Fenella: With all the lovely comments you've written, and for sticking with this story every step of the way - I hope you enjoy this final epilogue! Thank you so much for being this little story's biggest fan! ;) x fidesdragon: Hey! Thank you so much! So glad you like it! :) x
CITY OF LIGHTS
Chapter 22
It was an unseasonably warm day in early March – the sun was shining, and the birds were singing, and the shabby taxi being driven by the shabby old man was beginning to get stiflingly hot as it wound its way up the gently sloping hill.
Remy rolled the window down a crack and breathed. The air was fresh here – a world away from the grime of London and concrete mess of Heathrow Airport. Here was a part of New York state he'd never seen – tree-lined roads and bright green fields, wooded hills and pretty ponds. He felt like he was in another country altogether, like he hadn't even returned to his homeland at all.
"Just a little further," the gnarled old taxi driver assured him, "and we should be there."
They passed a house – a grand-looking affair that he fancied Millicent would've loved to retire to, if retirement had been her thing.
Remy settled back in his seat, enjoying the relative silence. The driver, true to form, had spent most of the journey here prattling away – talking of his sons, who had been conscripted into the draft, and were soon to be sent overseas, to the places where Remy had just recently left. There had been pride in the old man's voice – that and worry. He was old enough, after all, to remember the Great War – and now he was silent, either ruminating on how that war had turned out for his generation, or concentrating on manoeuvring his rickety automobile up the winding road.
As promised, a minute or so passed before the car jerked to an abrupt stop.
Remy stared.
The taxi was idling outside a large, ornate gate, flanked by two large posts, one of which bore a plaque that read, Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters. Remy looked down at the slip of paper in his hand, then up again.
"I asked for 1407 Graymalkin Lane," he said.
"And I'm tellin' you, this is it," the driver replied. "1407 Graymalkin Lane. The special school."
Remy grimaced. 'Special school' had a whole lot of connotations to him, not all of them positive, and definitely a word that could encompass mutants. He paid his fair and got out the car, shouldering the heavy pack and walking up to the gate.
Behind him, the taxi did a seven-point turn in the tiny lane, and left.
The gate was locked – and on the other side he saw a long, neatly gravelled driveway that led up to a quite elegant, old-world mansion. He was surprised to find that his journey had led him to such unexpected splendour, staid as such grandeur might be. Since leaving 2 Square la Bruyère almost a year ago, he hadn't experienced much finery in the time since.
He was left wondering how he was supposed to gain entry to the place, when the gate slowly began to unbolt and open itself of its own accord. Perhaps if the taxi driver had still been here, he would've gaped to see such a trick; but Remy had witnessed enough mutant powers to know that this was most certainly what he was witnessing now. The gate finally opening enough for him to walk through, he stepped up and began the long trek up the driveway to the mansion. He didn't even look back as he heard the gate clang shut and lock itself up again behind him.
He walked past beds of roses and sweet-smelling pine trees; and when he drew near to the mansion's entrance, he saw a beautiful redhead waiting for him on the steps.
"You must be, Remy LeBeau," she greeted him with a smile. "Kurt told us you'd be arriving."
He grinned up at her, unable to help but flirt with such a gorgeous woman, even though he knew, from Kurt's descriptions, who she was, and that she was as spoken for as he was.
"Dat's my name," he nodded. "And you must be…"
"Jean Grey," she responded, holding out a hand. He accepted the formal greeting, taking it and shaking it warmly. "It's good to have you here, Mr. LeBeau."
"It's good to be here, Miss. Grey," he replied. "I take it it was you who opened the gate for me back there?"
"It was." She gave a twinkle of a smile, looked over her shoulder slightly at the burnished oak front doors. As she did so, one slowly swung open, with no other prompt than the power of her mind. "Won't you come inside?"
He followed her into a sumptuous yet tastefully decorated grand hall, one so rich that it sent his thieving fingers itching. Wherever this professor had come from, it had to have been old money, there was no doubt about that.
"I'll just fetch Kurt for you," she said; and her eyes flashed momentarily as she made the mental call. He'd worked with enough telepaths to recognise what she was doing.
"Nice place you have here," he commented appreciatively. "Your professor's got some fine taste. Dat even looks like a Caravaggio on the wall there."
"It is," Jean replied. "And please don't even think of stealing it, Mr. LeBeau," she added sweetly. "You're broadcasting your 'enthusiasm' for the décor rather a lot."
