It seems as though my 'mojo' did indeed continue! As always, I'm hoping this update finds you all very well. Just a note for this chapter - I am once again enabling that 'T' rating. In the description, I said from the beginning that this story was rated what it was due to certain plot elements and adult-ish themes in later chapters. So just be reminded of that before reading this one. Enjoy :)

-A

Andrew could only continue to hold Monica, doing his best to calm her, as a seemingly endless supply of tears continued to ooze from her eyes. It had maybe been an hour since Tess had left them with this news, an hour and still he could think of nothing else to say to reassure her, nothing that would even come close to being enough. He simply didn't know what to think or do about all this. On the surface of the issue, it seemed like a no-brainer for him. Given the choices at hand, he already knew which one he would choose, in a minute. Losing her again was not even an option in his mind. He had known that months ago, when he wondered if it would eventually come down to this very thing. It was almost harder this way, he thought, having the choice in their hands. Either way, they had to live with their decision and this time, there was truly no going back from it.

"It's getting dark," he said finally, looking around, "we should probably go somewhere." He had noticed the sun falling steadily from the sky in the last hour, but hadn't mentioned it, wanting to give her time to calm down, even if just a little. But there was no more time for that now. Even in paradise, the sun had to set and there were no buildings or shelters as far as he could see. The temperature seemed to be falling as well, so staying where they were was probably not the best idea.

"The log house in the woods," Monica replied numbly, answering the question that he didn't even need to ask.

Andrew lips turned up in a small smile and he squeezed her hand tightly, helping her to her feet. No sooner had they stood and thought of the small mountain cabin, they were there on the door step. The air was cold and crisp and heavy with the scent of burning wood. On the door hung a wreath of evergreen and holly, the same wreath that had hung there a year ago. Inside, in the corner of the living room, the same christmas tree stood. Memories of the previous season flashed through her mind, beautiful images of roses, and late night chats and snow-filled clearings in the woods. It all seemed so long ago, so far removed from where they were now.

Monica had been so preoccupied with her life and surviving it, she hadn't even realized it was nearing Christmas. Looking around the room, she noticed the tree, the candles over the fireplace, the tinsel twisted around the banister of the stairs … everything was exactly the same, untouched, as if no time had passed here. Even the scent of Tess's thanksgiving dinner filled the room, as if it was only hours ago that it was prepared. She found the thought both comforting and profoundly sad. Sinking to the sofa, she stared at the twinkling lights nestled in the tree for an immeasurable stretch of time, her eyes glazing over, shining with tears again at the thought of all that had transpired in the last year and what was still to come.

Before joining her on the couch, Andrew busied himself with lighting a fire. It was drafty in the cabin and he hoped the light and warmth would be comforting for her. He knew that she was overwhelmed with thoughts and emotions, but Andrew grew more and more troubled as the minutes passed. She hadn't spoken since they left Home and he didn't want to push. But they were going to have to talk about this at some point, sooner or later, and it wasn't going to be easy for either of them, but especially for her. She shifted her eyes to the building fire and seemed to be mesmerized by the flames. He reached out and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering just a bit longer, trailing down her jaw for the briefest of moments.

"Talk to me," he said softly, ignoring the swoop of his stomach at the feel of her skin beneath his touch, "it worries me that you're so quiet."

Monica turned her gaze to Andrew and opened her mouth to say something but then just shook her head and looked back into the dancing flames again, a shiver running up her spine. She closed her eyes against the odd fluttering in her stomach, the heat from the brush of electricity, and sighed heavily. There were just so many things that she didn't understand, and not just about the situation at hand. Being in this house, remembering last year … there were thoughts and feelings that she hadn't had a handle on before, and with Andrew so close to her, it was obvious that she didn't have a grip on them now either. There were things that she was feeling in that moment that she couldn't even begin to explain.

"I'm … I'm s-scared, Andrew ..." she said at long last, looking back at him, her voice wavering. He knew why, or he thought he did anyway, but he played along, noticing a look in her eyes that he couldn't place. There was something different there, something darker, like a reflection of the fire on the hearth. He longed to be able to read her mind and decipher precisely what was going through it.

"Tell me," he said simply, stroking through her hair again. He hated to see her like this, so upset and on edge and uncertain, "Tell me what you're scared of."

"Everything ..." she whispered, "I'm so scared of all of this. I-I don't know what to think or … what I'm supposed to feel … I'm just … I'm scared of losing you again, I'm scared of the thought of being completely human ..."

