Boone was restless when Shannon came to bed, moaning and muttering uncharacteristically in his sleep. She gently gathered him into her arms, his body melting loosely into her embrace without resistance, fitting against her like a key into a lock. His furrowed brow smoothed and he sighed in contentment as his hand slid up to cup her breast.
'I love you,' she sent to him, he sighed again and nestled into her even deeper as she glided her hand up the smoothness of his back and surrendered herself to the soothing balm of sleep.
Shannon wasn't surprised at awakening alone the next morning. Boone had a truly amazing capacity for processing information in his sleep, his mind seemingly shifting into overdrive as his body renewed itself. He'd no doubt dissected their talk of the previous night, as well as Andrews' plan and wanted to discuss it with them. Probably unable to sleep as he anxiously awaited their rising, he'd chosen to get up rather than risk waking her early with his fidgeting.
She was crossing the hall after her shower, a towel wrapped loosely around her when Andrew opened the door of his bedroom and emerged into the hall, washed, brushed and dressed for the day.
"Morning, Shan," he smiled in greeting.
"Hey, how'd you sleep?" They exchanged the usual morning pleasantries.
He sniffed the air, "Boone's making a Sunday breakfast?" It was only Wednesday.
"I think he wants to talk to us," Shannon opined.
"Oh," was his only comment as she continued into the bedroom, dropping the towel on the floor as she reached the dresser. She'd pulled on some underwear and was just about to select a bra when she heard her name from the doorway.
"I thought you went downstairs," she said over her shoulder as she donned her final undergarment.
"I wanted to talk to you first," Andrew said, crossing to the bed and sitting.
"Shoot," she opened the closet and reached for a blouse, then changed her mind and picked a different one, figuring that she might as well take advantage of his presence.
"You think Boone wants to talk us out of our plan?" Andrew asked, his mother advancing on him, as she slid the article of clothing on.
So, she thought in amusement, suddenly it's our plan, "Probably." Shannon stood with her back to him, holding her hair out of the way, so he could do up the row of buttons that ran up the back of her top. She always had a bitch of a time fastening them herself.
"That's what I guessed too," his nimble fingers made short work of the task.
She went back to the closet, pulling the rest of her intended attire for the day from it and continued dressing.
"I'm not going to back down," he said, "And I'd kind of like your support."
"Combined front, eh?" She zipped her skirt and draped her suit coat over her arm, reaching down for her shoes. Shannon eyed the pumps distastefully, marvelling as she recalled her pre-crash obsession with high heels.
"Yeah, I think it'd be easier not to give in to him that way," Andrew hopped off the bed and got her brush and hair pins from the top of the dresser. She'd mentioned the night before that she wanted Boone to do her hair for her.
Shannon had finally entered an arena where her looks were a detriment instead of an asset. She'd discovered that a tall leggy blonde with model echelon beauty was unfortunately often not taken seriously in the business world. There was northing she could do about most of her appearance and so, in an effort to combat stereotyping, had purchased a very conservative wardrobe and usually wore her hair up, especially when meeting with male clients.
"Okay, I'm in," she spit in her palm and held her hand out for him to shake. Once he did the same she said, "Let's go see what Machiavellian plot Boone's devised."
The plot consisted of French toast, their favourite. Thick slabs of homemade bread soaked in an orange juice, egg and cinnamon mixture, grilled to a golden brown. Shannon's was topped with a sliced strawberry fanned out decoratively and Andrew's with a star fruit. Boone's own plate was garnished with green seedless grapes, his own personal weakness.
He let them fork up a couple of mouthfuls; then set to work tying to persuade them to abandon what he'd come to view as their "Mission Boone" plan. He was foiled, however, as even his best wasn't enough when met with the level of dogged determination his family displayed. In the end a compromise was reached wherein they'd work him up to it slowly, limiting themselves to just one or two random acts of kindness a day, and increasing their frequency gradually. He still didn't look completely convinced, but didn't have much choice in the matter as they refused to budge.
Once Boone had done up her hair for her, Shannon gave him a kiss when she was ready to leave, Andrew in tow. "I'll see you for lunch in your office at one."
"What?" he frowned in consternation, they didn't usually meet for lunch and he was sure she hadn't said anything.
Andrew had told her that he didn't think Boone was eating properly again and had suggested she start dining with him mid day to make sure that he did.
"Honestly, Boone, it's in your notebook!" She sighed in mock frustration.