He grinned mischievously at her.
"Ma chere, I wouldn't dream of doin' anythin' of the sort. I am a guest here after all, neh?"
They were interrupted by a sudden and familiar blast of sulphur and smoke.
"Mein Freund!" Kurt emerged from the swirling miasma with an exuberant, open-armed gesture. "You found us!"
He swept Remy up in a boisterous bear hug before clasping his hand and shaking it vigorously; and it was all Remy could do but to smile and respond in kind.
"Yeah, I got here in the end," he laughed. "Once I found someone who knew Graymalkin Lane." He took a moment to take in the other man, amazed at how different he looked. "You're lookin' well, mon ami. A different man, I'd say."
"Ah!" Kurt waved a hand dismissively. "Any man would look different after going through what I went through. You were only unfortunate enough to have only ever seen the old me."
"It took many months for Kurt to recover," Jean interjected soberly. "You'd wouldn't think it the way he is now."
"Dear Jean, I am merely happy to be alive," Kurt protested affectionately. "Mein Freund," he continued, turning back to Remy, "life is too short to stay wounded by the past. Death could come at a moment's notice, is it not so? In which case, we must always strive to make the very best of the good things we have. I am determined to do so!"
It was impossible not be swept along by Kurt's merry mood; and Remy found himself smiling broadly, despite his impatience to see who he'd really come here for.
"I think you have the right idea of things, mon ami," he replied. "And it's good to see you've recovered."
"And it's good to see how well you're looking too," Kurt answered. "Especially when you've been stuck out on the field and…" He paused, shook himself. "But I was supposed to bring Marie! I completely forgot!"
"It's all right," Jean laughed. "I've already told her."
And as if on cue, there she appeared, at the landing above them in a dark green day dress, leaning on the banister with her beautiful eyes going wide at the sight of him.
He stared back up at her, feeling an involuntary surge of joy rush over him – joy to finally be reunited with her after all these long months apart, wonder at how she never failed to be the loveliest thing he had ever seen.
Without a single second more wasted she rushed down the grand staircase, across the hallway, and straight into his arms.
"Remy!" she breathed into his neck, holding him tight, tighter than tight, as if she feared he might disappear from her grasp in a moment.
And he held her back just as fiercely, putting his face in her hair and whispering: "Hello, Marie."
They held one another for what felt like forever, yet nowhere near long enough. When she pulled away it was only slightly, enough to look him in the eye, to retrace his face in her mind, just as he was doing hers. The last time he had seen her she had been pinched and pale on a stretcher, being loaded onto a plane back to the States. Now she looked healthy, and strong, and painfully, heartachingly gorgeous.
"No one told me you were comin'," she said, still breathless at his presence.
"It was supposed to be a surprise," Kurt told her; but she hardly appeared to have heard him. Instead she lifted her hands to his cheeks and cupped his face in her hands.
"Nobody told me," she repeated in a whisper. "But I'm so glad you're here."
Time had made them both greedy. It was natural that they both bridge the gap with their kiss – and there was still nothing else in the world that could taste as sweet or as perfect to him. Both were so lost in one another that neither heard the other two quietly leave and give them some much-needed privacy. There was only really one thing that either of them could compute.
That, after so long and through so much adversity, they had been reunited at last.
-oOo-
It was too beautiful a day for March; too beautiful a day to be real, almost.
Remy and Marie sat out on the lawn of the mansion's extensive grounds and watched from a suitable distance as the institute's other denizens engaged in a friendly game of baseball.
"It's good to see you lookin' so well, Marie," Remy said, laying back and propping himself up on his elbows, soaking up the sun. "Was worried when I last saw you dat you wouldn't recover."
"Oh, I was fine," she replied, shading her eyes from the sun as she watched the game. "Once I'd absorbed a healer, and I was able to get the surgery done, I was right as rain. It was Kurt who needed more attention. The kinda wounds he had, a healer couldn't heal."
She sighed, lowering her arm and picking at the grass at her feet.
"It took a long time for him to recover. He'd been starved so much, he could barely even tolerate food for weeks. There were days I was scared he'd never be the same again."
He stared at her back, the tense line of her shoulders. He wanted to touch her, to comfort her, but he couldn't quite reach her.
"I'm sorry," he said.
She looked back at him over her shoulder, smiled.
