Murdoch in the Jungle

by Romantic Nerd

In 1904 Detective Murdoch and Constable Crabtree investigate a murder involving the the meat-packing industry. Undercover as hobos, they encounter Upton Sinclair who is researching his novel, "The Jungle." Sinclair helps them with their investigation and to learn how to survive in this, dark, depressing and soul-torturing world of the early twentieth century JUNGLE.

16. Chapter 16: Finally Home in the Jungle M

Chapter 15_Finally at Home in the Jungle

"Argh!" William screamed out as he awoke from another dream, still alone on the couch. Its torturous memory lingered in his mind, tempting him back. Despite the chill in the room, he was drenched in sweat. He remembered that the dream took place in a real place – a place where he had been, at Durham's Meat-Packing Company in Chicago. There he had seen it in full action. Winding around and up the outside of the four-story building, there was a wide, wooden- ramp, a long series of steps with a wooden fence as a railing on the outside of it. Three or four hogs could fit across it because it was so wide. Down at the bottom was the final pen, where the hogs would be congregated after they were removed from the train.

First thing in the morning, it would start. The workers would open the gate to the ramp and start whooping and hollering, herding the hogs forward. The crowd would begin their final journey up the ramp, packed in like sardines in a can. All would take this final trek, young and old, sick and healthy, pregnant, lame, strong, and injured alike. Up at the very top the ramp narrowed, only enough room for one hog right in front of the door up in the sky. Now William knew first-hand what waited for the hog on the other side of the door, having been the worker to do it at Armour's establishment. He remembered the nightmare…

Himself, Julia, George – the three of them, along with all of the rest of humanity, marched agonously forward, uphill, uphill, uphill. Never a break, never a breeze, never any relief. The slope of the stairways never lessened, never offered the thrill, the joy, of a decline. All faces were dull, devoid of hope, too weak to show their pain. They climbed forward – they climbed up. George said, with as much optimism as he could muster, "I'm sure it will start to go downhill soon, sir." William tried with all his might to agree, but he failed. Then he noticed it… Julia was gone! She must have lagged behind. He tried to stop – to turn back to see her, to find her, but the masses and masses of people behind them trudged on, bumping into him, throwing him off balance, threatening to knock him to the ground, where he knew, for he had seen it, that people died from being trampled.

"Julia! Julia!" he cried out frantically. But no answer came. She was gone. "Perhaps she had moved ahead of them," his thought offered enthusiastically. He stretched his neck up, straining it to its limits, to search for her up ahead, all the while moving along with the crowd. "That's odd?" he thought with the sight. Up ahead, there seemed to be an end. It was not endless! But then, his hope evaporated, and panic seized his heart, for he realized what it meant. Death! Certain death! They would fall off a cliff! Or they would be chained to a giant wheel to hoist them up to be slaughtered like the pigs! Or they would be prodded into a trap, and smashed between the eyes with a sledge-hammer, to be knocked to the ground and then to have their throats slashed like the cattle. There was no way out! And he had lost Julia. He would die having lost her. Perhaps she was already dead! … having fallen and been trampled, alone and slowly bleeding to death under the stomps and heels of the endless, endless procession forward over her body – her beautiful, beautiful body. And then he remembered their baby, and he buckled at the knees, only the inertia of the crowd pushing forward, stopping his fall. Their baby would never be! He collapsed to sobbing… he gave up. His muscles softened with the acceptance…

"William!" the beacon of her voice broke through the smog. "William!" her voice called, jolting life back into him from the center of his bones out to tingle his skin.

"Julia!" he screamed with all his might, jerking his body in his sleep. He listened – more intently than he had ever listened before, clinging not only to life, but to his salvation from despair in his death.

"William! Get to the edge!" her voice guided. He moved sideways, in the direction of her voice, the momentum of the masses angling his line, all the while bringing him closer to the predetermined end. He suddenly saw it for what it was – they were on a livestock series of stairways up the side of the slaughterhouse building, climbing up to their deaths. He saw the railing! He could make it, but only if he flung himself over the rail, before the stairs ended. It was a choice he had – And that is the point, he had some control over his destiny after all. He could allow the unfolding of the dreadful plan leading him up the stairs, or he could give up and be trampled – or he could throw himself over the railing. Only one choice could bring him to her – thus, there was really only one choice for him. He dove for the railing, grasped it with all of his might as the people behind him added to the push and he felt gravity shift, and for the first time for oh so long, he was going down instead of up.

Now he dangled, so very, very high above the ground, by one arm. A strange silence enveloped him even though the wind threatened his ability to hold on. His legs swam franticly, searching for a ledge, a board, something to touch, to ground him, to help take some of the load. "Don't give up hope!" Julia's voice whispered, somehow slowing the wind that flapped him as it confronted the gales head-on. He took a deep breath, the newfound hope growing inside of him.

But then – Flannel Bull's face grinned from atop the roof of the building. He aimed his gun at his bluing fingers grasping the rail… William had not surrendered as he had wanted him to, and so now he would die. Flannel Bull fired. "Defying the laws of physics," – strange that William had time to think about that – William felt the pain before he heard the shot. And he started to fall. "Argh!" he cried out…

Quickly, William focused on connecting to his surroundings. He was on the couch… He remembered with a sinking heart that he and Julia had had an awful argument, and then he remembered that she had come down in the middle of the night… And he felt the warm throb of optimism again. The light coming through the window suggested dawn. As his heart finally slowed sufficiently to beat at a normal pace, he remembered it was Tuesday, and he had to go to work, and the case had fallen apart, himself, and George and Jackson, and now Julia too, all having gone through this hell, this jungle, for nothing in the end.

William went into the downstairs half-bath to prepare for the day. He emerged clean-shaven and ready to head upstairs to try to quietly dress and go to work. He felt trepidation, unsure whether he hoped Julia would be awake or not.

He remembered the instant he heard the key in the door, that Eloise came on weekdays to cook breakfast for them. The front door opened, the cold air blasting across his sweat-dampened pajamas, and then their eyes met. A large smile flashed on the pudgy, older woman's face, reminding William how much she truly seemed to have come to care for him, only to quickly fade away as she figured out why he was where he was. She remembered that Dr. Ogden had left the bedding out for him, although she had hoped they would have worked out whatever troubles had driven her do so.

"Detective," she greeted, trying not to sound surprised.

William glanced into the living-room at the couch covered with his blanket and his pillow. He felt a sense of shame seeping down into his gut. It caused him to stutter slightly, "El -Eloise!?" he said, "I, uh … I…"

Sensing his discomfort, she hurried to say, "Do not worry detective, I will clean up in here. You go ahead and get ready for work."

He nodded, thanking her, and then turned and started up the stairs.

"I'll have a hot breakfast ready and waiting when you come back down," she called out after him, hoping to brighten things for him, trying in any way she could to help.

Julia did not stir as he dressed. After he left their bedroom, she decided to wait till she heard him leave the house before she went downstairs. She felt conflicted, wanting to forgive him and relieve all this suffering, but still knowing things were not yet resolved. Her sighing as she dressed reinforced her concerns that they still had much to work out. It seemed that her biggest struggle was with herself, for she knew as a psychiatrist that once one starts to doubt their own abilities to see the facts before them, to see reality as it is instead of how they wished it was, then it is very difficult to regain a sense of self-trust. William's keeping his plans to stay with his old lover in Winnipeg had severely shaken hers. She had truly never seen it coming.

Soon after Julia had finished her breakfast a delivery came. Feeling like a schoolgirl struck with glee, she tipped the delivery boy, and hurried to read the card tucked into the bouquet of yellow roses. The note consisted of only one word, "Lunch?" She did not feel disappointed. She called the stationhouse and spoke briefly with William, setting up their meeting, here at the house at noon. Flowers clutched in her arms, Julia found Eloise cleaning the kitchen and asked her if she would mind doing her shopping around noon today. Eloise's smile betrayed her clear understanding of the situation. She quickly agreed and asked if she should prepare something special for their lunch. She had already made some pea soup, and Julia asked her to also make some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

) (

When William arrived, he opened the front door, hung up his coat and scarf, once again noticing that his hat was gone, and finding no one in the living-room, went to the kitchen. There he discovered that the yellow roses he had sent, the same color they had chosen for their wedding, had been placed in a vase and graced the kitchen table. There was a pot of something steaming on the stove. And then, such a wonderful feeling of comfort and relief and excitement and hope filled him, as he took note of the picnic basket on the table, for he knew what the choice symbolized for both of them. He heard Julia on the stairs, the sound of her approach still managing to surge apprehension through his veins. There was so very much at stake.

The couple engaged in small talk at first – mostly about the food. They shared a joke about their favorite "gourmet" meal – peanut butter and jelly sandwiches – and then another about having a picnic in December. William explained that, "The term "pea soup" is used by hobos to refer to lumberjacks, and ironically, the term "lumberjack" is used to signify that a hobo comes from Canada."

"An actual lumberjack then, pea soup? Like you used to be," Julia acknowledged.

"Mm-hmm," he replied. "It makes sense, we did eat it often."

She noticed he had nearly finished his bowl of soup. "Since he's gotten back his appetite has been humungous," she thought. Her mind flashed an image of William in, "the jungle," surrounded by other hobos, before the police showed up and caused such devastation and anguish in her husband. The imagined memory caused her to nearly shudder. "What other horrors did he see?" she wondered.

William seemed to be enjoying his memories of being a lumberjack in his younger days, explaining, "I remember how delicious the soup always tasted after a hard day's work up in the trees. The cook made excellent bread too…"

Picturing him up in a tree, Julia was reminded of the time William had climbed up a pole to try to save a man held hostage at the top of it who was attached to a noise-sensitive bomb. The bomb had exploded when a car backfired, and once again, William had almost been killed. She interrupted, "I had forgotten about the time you used your lumberjacking skills to try to save the man trapped at the top of a pole with a bomb."

"Mm," he nodded, now enthusiastically devouring his peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

"I will have to put it on the list … of all the times you have almost been killed. A quite long list, I might add," she said.

William stopped chewing. This was a touchy subject between them. He was tempted to apologize. His most recent injury from a life-threatening situation, his meat-hook wound, tweaked in his shoulder.

Julia considered asking him if he had had such close calls while he was away this time, but decided against it. She asked him if he wanted more soup.

Relieved by the change of subject, William nearly jumped out of his seat. "Yes. But I'll get it," he said.

After he had returned to his seat, the conversation had lulled and eventually Julia asked, "Shall we get to it then?"

William took a deep breath. "What do you want to know?" he asked, putting down his sandwich.

Images of what she most feared flashed through her mind – William and Ettie Weston kissing… Then the two of them lying together naked in her elaborate, gauche Madam's bed… She imagined William's back and buttocks, peeked out from under the blankets, and Ettie's strained face next to his beautiful black hair, her breath flowing into his ear, as he pumped into her again and again, making love to her. My God, it hurt.

She wanted to make it clear between them that she expected his utmost honesty, though she believed she knew him well enough to know that that was what he would give her anyway. "I expect the complete truth," she said, receiving his nod, "There will be nothing relevant left out?" He agreed again with another nod. Julia took a deep breath and began, "Did you stay with her in her room, William?" she asked.

Worry slipped onto his face. She already knew the answer. It sickened her, but she would not make it easier on him. She waited for his answer.

He needed to clear his throat, and his head already spun so with panic. He nodded and said, "Yes, but you have to understand. Every room she had was occupied by one of the women." His eyes pleaded with her. He swallowed, improving the steadiness of his voice and added, "And I slept on the floor."

The words hit the air before Julia consciously decided to ask him, "Did you have… Did you make love to her, William?"

His eyes never wavered, holding firmly to hers. "No, Julia," he immediately answered. Shaking his head he said, "I was not unfaithful to you. I will never be unfaithful to you. I promise… She kissed me, and … that is the full extent of it."

She felt a surge of happiness, for she discovered that she wholeheartedly believed him. Her look must have shown her thoughts, for William finally took a deep breath. Relief pumped through him, and Julia tightened her lips together and nodded to him, ensuring that he had it right – she believed him.

Julia took a sip of water. She was not done. She placed the glass back down on the table and asked, "You do find her attractive though?"

To William this seemed like an odd question, for Julia knew he found Ettie Weston to be attractive. He had told her about their previous relationship – and that it had been sexual in nature. Confusion clouded his mind for a moment, but he was sure to answer her quickly. "Yes," he responded.

Suddenly, Julia realized that the question she was about to ask was actually the biggest question of all. It was more important than whether or not he had been unfaithful to her. It was only now that she completely realized what had frightened her so much about him keeping his rendezvous with Ettie Weston a secret from her. The soaring of her emotions raced her heart. She was afraid to ask – she was so very, very frightened of his answer, for once it was asked, she would know the answer. There would be no turning back. She mustered her courage, and William seemed to brace himself as she breathed in the air she would need to speak. "Do you love her, William?" she asked.

She saw relief sweep across his face and he immediately answered, "No…" And she felt the urge to cry, having had been so very worried that he had loved another. "No Julia. I have told you that I knew from the moment I met you that you were the one for me – the ONLY one for me, Julia. I love you, and only you, with every fiber of my being. I always will," he explained.

Tears flowed down her cheeks as she nodded and said, "Good," firmly. Then she smiled and he smiled in return. He took her hand and gave it a kiss. Then he reached up and slid his fingers into her hair and wiped away a tear with his thumb.

In the interest of being completely honest, William decided he needed to tell her how he did feel about Ettie, for he had feelings for her, even if they weren't exactly love. He pulled his hand out of Julia's curls and placed it with his other, taking her hand in his hands. He ducked down and took a firm hold of her eyes. "I care about her though, Julia," he said.

Of course he cared for her. He had investigated the murder of her dearest friend, saved Ettie's life at the hands of a deranged killer, knowing William, likely encountering life-threatening violence to himself in the process. They had been lovers – the woman had taught him about what they now playfully called "Plan C." He knew her well, and yes, it made perfect sense that he would care for her. "I can live with that," she thought, giving him a nod.

She sniffled, and he dug a handkerchief out of his pocket for her. She wiped her nose and her face, and then took a deep breath. She lifted an eyebrow at him and asked, "Is there anything else I should know? Perhaps one of the other women there? We agreed, the total truth – nothing omitted…"

William paused, running things through his mind while Julia waited. Once again, he took a deep breath. There was something else. Now it was Julia who braced herself, although she was sure that nothing he said could be as important as what he had already told her – that he loved her and only her in all the world.

She felt his fingers sliding back and forth over her wedding rings as he said, "I guess you should know that Ettie told me that she loved me. She was heartbroken when she learned that we had married. She said she did not believe she would ever love someone else. She cried, and I did feel very saddened by her state. But still…" William's chocolaty eyes firmly declared his oath to his wife, "I made it clear to her that a love between she and I would never be. I told her how profoundly and absolutely I loved you Julia – and that you loved me the same way." William wrinkled a corner of his mouth. He had confessed it. She knew everything there was to tell now.

He seemed to hold his breath, waiting. Before she knew what had happened, he dropped down onto his knees in front of her. "Is that enough Julia?" he asked, "Do you still love me? Will you take me back?"

"Oh William," Julia answered, cupping his cheeks, then sliding her fingers into his black hair, "I never wanted you to leave. You never lost me. You never will. And I will never leave you. And I will never push you out of my life. No matter what you do. I am yours forever. And I believed you felt the same way about me…"

William had become choked up, and with tears glistening in his eyes, he said, "I do," nodding his head. However, he sensed something was still wrong, that there seemed to be a, "but," coming. He swallowed and prepared.

Julia frowned, confirming his suspicions. "But," she started to explain, "Well, now I know that you have someone out there who loves you. And you care about her too, and are sexually attracted to her…" Julia looked away. As she tried to find the words to use, her awareness of what concerned her sank in, and with it came a sadness. "William, it is like you have a relationship to fall back on … in case something ever goes wrong between us. If the going gets too tough, or if I make a mistake that you can't live with, or you get bored with me some day, then you have someone to go to."

