The chilly Yakima air greets my lungs, settling gently all around me as a cool mountain breeze brushes my hair and tickles my scalp. I'm struck with the realization that I don't think that I've ever been happier to be anywhere in my life. Here, in this small town in Washington State - a town that you can't even see on a regular map -is the place where I find my happiness.

You know, I still feel foolish about what's happened over the past couple of days. Rationally, none of what happened was my fault. I know that; my husband knows that. But for me, knowing what I experienced with Ronin and rehashing in my mind what he made my feel and how much I enjoyed it… well let's just say that it's going to be difficult to face my children and pretend that nothing's happened. How do you come back from that kind of violation? How do you move on knowing that it's not only you that has been hurt, but the one person in this world, this existence, that means the most to you?

"Beverly," there's no intimation of reproach in his voice.

I look over at him and shake my head, holding back tears of shame in my own eyes. "Beverly," he repeats as he stops walking and pulls me to a halt. I hope he doesn't try to comfort me and tell me everything will be all right. He hasn't tried any of that in the past 48 hours and I hope he doesn't start now. I hang my head again, focusing my gaze on the specked pavement of the car park.

I hear his sharp intake of breath, "let's talk". He tugs at my hand, a signal for me to keep walking. We stop in front of the car and my bag is disengaged from my shoulder. The trunk door opens and there's that rustle of fabric on fabric before the door is once again shut. I assume my position at the passenger door and step into the vehicle. Goodness, I'm being so foolish! Not an hour ago I couldn't keep my hands off him, couldn't stop looking at him and kissing him, but now my emotions have taken a 180 degree turn and I'm back where I was last night: ashamed and frustrated. I haven't been this prone to mood swings since I was 15!

A hand gently wraps itself around my arm while another tilts my head to meet his gaze, an action that he's become habituated to recently. "Talk to me," he whispers.

I shake my head back and forth again and this time, I make no effort to stop the tears that automatically come. "I'm just so angry, Jean Luc… I'm so angry with myself," I see him about to interrupt me so I hold up my free hand. "I know it wasn't my fault, but it was so easy to fall into him. And, the way that I thought about you," I gesture to him, "was unconscionable. When he was inside of me, or whatever he was, I would have done anything to get rid of you. The hatred and annoyance that I felt by one of your touches was enough to ignite a bonfire." I let the words sink in, and he says nothing. "Jean Luc," I choke after moments of silence and tears, "I'm… I'm…"

I can't find the words. I don't want to keep apologizing because in doing so I'm cheapening the statement.

He takes a deep breath and moves closer in my direction until he hits the armrest that sits between us. "Beverly, last night I was angry with you because I didn't understand what was going on. I didn't know what to think when Ronin first came to you – first started to possess you. Yes, you changed but, to be honest, it all happened so fast. I knew," he exhales and momentarily fumbles, "I knew that something was happening, but, to be honest, I didn't know what to think. And then when you started to pull away, I started getting angry. When Ned and I ran in and found you in his arms, he looked so real and human, I thought that... well I don't know what I thought. I suppose again I was just so upset and hurt." We sit in peace again, neither of us speaking before he resumes. "But none of this is, was, your fault. And," he chuckles and meets my gaze, "I know that brings you no comfort, but I don't hold you responsible for anything." The wheels of his mind are turning, "we don't have to tell Wes and no one ever has to find out about it unless you want them to. I know it's not going to be easy to get over this – it never is when you're violated. But," he caresses my face, "I'm not going to let you sink into guilt over this. I'm not going to sit by and allow you to wallow in self-loathing for something that you had no control over. My love for you hasn't diminished, Beverly. You," his hand finds its way over my breast to lie on top of my heart, "you are my life and the very air that I breathe and nothing, nothing" he emphasizes the last word, "will ever change that – not in this life or the next."

My tears run freely at his love for me. I nod my head, lean into his touch, and hold his hand firmly over my heart. "I love you".

/

"Wesley?" We call as we enter the house and set the bags in the foyer.

No response.

"Wes, Saoirse?" The house is dark and it seems that no one's home…

I look over and see a worried expression on Jean Luc's face. "Where could he be?"

He shakes his head. "I don't know… uh…" he looks up trying to gather his thoughts. "I suppose he could be at school with the kids." He fumbles in his pocket as his panic and my own begins to boil over. Taking out the communicator he searches through the contacts to find Wes. The device dials out loud. For a moment, we're hopeful that he'll pick up. However, when his voice greeting answers for him, anxiety again settles between us. Where is he? Where are the babies? Why won't he pick up the phone?