"Everyone is so thankful for what you did for him… and for me. You were right. I couldn't have rescued Kurt without you. Turns out, I couldn't'a saved myself either. Not without you."
"And you saved me, Marie," he reminded her. "So all in all… I think you and I make a pretty good team. Don't'cha think?"
The smile on her face deepened. She leaned back, propping herself up on her elbows, mirroring his position.
"What's it like?" she asked, after a while of silence. "Out there, on the field? Doin' what y'all are doin'?"
He didn't answer for a long time. Here, under this cloudless blue sky, sitting beside her, it felt like a world away from what he had experienced in Europe.
"It's rough," he finally replied, not sure he could stomach any details. "But I'm gettin' by. Helpin' out where I can. Doin' what's needed."
She frowned, looked back at the game.
"I was worried," she said plaintively. "I didn't think you were ever gonna come back. The longer you stayed out there, the more I thought the next time I heard word of you, you'd be dead."
She let that linger, all the worries, all the fears she had held for him. He'd spent longer out there in the field than he'd intended to, mired in this seemingly endless quest to make things right, where he knew he reasonably couldn't. He knew she understood the compulsion. If she'd been well when they'd parted, well… there's no way she would've left Europe. She would've delved right back into the war with him, trying to right wrongs, trying to save as many people as she could. In a way, it was only out of respect for her that he had stayed out there so long. He knew she would've done the same.
"Oh, chere," he murmured. "I promised you I wouldn't get inta any stuff I knew I couldn't handle. And I didn't."
They had, of course, written to one another in the time they'd been apart, whenever he had had the chance to, and whenever Carver had been able to pass her words on over war-torn lands. Their correspondence had been necessarily sporadic, and brief – yet always passionate. It was ironic that, for the first time, they had been able to be truly honest with one another in writing, even if the honesty had been intense and uncompromisingly intimate. All her love letters were in his pack right now – a slim collection, to be sure, but one that he'd re-read over and over, and that had kept him going during his darker hours.
"Will you be goin' back out there?" she asked him quietly. He thought about it.
"I don't know yet."
And he really didn't.
She picked at grass again.
"The U.S. is in the war now. Things have changed. Sometimes it feels like the whole world's gonna be at war."
"It pretty much is now," he told her grimly. He didn't want to tell her how difficult it had been for him to actually get passage back to the States – him being what he was, a young man, and a mutant, and not being conscripted yet. There were strings Carver had been able to pull, but ones that wouldn't last long, and he knew it.
"When this is over," she said morosely, "if it ever is… the world will be changed, Remy. Nothin' will be the same again."
He looked at her profile, the sad tilt of her mouth. He knew she was right.
"I think of how things used to be," she continued sadly. "The world was so simple and carefree. Now it seems so cold and terrifying. There's so much more to worry about than just myself. Things that are so much bigger than just me."
He looked at her, amazed to think that he had ever considered her a scheming murderess, a cold-blooded killer.
"You're a good woman, Marie Lavosier," he murmured; and she passed him a faint smile.
"That's means a lot, Remy. Especially coming from you."
"Please don't remind me dat I ever thought you were anythin' other than perfect."
She laughed.
"My, my. Flattery will get you anywhere, Cajun."
"I hope so. I ain't even seen your bedroom yet."
She laughed again. It made him realise how little he'd heard it – and it made him hope to hear more. He loved the sound.
"Oh, Remy," she chuckled. "What's a woman to do with you?"
He raised an eyebrow.
"I dunno. Pretty sure you could surprise me though. Ya have form, after all."
"I suppose I do," she responded with a little sparkle in her eye. "All else aside… we had some fun in Paris, didn't we."
He smirked.
"We surely did, chere."
"Is it a sin to want more?"
"Absolutely not."
She looked at him and he looked at her. It seemed the most natural thing in the world for them to bridge the gap and kiss, this time without a single thing to stand between them except time. The only thing that could pull them apart was the sound of whoops and cheers from the baseball field down below, shouts that almost seemed to be directed at them. They could only laugh when they realised that they were not.
"Think anyone would mind if I took you to bed, mon amour?" he asked her softly, gently running his thumb along her chin.
"Why would anyone mind?" she murmured.
"You live in a school, chere."
"We're all adults here. No one will mind. Besides," she added with a grin, "they're all distracted down there."
"Then what are we waitin' for?"