William got up from his knees and sat in his chair. It all seemed to be slipping away again. He reached up and rubbed his forehead. How could he convince her that it did not matter – that it was a fall back that he would never use? Then he had an idea – a way to help her see. His eyes bright, he leaned forward towards her and said, "Ettie and I are like you and Darcy…" Julia looked confused. "Well, if Darcy were still alive, I mean," he explained, tilting his head to the side quickly. William shook his head, he knew he was not making sense. He took a deep breath and looked to Julia. She was waiting.

He started again, "Imagine that Darcy had not been killed… And that he had granted you the divorce, even though he still loved you – as he had told you he did, and you and I had married." Julia nodded, she was willing to go along. "Well, wouldn't it be true that you would still care for Darcy?" Julia nodded in agreement. "And that you would still find him sexually attractive… I mean you did once, isn't it likely that you still would?" he asked.

Julia was more reluctant to agree to this, for after having married Darcy she had found their love-life to be quite lacking. Further, even though she was willing to grant it for his experiment, she had never found Darcy as attractive as she ever found William to be, no one else on Earth for that matter.

"Nothing like the attraction I feel for you though, William," she said, making sure he knew.

William paused, reveling briefly in her statement, and then stated, "That is the same as how I feel about Ettie as compared to you," giving her a gallant bow. Julia smiled.

William then concluded his argument, "So, would you not still love me with ALL of your heart and soul, and wouldn't you stick out all of the hard times, as we have each vowed to do, even if you still cared for Darcy and found him to be sexually attractive, and you knew he still loved you?" He saw hesitation in her eyes and quickly added, "And wouldn't we have had to make do with the fact that, for you, he would have been a, "fall back" as you say, that you could have used your relationship with him as a place to turn if you were unhappy or unsatisfied with me?"

She wanted to reassure him that she believed that it was possible for one to love someone as they each loved each other – so very profoundly as they did, and yet still feel the things he had described for others. That it did not have to represent a threat to them…

But, Julia struggled, for she knew something was still wrong. She needed to figure out why she remained unsure. It felt like something was off between herself and William more so than the problem being something outside of their relationship, like Ettie being someone he would turn to if they had problems. The feelings of hurt still flowed inside of her. It was as if she still did not feel she could trust him. "Why?" she asked herself. With all of her focus, she looked inward, searching for the answer.

"He kept it a secret!" the answer came. That was what was wrong!

William had been watching her go through the process, worried. He saw the shift in her.

She looked directly into his eyes. He knew it – she had the answer. She knew what was really wrong.

"But William," she said, "It is ultimately a question of trust." William braced once more, coaching himself to listen carefully and to be honest.

She would use his analogy to help make her point. "Now imagine, William, that everything you proposed about Darcy was true, and then add to that that I went out of town, let's say to speak at a Conference…" William nodded. He was with her so far. She continued, "And you found out that I actually stayed with Darcy instead of staying at a hotel, and that I did not tell you I had planned to do so all along. How would that make you feel?"

She knew her husband. She would have to wait now. But, oh, she saw it on his face right away. He had felt the punch of it. "What is it you are feeling William?" she asked him.

William's eyes widened with insight as his hand slid up to cover his stomach as if tending to a wound. He nearly whispered it, "Betrayed." His eyes instantly began to well-up with tears.

Julia nodded. He understood now. "You see, it is not the feelings you have for Ettie as much as it is that you kept your intentions to see her from me. Do you understand?" she asked.

His world had been shaken, and he was quite dazed, but he managed to nod to her. He was completely aware of what it was he was feeling – blends of emotions, mixing and spinning in the cauldron of his gut – Remorse, such powerful remorse, for his actions had betrayed her, and guilt for he had kept a dirty little secret, it was true. And with his awareness of the importance of what he had done, he also felt fear and dread for he had snuck around behind her back, he had intentionally kept his visiting Ettie a secret from her – even if it had been with the good intentions of protecting Julia from being unnecessarily upset, and she had found out, and it had hurt her. The feelings threatened to spiral into hopelessness. He and Julia would never be the same again. He had ruined it! He had destroyed the one thing in his life that he held most dear, his relationship with Julia. He had betrayed her trust! He panicked! He didn't know how to fix it!

The pain of watching him fall into despair stabbed at Julia's heart so. She needed to reach down into the abysmal drop he was falling through, and save him, pull him out now. She moved her chair as close as possible to his, inching it past the edge of the corner of the table, placing herself directly in front of him, and took his head in her hands and locked her powerful blue eyes to his beautiful brown ones. She noticed his eyes flickered, stuttered, as if he were spinning and he was trying to find a point upon which to steady his gaze with each turn. Like North on a compass, he held to her with all his might, his guiding star.

"William," she beckoned, "I feel it now – your empathy. I know you know how I felt when I answered that phone call from Ettie… to learn that you had planned to stay with her and not told me about it. That you had always planned on going to her. It is because you feel my pain, in your bones, in your heart, because I am absolutely positive that you know that keeping such a thing secret from me has hurt me, and would hurt me, terribly, if you ever did it again…

William nodded, almost frantically.

Julia continued, "It is because I know you know, and I know you would do anything not to hurt me so ever again. It is because you FEEL these things now, that I can trust you… That I do trust you, William." Julia wiped a tear from his cheek and asked, just as she tasted one of her own, "Don't you see?" and then she sniffled and she smiled.

He nodded and slid forward in his chair, and leaning into her he threw his arms around her and hugged her tight. He buried his face in her neck and he wept – as he had so wanted to weep for days and days but had not felt safe enough to do so, because the horrible truth about the world had been revealed to him while working on this case, and the awareness of it had caused him inconsolable pain. Such pain he had never felt before, and it was everywhere, he knew that now. Nowhere was safe from the injustice of it. And then he had lost her too! And the whole of it had been more than he could bear. And now, the relief of knowing she was his and he was hers – that they would be alright, that he was finally home, it crushed his resolve, and he could not control it anymore, and he allowed himself to collapse, and he sobbed there in her arms.

Julia held him, and stroked him, and kissed him, whispered it would be alright in his ear, and rocked him. In all of her days she had never felt such sorrow, so strangely outside of her own experience and yet encompassing her in it. She knew these emotions went beyond William and herself. The sounds her husband made as he sobbed into her shoulder pulled her along as well, tugging at her soul. As she sat rocking him, she herself wept, although she did not know why. As the torrents seemed to weaken, and the waves spread out, she took a deep breath, calming herself, trying to stop the spinning out of control of their world. She felt the ground under her feet. Her mind cleared and she thought, "What happened to him on this trip?" She knew her husband; he had a tender and a kind heart - one that would suffer, as it beat inside his chest, with the awareness of the suffering of others. She believed it was such a compassionate heart that made him such a fierce warrior – a champion for the weak. Ultimately, it was this very thing that she loved the most about him. But it had its costs, she knew such care could take quite a toll.

She had to bring him back now, to join her in the reality of both good and evil, to rescue him, to steal him away from the trap he was in – the one in which only the enormous evil in the world could be seen, and it would devour the soul if not for the awareness that such evil was matched in the world by the existence of enormous good. But first, she had to stop his crying.

She kissed his ear once more, and said, her voice warm, compassionate, but firm, "Take a deep breath William." She pushed him away slightly, knowing he would need air. His face, still wrinkled in pain, was red with the effort of crying so hard. "Come on," she urged. He kept his eyes down, away from hers, but he tried, feeling the sting of it in his lungs as he sucked the oxygen in. "There," she reassured, "Again." He did, this breath deeper. The tears began to subside. "Do you feel the chair underneath you?" she asked, dipping her head to find his eyes. He nodded, and he looked at her. "Embarrassed?… Grateful?... Perhaps both?" she thought, as she modeled another deep breath, feeling relieved when he joined her in it.

"Sorry," he said. Then he sat back in his chair, now much more in control.

She would ignore his comment. She took a deep breath, suggesting a change of subject and teased him, "So, William, have you learned from this that in the end it hopeless to try to keep a secret from me?" she crossed her arms in front of her chest, tapped her toe on the floor and asked, "Remember your little secret escapade in the flight suit and climbing down into a rocket barrel to disarm a rocket aimed at New York City? My husband the secret hero…"

He agreed, nodding his head, giving a little chuckle.

"William?" drawing his eyes back to hers, "George said some things about this trip you two went on…"

William nodded. Julia reached out and cupped his cheek. Her thumb softly rubbed across his cheekbone, then slid down over his lips, and she said, "It was very … dark."

William swallowed, managing to push down some of the pain he was feeling and nodded. "Yes," seemed to be all he could muster as an answer. He hoped it would be enough. The time would come when he would tell her about it – he was certain. But he was not ready now. He wrinkled up a corner of his mouth with the apology for being unable to share more, and with the acknowledgement that she had it right.

Julia held his face and said, "William, listen to me. You have the loveliest heart I have ever known." She slid a hand down to cover his heart and explained further, "It is so big and it feels the suffering of others so very deeply, and I think William, it is what makes you so courageous, for you are urgently called to protect those that you know so deeply are being hurt. And I love you so much for it." She put her hands together over his heart and looked deeply into his eyes. "It has been hurt William," Julia said. She shook her head and added, "I don't know what happened to you, what you saw, maybe even what you did, but I know it hurt you."

He nodded, never losing contact with her eyes.

"Now your heart needs care. It needs some time and some love and some care, so it can heal," Julia said.

William swallowed and let her words bathe him. She could do it; she was the only one who could do it. And she would. She took his hand and stood (well, with his help, she was eight months pregnant) and led him out of the kitchen towards the stairs.

"Julia, I have to get back to work," he warned, pulling against her hand, slowing her motion as they began to go up.

"It'll be quick," she answered, continuing their climb. She had been taking him upstairs to see the new baby furniture, figuring it would help him see the magic of the world first hand, but his concern now, about getting back to work, kindled and erupted lust in her core. "He thinks I'm taking him upstairs to make love!" and her mind jumped ahead to imagine them doing so. The hungry, sultry picture of him naked on top of her, heavy and hard against her supple, marshmallowy curves, rhythmically surging into her, touching her deeper and deeper with each thrust, shoving her closer and closer to the edges of ecstasy. Lustful dizziness took her brain, her womb knotting and twisting into excruciating desire for him.

Suddenly he had pinned her against the wall on the landing of the halfway point of the stairs – the first spot that would be just out of view from the front door, where Eloise could walk in at any moment. Gone, were the thoughts and feelings from last night when he had nearly fallen off of the Earth at the foot of these very stairs thinking she didn't love him anymore. His kiss was demanding, rough, ravenous. This was going to be a cold front – and she was completely thunderstruck. It was going to be devastating, delicious… and dangerous.

Julia found the top button on his trousers. MY God, she wanted him! "Closer William," she whispered, her voice raspy with need.

"I will never be close enough to you," he asserted between stormy kisses, "Never," and he kissed her ruggedly, primally, again. Like hot metal gravitized by a magnet, she lured, she tugged, she grabbed, and pulled, and sucked him in.

"Closer William, Please," her voice helpless with wanting him, her womb coiling and drenching for him, she pleaded.

However, there was something. It dangled in the background, calling through the thick mist of her spinning thoughts. Just a word at first, a word that had no meaning, just sounds, "Is-aac." Such a sense of urgency, importance hung with it… "Isaac."

Her knees buckled and her breath caught – devastating, just devastating, as he lifted her skirt.

"Isaac," it niggled again.

"I want you. My God I love you," his beautiful voice surged, hot, humid, into her ear. His fingers at the top of her bloomers now… Wildness called. He had to move her, to be inside of her, closer, deeper, push harder, drive farther, faster it rushed his brain, surged and electrified every inch of his body as it reached for her. Vigorously, insistently, forcing himself to go slower, ever so enticingly, those bloomers slid downward, kissing her skin with the cool air.

Julia's voice, but it felt as if someone else did it, as if it were someone else who said it… "We can't," she said, faintly. Somewhere in her mind, she had been thinking they would have to use Plan C – that they couldn't do what they each so crucially, madly, longed for… But as soon as her words weakly glanced the air, fluttering it, then she remembered. They couldn't do it AT ALL. She hadn't told him yet; Isaac had said, no sex – none.

"Yes, I know. Plan C," he whispered, accepting the best they could get, his body sinking lower, going down onto his knees, his hands firm and rigid on her pliable flesh, holding her skirt up against her hips, locking them into place.

She mustered her strength, held him up, stopped his drop. "No William. No," she said, feeling him yield to her request to stop, "We can't." She felt him step back, studying her face with such intensity.

Julia dropped her head back against the wall with a slight thump, her heaving breasts swelling up and down as she tried to recover her breath, worked to slow the swirling. Breathy, her voice offered, finally explaining it to him, "Isaac said none – no… lovemaking of any kind, William. We can't."

Oh, my God, how she wanted to!

"Oh," he said, accepting it, pulling her bloomers back up, he released her skirt letting it cascade back down to cloak her malleable, scrumptious flesh. He fell in against her and with a soft thud, lay his forehead against the wall next to her ear.

Placing her hand over her pounding heart, its thumping reminding her, powerfully, mightily, that she was alive, she was mortal – and that the force of her love for this man threatened her very ability to survive at times. She swallowed, wanting to be able to speak, sensing she still would not be able to.

"William," she tried. He lifted his head to look at her, and she gazed up into his warm, brown, darkened and mesmerizing eyes. "My God he is gorgeous," she thought to herself, feeling her womb wrench with waves of wanting him once more. "I can't… it's not good for the baby. But," her fingers slid into his opened trousers, jolting him to alert, sparking his eyes so that she lost her breath in a flurry – she took him in her hand. His eyes closed as he absorbed the shock, passion seizing him.

Oh, he wished he had not pictured it, but he had. She was against the wall, sliding down onto her knees, she took him into her warm, luscious, sweet, slippery mouth, surrounded him snuggly with her every cell. Put her hands around his backside, pulled him fiercely close, so deep into her. In his imaginings, he had given in to the urge, the uncontrollable yearning to push into her, over and over again. These conjurings weakened him so, he heard his collapsed moan, she heard it too, being summoned by it, as it escaped and danced, enticingly, smoky in the air.

In response to the weakness of the sound, he grabbed for self-control, leaned in against her, locked her in place, stopped her falling, refused his pleasure. "Not without you," he found her ear, "Not without you." He swallowed, and marveled in the thundering of her heart against his chest. And he knew it, felt in his essence, he loved this woman with all his might.

They remained entwined there together against the stairway-landing wall for a time. Disappointment mingled with the joy that flowed between them. As they should be, one – home.

Eventually the room was level and still. Their breathing, their racing hearts, slowed to normal, the flame gradually burning lower and lower, deprived of its craved for oxygen, and he stepped back. She reached up, caressed his face.

"It had been my intention, husband," she said explaining, "to take you up to see the baby's room."

"That sounds lovely," he replied. He offered her his arm and they headed up the stairs.

"Did you tell Isaac about your dreams, uh… the ones that are so, um… realistic?" he asked.

"Those can't be help…" she started to say, halting her words midsentence. Abruptly, those odd dreams she had had teased her curiosity, the ones from while William was away, about Mulligan's blood-soaked dog escaping from his car and traipsing about in Julia's dreams suddenly appearing out of nowhere. Julia halted, having just made it to the top of the stairs. Her eyes seized his. She remembered, she had had to tell him, couldn't find him, so desperate to find him, to tell him… What was it exactly?

Her stunned expression tugged at him. "What is it, Julia?" he demanded.

"I dreamt," she said, her voice wandering and far off, "It was so important that I tell you…"

"What?" he hurried, urged.

Again, their eyes met, him noticing the blue depths, encircled within a darkened rim, her magnificent blue eyes rendered as striking, the outer boundary emphasizing their beauty, her pupils so big, luring him in, igniting a spark deep within his core.

Julia shook her head, "Crazy, crazy dreams. They made no sense."

"Tell me," he insisted.

"But I think they're about your case," she took a deep breath. "Mulligan… he had this big, hairy dog…"

William lifted an eyebrow at her. "Did Mulligan have a dog in real life?" William's mind started to work on her dream's meaning as he questioned her.

Deciding to continue on into the baby's room, he took her offered elbow. "It was so strange William… that I would dream of the manager of Davies Slaughterhouse, that's why I think it's about your case. Mulligan's dog… Well, you know how people can have house-pets?"

"Mm-hmm," William said.