Monica paused and took a deep breath. His green eyes were fixated on her and she found herself almost dizzy from the intensity of his stare, like he could see into her very soul.

"I'm … um …" she stuttered, trying to piece together her thoughts, "I'm scared of … of how much I love you, still … it scares me and … and I'm scared that you're going to sit here all night, looking at me like that and … not try to kiss me."

There was a very slight smile pulling at the corner of her mouth at those last words and it wasn't a moment later that Andrew bent his head and pressed his lips to hers, kissing her soundly, effectively rendering the both of them breathless. Monica noted to herself that with his lips against hers, his breath sweet and warm, she could finally, gloriously breathe. After the longest year of her existence, she could breathe and she was alive. Very suddenly, she knew exactly what it was that she was feeling.

They broke apart for just the briefest of moments and then he was kissing her again, deeper, tangling his hands in her long hair. Andrew could feel something stirring within him, something unfamiliar but strong. Much too quickly, it seemed as though he was falling under a sort of spell, his thoughts blurring together, his head going cloudy and it wasn't until he felt her hands running across his bare chest that he even realized she had unbuttoned his shirt. It was enough to snap him out of his temporary trance.

Trying to keep his head on straight and remain ahold of his ability to be logical, he stopped her before she could push the shirt over his shoulders.

"Whoa … hold on," he whispered, trying to reason with her, "we shouldn't, this … is not a good idea, … we've crossed the line as it is ..."

"What line?" Monica argued back, hypnotized by him, unable to truly focus on what he was saying, "we're already in trouble, who cares ..." All she knew in that moment was that she had never wanted anything like this before, that she had never wanted anything like she wanted him. Appropriate for an angel, or not … she wanted him.

Andrew was at a loss, finding it extremely difficult to gather his thoughts. This was not a conversation, or argument rather, that he ever could have imagined having with her. On the one side, he completely agreed with her … they were already in trouble, had already been forced apart, been dealt a fate worse than death. So what did it matter, really? A very big part of him wanted to forget his reason and take her upstairs that very minute, but another part of him knew that tempting fate like this was very high on a list of ill-advised actions. Not to mention, there were certain logistical facts in all this that he simply couldn't ignore.

"I just …I love you so much, I don't want to hurt you," he said softly, brushing her cheek with his thumb, his voice laced with concern. He didn't want to say it out loud, but obviously neither of them had done this before. The thought of causing her any pain or worse, regret, was not a comforting thought. And on top of that, if he was being completely honest, he knew it wasn't exactly the honorable thing to do. She was upset, vulnerable and emotionally wrung out. What kind of man did that make him?

"And not just that," he continued, swallowing a lump in his throat, his voice hoarse with apprehension, "I don't want anything to jeopardize this time that we have … at any moment someone could be by to check in on us, and what then?"

But Monica was already shaking her head before he had even finished, drawing him down for another kiss, taking the lead, capturing his lips with her own.

"I don't care about them, I don't care about any of it ..." she said breathily against his mouth, pressing herself closer to him, "even if it's just for a night, I just want to forget, please Andrew …"

Once again, Andrew was finding it a challenge to remain in control of his ability to argue with her. The fiery look blazing in her eyes was one of complete and utter desire and he had never seen her this way, looking at him like that. He could feel it in the way she kissed him, the way she responded to his kiss, it was all just a little less innocent, a little more raw, a little more human. She was not the same angel that she was before. She was changed forever by her experiences over the last year, no longer shy and unsure, but open and wanting.

"Look at me," he demanded softly, breaking away once again, taking her face in his hands, "I need you to say it, out loud, that this is what you really want. I won't do it otherwise, baby, I need you to be absolutely sure ..."

Monica had to resist the urge to roll her eyes at him and smiled slightly, her gaze smoldering, burning a hole into his very being. "I'm positive," she whispered in reply, "I want you, all of you. I've never been more sure of anything. Please, Andrew … I feel like I need you."

Against his better judgment, and with a groan of longing, he leaned back into her, kissing her fiercely again, unable to deny her that which he also wanted beyond his capability of understanding. Taking her hand in his, he lead her up the stairs to the room which had always been his when they stayed here. It was dark save for the moonlight streaming in through the window and Andrew shut the door lightly, not bothering to turn on any light. Stepping behind her and encircling her waist with his arm, he pushed the hair away from her neck and laid a series of soft kisses there, breathing in her sweet scent, nearly drunk off of her. He couldn't quite believe how much he wanted her too. It was all so real in that moment, how very drastically things were about to change for them, yet again.