He jumped to his feet, putting his hand out to her. With a knowing smile she took it, let him help her up. Arm-in-arm, they walked slowly back up the hill and towards the mansion.
-oOo-
He had been curious to see her room, conscious that it would tell him things about her he had never had the privilege of knowing before.
He was a little surprised, and yet somehow not at all, to see how thoroughly Southern her room was – warm and welcoming, inviting in a way that the sophisticated broad he'd first met back in '32 could never have led him to guess. Everything was done up in soft pinks and greens and creams; a rocking chair with a comfy-looking blanket carefully folded in the seat; an old guitar propped up in a corner; a shelf littered with books.
The window had a wonderful view down the grounds to the lake.
She stood just inside the doorway, looking a little self-conscious, as he went over to the shelf and ran his gaze over the colourful titles lined up there. Every single one of them was a romance.
"Didn't think your taste ran that way, chere," he commented, picking out a slim volume and rifling through the pages.
"Well, when a woman can't touch, she don't get much romance except in books," she responded, a little sadly, a little wryly.
"Hm." He could only acknowledge the point. "I sure hope to make damn sure you never haveta read one o'these again then."
He looked over at her with a pointed smile, seeing her colour prettily.
"Don't look down on my books, Cajun," she rebuked him gently. "A girl's gotta have a hobby."
"Mais oui," he nodded. "And I wouldn't take yours away from you for de world, petite."
She regarded him curiously.
"What about you? What do you like to do in your spare time?"
He thought about it.
"I like to cook," he replied at last.
Her laugh was one of disbelief and pleasure mingled.
"You cook?"
"Yeah. Y'ain't had a jambalaya 'till you've had one o'mine, chere."
She smiled, both amused and full of infectious joy.
"Then I'd love to try it some time."
"You will. Tomorrow, I'll make ya some, if the kitchens here are free. Hell, I'll make everyone some, if it pleases you."
"Everythin' you do pleases me," she confessed, turning the key in the door, the lock clicking faintly into place.
"You wanna test me on that, chere?" he asked.
"Absolutely."
She walked over to him, and despite the confidence with which she approached him, he saw that she was a little shy, a little uncertain. When she was in his space, she placed her hands on his chest, looked him in the eye and said:
"Well, Cajun, ya said ya wanted to get to know the real me. Here's a little piece of her. You gettin' the inclination to run away yet?"
He wrapped his arms round her waist, pulled her closer to him.
"Non," he murmured. "Not even close."
Her fingers climbed up his chest, to his shoulders, coming round to comb through the hair at the nape of his neck.
"Good," she whispered. "'Cos I think I might die if you don't have me now."
He wasn't in any mood to deny her – he, too, had hungered for far too long. In the blessed silence they kissed, they touched; and for the first time they were free to make love to one another as the people they were, without a single fear of pretence or consequence.
-oOo-
The sun was setting through her window, casting her pale skin a shimmering golden hue.
Marie lay on her side, Remy spooning against her, an arm slung lazily round her waist, his lips pressed into her hair. Her skin was warm, and smooth, and all the softness he had missed while out in the heart of the war. Her fingers twined with his, drawing his arm tighter round her.
"How long before you leave?" she whispered, as if she knew he could not stay.
"Hm." He breathed in her skin, the scent of her hair. "I'm here for as long as you want," he murmured.
"Really?" There was a sad smile in her voice, one he couldn't mistake. He kissed the crook of her neck.
"Oui."
He kissed his way up her neck slowly.
"So why do I feel like you'll be gone again in a few days?" she sighed.
He locked both his arms around her waist, pulling her in closer as his lips touched her ear.
"Chere, from the moment I first laid eyes on you I knew where my place was. By your side. Always. It just took me this long t'figure it out."
He kissed under her ear, drawing a sigh from her again, this time of pleasure. With one arm she reached back, running her hand through his hair.
"You should join us," she murmured.
"You think your people would have me?"
"If they could take on someone like me, I don't see why they wouldn't take on someone like you."
He paused to think about it, brushing his lips lightly over the length of her neck.
"Told ya once before, Marie. I ain't a team player."
"I wasn't either. But things change you."
"True." He hugged her even closer. "But the only team I wanna be on right now is yours."
She chuckled, snuggling deeper into his arms.
"Are you sure about that, darlin'?"
"Mmm-hmm."
He leaned over her shoulder, pressing his lips to the line of her jaw; and she turned her face to his, their mouths and tongues meeting in a slow and luxurious kiss, his hands wandering up her body to caress her breasts.
