BD17
Moira watched with a soft smile as Ian drifted off into sleep. The combination of physical and mental strain had drained his energy. She stroked the side of his face, appreciating anew the clean strength of it.
In sleep, his face relaxed into a vulnerability she had only seen flashes of during their joining. She suspected he had never shared his inner self with another. It was sobering to realize that she probably knew him better than anyone, except perhaps the people who raised him. Not that she thought much of them, considering how they had controlled and confined his soul. They, whoever they were, had come very close to crippling Ian's spirit. And that wasn't all they'd damn near crippled.
Once she was certain that he was asleep Moira stroked her hands over his body lightly, checking to see if she had imagined the marks of old pain. The ridges of scar tissue on his wrists told her she had not. She felt a fierce surge of protectiveness well up within her. She had seen some of the pale crisscrossing of scar tissue on his body earlier, but there could have been several reasons for it. Now that she had the leisure to examine him closely, there was only one possible source for most of the wounds.
The last time she had seen damage like that, it had been in a Veteran's Hospital during her internship. A few of the patients had been prisoners of war in Vietnam, and they carried several similar marks. They had also been so psychologically damaged that twenty years later they were still coming in for therapy.
Ian had already lived a very brutal and, from what she had seen, limited life. He could not have had much of the groundwork necessary for a strong sense of self, unlike the men at the hospital. Everything he had said while drunk led Moira to think that he was rather like a bonsai tree. He had been pruned and confined into a smaller shape than he had been born for, to suit the purposes of another. She wondered what he had been permitted to do, after hearing so many basic things he had not been.
Whatever those things were, Moira hoped they could explore them together, but she was not going to assume it would be so. No matter what he had said tonight, without the alcohol lowering his defenses, he would not have opened up to her. When he sobered up, she suspected she would be 'Dr Burke' again, and he would be 'Nottingham'. The idea hurt like hell, but she knew it was the most likely outcome.
Really, it would be for the best. She loved her work, and the military life. If she were caught with Ian, she would be dishonorably discharged at the very least. So would he, and that would doubtless put him back in the hands of the heartless bastards who had hurt him. It would not be a good outcome for either of them.
What would she do if he did treat her distantly in the morning? Could she be professional? Could she be professional if he didn't? It was going to be a very strained and difficult time in the lab until they found a way to interact without letting tonight color their reactions to one another.
"Oh Ian, what a fine mess we're in." Moira said softly as she committed the way he looked to memory, fearing it would be the last time she would see him like this.
She was shaken out of her depression by a faint buzzing sound from the utility room. The wash cycle had ended. Moira knew she needed to get up and put their clothes in the dryer, but found it difficult to leave his side. She caressed his face one last time and slid out of bed.
She hurried down the hall, shoved his clothes and her underthings in the dryer and turned it on. The silk dress she carried with her to the bathroom and hung it over the shower door. Shivering a bit, she headed back to the bedroom. She was pretty sure she could get Ian to warm her up.
Ian was sprawled sideways on the bed. He was sleeping on his stomach, one arm hanging off the mattress. He was so handsome that Moira felt her breath catch. Hesitantly, as if he would disappear, she walked over to his side and reached out to touch him. Her hand hovered over his back. Just as her palm brushed the warm satin of his skin, she heard the distinct sound of the front door opening.
Moira watched with a soft smile as Ian drifted off into sleep. The combination of physical and mental strain had drained his energy. She stroked the side of his face, appreciating anew the clean strength of it.
In sleep, his face relaxed into a vulnerability she had only seen flashes of during their joining. She suspected he had never shared his inner self with another. It was sobering to realize that she probably knew him better than anyone, except perhaps the people who raised him. Not that she thought much of them, considering how they had controlled and confined his soul. They, whoever they were, had come very close to crippling Ian's spirit. And that wasn't all they'd damn near crippled.
Once she was certain that he was asleep Moira stroked her hands over his body lightly, checking to see if she had imagined the marks of old pain. The ridges of scar tissue on his wrists told her she had not. She felt a fierce surge of protectiveness well up within her. She had seen some of the pale crisscrossing of scar tissue on his body earlier, but there could have been several reasons for it. Now that she had the leisure to examine him closely, there was only one possible source for most of the wounds.
The last time she had seen damage like that, it had been in a Veteran's Hospital during her internship. A few of the patients had been prisoners of war in Vietnam, and they carried several similar marks. They had also been so psychologically damaged that twenty years later they were still coming in for therapy.
Ian had already lived a very brutal and, from what she had seen, limited life. He could not have had much of the groundwork necessary for a strong sense of self, unlike the men at the hospital. Everything he had said while drunk led Moira to think that he was rather like a bonsai tree. He had been pruned and confined into a smaller shape than he had been born for, to suit the purposes of another. She wondered what he had been permitted to do, after hearing so many basic things he had not been.
Whatever those things were, Moira hoped they could explore them together, but she was not going to assume it would be so. No matter what he had said tonight, without the alcohol lowering his defenses, he would not have opened up to her. When he sobered up, she suspected she would be 'Dr Burke' again, and he would be 'Nottingham'. The idea hurt like hell, but she knew it was the most likely outcome.
Really, it would be for the best. She loved her work, and the military life. If she were caught with Ian, she would be dishonorably discharged at the very least. So would he, and that would doubtless put him back in the hands of the heartless bastards who had hurt him. It would not be a good outcome for either of them.
What would she do if he did treat her distantly in the morning? Could she be professional? Could she be professional if he didn't? It was going to be a very strained and difficult time in the lab until they found a way to interact without letting tonight color their reactions to one another.
"Oh Ian, what a fine mess we're in." Moira said softly as she committed the way he looked to memory, fearing it would be the last time she would see him like this.
She was shaken out of her depression by a faint buzzing sound from the utility room. The wash cycle had ended. Moira knew she needed to get up and put their clothes in the dryer, but found it difficult to leave his side. She caressed his face one last time and slid out of bed.
She hurried down the hall, shoved his clothes and her underthings in the dryer and turned it on. The silk dress she carried with her to the bathroom and hung it over the shower door. Shivering a bit, she headed back to the bedroom. She was pretty sure she could get Ian to warm her up.
Ian was sprawled sideways on the bed. He was sleeping on his stomach, one arm hanging off the mattress. He was so handsome that Moira felt her breath catch. Hesitantly, as if he would disappear, she walked over to his side and reached out to touch him. Her hand hovered over his back. Just as her palm brushed the warm satin of his skin, she heard the distinct sound of the front door opening.