"Well this dog of Mulligan's – it was a sort of car-pet. It lived all the time in his fancy automobile. But it kept getting out and…" Julia tried to explain.

There was a bump – a jolt, in William's mind. He turned his head to the side, searching for it, looking, hunting. There was something there…

Now in the doorway of the baby's room, Julia had gone on, not noticing his deep internal inquiry, "In my dreams it would constantly escape out of Mulligan's car and trot into the strangest places, covered in blood. In one dream, you and I were… it was one of those delicious dreams… that aren't good for the baby…" she turned to give him an alluring look, "We were in the cells at the stationhouse, but the bars were painted whi…"

Upon looking at her husband, she instantly recognizing the expression on his face, his head tilted to the side, his eyes somehow unfocused, far off, but, with such concentration. He was figuring something out – about the case. She waited.

William turned to meet her eyes, his face excited, outright jubilant. "You dreamed that Mulligan had a bloody car-pet?! Julia, that's our best evidence in the case – the bloody carpet George found at the dump! The one that matched the green fibers in Ieva's nose and mouth, the one she died on, and bled on, the one Mulligan admitted was his…"

His excitement contagious, Julia nearly yelled, "Tell me everything you know about this carpet William."

William's intense look surged her brain as he said, "The green rug was in Mulligan's office when he stabbed Ieva with his letter-opener. George stole the letter-opener, which we know matched her wound – thanks to your Jello-mold – but the Judge ruled that we couldn't use it as evidence against Mulligan…"

Julia nodded, interrupting, "Yes, because George stole it. That's why he got suspended."

William nodded, rushing on, "George saw the carpet being taken out of a trash can at Davies Slaughterhouse and then being taken in a refuse-wagon to the dump. The rusty-brown stains on it turned out to be human blood. The fibers from it matched those in the victim's nose and mouth… Ieva Baltavesky had died on that rug in Mulligan's office, I'm sure of it," William insisted. "But the evidence was too circumstantial, especially with Mulligan claiming that it doesn't prove anything because the human blood on his rug was from a man who cut his finger off – and because there are lots of green rugs that could match those fibers…"

She halted him abruptly, grasping his arm. "William," she exclaimed, "That's it!" A mischievous smile slipped onto her face as she paused. "Oh, you are going to be so glad you married me, detective!" she exclaimed, giving him a good-hearted shove in his chest. Julia took his hand and asked, leading him back down the stairs, "Detective, would you be willing to give some of your manly blood – in the name of science?"

He nodded, "Of course," he replied excitedly as she hurriedly dragged him down into her lab, "All in the name of science."

) (

Thus it was in the end that this couple reconnected by making love that day after all, but not in the carnal sense – no for these two there was more than one way to make love. For them, their intellectual attraction could explode into fireworks as well. Intense pleasure flowed generously between them, through them, around them and over them, whenever together they were breaking through boundaries, discovering wonderful and novel things about the world, and using those discoveries to contribute to a more fair distribution of justice in that same world. Expert and passionate warriors, fighting together. Yes, truly, they had always made a good team.

Working together downstairs in the lab-room that William had made for her, they discovered a whole new forensic method of identifying an individual from a blood sample, eliminating half of the world's population each time it was used – they were identifying gender from a cell. When looking though the microscope it was clear, William's blood, his white-blood cell in the metaphase stage of mitosis, had less chromal units than hers. His was not an XX, but Julia's was! They could tell whether the blood on Mulligan's carpet came from a man or a woman! Thus, they could prove that the blood on Mulligan's carpet was from Ieva, and not from the man who had cut his finger off! They had him! They had Mulligan for killing Ieva Baltavesky!

After a phone call from their home determined that Miss James had made abundant samples of the blood from the green rug, they recruited her help, and the three of them, Julia, William, and Miss James, peered through three different microscopes rushing to find white blood cells from the carpet that were in the metaphase stage of division. Ultimately, they found four different usable cells, and all had the same chromal arrangement – symmetrical, even-numbered rather than odd – all of the cells from Mulligan's rug were XX. The blood on Mulligan's carpet was undeniably female.

The celebration was electrifying, big smiles, triumphant hugs, sparkling eyes abound. William did end up telling Julia that he, "… had always known there was a good reason he had married her," just as she had predicted he would, and when doing so he receiving her feigned insult, with a playful smack in the shoulder.

"Ouch," he had declared, reaching up to nurse and rub the meat-hook wound.

"Sorry, I forgot," she apologized with a lovely pout, only to be scooped up and spun around with his joy, such public displays of affection uncommon for her buttoned-down husband.

She didn't know which to complain about first, the baby or her hair, of course, the baby winning out. "William, the baby!" she screamed as he gently rested her feet back on the ground. Oh, she just couldn't help it, locking her fingers into his exquisite dark hair and planting a passionate kiss on his lips. Her heart skipped a beat as she felt him kiss back, public display or not.

Rebecca was tempted to applaud, clapping her hands together with glee once or twice. What a brilliant, magnificent couple, dynamic, bright, clearly very much in love. She reveled and relished in the sight, admiring them both so.

The two women decided to stay behind to do further teats – Julia wanted to analyze some of the victim's blood to be able to provide further proof that the blood on Mulligan's rug was a match for Ieva Baltavesky. She suggested that William may want to talk to a Judge, to force the man whose finger was cut off to provide blood, sure his blood would not match, further bolstering their argument that the blood on the rug could not be his.

He decided against it for now – it would take too much time. He wanted to get Mulligan to confess before Meyers or Clegg could get wind of his new plan. The detective thanked them both profusely and took his leave.

))) (((

Convincing the Inspector that time was of the essence was not difficult for the detective, after what had happened yesterday with Meyers when he had tried to interrogate Mulligan. Thus, they had a subpoena from the Judge within an hour and had Mulligan in the Interrogation Room by five o'clock.

Inspector Brackenreid looked on from the outside, intensely peering through the metal mesh on the Interrogation Room door. On the Interview Table between the two men, Detective Murdoch had placed several items. One of them was the evidence file – the letter from Adomas Baltavesky to his wife Ieva now removed from evidence to protect "National Security." However, the file contained newly added information to the postmortem report – specifically the XX gender analysis of the blood on the rug the detective was now claiming as evidence in the case of Ieva Baltavesky's murder. Said rug also laid, rolled up, on the Interview Table, its reddish-brown blood stains front and center. Off to the side, there were a set of keys – notably on a St. Valentine's keychain, next to a photograph of some other keys (those belonging to the current night-watchman at Davies Slaughterhouse).

Before showing his hand, Detective Murdoch planned to re-establish some important facts. He was cunning, seeking questions that would draw the suspect into his trap, starting with questions that were undeniably a yes to answer. Inch by inch, Mulligan stepped closer and closer to the point of no return. Provided Meyers or Clegg did not show up to stop the detective, Mulligan was already facing checkmate – the man just didn't know it yet.

"Your name is Liam Mulligan," the detective started, "and you are the manager at Davies Slaughterhouse."

A yes, but annoyed, restless, adding, "We have already established that Murdoch. Once again, you are wasting my time."

Detective Murdoch scratched his head, forced himself to continue to move at his own pace, fought the urge to sigh. "Yes. I will get to the point soon. Please be patient Mr. Mulligan," he requested as politely as possible, lifting the edges of his mouth into a grin. "Is it true that you have admitted that this green rug belonged to you, and was on the floor in your office at Davies Slaughterhouse… uh, before Constable Crabtree observed it in the trashcan at that same location?" the detective asked.

Another yes, but with the stipulation that this was only true, "provided that it is the same one you had before," the Davies manager agreed, reluctantly, trying to leave wiggle-room for his escape.

"Now, as the manager of Davies Slaughterhouse, would you be the one who would speak to someone about employees – past and present?" the detective went on to ask.

Again, Mulligan answered with a yes, adding, "usually anyway."

Still looking for the trap, William thought to himself…

Julia suddenly appeared next to the Inspector at the door, drawing William's eyes. Mulligan noticed his glance, also turning to look to the door. Optimism flashed across the suspect's face – expecting the detective's plans were about to be destroyed again?!

Refocusing, Murdoch cleared his throat and asked, "And we have already established that you were present at Davies Slaughterhouse on November 23rd, when a mister…" he opened a folder on the Interview Table and pulled out a hospital bill, "David Bradley had cut off his finger and was treated at Toronto General Hospital?" The detective paused, waiting for Mulligan's agreement.

"Yes! Yes! Murdoch! Again, I say, you are wasting my time. Yes, Bradley bled all over my rug! As I already said, that explains why there was blood on it – human blood as you made such a big deal to prove. Honestly, is all of this really necessary?" Mulligan complained, pushing away from the table as if he were going to go.

"I'm afraid it is," Murdoch said, making sure to stay put in his chair. "Please Mr. Mulligan, a few more questions," he urged, gesturing with his hands flat on the table, suggesting he had more items to discuss.

Outside and uncertain whether it would rile her husband or not, Julia had some evidence that she thought would all but tie-up his case, so she decided to knock and open the door.

"Detective," she interrupted the men, stepping in and then turning briefly to the suspect. She said directly to him, "I apologize for the interruption sir. I hope you will understand," she turned back to William and said, "Detective, I have more… for the postmortem. Could I have a moment?"

"Doctor," William replied, bowing his head as he stood.

Mulligan muttered something under his breath, William thinking he heard the word "toff."

"This will be quick Mr. Mulligan," the detective added, deciding to ignore the suspect's goading comments and behavior, despite the fact he sensed the repugnance had been aimed at his wife. He was relieved about one thing, however, Mulligan seemed to have gotten the message that he was not going anywhere soon, now having settled into his chair with his armed crossed in front of his chest defiantly.

Out in the hallway, the three of them, William, Julia, and the Inspector, huddled together as Julia held the latest blood results out for all to study. "Ieva Baltavesky's blood definitely fits the pattern we are claiming," she held William's eyes and nodded to him, adding, "XX."

"Good," he said.

The Inspector also nodded, he understood the significance of the findings, knowing that these results were exactly what this dynamic duo had expected.

Julia went on, her whisper still managing to express her excitement, "But there is even more – it's even better," she said. "I was inspired by Dr. Grace's work on blood-typing," again she looked to William to be certain he understood.

"He nodded and whispered in reply, "Yes, she found a new blood type… Type-D blood, wasn't it?" he asked. She nodded and they both looked at the Inspector. William reminded him, "She discovered it during the case with the professional cyclists – remember, the man who died while I was racing against him?"

Inspector Brackenreid's eyebrows lifted, adding emphasis to his nod, as he mouthed, "Oh." He remembered.

"Well, detective, here is where your luck has really turned on this case," she said both admiringly and reassuringly. William's heart soared with hope – she had something substantial!

All of the blood samples we took from Mulligan's green rug were type…" she paused and looked at her husband. Their eyes stuck together briefly, excitement growing. She would wait for him to say it, not sure if he was aware that type-AB blood was extremely rare…

"Was it type-D blood?" he nearly jumped to ask, suggesting that he did.

"Yes," she replied excitedly, "Although it is actually called type-AB blood, not type-D." Next, she leaned in closer to the two men, prompting them both to hold their breath…

Brackenreid didn't know much about this type-AB blood thing, but he knew enough to know that if Ieva Balta…

"Well, gentlemen," Dr. Ogden stated plainly, "it turns out that Ieva Baltavesky was also…"

"Type-AB blood," all three of them said in unison.

"That's outstanding!" William declared.

The doctor added, "Probably even more significant than her blood being female, only about one percent of the population has this type of blood. We can rest assured that the man who cut his finger off…"

"David Bradley," William said.

"I'd wager…" the doctor started…

The Inspector finishing her sentence for her, "There isn't a snowball's chance in hell this Bradley fellow also has this rare type of blood." All of them nodded.

The detective walked back into the Interrogation Room, the Inspector and the doctor watching through the door. Exuding confidence, the detective's look intimidated Mulligan right away. The suspect looked away, but his body language clearly indicated that he was worried.

Still, Mulligan held out, denying his guilt in murdering Ieva Baltavesky as he had all along. First denying that he had ever met Ieva Baltavesky, even as the detective determined that he was working at Davies at the time, and that they had a signed statement from a woman who was an acquaintance of Ieva Baltavesky's from their Lithuanian church here in Toronto. The statement stated that Ieva Baltavesky was looking for her husband and that she had asked for directions to Davies Slaughterhouse. Further, Mulligan had admitted that, as manager, Mrs. Baltavesky would have eventually met with him about her missing husband. Despite the evidence to the contrary, Mulligan continued his denials, claiming that Adomas Baltavesky had never worked at Davies Slaughterhouse and that he had never met Ieva Baltavesky.

Although the suspect visibly wavered when the detective provided evidence that Adomas Baltavesky's keychain had five keys on it that matched precisely the keys used by the current night watchman at Davies Slaughterhouse, he nevertheless denied knowing the man. Murdoch pushed the issue, threatening, "Mr. Mulligan, I hold that should we get a subpoena to search Davies Slaughterhouse and try these keys on the locks there, we will find that these keys, belonging to Adomas Baltavesky, will be for some of those locks."

Mulligan held his ground, "Then I guess that is what you will have to do," he resigned. However, just like yesterday, when the man was about to break, right before Meyers stopped the interrogation, sweat pooled in the fabric of Mulligan's armpits, darkening it. His leg shook violently under the table, his color had become pale. Murdoch realized that now was the time to bring it home.

Being sure to let the suspect dig himself too deep into the hole to get out, Detective Murdoch asked Mulligan again to state where the blood on his green carpet came from. Just as Murdoch had been planning in his internal chess game, the suspect stuck to that part of his story too, claiming once more that it was the blood of David Bradley. That is when the detective laid out the blood evidence clearly – showing that without a doubt, the blood on the carpet was female blood, thus of course matching the blood of Ieva Baltavesky. However, the blood on the carpet would certainly not match that of David Bradley.

Presented with the damning evidence, Mulligan's eyes seemed to glaze over – the man appearing as if he might faint. Murdoch sensed that he was on the verge of tears. If he had nothing more, he would have asked Mulligan to explain the evidence right then and there, knowing that his inability to do so would crack him – but, Murdoch had more, much, much more.

The detective then hurriedly went on to drive the nail into the coffin. Before the man had had a chance to confirm or deny his guilt, Murdoch added that the blood on the Mulligan's rug was from an individual who was not only female, but who was also type-AB, explaining that this type of blood is only found in one percent of the population.

Oh, how William reveled in it, the pause, the look of panic on the suspect's face, at that singular moment when their brain rushes ahead and predicts what his next piece of evidence will be, knowing it is that exact piece of evidence that will guarantee their guilt. He only needed to start to say it, "Ieva Baltavesky's blood is…" before Mulligan threw up his hands and admitted to killing Ieva Baltavesky, and the waterworks began.

The suspect blubbered on adding to his list of confessions, albeit with a little prodding from Murdoch, that he had also killed Kempsey – the man who Mulligan then admitted had moved Baltavesky's body for him, taking it from his office at Davies Slaughterhouse to dress it up like a doxy and dump it behind a low-class brothel. Mulligan even confessed to having workers at Davies run Kempsey's body through the butchering process, much as had almost happened to William himself, and Constable Jackson.

Mulligan took exception to being responsible for trying to have Murdoch killed, along with Constable Jackson. Standing up out of his chair to do so, pounding a fist on the table, he strongly denied being the one to commit that particular crime. Mulligan denied being the one who had ordered the workers at Davies to tie Murdoch and the constable up in rope and burlap and hang them from the ceiling on meat hooks, with the intention of sending them down the line to be killed and cut up like meat. His distaste for Murdoch drove him to add a comment however, about how he admired whoever had come up with such a fitting demise for him.

It is then that Meyers and Clegg showed up, Meyers busting into the Interrogation Room, having barreled passed the Inspector and the detective's wife, the good doctor, demanding Mulligan cease speaking immediately and that Murdoch come with him, then marching out of the room. Murdoch told Mulligan to sit down and wait, gathered up all the evidence in his arms, and informed a constable to stand outside the Interrogation Room door.

