Moonlight, The Next Chapter: Darkness

Chapter 18

Shafu

Author's Note: Writing this chapter was fun - like old times for Mick and Beth and I tried to capture that vibe from when they worked cases together on the show. Let me know how I did!

Intro Song: Won't Get Fooled Again, The Who

"Shit, shit, shit!" Carl pressed the accelerator down harder, the emergency light clipped to the top of his car flashing in the dark night. The tires squealed as he took a corner on two wheels, skidding halfway across the intersection. Fighting the wheel, he tapped the brakes and straightened the car, then stomped down on the gas again, the sedan leaping forwarding.

His cell phone was clutched tightly in one of the hands grasping the steering wheel, his thumb hovering over the emergency call button. He hesitated, then shook his head and tossed the phone on the passenger seat next to him.

Jamie had sounded terrified when he'd told her to call 911. Whatever was going on, she didn't want cops involved. But she called you... Yet another of the many, many questions he had for the lovely Ms. Sommers.

Why hadn't he taken Jamie more seriously when she came to him for help? Instead of patiently probing, he'd all but thrown her out of his house when she refused to tell him more. How was it he'd put it? Jamie, if you won't tell me why you ran - and who you ran from - I can't help you. I think it's time for you to go home. So sensitive and understanding. Real nice, Davis. The stricken look on her face was hard for him to strike from his memory. And now...

Now he couldn't think about what might await him.

"Let me drive."

"What's wrong with my car?!" Mick skidded to a halt next to his beloved Mercedes. He'd been eagerly anticipating the opportunity to drive with the top down...fast.

"Mick, that is a very distinctive car and there are pictures on the net of you driving it from when you were dabbling with security for celebrities. We are not taking your car! We're taking mine. If you want to drive, have at it."

Mick snorted derisively. "That Prius?! That's not a car, that's a...a...can opener!"

Beth opened and closed her mouth several times as possible responses flew through her mind. Finally, she sputtered, "Fine! I'll drive then. But we aren't taking your car! Besides, my hybrid is quiet. Your car is anything but!"

"Your car is quiet because it doesn't have a real motor - it has a hamster wheel!"

"Wow... just now, you actually sounded eighty-five!"

"No, I sounded like someone who prefers a car that can get out of its own way!"

"Mick St. John, you're impossible! We're wasting valuable time - do you want to drive or do you want me to?!"

"I'll drive," he groused. "Maybe I can get us there in less than an hour."

"Oh!" Beth growled. Men were impossible, vamp or human. She tossed the keys over the roof of the much-maligned Prius to the vampire, who snatched them out of midair and slid behind the wheel. When she climbed in beside him, she caught him turning to inspect the back seat.

Now what? "What are you looking for?" she asked curiously.

"My grandmother. This is her kind of car, I'm sure she's here somewhere."

Beth couldn't restrain herself any longer; she punched him on the shoulder. Hard.

"Ow!"

"Oh, you had it coming. Don't whine, just drive!"

Mick pushed the button to start the little car. "You don't even turn a key like a real car," he grumbled. Making a face at the woman in the passenger seat, he shifted it into drive and the hybrid glided smoothly and silently out of the garage.

"I hope no one I know sees me in this thing."

"You'd better hope no one sees you at all..."

The couple joked back and forth all the way to the detective's house. Despite the seriousness of the situation, each felt as if this was a taste of their old life - before her job change and his near-death experience had sidelined their working cases together.

When the Prius pulled to the curb in the detective's neighborhood, Beth couldn't help herself. "Gee wonder how many people we'd have woken up by now with that beast of yours?"

"With 'that beast' of mine, as you call it, we'd have been and gone by now." Mick replied testily.

Beth glared at the vampire. "You know, as often as you've gotten laid in the past twenty-four hours, I would think you'd be mellower," she grumbled under her breath.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing. Never mind." Studying Carl's house at the end of the block, Beth asked, "So, how do you want to handle this?"

"Well, first I tell you to wait in the car..." Mick began with a sly, sideways glance as Beth burst out laughing.

He was referring back to the early days of their relationship and the first few cases they had investigated together. He had constantly laid down the law to her to keep her out of harm's way - and Beth had just as constantly ignored him.

" 'Cause that worked out so well last time," she quipped with a quick smile. That had been her response after one such edict, coming on the heels of a case where she had saved his life after disobeying his orders, an act that had ultimately led to her discovering that Mick St. John was a vampire.

