A/N: You've read chapter nine, you know the drill.

"I won't be here when you get back tonight."

"You going to Carrie's?" Tom asked as he pulled his hat on by the door.

The casual nature in which his grandson asked the question surprised him, Donald had left it to the last moment to tell him. Having heard the grown up response he didn't know why he'd left it so late, he'd been worried he might upset or confuse Tom but Tom was an adult and had more important things to worry about than where his grandfather was of an evening.

"Yeah," he told him, "she asked me."

"That's good." The younger man opened the door, "I reckon she must get lonely. Tell her I say hi."

"I will."

And with that Tom was gone. There had been no questions, no glances, no innuendos. He was just glad his grandfather had a friend, just as he was glad the spinster teacher had a friend. He was a good, kind person and in that moment his grandfather felt very proud of him.

Donald had worried about Carrie after Saturday had gone. He knew she had been sincere when she had told him that she had had a wonderful time spending the evening with his family but as she had said goodbye he had sensed such sadness in her. Her need to be close to him had been severe for one who was stone cold sober. In his mind he had brushed away her flirting the week before as result of the wine and the wine only, but the fact that when she was sober she was so much more intense, much less casual, made him wonder what she actually needed from their friendship.

Carrie opened her door to him. It was only five thirty, she'd been back from work for about an hour and gone straight into her school prep, she'd got her books marked and graded before he arrived.

"Hi," she looked up at him, kissed his cheek as he bent down to kiss hers.

"Hi, Carrie," he said back, "sorry if I'm too early, I- I wasn't sure when to arrive," she closed her door behind him, swept the curtain closed after it.

"You're not too early," she said softly. "Donald," she said his name seriously as they stood in the dark hallway at the foot of the stairs, he looked down at her. She was very serious and so he didn't smile, just looked back. "Donald," she said his name more quietly, "Thank you for the other night, I wanted to tell you- I want you to know how much I admire you," she whispered, "Your attitude to life, your love for your family, the kindness you have shown me," she looked up at him.

"Carrie, don't be stupid," he said quietly back and he even managed a nervous laugh, "you don't need to say anything like that to me."

"Yes," she closed her eyes and shook her head, "yes I do," she stressed.

"Sweetheart, don't get romantic," he said quietly and she opened her eyes in shock and looked up at him, he smiled, he was kidding, she smiled back and breathed out in relief.

"Shut up," she whispered and she grinned and put her hand out and pushed him a little. Her hand lingered on his arm and she moved closer and put her arms up and around him, she closed her eyes and held onto him, pressing her face against his shoulder. Donald held her gently, enveloped her in his arms. "It's not romance, it's fact," she whispered against his shirt.

"I'll do whatever you ask, Carrie, whatever you need. You say and I'll jump." He told her gently and she shivered in his arms, "even if you just want me to put up wallpaper or catch a spider," he assured her and he squeezed her reassuringly.

"I don't want those things," she took her head away from his shoulder and looked up at him, "I want you to come upstairs."

"That's fine too," he told the serious woman.

They were silent up the stairs, silent in her bedroom, the room she'd grown up in, slept in for forty years. They were silent in the darkness as they took of their clothes and held each other, kissed and touched one another. And they were silent as they made love.

It was not the silly play of ten days previous, they did not laugh or smile, it was a serious and passionate act. Carrie clung to him, dug her fingers into him, held her face close to his, her nose and her mouth brushing against him as they lay pressed together. She sighed and shivered and twitched when he went down, held his hands, touched his face and afterwards she moved steadily, strongly beneath him as he crushed her, hid her from the world.

Donald had never seen sex as something that should be taken too seriously, it was not poetry or art, it was just two people being together. But his sparring partner had been so serious in expressing her affection, she'd been so serious and quiet as she had kissed and held him by her bed that he felt that his usual tone-lightening behavior would be seen as an insult and so he followed her lead and he was serious and silent and strong as she seemed to want him to be.

She had told him lots of times now how she admired him, she liked him, he knew that, yet everything about him had been embodied in the way he had been with her the first time; he had been kind, gentle, generous and sort of silly. Throughout their serious and silent love making he was still generous, still kind, but she pushed and held him hard as she stared into him, she did not want silly and she did not seem to want gentle either.

"Is it ok, honey?" he asked her as she held onto him.

"Yes," she whispered back against his face, he was being harder, rougher with her and she knew it was just for her, "It's good."

"It's what you want?" He wasn't sure, her red face was too serious for him to tell.

"Yes," she whispered, "yes."

Donald kissed her hot neck and her cheek as she sighed and breathed beneath him. He was glad he was still fit, still able to give her what she wanted, he moved harder for her and looked down at her face, her look was almost pained, sad, as she tensed and held him tighter.

"Donald," Carrie whispered his name. She felt her heart beat hard in her chest as she dared speak. They had been practically silent all evening. The sex had finished fifteen minutes earlier and since then they had been even more silent. They had climbed beneath her blankets and the school teacher had rested her head on the old man's chest, she had listened to his heart slow to normal, listened to him recover his breathing and she had held onto him, her arms around him while he had gently held her, and still both had been silent.

"You ok, Carrie?" he replied, she felt his voice against her face as it rumbled from inside his chest.

"Yes," she said quietly. "Donald," she said his name again, "I'm sorry that wasn't as much fun as last time. Sorry I'm not much fun," she specified quietly.

