. "So, ye can sing when yer not blootered. That was pure dead barry, ye numpty."
"I'm gonna assume whatever you just said is a good thing," McCoy huffed. "If it's not, we'll have to take it up later."
Chapel and Kirk joined them. Chapel, who was not normally very demonstrative, gave McCoy a peck on the cheek and a quick hug. Kirk looked at them, humor playing across his features. "Bones, Miss Grayson. Fantastic. You should do it more often."
McCoy regarded him with suspicion. "Thanks, Jim. How is it you happened by?"
Kirk's brow rose in an expression of innocence. "It's my ship. I might show up anywhere." He looked at Scott. "In fact, I saw the whole show. You did a good job, too."
"Thank ye, Captain. Uhura called 'im," Scott said, sotto voce to McCoy. "She's a mover and shaker this evening fer sure. And here she comes."
Uhura worked her way toward them, Tamura in tow. She was buoyantly energetic. If she was feeling any effects from a late night the evening before, it didn't show. She greeted them, giving Scott a big smile. "See, I told you it would be fine. They loved it. Next time we'll plan some sing-a-longs."
"Ach, no. Nae blatherin' about next time, Lass."
McCoy laughed despite his fatigue. Uhura turned to him. "And, you, Doctor. Why you hide from performing I have no idea. That last number was supreme, not just for here but anywhere. I'll bet the library history banks will be busy looking up your twentieth century rockers for a while. Tam recorded the whole program, so you won't be able to deny it in the future." She looked at Scott. "You, too."
"Yes," Tamura said, patting the drone. It's all right in here. That reminds me, I have this for you, T'Phol." She handed her a disk. "Your concert from last night. It's not professional, but it looks and sounds pretty good. The Snitch did a great job. You can pull stills from it if you like photos."
"Thank you. I look forward to seeing floating video." Although she usually did not watch her own performances, she thought she might break with her routine one time.
McCoy rubbed his neck and blinked. "Y'all gotta excuse me, but I'm dead on my feet. I need to call it an evenin'" His drawl was often more pronounced when he was tired or stressed, and it was present in full force.
Kirk looked at him, then nodded. "Have a good night, then. I'll talk to you in the morning when we arrive at Aminta."
"Will do, Captain." He looked at T'Phol. "Are you stayin'?"
"I think I will retire early as well. Tomorrow will be busy for me."
"I'll walk with you," McCoy said. "Good night, folks."
They navigated through a chorus of good nights before they were free and clear in the corridor. He stopped at the turbolift. "Are you coming with me?"
"If you have no objection."
In answer he took her hand and they boarded the lift together. He was almost stumbling with weariness when they entered his quarters. He wiped down the guitar and returned it to its case first, then grabbed pajama pants and went to the bathroom, changed and brushed his teeth. When he came out T'Phol was sitting on his bunk, looking a little ill at ease. He pulled her to her feet and kissed her very gently. Then he opened a drawer and handed her a clean T-shirt.
"We shoulda got your stuff. You can sleep in this tonight. There's a new toothbrush in the bathroom. I'll try to stay awake until you finish."
He turned back the cover and almost fell into bed, moving to the edge, his eyes closing of their own accord. In a short time he felt her lie beside him and pull the blanket over them both. He managed to open his eyes for a minute longer. "Lights off." The room faded into complete darkness as he reached his arms around her and she wormed closer to him. Her body felt a little cool at first , but then warmed under the cover next to his body heat. Her hand lightly rubbed the back of his neck where he always felt tension and he relaxed into the motion. "Ya OK?" he mumbled as sleep was overtaking him.
"Yes," she whispered in the darkness. "Go to sleep, Leonard."
There was no reply except for his breathing. She stroked his neck until she slept.
He had something they wanted.
He was deep in a malevolent wood. Bare trees scratched at a leaden and heavy grey sky. A few dead leaves clung to the branches like shreds of flesh from talons. He shivered as a cold wind rustled through the landscape, its bitter fingers wrapping around him in a predatory vice. A sharp, unknown smell assaulted his nostrils, making his eyes sting as his breath caught in his throat.
He couldn't see them, but he knew they were out there. They were looking for him.
He had something they wanted.
T'Phol jerked awake with a start. The dark surrounding her felt viscid and cold. It took her a few seconds to orient, then she realized McCoy was rigid beside her, his body stiff and unyielding, his breath hissing through clenched jaws.
She sat up, shaking his shoulders, calling his name without results. "Lights on!"
She blinked against the sudden brightness and had a moment of terror. McCoy's eyes were open, but staring without vision, his pupils dilated with no visible iris, face gleaming with perspiration. She shook him harder, calling him again, and was reaching for the intercom to call for help when he shuddered and flung himself upright in bed with an inarticulate cry. He covered his eyes, his breath coming in ragged gasps
"What the hell...Lights ten percent." He threw his legs over the side of the bed, tucking his head into his hands, his fingers clutching into his hair, trying to calm his breathing and swallowing against nausea.