In his mind, William criticized his own slowness to officially arrest Mulligan for the crimes he had admitted to committing. If only he had not pushed for more, seeking an admission to attempted murder of himself and Jackson, there would be virtually nothing Meyers or Clegg could do to block justice. However, as it stood now, all they had was a confession, a confession that could be ignored. Mulligan could still go free.

The blinds to the Inspector's office pulled down, it was still clear that the conversation between the Inspector, Detective Murdoch, Dr. Ogden, Meyers and Clegg was heated, to say the least, at least at first. Clegg told them that a source had alerted him that Detective Murdoch was re-opening the investigation into a murder. Figuring that it was the murder of Adomas Baltavesky, he had called Meyers and the two of them had rushed over to Stationhouse # 4 to stop it – which at first they believed they had just done.

Murdoch started to explain, but the Inspector took over, indicating that he and the detective were completely aware of the "deal" the two spies had struck last summer, and that because of that deal, they had already accepted that there would be no investigation into Adomas Baltavesky's death.

It was Meyers who interrupted first, asking, "So, you're not investigating the murder of Adomas Baltavesky then?"

"No," Murdoch answered plainly. "His wife, Ieva Baltavesky," he said.

It interested William how differently he felt now about the spies' attempted intervention into his investigation as compared to how he had felt just yesterday when Meyers had stopped him. William was now filled with confidence, certain he would not yield his investigation to these men, well at least not lightly. Wondering to himself as an aside he thought, "Perhaps it was because Mulligan had already confessed, or maybe it was because he and Julia had made-up?" Whatever the reason, he was going to fight tooth and nail to get this killer behind bars, and hopefully at the end of a noose, if that is what it took.

For his part, Meyers remembered what he had overheard Murdoch say to the Prime Minister on the phone last night, that Mulligan had killed both Adomas Baltavesky's wife, and the worker who had helped Mulligan move the slain woman's body. He wondered if there might not be a way to let Murdoch have this case…

Standing, thus commanding everyone's attention, Detective Murdoch added, "And Mulligan has confessed to killing her, as well as to killing the man who had helped him get rid of her body…"

Everyone in the room saw it when it happened, the detective's jaw locked, his eyes honed in, powerful, charged. Suddenly, there was a fury in his heart that had been ignited by whatever he was about to say. His rage had erupted so fiercely, so suddenly, that it startled even his wife.

A deep breath first, Murdoch said, clearly sickened by the crime, "He stabbed this woman, a woman who had lost so much, who had lost her husband, and believe me she knew it – she knew she wasn't looking for her husband. She knew that for a man as loyal to her as her husband was to have abandoned her, he must have been killed. She would have known he was dead, had been killed, surely she was horrified by it, but still she needed certainty – to gain closure. Their little son had died from lack of money to care for him in his illness, she had nothing left but to prove her husband's murder… and she showed up at Mulligan's door. And this…" He paused, his fists clenched tight…

"He's going to hit something!" Julia almost gasped with the look of him, her thoughts running away with her, remembering that she only knew the tip of the iceberg of what her husband had been through on this case, as she watched him boil over.

William dropped his head, lowering his eyes out of view. If they could have seen those eyes, they would have known the excruciating pain he felt. He took a deep breath. Began again, keeping his head down, "He had Kempsey dress her body up as if she were some common," he paused, felt tears forming, then felt them be steamed away with his anger, "Whore! And he had her body, her beautiful, innocent body, dumped like so much trash, behind the lowliest brothel in town, with the garbage. He has admitted to doing this, shows no regret for doing it, only for being caught."

"And I might add," the Inspector interjected, "This creep particularly regrets being caught by Murdoch here. Seems to be personal with him."

The pig-sounds Mulligan had made as he walked arrogantly passed him in the hallway yesterday replayed in William's mind, adding fuel to the fire. Making things worse, then he remembered Mulligan charging at him while they were in the Judge's office, soon after his almost being killed on the meat hook, the man sneering, "If you stick your nose where it does not belong, detective, you should not be surprised if you end up being mistaken for a PIG."

Julia found herself wondering about what the Inspector had said. Sometimes it was blatantly obvious, like now, that there was so much that she did not know of her husband's harsh encounters and suffering with his work.

William blew out a blast of air, working to lower his internal pressure. He returned to sit on the couch next to Julia, never once letting his eyes touch anyone else's.

Momentarily, she considered taking his hand. "No, not a good idea," she thought.

"Gentlemen," she said, "It seems to me that in the past, whenever the two of you have stopped one of my husband's investigations, it has been because of Na…"

Under other circumstances, she would have laughed when both William and the Inspector piped in to say with her… "National Security," but there was so much more at stake it seemed, this time.

It turned out she gave a slight chuckle anyway, before she went on. "Well, I don't see how arresting Mr. Mulligan for killing Ieva Baltavesky is a threat to either of our countries' national security really. Is it?" she asked the room.

Immediately Clegg felt threatened, he was losing control, and now all the Canadians in the room suddenly seemed to have the upper hand. "Detective, if I understand your case, part of it involves this Ieva Balta…" he paused struggling with her name, "whatever, showing up to confront Mulligan about her husband being killed. And it is precisely her husband that I must insist we stay away from," he stated, his voice rising with insistence and intensity as he spoke. Clegg focused on Meyers, "Terrence, I tell you, if you insist on going through with this, it will be seen as Canada going back on the deal… There will be serious consequences. Canada's sabotaging of American meat companies will come out, and will have to be dealt with!" he yelled.

"Now Alan," Meyers worked to appease, "You already know that if that were to happen, then we would need to hold the government of the United States responsible for the murdering of a Canadian citizen…

Julia hurried her mind to keep up. There was quite a lot she did not know about this whole case.

Meyers continued, "Now let's keep cooler heads for a minute and think this out," he requested.

Clegg did not look happy. "Give me the phone," he demanded. He marched passed the Inspector, lifting the receiver.

Figuring that Clegg was calling his superior, the President of the United States, Meyers approached the man as he dialed. Everyone else in the room felt the thrill of the battle, and unfortunately, the likely possibility of defeat.

Meyers lit a cigar, essential to calming his nerves. "Alan, there's no need to bother the president. We can work this…"

"I'm not calling my superior Meyers," the little scrawny man slyly said, leaving the obvious question dangling in the air.

"I'll bite," the Inspector said as everyone could hear the phone ringing on the other end, "Who are you calling?" he asked.

Clegg glared at Meyers. "Yours," he said.

"Who's this?" a man's voice could be heard asking, the tone annoyed, on the other end of the line.

Meyers recognized the voice immediately – it was that of the Prime Minister. "Oh you rat," he said to Clegg, shaking his head with his disgust. "He's calling my superior," he informed everyone.

Murdoch's eyebrow shot up as he looked at Julia and then around at the others.

Into the phone, Clegg spoke to the Prime Minister, attempting to bully and frighten Canada's leader into demanding that Murdoch stop his investigation of everything that had anything to do with Adomas Baltavesky. As the conversation went on, albeit it was a rather short one, it sounded as if there was a good chance that Clegg was going to get his way.

Julia studied her husband out of the corner of her eye, concerned for him, particularly considering the deep despair and devastation he had revealed to her earlier in the day. His reaction seemed somewhat typical for the situation, she told herself, managing her worry. He had locked his jaw again, fighting back his anger, and he had exhaled sharply, suggesting the pressure was getting to him. But, none of these things indicated that he felt defeated. She wasn't sure if ultimately this was good or bad, for he would have that much farther to fall if the Prime Minster decreed that he release Mulligan, once again.

Surprising everyone – even Clegg, it was Meyers who saved the day in the end. By the time Clegg smugly handed Meyers the phone for the Prime Minister to admonish him, he had had an idea, stimulated by the good doctor's question. Meyers suggested to the Prime Minister that it would be of no threat to the United States, or to Canada for that matter, if Mulligan were convicted of killing a prostitute who had shown up at his place of business threatening to blackmail him, demanding money to keep quiet about their sexual interactions. Meyers held that Mulligan was a married man, and such threats might very well have endangered his top position at Davies as well, thus providing a plausible motive for Mulligan to have had for killing her. Further, Detective Murdoch's evidence in the case showed that Ieva Baltavesky's body had been found dressed in a showgirl costume, as would be expected of a prostitute – outside the backdoor of a brothel after all.

Working for Murdoch's approval of the idea, because it would require that Murdoch accept it as well, Meyers argued to the Prime Minister, "This Mulligan fellow would surely be convicted for committing this murder, especially with all this fancy newfangled scientific blood evidence the renowned detective and his remarkably beautiful wife, the esteemed pathologist here…"

"Meyers just ogled Julia!" he was sure of it, William's blood boiled with jealousy, his hands clenching into fists, he felt his jaw grit tighter, jeopardizing the chipping of a tooth…

Meyers had been looking to Murdoch, anticipating seeing that he was satisfied with the plan of changing Mulligan's alleged motive to keep Ieva Baltavesky's husband out of the investigation, especially because the Prime Minister seemed to be agreeable to it. He hoped Murdoch would see that the trade-off would be worth it in the end, bend on the motive to ensure that Mulligan be arrested and tried for killing Ieva Baltavesky. Unfortunately, when assessing Murdoch's opinion, it was the detective's fury that he saw once more, rather than his acceptance.

Of course, Julia knew why William appeared to be so angry, and it was not because her husband was unwilling to accept this lesser than true motive for Mulligan's abhorrent actions. Not at all. It was because Meyers had just flirted with her! Is it possible these men don't even know when they do these things!?" she wondered to herself, unsure whether to be disgusted or astounded. Either way, Julia decided to nip it in the bud. As Meyers continued his discussion on the phone, all the time anxiously watching the detective, she lifted her husband's arm to put it around her shoulders, sliding closer to him on the Inspector's couch.

She whispered in William's ear, "We got him, detective. It looks like the Prime Minster is going to let the investigation go on, he'll let Mulligan's confession stand." She kissed his cheek, despite their being quite obviously in public.

Normally he would have rejected her public advances – or perhaps turned crimson with blushing, but he was still too perturbed with Meyers, jealousy pumping in his blood. He exhaled.

"Good, he's breathing at least," she thought, "He still needs a little more sugar."

Julia tucked her lips into her husband's neck, breathed in the smell of him, knowing it triggered a more primal side of him when she sucked in the scent of him so. Her lips hovered over his ear, and she whispered, her warm breath melting his icy resistance, "Once again, I find I have to say, William, nothing is more exciting than working with you again. Well…" her hesitation priceless, "maybe there is one thing."

Oh, she had him.

William turned his head towards his wife, his nose, his face, pushing hers out of his neck. "Julia," he whispered, his tone seduced, "We're not alone."

"Of course, William," she whispered her reply, pulling away and straightening her skirt. Fortunately, he never looked to see the devilish smile on her face. She was a wise one, and my God, she loved him so much!

Meyers asked Clegg to take the phone. Clegg had no choice but to agree to the plan as it met his one requirement, thus it was decided. The evidence against Mulligan needed to be completely void of any connections, whatsoever, to Adomas Baltavesky. The stated motive for the killing was to be that Mulligan wanted to get rid of Ieva Baltavesky to protect his reputation and to avoid paying blackmail. For the motive to be believable, Ieva Baltavesky would have to be labeled a prostitute, which it was believed would not be difficult because of how she had been dressed when her body was found, and where she appeared to have been killed.

Fighting back his aversion to doing so, Murdoch volunteered that it turned out that Ieva Baltavesky had practiced some prostitution, in Winnipeg, stipulating that her doing so was solely out of sheer desperation. He shared some of the victim's horrible story, that her husband had promised to send money which never came, because he had been killed, and their toddler son was ill and needed medical treatment or he would die, and she had found money for him anyway she could, and then the little boy had died anyway.

The Inspector stood, signaling that the meeting was drawing to a close. He said, "At least in the end justice will be done. Murdoch, it seems you have an arrest to make."

Meyers glanced at Clegg and the added, "Perhaps we should go over the evidence that will be included in the case against Mulligan first..."

Clegg stood up taller, demanding that he be personally involved with such decisions. They agreed that Meyers would need to approve any allowable evidence as well.

Julia noticed the discomfort on William's face as he struggled with the increasing degree of loss of control. She planned to talk with him about it, hoping to help him see the resolution as being good enough… But she couldn't seem to get out of this gosh-darned couch! She clutched her fingers tightly into the one arm of the couch she could reach, and rocked back and forth trying to gain momentum…

William caught a glimpse of her efforts out of the corner of his eye, hurrying to offer her a hand. She gladly took it. The three other men watched the detective's gallant, chivalrous rush to help his wife. Standing next to him, all of them dropped their eyes down to her extended belly.

The inspector remarked, "You really are incredibly large with child doctor," his comment receiving nods from all the men.

Julia looked to William, unable to tell whether he was beaming with pride for having impregnated her or embarrassed because now everyone would be imagining the two of them having sex. "Men!" her brain charged silently. Deciding to address the comment matter-of-factly, she stressed the extreme difficulties such a late-stage of pregnancy brought about, reflecting aloud, "I do often wonder how cavewomen did it."

Immediately chiding in, as if it were obvious, William replied, "Their caveman husbands helped."

Julia's eyes rolled upwards with her exasperation. "Oh, he had no idea," she thought to herself. Sarcastically she responded, "Of course, William, that's how they did it," as she huffed to the door. As she marched to his office, arms pumping away, she found her seething at him quickly dissipated, but, my God, how much his conclusion infuriated her.

Rushing to check the reactions of the other men, wondering if they had detected her annoyance with his suggestion, William glanced at the faces of the other men. They appeared to be a bit surprised and returned compassionate looks his way, answering his internal question.

The Inspector said quietly, leaning in, not wanting her to hear, "Sounded good to me, me old mucker," with a shrug. He turned to address Meyers and Clegg. "Well, gentlemen, perhaps the detective and the doctor may need a moment. Shall we start with your ideas of what you already know you want removed from the case…"

William wrinkled a corner of his mouth, admitting he might be in trouble, and took his leave.

) (

Julia sat at one of the tall stools at his worktable when he stepped into his office. Her glance was friendly enough. He closed the door behind him, considered pulling down the blinds, deciding to pull down the blinds closest to the door. "I'm sorry Julia," he said as he lowered the blinds, "I didn't mean to imply that women need m…"

"Come here, detective," she interrupted, surging relief through him, along with a carnal jolt.

He stepped close to her and she wrapped her arms around his neck. "Are you alright with the plan… for the case?" she asked.

William moved even closer, standing between her legs, putting his arms around her waist, his hands opening and supporting her back. Not speaking, he answered her with a twist at the corner of his mouth.

"Not happy, but he's decided it will have to do," she told herself. Thinking it would brighten his mood, she highlighted the success of the outcome, "Justice is done for Ieva Baltavesky," she said. "William, I'm sure, if her husband could have said, he would have preferred to have her killer be held accountable more so than his," she explained.

"Sounds wise," he replied. After a deep sigh, William reached over and picked up Adomas' keys from the worktable where he had dropped the evidence from the interrogation on his way to the meeting in the Inspector's office.

Julia watched him as his fingers settled on the small metallic figure of St. Valentine.

"They were so in love, Julia," he said, his voice wispy, far-off.

"They were," she replied, bringing her voice close to his ear. She knew he was thinking it, "Like us." When he turned his eyes back to meet hers, her heart throbbed with love for him, his beautiful brown eyes, so deep and warm, tender with compassion…

"They should be together," he said.

) (

Back in the Inspector's office, the two spies and Brackenreid were working on a problem Meyers had discovered with Murdoch's investigation. The keys the detective had on the interview table, Brackenreid impressed that Meyers had noticed them at all, indicated that somehow Murdoch had obtained Adomas Baltavesky's personal effects, which implied that he had gotten evidence from Stationhouse #5. Meyers was making it plain to the Inspector that nothing from that investigation could be included in the records or evidence for Murdoch's investigation.

Brackenreid wanted to talk with Murdoch before he agreed, but he predicted that Murdoch would not need anything from the minimal, shoddy, and Meyers-corrupted, investigation Stationhouse #5 had done into Adomas Baltavesky's death, at least not to get Mulligan convicted for the murder of Baltavesky's wife. The men agreed that it would be best not to return the items to Stationhouse #5 as that would draw even more attention to the case that they wanted to keep hidden. Meyers intended to collect the items and dispose of them himself. Clegg asked to use the phone to call the President of the United States and inform him of the situation. He was starting the call as Meyers left.