Leejay Spalding had been a hardened ex-con whom Mick had tangled with early in his career as a vampire P.I. He'd been investigating the murder of a client who had come to him for protection from Leejay. That failure had eaten at him and he decided to kill Spalding, who has shown no remorse for his actions. He'd attacked the murderer and was in the process of draining him when cops showed up and he'd had to flee, leaving behind a criminal who knew his secret.

Spalding had resurfaced when he was given an early release from prison. One of Beth's friends, a journalist, had written a book about Leejay and had been instrumental in helping to get his sentence commuted and free him from prison. That hadn't mattered to Leejay, who'd kidnapped her to use her as bait to lure the P.I. to him.

When Mick had rescued Julia Stevens, the vicious criminal had ambushed the vampire with silver buckshot, having learned that silver was poisonous to vampires. The P.I. had been shot twice in the back and Spalding was closing in on the helpless man for the kill when Beth - who had not stayed in the car as instructed - had shown up and shot the murderer. Unless you counted centipedes, which she abhorred, he was the only living thing she'd ever killed.

Except for Foster.

She hated that voice inside her head that constantly reminded her of what she'd done - what she and Josef had done - behind Mick's back. Foster isn't the same as Spalding at all, she told herself angrily. No, that's right, he wasn't. He wasn't threatening to kill Mick. Or you. He was an inconvenience and you had him killed because of pictures he took. By vampires, I'm sure. They probably ripped him-"

"Beth?" Mick leaned over to touch her cheek. "You're a million miles away. If we're going to do this, we need to get in there now."

She nodded, still caught up in the images that paraded through her mind. Had Foster been shot? Stabbed? Drained? Despite her pestering, Josef would never talk about it, other than to assure her that the photographer was gone from their lives forever, but she couldn't stop thinking about it. The sleazy photographer who had threatened to expose Mick had caused her more sleepless nights dead than he ever had while alive. Determinedly, she pushed the thoughts away.

"Beth," Mick said again, looking worriedly over at her and trying to decipher her expression. "Look, I can do this myself if you'd rather not."

"What? No! I was just-" She regrouped and started again. "I was just thinking that we shouldn't be having fun - but I am. Just like when we first started breaking and entering together." With an effort, she smiled up at him.

"Okay, Miss Criminal Mind. I'm glad you're having fun. Look, I think we should park this kiddie car in the driveway. It'll be a lot less conspicuous than two people walking down the street at this hour. I'll pick the lock; you stand watch. Nobody stays in the car." His hazel eyes glittered as their silver threads caught the faint light coming from old-fashioned street lamps posted along the cul-de-sac. "Deal?"

Beth elected to ignore the fresh dig at her car. "Why not use the back door?"

"Because people tend to notice things like that - somebody skulking around in a neighbor's back yard. This way, we're right out there in front of everyone, just like we belong there. With some luck, if anyone sees us, they'll think we do belong here."

"That makes sense."

"Wait, does that mean you...agree...with me?" He grinned wickedly at her. "That may be a first! Ready?"

When she nodded, he restarted the hybrid with a flick of his wrist, and coasted silently down the street, backing the car up into Carl's driveway. "That way, we're ready for a quick getaway if we need one – and no one will see the license plate," Mick said, answering the unspoken question in Beth's eyes. "Don't shut the doors all the way," he cautioned quietly as they climbed out of the car.

"Why not?" Beth murmured.

"You'd be amazed at how distinctive that sound is when a car door's closed. Just leave it open a hair."

"Very good, Mr. P.I.," Beth teased, impressed. "You haven't lost your touch." As they approached the house, she commented, "At least it looks like he doesn't have one of those home alarm systems."

"It's funny," he said in an undertone, "but cops usually don't."

Quietly, the couple mounted the steps to the small front porch. Mick, getting his first look at the door, swore under his breath.

"What's wrong?"

"He's got a deadbolt lock on this - a pretty sophisticated one."

"Can you pick it?" Beth whispered anxiously, tucking a stray lock of hair back behind her ear. She hadn't anticipated trouble getting into Carl's house.

"Yeah, but it's gonna take me a while. These things are a bitch. Here, hold this." Mick handed her the tiny flashlight he'd been carrying, its light shaded by a blue glass that rendered the glare invisible from a few feet away. Fishing out the lock pick set he always had with him, the vampire selected a special torque tool designed for the job and set to work.

Beth trained the light on the doorknob realizing that the action was much more for her benefit than Mick's. Being around him had taught her that vampires' visual acuity extended to seeing quite well in the dark.