"Home is where you are," he whispered. "Tell me where you want to be, and we'll go there together."
"Hmm." She rolled over and into his arms, capturing his mouth with hers again, breaking away only reluctantly. "Then I want to go back to Europe with you. I want to finish what I started there."
He pulled back, eyeing her with surprise.
"Don't wish for things you might end up regrettin', chere," he replied soberly.
"I want to help," she insisted. "The things I saw—" She checked herself, before continuing in a low tone, "It ain't just mutants sufferin' out there. I can't just sit here and do nothin' about it."
"Your people would let you go back into a warzone?"
"My people would do anythin' t'help mutants… to help anyone in need." She paused. "And, unlike with Clan Akkaba… I'm free to go where I want. With who I want." She cupped his cheeks in her hands. "No more debts to pay," she reminded him softly.
It was far from the first time he had kissed her, and he hoped it would be far from the last; but every time he did it was the most perfect he had ever experienced, and now was no different. When he drew away, it was only so far that their noses were still touching.
"Marie?"
"Mmm?"
"There's somethin' I haveta show you."
Her eyes searched his.
"What?"
"My haul," he replied simply. "The thing I risked everythin' for."
The look she gave him was quizzical. Without a word, he unwrapped his arms from her, got out of bed. His pack was resting on the armchair, and he picked it up and set it on the bed, as she rose into a sitting position.
Slowly, carefully, he unrolled the pack, revealing the treasures that he had sold his services to the Nazis for, that he had gone back to Mesopotamia for, that he had risked going into occupied France for. The treasures that had thrown him back onto her path so unceremoniously. First the flail and staff, then the breastplate, then the collar, and last… the crown. The crown that had started all of this.
She stared as they glittered richly in the soft lamplight, first at his haul, and then at him.
"Clan Akkaba's treasures," she murmured, her voice pitched low, her tone haunted.
"Yeah." He nodded.
"Why?"
He sat down slowly on the bed. It was a question he hadn't thought to interrogate until now. It was a question he didn't think had a simple answer.
"I used to have a dream," he spoke quietly, "no, a nightmare… I ain't sure which. Of you, comin' to me. Naked. Wearing these treasures. Covered in blood." His eyelids flickered with the memory. "I would dream it… over and over again. Of the things you did to me, and I… I did to you."
He trailed off; and her hand covered his, drawing him back from the maddening desperation of those times.
"That's water under the bridge, Remy," he said; but he shook his head.
"It is now. It wasn't then." He gave her a wry smile. "I felt an impulse to find these again. I wanted to destroy them. But in the end I couldn't. Like the ring, I took them with me." He looked down at the riches displayed before him, his smile turning rueful. "The locals knew what they were for. Keys to summonin' an ancient god, one they called En-Sabah-Nur. The destructor."
She nodded slowly.
"The god Clan Akkaba wanted to sacrifice me for."
"Yeah." He glanced back at her sharply. "They paid for dat mistake. They paid dearly. I don't regret for one fuckin' second what I did to them, for what they woulda done to you."
His eyes glittered darkly. It was only the gentle pressure of her hand on his that brought him back.
"The locals told me to take them would curse me. Hell, maybe it did. But it brought me back to the real reason I went back to those ruins." He raised his eyes back to hers. "You."
She passed him a sad smile.
"You hated me back then."
"I ain't sure whether I did anymore," he admitted. "I was angry at you, dat was for sure. And I thought I wanted to go back t'dat place to destroy any last memories I might'a had of you. But the longer I spent there, the more the anger faded. It just became this… dull ache. Every time I found a treasure, the euphoria I got with the find just gave way t'dis… emptiness. I realise now it was you I was lookin' for. You, and the chance I had to pull you back t'me, when you needed me most. The choice I never made."
He wasn't good at confessions like these – never had been, but he'd been even less so since meeting her. Now he looked away, embarrassed to meet her eyes, to see what he most feared seeing – her anguish, her resentment, at so many wasted years. He was surprised, then, when he felt the tips of his fingers touch his, almost tentative; then the rest of her hand, slipping into gasp.
"Don't look sad, Remy," she murmured. "We're here now."
"I wasted so much time."
"No." She shook her head. "After what happened between us, we could never have made it work. You were angry with me, didn't trust me – and rightfully so. And I could never have accepted your love, not when I hated myself the way I did. It wouldn't have worked, Remy. It wouldn't."