) (

Stepping back, taking her hand and guiding her off the stool and into his arms, William said, "You never cease to amaze me Julia." He tucked his fingers under her chin, lifting her face to him softly. "My God, she is beautiful," he thought as his breath flowed over his heart before it warmed her face. His thumb glanced her lips, his eyes darkened as he soaked in the sight of her. Thoughts flickered across his mind, bright flashes too quick to catch, too fleeting to be spoken aloud – images of her beaming face as he had lifted his face from the microscope, having seen for himself the XX-symmetry of her white blood cell, so clearly different than his own… And her tear-filled eyes when she told him she could trust him again because she saw that he too felt the pain he had caused her with his secrecy, and her teasing when she anticipated he would say he was glad he had married her once again. Each image, each thought, cascaded through his mind with sparkles and glimmers, lighting up his heart.

The effect these enchanting memories created in his eyes, in his face, dazzled her to the bone, weakened her knees, stole her breath. "We always made a good team," she replied. My God, she wished he would kiss her… so close… despite being in his office… please William… She felt his fingers across the edges of her ear, slip into her hair, dropping her, twisting her, tormenting her, seeming to steam away any possibility of resistance.

His lips touched hers, slowly caressing, sliding, moving, molding her supple, pink flesh below them. Uncontrollable, the deep, yearning moan that escaped her throat for this man, opening her mouth to him. Devastating, the delicious crash as his tongue breached the boundary, so soft, growing hungry, rhythmically pushing in farther and farther.

Then, William moved back, now his lips on her cheek, his breath in her neck. Although the room was spinning, floating her every cell with delight, she pushed to find words, finding a giggle sprinkle the air around his ear first, for the struggle was surprising difficult. "William," she said, breathless, lovely with its weakness, "There truly is nothing more exciting than being with you… nothing."

They separated a bit, both needing air. William entertained the idea of stopping to buy her flowers on the way home, becoming startled by the memory that he had just bought her a dozen yellow roses this morning. Time had flown by, so much had happened since then.

Julia asked, pulling him out of his thoughts, "Do you think you will be long?"

He needed to clear his throat. "Meyers and Clegg need to go over the evidence with me… To agree on what will stay in and what will go out. It could be long," he answered, wrinkling a corner of his mouth, attempting to apologize.

Her expression showing her disappointment, he scooped her back up and reminded, "We can't…" his breath rattled across her ear, and she knew what he wanted… to say… to do. He kissed her neck, nibbled at it, sucked gently on its flesh. In his mind, he finished his thought, "Not even Plan C."

Even so, despite not being able to make love, she knew she wanted to be with him, close to him, to have him with her wherever she was. She had missed him so. "William," she whispered before kissing his ear, prompting him to release her neck from his grasp. She pulled back, bringing their eyes to meet. "I want you home, William… with your stomach full of a warm, delicious dinner… and showered… and in pajamas," she urged, but then lifting her eyebrow warning of her naughtiness as she considered, "or not…"

Seeing it, feeling it, in his mind, William tightened his jaw fighting the desire mounting within him, for he too longed for the sensuous contact of the unbearably sumptuous feelings of her smooth, bare skin sliding along his, her curves, luscious and soft, molding around his more rigid ones, as they moved, and writhed, and entangled, ferociously, harmoniously, together.

Julia's voice tempted, "I know we can't make love, but I want to sleep with you in our bed, with me, William… I want to hear you breathing by my side… to feel you breathing next me, under me. William Murdoch, I want you home."

Hugging her tight, he responded, the tone of his voice soothing her deeper and deeper as the words sunk down, sunk in, "As do I…"

) (

So many things went through his mind immediately after Meyers tapped on the detective's door, opening it before hearing a response, to catch the couple in a passionate embrace. Through it all, though, he found his brain stuck on one memory more so than on any others dancing around in his head – that of him and Ettie arguing on the phone last night. Perhaps it was because he expected that, like it had happened last night with he and Ettie, such passion followed this couple's argument as well – in their case the dust up being ridiculously about pregnancy, and Neolithic cave dwellers, of all things. Or maybe it was because he had been furiously jealous of Murdoch in Winnipeg, or because, despite his crazed, wild love for Ettie he still found the other man's wife remarkably attractive. Whatever the reason, he barely had time to think to apologize.

As the couple jumped apart, Terrence uttered, smoothly, he thought, "I trust you two worked things out." His mind drifted away, thinking of how he and Ettie had talked through their problems on the phone, sighing contently remembering that they had gotten to sharing how much they felt for each other in the end.

William scratched the back of his head while Julia straightened her skirt. He cleared his throat, almost coughed, asking, "Shall I make a list of what I need for the… current investigation?" Murdoch walked to his desk and lifted a file.

"So, I won't wait dinner for you then," Julia asked, walking to the door, her arms feeling so empty without him.

William slowed himself, consciously making sure she saw his love, his devotion. "Best not," he replied simply. He told himself she would wait, reassuring himself he would be with her in their bed tonight. After she had gone, his eyes remained on the back of the door, longing for her. He sighed, his chest visibly rising, his yearning palpable.

Meyers then made a mistake, forgetting, that where his mind had just gone, to Ettie, as had been happening constantly to him as of late, was not the same place where it had left only moments ago. Thus, there was a disconnect when he confided in Murdoch, "I guess you know that I quite fancy her."

William's mind blasted, "Unbelievable this man's boldness!" it screamed at him, his rage rising, fuming, explosion ominously imminent. "My wife?" he questioned, angrily, shock forcing the question.

Meyers looked so puzzled, William noticed…

"No Ettie. Why would you think your wife?" Meyers asked, innocently.

Working to calm himself, experience having taught him that it was best to do so when feeling confused, William explained his leap to jealousy, at least from his side of things. "You said she was beautiful, uh… to the Prime Minister, on the phone. 'Remarkably beautiful,' you said. That was not necessary," he offered.

Meyers, so nonchalantly replied, "Well, she is remarkably beautiful… your wife, I mean. You must agree…"

Astonished, William's mouth hung open, while somewhere in the back of his mind, through the fog, he heard his own voice say, "Yes, that's true."

Meyers went on, "And besides, you should talk – I found you in Ettie's room, remember."

It did not happen often, that William felt like he could not keep up, but he was terribly lost. "How did they get to talking about Ettie," his mind shouted. Dazed, confounded, he tried to defend himself, "There was nothing romantic between us. There hasn't been for years… many years."

Terrence's heart pounded so in his chest – reacting to the danger of treading so close to the edge, not sure he could trust this man, wanting so badly to tell someone, someone who might understand. Bravely he refused to let himself think about it, pushed forward, "Not you for her. But, I dare say, I fear that may not be the case for her feelings for you."

Discomfort flooded through William. Back off, increase the distance, this is too close, too uncomfortable, his advice came. "I don't see why that's any of your business," Murdoch said.

Bringing them back full circle, still holding onto hope that this particular man would understand his desperation, Meyers explained, "It might be, as I said, I quite fancy her."

It made a little more sense now, this whole conversation, William thought, sensing he was catching on, identifying the muddled state as being due to Meyers' situation more so than his own. Meyers was speaking of Ettie! The man was madly in love with Ettie! Not Julia! Of course, of course. William's heartbeat slowed and he told himself to listen. He found it in his heart for Meyers – compassion.

"Look, Murdoch, I know now that I owe you – Ettie yelled at me when I called her last night, gave me hell for stopping your case…"

"Is that why you helped today? Kept my investigation going forward – found a way to allow me to go after Mulligan despite Clegg?" Murdoch asked.

Meyers seemed to think for a moment. Not answering the question, not directly, he went on, "She told me it was you who convinced her to trust me – to let herself love me, Murdoch – and truth be told…"

"A rare occurrence in his case," William thought sarcastically in his head.

"I think about her all the time… I want you to know, I'm grateful to you for that," Meyers gushed.

Suddenly both men felt terribly uncomfortable. Murdoch half ran to retreat to safety behind his desk. Meyers dashed to stand on the opposite side of it, the physical boundaries bringing each of them a modicum of relief.

"We should address the evidence – I've yet to officially arrest Mulligan," the detective said, hurrying to leaf through the files.

"Yes, I'll check with Clegg," Meyers suggested.

And yet, Meyers did not move, did not take his leave. The man sighed, a heavy deep sigh, the kind William knew in his bones, a sigh that tells of the starvation a man feels. William was certain, as Meyers began to speak again, that the conversation had fallen back to Ettie.

Meyers fiddled with the tiny scales on Murdoch's Lady Justice Statue on his desk and asked, "Did you ever notice, Murdoch, that when you love a woman, well, it changed you… and you suddenly find yourself doing things you normally wouldn't do?" Meyers lifted his eyes to meet Murdoch's.

Feeling tugged, William yielded, gave in, opened up and quietly acquiesced his private being. "I have," he reflected aloud, sharing, trusting. He dropped his eyes away, imagined Julia… "But I have also found it has only made me a better man…" His eyes spotted the St. Valentine's keychain on the worktable. He continued, "For her… I want to be a better man. I'd walk through fire for her…" Suddenly he wrinkled a corner of his mouth seeing it in his mind, the flames, high, and smoke thick, being terrified, not of dying but of being too late. William pulled his attention back to the present and looked Meyers in the eye. "I have, actually," he said.

William took a deep breath. He remembered only this afternoon, falling to his knees, feeling more desperate than he remembered ever feeling before, needing her love. He confided, "But what takes the most courage - shakes my very being, is that at times I have to truly look at myself, to find feelings I'd rather hide from, and show them to myself…" he swallowed reacting to the stress, "and to her, to trust… that much. I've never faced anything more frightening than knowing that I could lose her, lose her love really, and trusting that I won't - if I'm true."

The two men stood on opposite sides of the detective's desk, quiet for a moment. William wondered if Meyers had actually had this happen to him yet. Thinking of the rarity of Julia, he realized that without her, he would not have done such things. She was truly remarkable – truly…

Meyers stood up taller, pulled at his jacket. "Well enough of that Murdoch. I'll take care of Clegg…"

And then William knew that Meyers had not understood, not been able to identify, had never experienced the same. His love with Julia was special, magical, rare indeed… and he was so very grateful for it in that moment.

Meyers headed for the door as he said, "You go ahead and arrest Mulligan. Um, but don't say anything but the bare minimum."

"Understood," the detective replied. Unfortunately, he knew he still needed Mulligan to write and sign his confession.

) (

Placing the paper and pen down on the interview table before the suspect, Detective Murdoch stated, "To be clear Mr. Mulligan, your confession still stands. Please put it in writing and sign it." Anticipating that, having had time to think about it, Mulligan would now recant his confession, the detective was prepared. He sat in his chair across the interview table from Mulligan and began to write his own statement. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that Mulligan had not yet picked up the pen, indicating that it was as he had feared.

His eyes still down on his own statement, Murdoch said calmly, "Both Inspector Brackenreid and myself are each writing our own statements about what we heard you confess. One of the two government officials you saw a few moments ago is with the Inspector right now, the other, as you can see, is here watching us." He gestured subtly towards the door.

Mulligan looked over, able to see Alan Clegg standing on the other side of the Interrogation Room door through the metal mesh.

"Thus, there will be official witnesses to attest to the fact that Inspector Brackenreid and I had no chance to corroborate out stories," he explained, lifting his eyes to meet those of the suspect. Murdoch held the man's eyes, watched him squirm and think and panic and accept defeat. "If it helps you to remember, I will tell you that my statement will claim you confessed to committing two murders…"

Standing on the other side of the Interrogation Room door, the detective's statement infuriated Clegg. "He was clearly told not to include the husband!" he yelled to himself. He prepared to bust in and stop the confession, but coached himself to give Murdoch a moment.

Mulligan's jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed. "You think you are so high and mighty…" he seethed, "You may think you are a goddamned toff now, but you're no more than a stinkin' swine, struttin' around all highfalutin. Goddamn snob, when you know you're nothin' but white trash, always gonna be, no matter who… nah, what… you're married to. All you done is get her down in the gutter now with you, goddamn pig – made her nothin' but a stinking sow is all. I feel sorry for her…"

Obvious to him now, why Mulligan so despised him, William struggled to maintain self-control. Mulligan was jealous, having judged his marrying up poorly. William had let it roll off his back until Mulligan dragged Julia into it. He wondered if the man knew she was his weakness… she had always been his weakness. He was working now, not to let it get to him. "My financial status is irrelevant Mr. Mulligan, to your confession," the detective stated and then returned his attention to his own statement, ignoring the man.

Mulligan huffed and picked up the pen. Glancing down at it, he saw that the paper already included his name, the date and that it was to be his signed confession. Mulligan wrote for a moment and then stopped. "That woman was no more than a whore… just like you detective," he smirked, implying that Murdoch had sold his carnal flesh for money… to Julia, of all things.

Oh, William was imploring his self-control, forcing himself to keep the pen moving as he felt his jaw clenching and his fingers drawing together towards a fist. "Stay relaxed," his inner-voice alerted. "Take a breath. Get him back to writing, not fighting," he advised himself. "Include it in your confession in you must," he replied, thinking that if Mulligan did so it would help to bolster the lie that Ieva was killed because of an illicit sexual relationship with Mulligan rather than because she was looking for Adomas' murderer.

On the other side of the door, Alan Clegg had also been battling his own impulses, enjoying the distraction of having the detective dragged through the mud. He too found Detective Murdoch to be arrogant, and thrilled in seeing the suspect knock him down a peg or two. No skin off his back if the man backs out of his confession… Meyers unexpectedly appeared next to him. "Damn," Clegg noticed annoyingly, "the man has a way of just being there all of a sudden," he thought to himself, irritated by a trait in his counterpart that any spy would admire.

Meyers handed him Brackenreid's statement, which he quickly snatched away, worried about who this second victim was. "Ieva Baltavesky and…" Clegg sighed, "…a worker from Davies Slaughterhouse… Kempsey," he read, "No mention of Jonathan Armour." Predominantly relieved that he would not have to fight, call the Prime Minister, and the President, all over again, he found there was a part of him that was disappointed. There was something so pleasant about riling up Murdoch and Brackenreid, and this case had offered the added benefit of being able to be a burr in Meyers' side as well. Regrettably satisfied, he handed the statement back to Meyers.

In the Interrogation Room, Mulligan had gone back to writing his confession. Before he handed it over, he demanded that the government men hear him out. Thus, Meyers and Clegg joined them in the Interrogation Room. The Inspector watched on from outside.

Mulligan stood, prompting Murdoch to do the same, and straightened his jacket. "Gentlemen, I want it known that your detective here is playing politics, abusing his position in the Constabulary to help his own relative by getting me convicted of murder…"

Again, William felt his jaw clamping, this time in an effort to hold his tongue. Mulligan was going to make a play for getting the charges thrown-out because he, the detective on the case, was a cousin to the American meat-magnate Jonathan Armour! Mulligan's plan would fail, Murdoch's reputation impeccable… at lease on that account, but the last thing he needed was any mention of the one name that would cause Clegg alarm and spur him to go back on the deal. Quickly he assessed Clegg's expression. "Confused," he noticed. He needed to stop Mulligan before he said Armour's name. He prayed Mulligan had not written Armour's name in his statement, not yet having read it. William looked to Meyers, his eyes pleading. Meyers gave him the slightest nod.

Meyers cleared his throat drawing everyone's attention, reaching out for Mulligan's statement while pulling a nearly finished stump of a cigar out of his mouth to speak. "This concern…" Meyers cast his eyes over the written confession, "…of yours… Mr. Mulligan..." he said whilst skimming the man's written confession. "No Armour," he noted. "…is not relevant to your guilt or innocence, is it Mr. Mulligan?" he asked, blowing smoke into the man's face. Not waiting for an answer, he turned to Clegg and offered him Mulligan's confession. "I think you'll see it's all in order Alan," he said.

Anyone looking would have seen the detective's chest lift and drop with his sigh of relief. His eyes now honed in on Clegg, assessing his reaction.

Clegg read the statement and nodded. Feeling bothered, not wanting to waste a moment more of his time, he left.