Seeing the frown of concentration on his face, his tongue caught between his teeth as he worked, it was all she could do to restrain herself from reaching out to brush back the hair hanging in his face. Her fingers itched to touch him. Not the time or place, Turner, she sternly lectured herself. What was wrong with her?! The images that were running through her head would make even a vampire blush.

Abruptly, Mick raised his head, glancing over his shoulder to look down the street.

"What is it?" Beth breathed, putting her mouth close to his ear. Mmmm, he smells good...

"Someone's coming," the vampire whispered, nodding in the direction of his gaze.

Following his direction, Beth could see a couple slowly making their way down the street toward them. She immediately shifted her body to shield their actions. "Hurry, Mick," she hissed.

As the people on the sidewalk drew near, Beth raised her voice to say, "Honey, do you think maybe Carl could have given us the wrong key?"

Mick looked up from the lock, startled. When Beth jerked her head subtly toward the street, he immediately played along. "Dammit, that would be just like him. How are we supposed to get his stuff for him if we can't get into the house." He threw in a few well-chosen curse words for good measure.

Beth continued the charade. "Could it be for the back door?"

"Well, he said it was the front..." Mick's voice trailed off as the couple reached the end of the block and turned the corner. He grinned over his shoulder at his companion. "That was good thinking. I forgot what a good B&E partner you are."

With a final click, the front door opened and they crept inside, closing the door behind them.

Beth shown the flashlight around the small, neat living room, then reached over to turn on a floor lamp she spotted next to the couch.

"Is this okay? I figured if that couple came back, we should let them see that we got in."

"Perfect," Mick responded, prowling around the living room. He paused at the small, free-standing bar tucked into a corner, ostensibly to search for his missing thermos. He picked up a bottle and raised one eyebrow. "Good scotch," he commented, setting the bottle back down and continuing to hunt among the detective's supply of alcohol.

"Wait a minute," Beth said, raising her hand.

The vampire halted with his hand in mid-air. "What's wrong?"

"I know you're enjoying doing an inventory of Carl's scotch, but let's think logically. He mentioned needing to rinse it out. Where would he be likely to put something that has to be washed?"

Mick exhaled noisily, exasperated at his lack of perception. You are being out 'P.I.'d, St. John. "You're right. Kitchen."

The two pivoted as one and headed through the doorway into the surprisingly spacious kitchen.

"Looks as if Carl likes to cook," Beth speculated, eyeing the fancy kitchen appliances taking up space on a tall set of shelves on one wall.

"Or he likes gadgets," Mick said, coming up behind her and putting his arms around her. He bent his head to kiss her neck. "I love the way you taste," he murmured into her ear, his arms tightening.

"Uh-uh." Beth twisted in his arms with difficulty, turning her face up to the tall vampire. Ignoring her own desire to kiss him, she lectured, "We have one job - and one job only - here, mister. Everything else will have to wait."

Mick sighed and released the small woman, depositing a kiss on the top of her head. "You're right. Thermos first."

He switched on the light over the table and looked around, then turned back to Beth with a big smile. "Thermos first, right?"

"Uh-huh."

"There you go." He gestured to the item in question, resting on the counter next to the sink.

Beth's eyes lit up. "Mick, that's great!" She dashed over to the counter and picked up the container, twisting the lid.

"Beth, stop!"

Startled, the young woman looked up at him, her blue eyes wide. "What's wrong?"

"I wasn't lying to Josef. I'm still so foggy about that day that I honestly can't remember if there was anything left in that thermos that night." He frowned. "If there was any blood left and it's been sitting in there all this time..."

"Oh," Beth said, looking doubtfully down at the thermos, her mouth twisting into an expression of distaste.

"Yeah. You do not want to open a container of blood that's been sitting around for a couple of weeks - at least, not in someone's house. No way would we be able to get rid of the odor." He looked around. "Out here."

Mick crossed the kitchen to the back door, holding it open for her. They stepped out onto a deck that looked as if it had been recently built.

"Nice," Beth said, looking around the space. Davis had made it inviting, with flowering plants and comfortable seating.

"Yeah. Real nice," Mick added, his eyes lighting up at the sight of an outsize, state-of-the-art gas grill. He immediately hurried over to the equipment to inspect it more closely, letting out a low whistle of appreciation.

Beth shook her head. Men! "While you indulge your fantasy life, I'm going to get some water from the kitchen to clean this thing out." She carefully set the thermos on the railing and hurried back inside, returning in short order with a pitcher full of sudsy water.

The vampire looked up from his review of the manual hanging off the grill. "Did you know this thing has a 28,500 BTU infrared burner?! Carl had it added. This," he swept his hand toward the giant grill, "is a sweet machine."