"It is?" He picked it up and flipped to the last page, then concealed a bit of a smile. There, appearing directly below an entry he'd just made that morning, and in her almost illegible scribble, was a note about their luncheon appointment. He adopted a contrite tone of voice, "Sorry Shan, I must have gapped it."
Feigning total innocence she replied, "Please Boone, perk up and pay attention, I won't always be around to remind you of these things." She'd written it when he'd briefly left to go to the bathroom during the meal. "And don't be late, you're bringing the food."
"Why am I not surprised?" They shared a smile at their foolishness then he sent them on their way, remaining behind to do the dishes. Shannon was dropping Andrew off at school.
He was setting up lunch at the small round table near the window, his back to the door when she entered his office. "I made one plate for both of us, I hope that's okay, I figured we'd share."
"I have no objection to sharing with you Boone. I'd only have an objection to sharing you." She told him, flippantly. "What are we having?"
"Whole wheat wrap stuffed with chicken and grilled veggies, ancho chile mayonnaise. You had a craving," he smiled knowingly over his shoulder at her, he'd sussed her out before making the meal, "and salad."
She found her mouth watering, thinking that sometimes there was a decided advantage to having a telepathic spouse.
They ate in silence for a bit; then Shannon decided to come clean.
"I bought a book," she told him.
She purchased novels frequently, usually the latest fluff, so Boone figured there had to be something more significant about this particular book than that it was the latest Danielle Steele.
He put his fork down and waited.
"Jack got me the title as a recommendation from a colleague," she didn't want to meet his eyes. He still waited, dreading what was coming next.
"It's about male depression," she finally admitted.
"Oh," the single syllable was spoken in a small voice, his shoulders sagging.
She'd expected the reaction and experienced a rush of regret at reawakening his melancholy, especially so soon after his meltdown of the previous night, "Please don't feel bad Boone," she entreated. "I…I wanted you to know, and I just needed to understand. You won't see anyone, so I'm it and I wanted to be better equipped to help you."
"Sorry, Shan," he apologized, exactly what for, she wasn't sure.
She forged ahead anyway. "Some of the stuff I read really scared me, and it said you could suffer from this for the rest of your life."
"You want to bail on me? Is that what you're working up to? Though I guess I can't really blame you if you want to leave me again." He immediately expected the worst.
"You're such a dumbass," she chided gently. "No, I'm in it for the long haul, Boone."
His lips twitched in an approximation of a smile and he met her eyes for the first time since she'd told him about the book, "Thanks."
"You're welcome, Boone," she grinned a much more genuine smile than his. "You want to read the book? I'm finished it."
"You think I haven't already read every book out there? I was looking for answers too Shan, and help. You can't possibly think I want to be like this, but I don't have any more choice in the matter than a diabetic has about his condition. I just do the best I can." He shrugged. "You tell Andrew about any of the stuff that scared you?" He looked at her in concern.
"I don't think I have to Boone, he's a bright boy, he has the internet and the library, I'm sure he already knows all I do and more," she told him gently.
"Yeah, I guess you're right. You want to talk about what you read?" he asked hesitantly. All he wanted to do was avoid the subject, but knew that wouldn't be the right choice for either of them.
"If we could?" Shannon asked hopefully and rose to close the door when he nodded in grudging acceptance.
They talked for the rest of the hour, Shannon urging him from time to time to finish his lunch. Once he was discussing symptoms and side effects in general and not himself specifically, he became more confident, his attitude improving.
When Margie tapped on the door and then opened it at their invitation to tell Shannon that her appointment had arrived, he was almost back to himself, though not quite.
Once the girl had left Shannon circled around the table and kissed him, "Go make food, Boone," she ordered.
"You really mean 'happy the fuck up' don't you?" He pulled her into his lap and kissed her more deeply, careful not to muss her hair and have to redo his handiwork.
"Well…you certainly are happier when you're around food." She raised her eyebrow at the small bit of lunch that he'd yet to finish, "though it's a chore to get you to eat it sometimes."
He popped the last bit of his wrap into his mouth. "Satisfied?" he asked after chewing and swallowing.
"Very." She kissed him again and left for her meeting, pausing briefly at the door long enough to advise him that their lunch date was going to be a permanent fixture from then on, then she was gone in a flick of blue gabardine.
"Yes dear," he called after her with a suffering sigh, knowing better than to protest.