"Make your arrest Murdoch," Meyers decreed before following Clegg out.

))) (((

Dropping by the morgue to collect the extra microscope she had brought from home, Julia was surprised to find Miss James still elbow deep in work. "Miss James," she exclaimed, "Another body?"

Rebecca lifted her head from the dead man's, now, naked body and replied, "Yes… Oh, it seems this gentleman was seen falling from his horse, reportedly in a drunken stupor, and then being trampled to death by multiple carriages…"

"I see," the doctor responded, asking, "So, why is he here and not at the undertaker's. Is there a question about whether he was murdered?"

Rebecca stepped back from the corpse, inviting Dr. Ogden closer, "No mam. That seems pretty straightforward. But his identity is unknown…"

Julia glanced at the man's clothing Miss James had already examined and set aside. "Only keys in his pockets?" she wondered aloud.

"Mm," Rebecca answered.

"Well, I'm sure the detective will be able to figure out who the man is soon enough," Julia reassured. "I don't believe it will be until tomorrow though," she added, as it was already six o'clock, and she knew William still had quite a lot to do.

They covered the corpse and Julia helped Rebecca push the body into the cold-room. Her eyes fell to Ieva Baltavesky's corpse. She sighed as various emotions swirled around inside of her thinking of the woman, her love for her murdered husband, then of William… and his experiences in the jungle…

Miss James' voice pulled her out of her thoughts. "She has been here a long time. Did the XX gender identity of the blood help?" she asked.

Julia's bright blue eyes lifted… focused. "Yes… Yes, I believe so, in the end," she replied. She told of the confession and impending arrest of the Davies Slaughterhouse manager, Mr. Mulligan. Thoughtful, she pulled the sheet back from Ieva's body to reveal her greenish-hued face, somehow still beautiful despite the decayed state. Half speaking to the victim, half to Miss James, she said, "Finally… finally she will be able to rest… In the only place in the world where that would be possible for her, by Adomas' side."

Julia went on to explain that she and William had arranged to have Ieva's body buried next to that of Adomas, in the pauper's cemetery in Wychwood Park, so that she could be with him in the end.

Keeping the details to herself, Julia noted the victim's naked neck, imagining that by tomorrow, when lowered into her grave, she would be wearing her locket. William said he would be placing Ieva's and Adomas' pictures inside of it, replacing Kempsey's theft, so that when it clicked closed for that final time, the lovers would be face-to-face together, locked in a lover's embrace for all of eternity. She sighed… her mind drifting to the two St. Valentine's key-chains they would also place in the coffin with her… and Julia's fingers subconsciously found her own wedding rings as she envisioned Ieva's finger adorned with both hers and her husband's rings. "Tomorrow," she thought, pushing her mind back into the cold-room with Miss James – grounding again in today.

))) (((

Walking his Bicycle into its storage place in the alcove on the side of their long front porch, William pushed away the intrusive thoughts of the perils and tribulations he had encountered in the jungle. Such thoughts had dominated in his head for the ride as they took advantage of his temporary solitude, but now he reflected on the mild temperatures they were experiencing for so late in December. He remembered that just now on the phone Ettie had said that in Winnipeg was being hammered by a snowstorm. "Won't last," he thought of the unseasonably warm weather, anticipating the storm's eventual arrival here in Toronto, but not for a day or two yet.

Before stepping into their warm house, he admired the moon. "Waning gibbous," his scientific mind chimed in before more romantic thoughts took center stage, his mind being swept by memories of seeing the pale colors of the moonbow in the mist of the Umbata waterfall on the moonlit night, only two nights ago, from the rooftop of the moving train. His musings at the time had lured him to how his simply knowing that Julia existed in the world sufficed to provide meaning and sustenance in his life, much as the light of the Sun could be seen illuminating the Moon, creating and crafting something as marvelous as a moonbow. He filled his lungs with the crisp night air, sad and grateful at the same time.

Once inside, removing his coat, he had to stop himself from the habit of reaching up to take off his hat. His mind threatened to fall back into the turmoil of their arguing last night, but he pushed the thoughts away, taking comfort in the reassurance that they had been resolved.

He found Julia asleep in her nightgown and robe, rocked back in his reclining chair. His own weariness impressed upon him how long the day had been, especially for a woman who was eight-months pregnant, he reminded himself. Contently, for he cherished opportunities, such as this one, to covertly study his wife, he stood over her, admiring and adoring her every feature. One of his favorites, her unruly curls dangling and bobbing about escaped from their various clips and braids, had settled across her face prompting him to tuck it aside. It took all he had not to kiss her, the temptation, the image, surging an internal chuckle as he pictured the storybook fairytale of Sleeping Beauty being kissed awake by her Prince Charming, and he judged himself as having grandiose notions of himself – but surely not of the power of their love.

One of her medical journals lay across her chest, dropped when sleep had overtaken her. William picked it up, glancing to see that it was in French. Realizing the challenges she would have encountered reading such a scholarly article, in an unmastered language, he lifted an eyebrow, impressed. It was about Cesarean sections, he noted, his eyes settling on her greatly enlarged belly. "Truly a miracle, in so many ways," he marveled.

He let his mind imagine it, their tiny baby safe and sound, nestled inside her womb. He had always pictured it as a boy, as he did now, but he quickly reminded himself that he would be equally happy with a girl. "Perhaps it was because of his "seeing the future" a few years ago – 1899 to be exact. In that "future 1912," he and Julia had had an eight-year old boy. Such a child would have to have been born in 1904 – this year. Although, this child's due date was in 1905 rather than 1904, he nitpicked with his own premonition, lifting a judgmental eyebrow at himself.

He retrieved a blanket and covered her, pleased she had managed to remain asleep. Hungry, he headed for the kitchen, article in hand. His mind drifted to science, a common occurrence before the stirring of an idea for an invention. "If you could see through her skin you could tell if the baby was a boy or a girl," it started, "Of course, there's water all around the baby…" Suddenly flashes of memory appeared, of using his soundwave echo devise to "hear" the location of a ship on the seafloor below them. They had been searching for gold that had sunken with a Canadian ship bound for America to illegally aid the Confederate Army– on the same case in which Julia had devised Graveson's method of assassinating folks by stabbing them during a handshake, he noted excitedly.

He flicked on the light-switch in the kitchen, thinking, "Could a similar method be used to "see" a baby inside its mother's womb?"

His eyes caught on the vase full of yellow roses, the same flowers he had sent this morning. "How could so much happen in a day?" he wondered to himself with the sight. Less than 24 hours ago they were fighting, devastatingly – she even slapped him…

Just this afternoon at lunch, she sat in that very chair there, and he fell before her onto his knees, terrified she no longer loved him, unable to bear the thought of living without her. William reached up and rubbed his brow, took a deep breath. He would never keep a secret from her again, of that he was certain. It was pointless anyway, as she had been quick to point out this afternoon, making note of his many failed attempts at deception. She had specifically called him out for the time he had tried to save the world by jumping out of a hot air balloon, ultimately flying back to Earth wearing some winged flying-suit, and then climbing down an eighty-foot-long shaft of a rocket aimed at New York City to disarm it. She had teased that this was just the most elaborate of his many debacled secret keeping ventures. At least that time his keeping a secret from her had not resulted in an explosive argument.

It must have been the thought of arguing with her that brought it to the forefront of his mind. His knuckles felt it first, then his heart, as his memory of their huge fight, after he had punched Darcy, came into focus. William exhaled, needing to lower his stress. That was the first time they had talked things through after a big quarrel, spending the night together in the reclining chair in his office. A smile slipped onto his face, his mind so quick, now thinking of Julia's sexy dream about making love with him the next morning. "The man of her dreams – still," he beamed, unconsciously puffing his chest out with male pride.

"Now, something to eat," he told himself.

) (

A little while later, Julia took her turn at admiring her lover unnoticed, as she leaned, in silence, against the doorframe at the entrance into the kitchen. She watched as he ate, his nose buried in her medical journal. She wondered, whether it was his good heart, or his amazing brain, "or could it be that handsome face and gorgeous body," she thought, teasing herself into a smile, that most made her fall head over heels in love with this man.

"Now tell me Mr. Murdoch," Julia asked, her voice playful and mischievous from the other side of the room, "Do you know what it is you are reading?"

Breathtaking, his chocolate-brown eyes, magnetic, she felt their impact as he looked up to see her across the room, the force of their connection invisibly rippling her world. He would return her banter, those same eyes twinkling with cockiness.

"Yes, I do," William replied, "I believe it describes how my child… pardon me, our child, will be brought into the world."

Julia smiled and nodded, noting to herself that what most impressed her was that he wanted to read such a thing in the first place.

A sauciness in his voice he asked, "Now tell me, Mrs. Murdoch, does the fact that it is written in French explain the reason you fell asleep while reading it?"

"I was getting the gist," she responded to his poking, feigning insult. She pushed away from the doorframe. "But," she gave, "perhaps you can help me interpret it later," quite looking forward to it for his speaking French always riled her romantic side. She stepped closer, eyes down on his plate. Her hands lifted to her hips. "Now, I do believe my husband has picked up some hobo habits from his latest case – Are you eating your dinner cold, detective?" she nudged.

He wrinkled a corner of his mouth, not able to deny it, his leftover beef stew freezing cold, self-served as it was, directly out of the icebox. Julia took his plate and scraped his remaining meal into a pan on the stovetop.

Knowing she shouldn't, after having had reminded herself multiple times that they couldn't even make love with Plan C these days, Julia found herself totally enamored with her husband. She flirted with him mercilessly, noticing however, that for his part, he did not put up much of a fight. She stroked his beautiful black hair, slid her hands down his neck, and then leaned down to kiss and nibble his warm delicious flesh. However, it was he who pushed his chair away from the table, invited her onto his lap. And then, Oh, the tie – My God, she so loved the tie, sometimes falling overboard in love with his tie! Pangs and torrents of desire, longing, to touch it, to loosen it, to untie it, flooded through her. She chuckled, reacting to a flash of memory, of him wearing only his black tie, naked as a jaybird besides, gorgeous and hunky of course, trying to recreate a dream she had had, but still, she had found the picture of him dressed so to be hysterical.

"Detective," her scratchy, aroused, voice followed her giggle, "Is this the dream tie?" she queried, prompting a provocative smile from him. His lips settled against her neck, muffling his somewhat devilish chuckle.

His chord-striking voice barely above a whisper in her ear, he then nonchalantly stated, "Mrs. Murdoch, I do believe you are burning my dinner," rousing her lust more so than her worry – at first…

Feeling the double-pronged bolt surge through her, she quieted herself and remained in his lap – momentarily. "It will just be a bit toasty, is all," she replied minimizing the problem, then giving him a peck on the cheek and leaning forward to receive a gentle push to help her stand. She would go to save his dinner. She removed the pan from the flame, and then stirred the partially blackened stew.

The idea coming to him as the familiar smell tingled his memories, he commented slyly, "Much like your toast, I suppose." Laughing, William quickly ducked, anticipating her inevitable response, as she flung the dishtowel at him, for they both knew that Julia had an unfortunate tendency to burn the toast. All in good fun, they felt terribly happy.

She sat with him while he finished eating, and he told her about some of the things he had seen on his trip into the jungle, her husband waxing philosophical…

"Meat like this," William explained pushing the beef on his plate about with his fork, "It takes the life-spirit out of so many people. Abused by bosses, and the law, and immense poverty – each step along the line someone trying to milk you for as much money as possible, trying to gain some advantage whenever possible. The animals are mistreated. The food is dangerously handled. People get sick and die… and there is no way to know if this particular piece of meat is safe," he elaborated, holding up a fork-pierced chunk of beef. He went on, "But one thing is guaranteed – it got here as a result of much animal and human suffering… honestly, much more so than I think you could ever imagine."

Truth be told, it made William question how God could allow such treatment – such injustice. All so someone like Jonathan Armour could make as much money as possible. As Julia listened, she felt grateful for their intimacy, his letting down his guard, his sharing, and his trust in her for not judging, especially when it came to anyone's, but especially his, questioning of God.

"William," she said, her voice warm, conveying a wisdom and compassion he had come to treasure, "I asked Father Clemens the same question, when I went to him about having our wedding in the Catholic Church." His eyes grew wide, opening to her, loving her deeply. "He helped me see that God is not responsible – people are." Julia's gaze shifted as she searched for the memory. "God grants us life, he said. But, what we do with that life is up to each of us," she remembered. Her luminous celestial-blue eyes found him, "We are responsible for what we choose to do," she said, then abruptly dropping her eyes away again and shaking her head. She explained, "Such a marvel, you see… I had always thought Catholicism, with its Confession, and saying of the rosary, and various saints with all their specialties… well…" Julia's eyes shown so profoundly into his with her deep glance, becoming fused, transfixed. "I had always thought such zealous faith would foster… an indifference, with no real consequence for wrongs, just confess and all is forgiven," she said, her voice verging on squeaking as her hand flipped through the air to demonstrate the flimsiness she described. She reached out and took his hand, "But now I see. It's not that simple, there is responsibility – to others…"

William nodded, his eyes glued to hers.

"To yourself," she continued.

He nodded again.

"And to God," she finished, basking in his smile, knowing he knew she had seen it. Julia was still unsure she could ever wholly believe in God, certainly not as William did, but her views had grown from knowing him, for the better she believed, and it brought her joy to be able to share her growth, her changing, with him.

) (

Drying himself after his luscious, warm shower, he noted that the bottle of medicated soap he was using to treat the lice he had picked up out in the jungle seemed less full than it should be. He speculated that Julia, too, had used some. "Wise, of course, to help prevent the spread," he thought. He found a fresh set of pajamas in his drawer, noting the comfy feel of them as they softly covered his clean skin. His eyes fell to their bed, where he noted, he had not yet slept since his return. "Tonight, finally," he thought gratefully. Seeking his slippers, he opened the closet and checked the floor. "Hmm," he wondered, "No slippers?"

Barefooted and bare-skinned beneath his pajamas, William walked into the living room to find Julia reading her French medical journal once more. Planning to read and interpret it to her, he took her hand and helped her off the couch and then sat in his reclining chair and brought her, first onto his lap, and then slid her hips into the little crook of space next to his, leaving her long legs draped over his lap. He reached down and used the handle to tilt them back. Heaven, together here, her head resting on his chest – all was right with the world.

He took up the journal, preparing to read, but instead asked, shrewdly, his eyes on the text, "Julia, where are my slippers…" Oh, how exquisite the feeling of her body tensing, reacting to his question, against his. William cleared his throat, held back his smile, adding, "And my hat?"

Her next move did not surprise him, for his wife often used seduction to distract him. Her hand rubbed, stroked, admired, the ripply muscles of his chest, circled and pinched at one of his nipples through the cloth of his pajamas, as her breath flowed over the tender skin of his neck before her mouth took him in. The sensations truly unbearable in their allure, William resisted the urge to moan, although he did find he needed to swallow to hide the sound of his weakness before he said, with his tone one of warning, "Julia…"

He felt her stretch up to bring her lips to his ear, choosing to nibble before she spoke. Oh, my God, her fingers pinched at his top button, popped it open so that he felt the cold air touch his chest. Against his commands, his breath caught, when she did the same to the next button. "Julia," his own voice in his head sang for her…

Her fingers took the third button as she simply asked, "Yes?"

Wild, lustful yearnings erupted in his groin. He rolled her over, pinning her in the tiny space next to him in the chair. Passionately, rough and hungry, he took her in a kiss, his mouth massaged hers rhythmically, enticing it to open to him, to yield, to take in his surge, his velvety tongue crossing the boundary between them, his every cell reveling in her muffled moan.

Julia's womb coiled so deliciously with his kiss. "My God this man can kiss," her thought twirled and spun in her head as she grew dizzy in love with him. But… Dammit! She knew she needed to stop him, for their baby. Fighting uphill against the gale forces of her desire for him, she pushed through the harrowing winds and secured her hand on his shoulder, pushed against him, pushed him away, gently closed her mouth to him, turned her head away from his… Oh, they were so delicious though…his lips.

Her bosom heaving up and down out of the periphery of his vision, beautiful, so beautiful, he thought…

Her voice breathy with lust, she said, "No kissing," trying so hard not to laugh at the amazing contradictions she felt with the rule. It made her happy to the core, his disappointment, his collapse as he accepted it, his head dropping into the back of the chair, his beautiful face next to hers.

