Epilogue: Another Sky

A/N: And now the slushy, fluffy love scene you've all been waiting for. Being a natural robot, it's not easy for me to write these, but we've got to think about bums on seats.

Lorelei pulled at my leg. "Mama, come and see what I made with Aunt Pammy!"

My other leg was also occupied with her brother, John, almost the same age. They were both adopted.

"Can I see in just a minute? We've still got customers," I pleaded. It was exam week and "Pamina's Pizza" was jampacked with stressed and hungry college students. Come to think of it, it's only a couple weeks before James's and my 9th anniversary. Sometimes I wonder what happened to Rosa and Jack. I don't even know if they're alive.

James blew a kiss from the dining room, a gigantic platter of pizza braced on his still-supple shoulder. It's the little things like this that make me think of our wedding…all those years ago.

Time passes as it has the nature of doing. It was time for James's music lesson. I decided to teach him trumpet, not being the most difficult of instruments and being the only one I know sufficiently enough to teach it. He gets frustrated easily, I admit. I found him sitting at the bar, with the trumpet on the table. His head was in his hands.

"I don't want to practice today, you know. I'm no good at it."

"You are plenty good. Anyway," I attempted, using what could have been a coy voice had I not croaked with the fatigue of running a business. "I've decided to try a new approach."

James looked intrigued. I certainly didn't know what I was doing, and this was only a guess. The ancient folklore of band didn't steer wrong in these respects.

"Ancient musician lore claims that a good trumpet embouchre (spuck felling.) means a good kiss." I slid up on the barstool next to him, idly twirling a lock of hair on my finger. The red leather of the barstool felt gentle on my legs. The other hand snaked sleepily down his back. The emptiness of the room was solemn, almost holy as I whispered my bait. "The converse is also true." Hook, line, and sinker. I didn't need much grace, so good thing I had none. My free hand took his shoulder, and spun him towards me, and he took me into a gentle embrace. "Shall we begin the lesson, then?" My answer came as a soft kiss, my lips parting, his hands reaching for my still-short hair as mine gripped round the back of his neck. I untied his ponytail. Just for fun. His tongue gently moved into my mouth—everything about him was gentle. That would have to end, I thought jokingly to myself. All of a sudden, I moved fiercely on him, his face, his throat, anything, everything! James reciprocated with such force, in his hands, in his lips, that I leaned back. His hands moved up and down the thin fabric of my cheap cotton shirt, and his kisses moved down my throat.

He paused at my collarbone to say, "A musician, a nurse, a cook, AND a teacher. Carmen Norrington, you are everything."

I allowed him to tug at the hem of my shirt, pull it loose of the holdings in my apron, and with an outstretched arm cast things tastefully dark. I hope Pamina put the kids to bed.

While you're waiting for the lights to come back on, you can entertain yourselves with the pictures on the walls in the lobby.

The first picture is one in black and white, from a photo booth at the mall. It's Rosa and me in that picture. I never knew how much I'd miss her till she left. The picture is from our middle school years—that you can tell by her geek-glasses and my braces and awkward slouch. Up higher is a photograph of my family, before Mum and Dad died. Mum's hair is a brassy gold with green eyes. She wears a black turtleneck and what now seems to be the mournful leer of people from the world beyond. Dad is in a polo shirt, his short, black hair standing out against the faux seascape. A thin mustache above his grin was always his trademark. His eyes were hazel. Pamina, a gangly tween, grinned brightly, tin whistle in hand. I was as yet a child, in a sailor suit-esque dress and a stormy pout. Not much had changed since then. To the right of that is a picture of James. Nobly, proudly, he looks off to the sun, sword in hand. I haven't yet told him that I got it off the internet. Still, his eyes gleam green and he looks smart and dashing in his navy brocade. I wonder where that jacket is now? I'm sure we've still got it. But anyhow. Farther along, near the counter, one last picture hangs in an ornate frame, of a short and short-haired bride with a veil attached to haircombs hiding her face. She stands in a garden where honeysuckle blooms with merry abandon. Next to her is a groom whose face you'll recognize from the previous picture. The powdered wig is gone, as are the hat and old-school getup. His hair is braided and snakes over one shoulder, coming to rest on the lapel of his suit. One hand hangs by his side; the other is around the bride's waist, resting on a lace design of a crane. If you're especially clever like I suspect you are, you know already it's a picture of our wedding. On warm spring days I remember it so clearly—in a formal garden in June. Not many remark that Ohio looks a bit like the Mediterranean for this time of the year, but I think it's so, and that day was a day that would make even the most hardened Sicilian homesick.

James and I are gone up to bed now, but the lights are still off. Perhaps it's time to go home. I'd be quick, though. There's a storm on the horizon and you never know who'll be blown into town.

The End (at the moment.)

Author's Note: I'd like to thank all the bands who contributed (unknowingly) lyrics to this work, as well as my frequent readers and reviewers, JazzTrumpet, SpacePotato, Flute-Angel21, and MrsDeppObsessorGoddess. There may be others, and thank you all as well. I'd like to thank my family and teachers for suffering my inattentiveness while I hack away at the mangy plotbunnies, and I'll thank you all to keep a weather eye on the horizon, because Falcon K. Green doesn't work her arse off for something she doesn't love to do. ('cept math. Which is what I'm also doing right now. Mwar!) Also, thank you Disney for being so sweet as to lend me your gorgeous characters, especially James and Jack.