"I think you were having a seizure," T'Phol said, her voice unsteady. "You were rigid and unresponsive, and your pupils did not constrict with the light. I am going to call Sickbay."
"No. It's not a seizure. Gimme a minute." His tone allowed for no argument.
She reluctantly turned away from the comm unit and watched him, waiting She hesitantly touched the back of his neck. He was wet with sweat. It took a long moment for his breathing to even and his shoulders to stop trembling. Finally he sat upright, expelling a deep breath and stood, turning to T'Phol. "I'm OK, just going to the bathroom." He splashed his face and drunk some water as his heartbeat began to slow from its galloping. His wet T-shirt was clammy, he dropped it on the floor and toweled off, shivering. She was standing just outside the door when he came out, her eyes wide and tense. She was also shivering, from the coolness of his room or the aftermath of fear. He drew her to him and they clung to each other fiercely for a moment.
"You're freezing. Thermostat, plus ten degrees."
He led her back to bed and and covered them both with the blanket, tucking it in around her shoulders. His hands were cold as held her close. Eventually their shivering stopped and his hands returned to their usual warmth. He closed his eyes, trying to relax and return to calmness.
"Tell me what happened," she said. "Was that a nightmare?"
He was silent so long she thought he was not going to answer. Then he opened his eyes. She was relieved to see that although his pupils were wide in the dimness, she could see some blue around them, as they should be.
"I'm sorry the room was so cold. My thermostat automatically cools at night."
"You are avoiding my question." She untangled her hands from the covers and began rubbing his neck. After a few minutes she felt his heartbeat ease from its pounding and he began to relax.
He lifted his head to glance at the chronometer over her shoulder. "It's over now. I'm OK. Just after one. Still time to grab some decent sleep before morning."
"Why do you not want to talk to me? Does this happen often? Can you simply go back to sleep following an event like that? Do you think I can?"
He sighed, resigned to her persistence. "I am sorry you had to witness that. It was a night terror, not a nightmare. That's why I didn't respond until I came out of it. They are far more common in children than in adults. Most people outgrow them. Unfortunately I haven't. Sometimes I have a long time between occurrences, sometimes they happen frequently. Some are worse than others. At least I didn't throw up all over you. I do more often than not."
"What do they mean?"
He shrugged and smoothed her hair away from her face, "I don't know. Sometime I can guess what precipitates an episode, more often I can't."
"What..."
He laid his finger across her lips. "Shhhh. I can't tell you any more."
"Won't."
He did not deny that. T'Phol moved her hand down his back, gently kneading the muscles, her fingers playing soft chords down his spine and across his vertebrae. Somehow that action was quieting and soothing for them both, and although neither expected to sleep, they both did.
McCoy opened his eyes. He was surprised he had fallen asleep and more so that T'Phol was also sleeping, her arm still wrapped around him. He watched her in the dim light, and thought about the night terror. While he had been disconcerted, the terrors were not a new thing for him, but seldom did they bring such a feeling of danger. Often the details faded away after he was awake, but he could still see every lurid element in that unforgiving landscape and feel and smell the cold and dank air in his face. He closed his eyes against the memory and buried his face in T'Phol's shoulder.
The movement brought her to wakefulness. She tightened her arms around him. "How are you?"
"I'm fine. I guess we both slept after all." He looked at the chronometer, it was just before seven. "We managed almost eight hours, even if it was divided." He traced her cheek with his thumb. "Are you all right? Parasomnic events are frightening. I'm sorry."
"Indeed. I was thoroughly alarmed. Do you suffer ill effects following such an event?"
McCoy sighed. "Not if I can sleep afterward."
"Do you remember the content later?"
"Sometimes."
"You have had them all your life?"
"Pretty much." He rose on an elbow. " No more questions. The terrors belong to me, just like your Rage is part of you."
She heard the somberness in his tone, bit back the things she wanted to ask and fell silent, closing her eyes. He continued to stroke her cheek and neck, his callused fingers pleasantly rough. His index finger rested lightly in her suprasternal notch. He drew little spirals following a path over her clavicle to her shoulder and back, bending his head to nuzzle against her neck. When he spoke again, his voice was deep and soft.
"What are you thinking about now?"
She was thinking how warm and comfortable she was and how easy it would be to become accustomed to waking up next to him, nightmares and all, soaking in his Human heat with his warm, skilled hands playing over her as if she was an instrument and he was writing her score. She opened her eyes.
"I was thinking that you are grumpy in the morning."
He laughed softly. "Not just in the morning." He trailed his hand down her shirt, heard her small breath as he brushed her breast through the fabric and felt the nipple peak under his palm. He shifted his hips against her, touching his lips to her ear "Maybe we can improve my disposition," he whispered. "Would you like to join me in the shower?"
"Yes." She pulled him closer, feeling his erection pressing into her thigh. "I would like that a great deal, indeed."