Slowly and with great care, he started to unclothe her, piece by piece, tenderly running his hands along each new area of uncovered skin, making her shiver and sigh periodically until there was nothing left in his way. Taking in the sight of her standing before him, Andrew could hardly believe how perfect she was.

"God, you're beautiful ..." he whispered and she flushed at his words, gazing up at him, her brown eyes wide with trust and love. He guided her through removing what clothes of his remained and then pulled her close again, savoring the warmth between them, the skin to skin contact alone enough to take their breath away. He brought his lips to hers again in a languid kiss, tightening his hold around her, and slowly guided her backwards towards the bed, lowering her gently. With her hair fanned across the pillows, she was a vision of beauty against the white linens.

With infinite tenderness and exquisite attention to detail, Andrew began laying delicate kisses along Monica's jaw, moving down her neck, tracing a course along her collarbones. Once he started, it was like he couldn't get enough of her. He left no part of her untouched, wanted to leave no inch of her skin unclaimed by his lips, tasting her, drinking her in, all but worshipping her like the priceless treasure that she was to him. More than once, he had to take a moment to just gaze at her, to steady his breath and slow his racing heart. She was literally intoxicating him, making him feel things that he never even knew that he could.

It was all Monica could do to lie still beneath him, occasionally having to remind herself to breathe. He was literally stealing the air from her lungs, setting her on fire, turning her to molten lava from the inside out. There was a constant stream of soft gasps and murmured words from her mouth, which only seemed to fuel the work that Andrew was doing with his.

"Andrew ..." she said urgently after what felt like a small eternity, her voice a whispered plea, grasping at his shoulders and attempting to pull him back up, her need for him reaching a heightened state, "Please ..."

One last time, Andrew searched her eyes for any sign of doubt, fear, or uncertainty. All he saw in them was a turbulent passion, love and desire for him, which he knew was reflected in his own eyes. Without breaking eye contact with her, he pushed forward slowly, whispering his own words of love and reassurance as he did. The briefest look of pain flashed across her features, and Andrew was loathe to see it, but it was quickly replaced with one of contentment when they were finally fully joined. Monica couldn't help but to let out a sound that was something between a moan and a sob at the precious union. She wrapped her arms around his neck, holding on tight. She couldn't focus on one thing other than the feeling of Andrew moving against her. It was like nothing she could have imagined, being with him like this, his rhythm smooth and infinitely gentle but sending her to a distant place, touching her soul. It was no time at all that her breath began to catch more frequently and she thought her heart might beat out of her chest, an unnamed sensation building up from within. With a cry of pure bliss, Monica seemed to fall off an imaginary cliff, her very being splintering into a thousand pieces, Andrew's name but a quivering breath on her lips.

For a few moments afterwards, Andrew could only stare at her, beautiful brown eyes drooping half closed in complacency. Smoothing the hair away from her face, he gathered her into his arms and shifted slightly, pulling her close, their faces just millimeters apart.

"Tell me you're okay," he pleaded softly, suddenly worried sick, the full reality of what they had just done beginning to set in, "tell me you're not sorry we just did that ..."

She just smiled and shook her head.

"Are you kidding?" She replied in a whisper, reaching up and tugging her fingers through his short blonde locks, "that was … I don't even have words, of course I'm not sorry. How could I be? I love you Andrew. I love you so much … I – wait … are you sorry?"

"Of course not, baby," he admonished quickly, "I love you too, I wonder sometimes if you have any idea how much … I just worry about you regretting this later, and who knows what the consequences could be ..."

At the word 'consequences,' Monica sat up abruptly and shook her head, her brows furrowing together in the middle, a look of consternation crossing her delicate features.

"No," she demanded quietly, "stop that right now, please I can't stand for you to say that. Please don't ruin this perfect moment talking about consequences and regrets … I could never regret what we just did, ever. Do you understand? And please stop mentioning consequences … this is about you and me … not them. I don't care what they say … I love you and I won't be sorry for that."

She was forcing back tears and Andrew felt the burn of emotion in the back of his own eyes. He knew that she was right. No matter what happened tomorrow, or the next day, or a month from now, they had each other now. He reached up and stroked his thumb across her cheek and then pulled her down to him, kissing her with all the love that he possessed, fully intending to make her his once again.