He took one of her curls in his fingers, twirled it and played with it. His glistening eyes danced here and there across her face and he said, "Of course, you're right," and then he wrinkled his face in delightful apology, melting her down to each and every atom in her body. In an effort to fight off his manly desires, he engaged his brain, asked himself what they had been talking about before he had lost control. Upon remembering, his expression changed, the mischievous troublemaker back.

"I do believe you were explaining what happened to my slippers… and more importantly, to my hat," he taunted.

Her big, bright blue eyes glanced up to meet his. Her fingers slipped under his unbuttoned pajama top, squeezed and glided over the muscles of his chest, then slipped lower, discovering those on his stomach. "Well, we both know I have a temper" she wrinkled a corner of mouth making him laugh.

He grounded temporarily, returned her gaze, now out of the side of his eye. "Yes, yes we do," he agreed with a nod. He jabbed, "And we both know that, even though it is you who declared there would be no kissing, it was also you who initiated… just that."

Her eyes narrowed in threat as she charged, "Detective, you daren't say you didn't like it." Her voice rising into a little squeak, catching his notice.

William smiled, continuing his line of questioning for he would not be deterred, he argued, "Oh, I quite liked it doctor, but I feel it is a distraction designed to deflect my questions about my hat."

Julia swallowed, fighting down both fear and lust. "Perhaps," she acquiesced.

Staying in his role, William huffed, playing at being gruff. He said, while growing closer, a devastating kiss imminent, his fingers caressing her chin, along her jaw, tracing her ear, "So you were angry at me and wanted to hurt me, and you took it out on my innocent hat, figuring it was the best way to get at me." He tilted his head, his lips touched…

Julia pulled back, insisting firmly, "No kissing detective…"

Oh, but then she reached down to lift the smooth, silky fabric of her nightgown and robe, wrinkling it up higher and higher over her thigh, smiling with glee as she saw him catching a glimpse of her exquisite, long, curvy legs. She shifted her weight, took his hand and put it on her hips, asking for him to help, as she slid up to come and straddle him.

William's eyes delved into her breasts, the jiggly curves of her cleavage peeking out from the edges of her loosely tied robe and low cut nightgown. She felt his hands, big and strong take hold of her back.

She lowered her head, tucking it in closer to him. "Detective, your slippers, they just got a little wet…" her lips grazed his ear. Her scent enveloped him. She kissed his ear, then a little nip with her teeth. She continued her explanation, "just a little wet is all – they're in the laundry room drying out…"

William clung to control, but his voice betrayed his wavering state as he asked the more significant question, "And my hat?" as she took his head in both hands and lifted his face.

Julia's lips, their enticing kisses, traveled along his stubbly jawline on route to his lips, teasing and jolting him randomly with a sharp nibble of her teeth. She was so close now, nearly there. He felt himself rising underneath her. She surely noticed, growing heavier against him, her breathing matching his, blasting, intense and rushed. Before she would take his mouth, he uttered, "Doctor… that is my lucky hat," he pressured. With all his might he made himself stop her advances, taking hold of her eyes with his.

Exhaling, giving herself time, defusing her own internal volcano, Julia smiled at him. "Now detective, a man of reason and logic like yourself certainly does not believe in any such thing as a lucky hat," she returned the play, her lips, her warm breath, then glancing his cheek, reigniting him, her fingers sliding into his hair, scratching behind his ear. She felt him grow bigger, harder, under her, destroying her resolve. He wanted her, undeniably longed for her, reached for her. She wished with all her might he would take what he wanted. "William," she whispered, and then kissed him, softly, moving her lips over his. Deliciously, his lips folded and bent under hers, so supple and pliable, yielding… Such sweet softness, his tongue was right there. She pushed in.

William's groin responded, pressing upward into her mightily, limited, blocked, only by the thin cloth of his pajamas, provoking a moan from her. William broke off the kiss, ducked his head down and tucked his face in her neck, his hands slid up her side, riding along her ribs, his thumbs up the curves of her breasts. He took a slow deep breath marveling in, cherishing, her scent, then grasped a firm hold of her, lifting her to him, and he fell and buried his face between her breasts, kissing and sucking on the malleable, marshmallowy soft, warm flesh. His mouth found a nipple, high and tight… He started, licked, hovered, crushing her with want.

Coming up for air, he pushed her back, stilled his hands on her. "Now doctor," he said, out of breath, "Was it not you who declared kissing out of bounds, hmm?"

Julia's pout melted him even more. She leaned back, increasing the space between them and said, "It was," she admitted.

"Good," he said, now more resolved, in control again. He wrapped his arms around her, as best as he could for she was quite large with child, and added, "Now, as for my lucky hat and its conflicting with my logical mind, I will remind you that I also, unreasonably, believe in God…"

"Yes, you are quite the enigma – a puzzle beyond words, I would say," she interrupted.

He raised an eyebrow at her, signaling the moment of truth had come, and said, "Doctor… my hat?"

Julia told him that immediately after she received Ettie's phone call from Winnipeg, after that, knowing he had kept his intentions to stay with his past lover a secret from her, she was crazed with anger, and hurt, and also terrified that he was lost, and maybe dead. She had been overcome at one point with a wave of fury, and in a temper-filled rage she had taken his hat from its spot hanging above his coat, and she had, while at the time wearing his slippers… for hers were too tight to fit over the injury she had incurred stepping on the broken locket…

Clearly, another story to be told there, he had thought…

And she had taken his hat out into the pouring, freezing cold, rain, and walked in his slippers to the garbage pails out at the front gate, and tossed it away in the recently emptied trash, to let it sink into the stinking puddles at the bottom of the can. Later, she had calmed down and gone out to retrieve it. He should not fret, she had pleaded. His hat was at the millinery to be cleaned. It would be back and good as new, she was sure, probably by tomorrow.

"Good," he accepted. He held her tightly close to him and rolled her to the side bringing her to lie next to him so she could rest her head on his shoulder. They quieted there for a time. After a deep, contented breath, William told her, "I have longed to be here with you in my arms like this Julia, for so long," his lovely voice said, his chest vibrating deep into her soul.

"Home," she concluded.

Not much later he had fallen asleep. She lay with him in there as he slept, toasty, breathing deeply, reclining with him in his chair, happy to the core. Their baby kicked between them, rousing its father.

Sleepy, he asked, half whispering and half speaking, "Was that the baby?"

Rambunctious baby since she so worried.

"Mm," she answered, "Seems our little one just welcomed you home too, Daddy." She guided his hand to her belly and they stayed quiet for a moment. Only a month now, their thoughts planned and worried and dreamed. There was a strong bump, Julia suggesting it was a kick. She explained that the baby had been terribly rambunctious lately. She had wondered if somehow her stress after Ettie's call had been the cause. Now she thought now, for she felt much calmer, much more resolved, and yet, the little one remained restless. She reassured him she thought everything was fine, that she would stop in to see Isaac after they returned from Ieva's burial tomorrow.

He offered his usual response, "Good," with a smile.

"Now then, detective," Julia whispered, "I think we should get you up to bed," and pushed away from her favorite headrest in all the land, preparing to get up.

With her hips nestled between him and the arm of the chair and her legs up over his lap, her efforts to lift herself up off of him tended to the dramatic, resulting in her flopping about trying to get out of the chair, intensifying her efforts greatly, all manner of which seemed wholly doomed for failure. William opened one eye and lifted his eyebrow to tease, earning himself a light smack in the chest.

"I thought it was you husbands who were supposed to be the ones to provide for us pregnant women's survival, and yet you sit there idle, watching, enjoying my struggling as would a turtle stuck on its back?" she chided and harped.

"I must admit, milady," his tone suggesting continued torture, "I feel conflicted, wanting to help, for I am largely responsible for your state, and yet… I find myself envisioning my lucky hat at the bott…"

Another playful smack and the annoyed label, "Men!" as she shook her head and then roused her level of rocking and clutching and wallowing with effort once more. Although she would not admit it, she melted enjoyed with the sound of his patronizing chuckle, and gloried in his strength as he pulled her up on his lap, brought them both forward and he reached for the handle to upright the reclining chair, and then stood, albeit with a groan, with his very pregnant wife in his arms. She was about to tease him about getting old due to his grunting…

When his lips found her ear and he whispered, "There, crisis averted, turtle saved," and her feet floated safely down, touching the floor softly.

And all she wanted in the world was to kiss him, and their eyes darted and skipped across each other's faces, flickering so beautifully in the dim light…

) (

Up in their bedroom, she sat at her vanity to let down and brush her hair while he brushed his teeth. Watching him in her vanity mirror as he stepped out of the bathroom and began to re-button his pajama top, her insides sparked. "William," she called to him, catching his warm brown eyes in the reflection, "As your sleeping partner…" she said, turning around, her eyes, her look, stunning.

He felt the familiar stirring.

She stood and approached him, never letting go of his gaze. "I believe you are buttoning in the wrong direction, husband," she said, now standing before him. She took his hands, brought them down to his sides, stopping him from buttoning the second to last button. Then she took hold of it and popped it open, slipped her fingers lower, to the next one, popping it open as well, as she whispered, "You should be moving down William, not up." Only one more button to go, she reached it, touched it, it yielded. Her exhale so hot against his naked skin, her fingers grasped the string to his pajama bottoms.

Immediately, his pajama bottoms felt too tight, the specific snugness alerting him to the impending danger, warning that he had best act now, that he needed to step back from the flame, lest the temptation grow too great. Managing it, he captured her hands. There was a mesmerizing, delectable weakness in his eyes as he said, voice dried from lustful breathing, "I don't think that's a good idea, Julia."

She paused in her advances, confident she could persuade him. A thought to tease him about his stuffiness disappeared, almost immediately replaced by another which challenged her, stopped her, the feelings of doubt and regret hitting with it possibly being triggered by the worried look in his beautiful, chocolate eyes. She stepped back, dropped her eyes away, embarrassed. Words rushed out of her, flooded and cascaded between them.

Rapidly she declared, "I'm sorry William," starting her confession, her apology. "I… I realize… I'm so," her eyes jolted up to his, "I'm having trouble," she giggled and blushed, "I am crazed…" her eyes gone again with a shrug, "I'm sorry, it's just that I want you…" pow, her look landed hard, "…so badly. And I know I keep giving you 'come hither' signals…" She tipped her head to the side, judging, admitting, and added, "quite demanding come hither signals…" She had to fight the urge to laugh when he nodded solidly in agreement. She swallowed and pushed on with her apology, "And then I, um, I give you the 'go yonder' signal…"

Her eyes pleaded with him to understand, as she explained further, "Of course, I have to because we can't. I know we can't. But, my God I so want to." She stepped in closer to him and said, "And I know I'm driving you crazy William… and it must be so hard…" She paused, waiting for his response.

All he managed to say was, "Hard… Yes."

And poor Julia just about lost it with laughter, her eyes dropped down to his still somewhat taught pajama bottoms. Her rosy face explaining through her wide smile, "In more ways than one," as her eyes sparkled mercurially and returned to his, her fun contagious, and glorious, when William laughed too, his face rupturing into redness.

Their laughing quickly settled and he took a deep breath. He simply stared, waiting for more.

Julia nodded and said, "I think it's because we had such a very big fight, William," her expression asking him to be with her, inspiring him to nod as well, agreeing, for it had been a difficult argument indeed, requiring facing dire potential consequences along the way.

Julia took his hand, her fingers circling and sliding over his wedding ring. William stepped closer to her, the intimacy exponentially rising as a factor of their gravity and the decreasing distance. Her voice so quiet now, she confided, "And we're not able to completely makeup…" Her smile warmed him, and she went on, with a little shrug, as her eyes dropped down to dwell on his exposed, and truly lovely, chest. "At least not in the way we are used to, in the way we know works to bring us as close as we both need…" her blue eyes back melding with his, she concluded, "And I think that's why. And I know I've been driving you crazy, testing your self-control, and I'm so grateful William, because I know you'd never let go, that you are so… strong, and that you would always stop… us, to keep our baby safe, and I'm sorry William. I truly am."

Truth be told, he couldn't have admired her more. She was brilliant, and once again amazed him. And he loved her so his heart ached. He cupped her cheek, kissed her soft and tenderly. "Sounds wise," he concluded. His fingers took a curl. He wrinkled a corner of his mouth at her and said, "You were brushing your hair."

She giggled, "Yes, yes I was," she agreed, with a nod and they separated. As she sat and pulled out a pin, her hair cascading down, her eyes found him in the mirror again. She watched him, noticed him looking a bit embarrassed, and suddenly dropping his chin to the ground. Perhaps he was still feeling his manly urges, she wondered.

He turned and went to turn down the bed. "Did you lock everything up?" she asked, brushing and flipping her hair about.

"Mm, before I showered," he answered. He began to re-button his top and he asked, his faced twisted with puzzlement, "Why… why were you wearing my slippers?"

So rapidly her mind made each leap, from remembering the cut on the bottom of her foot, and needing bigger slippers because of it. Then to the sharp pain she felt as she stepped on the broken clasp of her half of the locket in the dark, after she had thrown it in anger across their pitch-black bedroom, and William's half had ricocheted off somewhere, unable to be found. Next jumping to finding that Eloise had placed his half next to her half on the vanity. Then she remembered tucking the broken pieces in the pocket of her robe – to finally remembering that now that same robe was down in the laundry cupboard with the dirty clothes – all culminating in the thought that William would be the one, that he would be able to fix it!

"Oh William," she exclaimed, "You can fix it, I know you can!"

Confused he asked, "Fix what?"

"The locket," she replied, jumping up, rushing to the door. She opened it and just before she hurried down the stairs she explained, "I broke the locket, but you… you can fix it. I'll go get it," leaving him with his eyebrow up, wondering how that had anything to do with his slippers, no choice but to wait.

) (

Barefoot in the dark, only the moonlight shining through the windows on the front, south-facing side of the house, Julia clasped the treasured but broken locket in her hand as she made her way back to the stairs. The cracking, then crinkling sound immediately associating with that of glass breaking, gasped her breath and halted her motion before she had even identified it as a sound, as out of the ordinary, as signifying danger. Her heart raced in her chest as she turned to see what had caused it, glimpsing the booted-foot of a man crawling into the house through their newly broken living room window. Absolute terror threatened to freeze her in the spot.

Darts, images, ideas, all too fast to react to, of screaming, of grabbing a lamp and attacking him, of running up to…

Then she was just there, in their bedroom, breathless, eyes wide with fear. William, who had gotten into bed, now stood next to her, his speed spurred by the look of her, his eyes so intense, so focused.

"There's a man!" she whispered her horror, "Crawling in the window, William," she squeaked.

The strength in his eyes calmed her. She marveled at the control in his voice. "Did he see you?" he asked.

She shook her head, "No," she answered straightaway.

Not a moment to spare, he turned out the light and took her to the far corner of their bedroom and opened the secret passageway. They both stepped inside. It was narrow, terribly dark. She found she felt particularly claustrophobic with the baby inside of her, her hand instinctively covering her belly protectively.

"Stay here," his whispered order came. Despite the darkness, she knew his imploring expression. She nodded. She would do whatever he said. His finger found her lips, barely audible his voice in her ear, "Sh." Then she felt him go. She was alone. He would risk his life. He would sneak through the secret passageways and try to come up behind whoever it was…

And then her mind flew away with her. "What if it was Mulligan's men?! There would be lots of them! He would be killed! William?" Her panic threatened to dizzy her, giving her hiding spot away. She steadied herself – listened in the darkness with all her might.

A gasp – she heard the doorknob turn!

Her own breathing so loud! "Shh," she warned herself, "You must breathe, but slowly, quiet…."

The time interminable, but then the loud "whack!" and then crashes, and grunts, and furniture being knocked into. She would not stay here like a little mouse and let William be hurt or killed!

Julia burst out of the hidden doorway and grabbed for the lamp on the night table.

She heard his voice, her name…

"Julia!" he alerted, "It's alright." The sound came from the floor, over by the bathroom. He said it was all right – all right. She clicked the lamp on to see William on top of a man on the floor. His lip was bleeding. He was breathing heavily. He sat straddled over the man who lay chest down under him, William holding the man's hands behind his back.