He heard the sincerity in her voice. It was enough for him to chance a look at her. What he saw was all the love he had never dared to hope he would have again after Belle, a love that was honest and uncomplicated.
She smiled at him, small but loving.
"This is the right time," she told him.
And it was. He smiled, held her hand tighter. His thumb stroked her knuckles lightly.
"You're right," he said.
They both turned their gazes back to the artefacts laid out on her bed.
"So," she began, quiet, troubled. "Clan Akkaba planned to use these to bring back their god. This... En-Sabah-Nur."
He nodded.
"Yeah."
Her gaze shifted back to him.
"What do you plan to do with them?"
He looked at her. He wasn't sure he'd ever really had a plan.
"I dunno. But I ain't afraid to tell ya, numerous times I thought of throwin' them off a cliff."
She thought about it.
"I have a better idea." She let go of his hand and got out of bed, pulling a robe around her. "Come with me."
The grounds were inky blue under the moonlit night, the grass still warm with the residue of the day.
Marie and Remy stepped barefoot onto the lawn and walked down towards the lake. Once by the water, he laid the pack out on the floor and unrolled it. One by one, she laid them carefully out on the grass; and they stood before them, the moonlight glittering as brightly on their gilded curves as it did on the rippling waters of the lake.
She touched the inside of his palm gently with a single finger, whispered:
"Let's do what we should've done all those years ago."
His fingers curled around her own single pinky, squeezed it. He didn't even need to ask. He knew what she meant.
He let go and got to his knees, running his fingers over those golden curves. For so long his life had been these – these treasures that had somehow become her, beautiful, traitorous things that he had sought because he could not seek her. A terrible horde of riches he had wanted to destroy because he had been unable to destroy her. All so meaningless now. All worth nothing.
The metal had warmed to his touch now; and he started the charge, slowly at first—then faster as suddenly the emotions began to bleed out, all the hurt and the pain he had once poured into the memory of her, all the wasted years he had given up to despising that memory. He would finally destroy the thing that he had longed to destroy for so long – but no longer out of hate. He would do it because he had laid that hate aside. Because he had found the thing he'd really been searching for for all those years.
Her.
He poured it all into the artefacts, the energy flowing freely through his body to the tips of his fingers, to the golden planes of metal, making them shimmer and thrum with the eldritch pink glow of his power. And still, he didn't stop. He couldn't stop. Suddenly he was back in those ruins, back in the place where so much had begun and so much had ended between them; suddenly he was back in the place he had left her behind, with all the uncontrolled anger and energy flowing out of him, wild and untamed and all-consuming. All he had lost, all the wasted years, the wasted hate, the things that had defined him for so long – they all came pouring out. Even if he had wanted to stop, it would have been impossible.
And there it was, the moment of destruction bearing in on him like a freight train; he felt her jerk him back as the treasures of En-Sabah-Nur exploded into a fiery torrent of glittering shards… And he should've felt the glorious release of pain, but he didn't… And he realised that she was shielding him, just as she had shielded him so many times without him ever knowing.
For a long while he stood, as if uncomprehending, as if in a dream. In the aftermath the air seemed to shimmer with the residue of all that gold, all those jewels.
The people that they were, or that they could have been… They were gone.
All gone.
She turned to him.
Her robe was torn in places from the force of the shrapnel, and he pulled it tighter round her, watching her face as the gold dust settled on her face and hair, glittering in the moonlight.
"It's over," she murmured.
He nodded.
"Yeah."
There were no other words. He was free, in every sense. It hardly felt real.
They embraced. And then they slowly made their way back to the house.
"Where to now?" he couldn't help but wonder aloud.
She laid her head on his shoulder, said:
"Where you go, I go."
He gave a weary smile.
"I ain't even sure where I want to go now, chere. But if you're there beside me, I can't say I mind which direction I travel in."
She smiled.
"I feel exactly the same." She slipped an arm round his waist, pulled him a little closer. "But for now… Let's just stay awhile, sugar. Let's just rest. Let's just be… the people we are. And learn who we are… together."
They'd reached the doors. Under the dim porchlight he stopped and turned to face her, still the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
"Sounds like a good place t'start," he agreed.
And having made that final resolution, and with no other destination in mind but the other, they sealed whatever future they would make with a kiss.
-END-