"You're lots of fun," he said gently and he squeezed her shoulder, "I- I thought you wanted it like that," he tried quietly.

"I did, I did." She assured him and she moved from his side, took her face from his shoulder and sat up a little in her bed, she looked down at him, "I needed it like that," she promised, "thank you. I- I've been feeling really strange lately," she admitted and her face flushed red. "It- it's probably just hormonal," she shrugged a small shrug. She looked down at him and she smiled, "You ever been with a menopausal woman before?"

He smiled back at her. "Course I have," he answered gently and she smiled at him still. Carrie put her arms around him, pressed her body on top of him and he embraced her and kissed her as she kissed him. She smiled at his lips and looked down at him and giggled, he smiled back and put his hand up on her face and brushed her thick blonde hair from her eyes. "You're never menopausal," he told her, "you pert little thing," she closed her eyes and laughed, he smiled and enjoyed seeing the lines at the corners of her eyes crinkle as she grinned, she was a very beautiful woman. Her face was aging well, a youthful, smiling face, the few lines she had smiled and complimented her and Donald was glad to see her smiling once more. If she truly was menopausal then he knew one benefit of a much older lover, if nothing else, he would make her feel younger.

"You make me laugh," she whispered down to him and her teeth still shone from between her lips, "I've never known anyone like you," she admitted without really thinking and her smile faded and she let go and moved from him. She sat up in the bed and looked down at her hands in her lap, she smiled sadly at them.

Donald slowly sat up too and waited silently for her to speak.

"I've been feeling sad," she admitted quietly, as if it were a terrible shameful secret. "Only this last week. Well, not really," she shook her head, "on and off, I guess, since before we were friends. I've been so happy since we- these last couple of weeks," she corrected, "I really look forward to seeing you, hanging out," she turned her head and looked up at him, she smiled, "last week when you were here, it was so much fun," he smiled down at her and she paused as she looked back.

He felt sorry for her.

She was lonely and she needed a proper partner, someone to sit and listen to her when she got back from work, someone just to be there. He knew she didn't want it, she said she didn't want it, but she wasn't suited to being alone.

"And the other day," she looked away from him again, "at your place, with the kids," her breath shook a little, "I had such a nice time on Saturday that on Sunday I- I couldn't even get up. I felt so sad." She stressed. Donald reached for her and put a hand gently on her back.

"I've felt sad," she shrugged and tried to speak normally, go back to her casual tone, "just sad about nothing in particular, just days when I don't want to smile but- but, Donald, I've never felt it like that before," she whispered in a scared voice. "I felt so happy being with you all! Listening to Murph so enthusiastic, so full of passion for her learning and Tom so strong and so happy," she looked round and smiled at him, "like you, like another you," she reached for him, he let go of her back and let her touch his face briefly then reach for his hands, she held them tightly. "And you did it all," she told him admirably, she smiled, she wanted him to know she wasn't sad, she was happy because of him. "I- it's not like I wish my family could have been like that or- or that my father had been like you," she shook her head as she held his hands, "I was happy, happy even just being an outsider looking in on you guys…"

Donald let her hold his hands and looked down at her. He wondered what he should say to comfort her. What he could actually offer her.

It hadn't taken long for him to fall in love with her. She was kind and smart and funny, he'd known she was all those things years ago. And then to develop a friendship through letters, through jokes and riddles, it was nice, it was fun- the most fun he'd had with another person (who wasn't a part of his family) in years. He was a sap he knew it, to fall in love so easily, but he would have gone out of his way to protect her and to help her in any way he could, even before she had walked up to his bedroom.

He got it, she didn't need romance, she needed reassurance, she needed comfort. That evening's comfort had come in the form of a physical act of distraction, an all-engulfing sexual experience that had allowed her to disappear, to feel release and relief and to feel she was in his hands only and she existed nowhere else… As much as he would have liked to, realistically he could not offer that sort of comfort indefinitely.

"You don't need to feel like that," Donald spoke.

She looked up in surprise and her face flushed pink, "I'm real sorry that it got you that bad, Carrie," he said gently, "but I won't let it get that way again."

She stared at him and her heart beat and her head swam in a sudden mild outrage at his stupidly heroic empty promise, "What can you possibly do?" she whispered, a low scared hiss.

He took one of his hands from hers and he touched her face affectionately again, stroked it gently, "I can promise to always be your buddy," he told her gently and her face softened in surprise, he stroked her hair behind her ears, "you don't need to get sad because we had one nice day," he whispered, "you can be calm and sure that at least every week from now on we will have a day that is just as nice."

She nodded gratefully and she moved closer and hugged him.

"Yes," she agreed, "I would like that."

He held her and he stayed the strong calm cowboy she wanted him to be, he would not whisper words of love, the idea was tragic. He knew if the world was still living she would not look twice at him, she shouldn't have been with him at all, he knew that too. He could, at least for now, provide her with the sexual release her body cried out for but he would be her friend and her guardian primarily, because it was appropriate and he hoped it would put her mind at ease.

"You can talk to me about how you feel," he told her quietly, "It's ok, I promise I won't misconstrue it as romance." She laughed a little shakily in his arms, "you can trust me, Sweetheart." she sighed, this time in relief.

Carrie felt small and protected. It was primitive and something she'd never really experienced before, the need to feel safe in the strong arms of someone bigger than her, it was a great comfort.