"Get the handcuffs out of my bag in the closet," William ordered.

As soon as she started to move, the man on the floor rallied, getting himself pummeled with a strong right fist in the back of the head by her husband. "Blast it, Graveson!" William yelled, "You crazy lunatic, if she loses that baby I swear to you I'll take my badge off and beat you silly," he threatened through gritted teeth.

In a near frenzy, Julia found his bag on the closet floor. She coached herself to slow down, heard William's reassuring voice in her head again, "It's alright." Realizing she was still grasping the broken locket, she put it down there on the floor next to his bag and then opened it and fished around, searching for the handcuffs.

They both breathed easier once the handcuffs clicked into place. William stood up, unconsciously reaching up to wipe the blood on his lip. Then he bent over, and rolled the man over and pulled him to sit up by his collar, then shoving the man's back and shoulders into the foot of the bed.

The adrenalin still surged inside of him, powering his question. He firmly held the man's collar, pulled his body up to glare directly in his face, and asked, "Why still try to kill me anyway…" then tossing the man back towards the foot of the bed again, adding, "I'm no threat to Armour anymore." William wiped his lip again, this time checking to see the blood that came off on the back of hand. Then he felt the pain from his punches, shaking his hand as if to fling it away.

Julia questioned if she had heard him right. "Armour, Jonathan Armour?" she asked.

Both men turned to look at her, her sexy, revealing state of dress still consciously unawares to all involved. The sight of her lowered William's intensity, prompting him to take a deep breath. As the calmness settled in, he felt the familiar excruciating heaviness, the crushing pain that comes with recovering from sheer fear. Taking one more breath to ensure his voice did not betray his strain, he answered her, "Yes. Dr. Julia Ogden meet…" William opened a hand to gesture towards the man he had apprehended down on the floor, "Mr. Graveson, hired killer of the all-mighty meat monger Jonathan Ogden Armour," accentuating the 'Ogden' part of his name.

Her mouth agape, she worried, "Hired to kill you!? Why!?"

William exhaled and said, "It's a long story…"

) (

Sometime later, William stood next to the handcuffed Graveson in the foyer, listening in as Julia as she spoke on the phone to her cousin in the United States. He marveled at her strength, confidence, and to be honest, fury… noticing that her voice was far from squeaky, rather it barreled, deep and burly, reminding him of the Inspector… a little.

"Jonathon Ogden," she steamed, "you call him off of my husband or I swear to God…" her teeth gritted changing her sound, "I'm calling Aunt Malvina and I'll get on the first train to Chicago and pull your skinny little legs off of you just like you did to those spiders!" she bellowed.

William twitched, imperceptibly he thought, the experience of watching her now triggering his remembering of her yelling so fiercely at him in the kitchen after she had found the condom in his pocket.

Julia ushered Graveson to take the phone. William held it to his mouth and ear for him because his hands were cuffed behind his back.

Julia huffed, her hands parked authoritatively on her hips, next to William. Armour's voice, the words indecipherable themselves, could be heard in the phone. Graveson, being a man of few words, said little as they listened to his end of the conversation.

"Codman?" he asked, looking directly at William.

He seemed to glare, saying dismissively, "Murdoch, Codman whatever…"

Graveson's eyes turned away and Armour's loud, angry voice could be hear shouting on the other end of the line. His tone one of disappointment and grasping for straws, he asked, "Should I hurt him then, sir?"

Armour's voice responded with such volume that William and Julia could hear what he replied, "No, Goddammit! Off! I mean off!..." before it muffled back into being indistinct.

Revealing his tenaciousness, what Clegg had referred to as his 'one-track mind,' Graveson pushed for at least something, asking, "Anyone you want killed in Toronto, boss?"

Loud shouting cold be heard some more… followed by more subdued instructions.

"You mean 'Sin,' sir?" Graveson asked.

The mention of Sin's name surged alarms in William. The man is a simple author. He would stand no chance against a crazed assassin like Graveson! Worry overcame William's face.

Julia noticed William's reaction. She had thought she recognized the name… thought George had said it at the kitchen table. "Sinclair," her memory offered up.

Graveson told them that Armour wanted to talk to Detective Murdoch and he stepped back to let William use the phone himself. William pinned his eyes on the killer, his threatening message clear. Every moment while William was on the phone with Armour he kept his eyes burrowed into Graveson's. He so wished Julia were farther away, far from Graveson's reach. He stepped more deliberately between them as he spoke.

Armour wanted William to let Graveson go, promising him that the man no longer represented a threat to him or his family. Concerned for Sin, William was reluctant to agree. Armour threatened trouble between the United States and Canada if Graveson were to be charged with anything, and William knew in his bones that Clegg and Meyers would never let such an arrest stand anyway. His sigh announced his bitter acceptance of his lack of choice. He hung up the phone.

Speaking to Julia, but still eying Graveson, William told them both that Armour wanted him to let Graveson go. Then he lied and said to Graveson, "Armour said if I didn't tell you all I knew about where Sin is, he would accuse Canada of sabotaging his business." William wrinkled a corner of his mouth, striving to be convincing, appearing to be admitting his defeat in the matter, and sighed. Knowing he had to embed his deceit in truths, William offered, "Sin was really a socialist, and he knew the Americans were hunting for him, so he rode up to Winnipeg, said he was going to take refuge in Canada… Last I heard, he thought it was safest out west, away from big cities. Somewhere in Alberta, that's probably where he went. I never knew his real name, but I figure it would be a famous sinner, maybe Peter or Paul," he concluded, again wrinkling his face, this time his fake admission face being to suggest his doubt.

He walked Graveson to the door, took him outside and closed the door behind them, thinking to protect Julia from the man. Just before he unlocked the handcuffs he warned, "Make sure Armour knows I did my part." Getting no response from the man, he grabbed his collar and put his face in Graveson's – snarling at him. "Agreed?" he growled, receiving his acquiescing nod, and then shoving the man backwards a step. He undid the handcuffs and watched as Graveson hurried away down their front path and then disappeared from the dim streetlights in the distance.

Nervously, Julia had waited in the foyer for him to return. William stepped back into the warmth, closed and locked the door behind him, his back to her. His mind was on planning how to best keep them safe. He would need to board up the broken window to secure their home… He turned around to see her and wrinkled his face, the familiar gesture endearing her deeply.

But guilt stirred within her, and she knew it was not her husband who needed to apologize now, it was her. "William," she said, blowing out a strong breath, letting him know she was feeling pressured.

His mind raced, trying to ascertain what was bothering her…

"I have to admit, I guess," she said walking up to him, feeling the cold coming off him from being outside. "It seems I was keeping a secret of my own," she said, anticipating his raised eyebrow, now standing in front of him. "Sorry," she gave with a slight cringe. She went on to explain, "I… uh, I didn't think you would want to know… what you married into." Her eyes looked to him, waiting.

"Mm," he said. He wondered if she saw it, the similarities between her motive for secrecy and his. He found his curiosity caused him to wait. He felt a tickle, a sparkle, with her frown.

"It was wrong, of course," she confessed.

"Mm," he said, but he still waited for more. Hushed violins began to play in his mind as her voice took on its customary squeak and her words rushed forward. He did so love this woman, his heart burned with the swelling of it.

Could she possibly explain it all? She had to try. "It has caused such stress for us in the past, William, our…" she found even naming it pounded her heart with worry and dread, "class differences."

William's jaw tightened, and they both knew she was right. This conversation had never been easy between them.

"And I… Jonathan Armour, William!" her squeak rose, "He's awful. I just thought it would upset you to know you were related to such a man now, because of me, because you decided to marry me. And I saw no reason you would need to know…" Julia paused considering whether to divulge this, swallowed with her decision to do so, acknowledging to herself that it was the keeping things from each other that had gotten them into so much trouble. "At least, not once I was certain he would not be coming to our wedding," she added.

Out of his control momentarily, William's jaw dropped open with the shock of the thought of one of the wealthiest and most powerful and abusive men in the United States coming to his wedding. "Uh… I, uh…" Fortunately, Julia went on before he had to find actual words to say.

"I wanted to tell you so many times. And something always stopped me – like remembering some of our… fights about servants and you saying you felt you would never fit in… into my world. You said you were like that young boy Pip, who had been killed and I deduced he wasn't as wealthy as his clothing suggested…"

"Because he had Ricketts," William finished her thought, guaranteeing she knew he was with her.

"It really broke my heart William, when you said to me during a rather large argument, with such a… wrenching and forlorn look in your eyes, that the clothes still don't fit the boy, using my own words to show it to me, that I had expectations of you, and you wouldn't meet them," she said, emotions storming. "My God William, you meet every wish, every hope, I've ever had for a man," she rushed, her eyes filling with tears now. "I don't want you to be…" her head shook, with such certainty, "anything like Jonathan Armour, William. And I thought if I told you, it would intimidate you, or you would feel… lesser somehow, like you couldn't fit in, and couldn't make me happy, and I knew that wasn't true, and I…"

He smiled, sincere and gentle. Wiping a tear with his thumb, holding her face tenderly, he leaned close, his whisper drawing her to him even more, "You didn't tell me because you wanted to save me from all that."

She nodded, her face beginning to wrinkle as her crying grew stronger.

William took a deep breath, held her eyes, implicitly waiting for her to follow his lead, to see everything was going to be all right.

"I know I should have told you," she nodded again.

"Yes," he agreed, "You should have…"

So quickly, for she needed to know, "Are you angry with me for it?" she asked.

His smile soothed her to the core. "I am not," he replied. However, he reminded himself that there had been consequences of his not being aware of his new cousin, and they were working on being truthful, and that included not having relevant omissions, as he had found out the hard way with Ettie. He would need to tell her about being shamed by Meyers, and even Ettie, not to mention Mulligan, because they saw him somehow more a toff himself because he had such a cousin. And, of course there was the little matter of his almost being killed by the man and his body disposed of in the Christmas hams, and his own fears of having been guilty of murdering his own cousin, sure prison and the noose would be unavoidable if that were the case.

He braved it, promising himself he would share the details with her later, he divulged, "Though, not knowing did cause some… turmoil, some discomfort," he admitted, believing solidly that transparency was necessary.

"Julia," he said, his tone suggesting a raising of their spirits, "I know your intentions were good… As I believe you, too, know mine were when I withheld my plans to stay with Ettie from you…" he hesitated, wanting to be certain he was right about this, nodding back to her after she indicated so. Using a soft kiss to remove a tear from her cheek, he took her arm and started towards the stairs.

Once they were up in their bedroom, the danger having passed, Julia noticed his weapon of choice on the floor. "William Murdoch," she declared, lifting the golf club into the air, "I thought you threw all of these in the pond!" A mischievous look took her face as she wallowed in his discomfort, reminding, "After I did so well at the game."

He took the club from her, forcing himself not to actually snatch it, as he wanted to. Embarrassed at his unreasonable behavior that day, childish to let such a thing upset him, to the point of throwing away perfectly good and expensive golf clubs, he could not look her in the eye. "I came to my senses," he explained sheepishly, needing to clear his throat to go on, "I saved one or two."

Finding him irresistible, she flung her arms around his neck and exclaimed, "I do so love you William Henry Murdoch," and she kissed him.

He wasn't sure what he had done to win such a woman, but he was beyond grateful for having done so. Joyfully, he kissed her back.

After returning the golf club to the back bedroom closet, William returned to their room to hear that she was in the bathroom brushing her teeth. He opened the closet door to return the handcuffs to his bag. There, he spied her broken locket on the floor. He entertained visions of Julia having an enraged tantrum – flinging the cherished locket against the wall, or stomping on it in a fury, cutting her foot, possibly explaining her needing to wear his slippers. Regret flooded through him, his actions had hurt her, there was no doubt. He studied the locket's clasp, its sharp metal attachment protruding outward, ripped and separated from its designated connection on the other half of the locket. Certain he could reconnect it, and quickly, he rushed down to his workroom in the basement.

He repaired the locket, soldering the joint to ensure the bond would hold. Next, he grabbed a hammer, some nails and a board, and headed up to repair the window Graveson had broken when he broke in. Entering the living room, his eyes met Julia's in the warm lamplight. Crouched down in front of the window, she was sweeping up the shards of glass. She smiled and ducked her eyes down to the floor, guiding him to his own slippers waiting there for him.

"To avoid any further injury, detective," she said, returning to her task.

William stepped into his comfy slippers, happy to be home. He helped her stand up and told her, "You always said we made a good team," sealing the sentiment with a quick kiss. He went to work closing up the broken window, hearing her head up the stairs a few moments later. His skin flared with the anticipation of finally slipping into bed next to his luscious wife, the response urging him not to dawdle. He darted down to his workroom, returning the hammer, collected the treasured locket and clicked off the light. In the living room, leaning over to turn off the lamp, William spotted the French medical journal on the table next to his recliner. Rejuvenated, he decided he would read it to her after all.

Upstairs he found that his lamp was on next to the bed. Tucked in, waiting for him, her head on his pillow she requested, "Come to bed, husband."

Heavenly, the soft support of the mattress under his weary body, the smooth sheets, but most of all the touch of her warm, malleable flesh cozying up to him. She lay her head on his chest and fiddled with his top button, convincing herself to leave it closed after their earlier discussion.

"I have something for you," William's note-perfect voice vibrated from under her and floated in the air sinking in and melding around her soul. Julia propped herself up on an elbow, her bright face meeting his, once again feeling the magnificent pull of his big brown eyes.

He held up his hand enclosing the prize, she opened hers under it. "The locket?" she asked just before the golden treasure dangled between them to be captured and cherished. "William, you fixed it," she declared.

She held the mended locket in her hand, rubbing the smooth, sleek metal with her thumb. She traced over the welded clasp, appreciating it. "It's better than it was," she nearly whispered, admiring it.

Propped up on his elbow as well, he reached over to stroke the locket in her hand, "The bond is stronger now," he said, knowing his words were meant for much more than the locket.

My God, she looked beautiful as she lifted her face to meet his.

"Yes, it is William," she answered.

He watched as she opened it, revealing their two young faces side by side, then as she gently touched his picture, adoring it. Julia shifted, grunting as she moved, positioning herself up onto her knees and then resting her buttocks on her heels. She pulled her nightgown over her head and tossed it aside. "I want to wear only the locket, for tonight," she shared.

William's eyes dilated, opening wide to soak in as much of her scrumptious, curvy, delicious, body as possible, being ultimately lured, tugged, drawn to her large, pregnant belly. Julia took his hand and brought it to embrace their child safe inside of her. His breath rapid, deep and strong, so overwhelmed by the awe of it, powered a burning, intense love through her veins. She tucked her fingers behind his head, tangled and scratched into his hair, and pulled his face to her warm belly. His kisses so tender, precious, this remarkable woman, this impossible baby, this unforgettable moment.

He pushed back, held her eyes as he unbuttoned his top, then stood to completely undress. Now both naked, he returned to kneel with her, and she handed him the locket, which he draped over her head and lovingly nestled between her creamy, supple breasts. He helped her lie back down and then moaned, becoming besieged with pleasure as their skin touched, sultry and sweet, sliding along that of the other, and he joined her to lie wrapped with her, together, finally together.

After a while he said, "I brought the French medical journal… to read to you," in her ear, then smothering her with the delectable sounds of his butterfly kisses.

"You are so lovely to me William," she replied, "but tonight all I want is to sleep with you. You must be so very, very tired from it all, exhausted to the core from coping, dealing with… us, and the case… the jungle. We need nothing more, just sleep with me William."

William's voice warm, and relieved, and beginning to submit to drowsiness, surrounded her ear. "I suppose even the king of the jungle needs to sleep sometimes," he yielded.

"Yes, even the king," she replied, groaning quietly as she made the effort to lift up and reach across him to turn off the light. She settled back down in the darkness, her body covering him, her head resting in her favorite place in all the land, content on his bare chest.

William's breathing was deep, and slow, and cozy, rocking her with its waves… His whisper broke the silence as he said, "It seems this king can only truly sleep, only truly breathe, only truly be, when he is with his queen, only then can the jungle truly be his home."

))))) (((((