"You don't say," Beth responded dryly. "Looks like a grill to me."

"This isn't a grill, it's a culinary system!" Mick protested.

"Yeah, well, if you keep stroking it like that, one of you is gonna have an orgasm."

The vampire cocked an eyebrow. "Wow, now who's testy?!"

"I'm not testy!" Beth snapped and caught herself. Yes, you are. She hadn't been able to shake her funk after being reminded of Dean Foster and now, she just wanted to get out of there before there was any chance of Carl coming home and finding them. "I just want to clean this thing out and get out of here."

With a heavy sigh, Mick let go of the grill's manual, allowing it to swing free on its hook. With one last loving pat for the sleek machine, he gestured for Beth to follow him down into the yard. "Okay, we'll dump this thing back behind the trash and then rinse it out if there was anything in it. Ready?"

She followed Mick to the back of the lot where the vampire took the thermos from her and unscrewed the lid. "Oh, man!" he exclaimed, gagging. "That is rank!"

Holding her nose, Beth shone the flashlight into the thermos. "I didn't know blood was hairy," she quipped, taking the container out of his hand while he choked back the blood that had threatened to erupt from his stomach at the stench.

Matter-of-factly, she turned and dug a hole in the dirt along the fence row with her shoe, dumping the stomach-turning contents and covering them up. Picking up the pitcher of hot, soapy water, Beth set to work, cleaning out the fetid thermos.

Finally recovering, Mick straightened and gazed at his companion in awe. Raising an eyebrow, he said, "Lady, you never cease to amaze me."

"I take that as a compliment." She glanced up at him, her smile brilliant in the pale moonlight.

"I meant it as one."

"Just make sure you clean up after yourself at the penthouse – that was a lot of smell from such a small amount of blood," she commented.

After several washings, even Mick's sensitive nose - and stomach - could barely pick up any scent of blood. Beth put it to the test by holding it up to the protesting man.

"Hey, don't put that foul thing in my face!"

Beth snickered, whispering, "Shhh! Come on, stud. If I can handle it, you should be able to."

"Your nose isn't as developed as mine," he shot back. "You didn't smell what I did."

"The whiff I caught was quite enough for me, thank you. Think this takes care of it?" She held up the now-spotless thermos.

Mick nodded. "Yup. Thank god Carl is a bachelor. Any woman I know would never have let that thing sit on the counter for three weeks and..."

"And you know a lot of women," Beth finished sarcastically. "Yeah, I know."

If it was possible for vampires to blush, Mick would have been beet-red at that moment. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean that," he murmured, pulling her to him for a quick kiss. "You are the only woman in my life."

"I know," Beth said softly, kissing him back. Except for Guilia, Gabby, Victoria, that cleaner whose name I can never remember... The list of females who trailed after Mick St. John seemed endless but Beth knew it wasn't really his fault. In his time with her, she'd never seen him actively flirting or encouraging anyone. It was just - what was it he'd jokingly said once? "...perpetual coolness is the vampire's curse." Well, dealing with the impact of it was apparently the curse of the vampire's girlfriend.

After a moment, she broke free. "I'm starting to feel like we're pushing our luck. I have no idea what Jamie might have told Carl to get him to go to her house and he could decide to come home any minute."

"You're right," Mick agreed. He grabbed the pitcher that had held the soapy water and the used paper towels from the ground, his keen eyes inspecting the ground where they stood. The dirt was already drying; in a few more minutes, there would be no sign of their activity. "Come on, let's put this stuff back and get out of here."

Quickly, the couple returned to the house. "Check your shoes," Mick warned, wiping his shoes thoroughly on the mat on the deck. Beth carefully repeated the action after him and then followed him into the house, closing and locking the back door behind them.

Using one more paper towel to make sure the thermos was completely dry, Beth pushed the worrisome container to the back of the counter. "Is this where it was?" she asked, standing back to inspect it carefully.

Mick was equally cautious. He moved back to the spot where he'd been standing when he first spotted the thermos. "Yup. Looks perfect." He handed Beth the pitcher they'd used to hold the soapy water. "I'm not sure where you got this."

She wiped it dry and repositioned it in the cabinet where she'd found it. Taking the paper towels Mick was holding, she clutched them tightly as she took one more look around the kitchen. "I think we're good."

The couple retraced their steps, turning off the lights as they went. Mick quietly eased the front door shut, listening for the click as the lock re-engaged. They were almost giddy as they ran for the car, Beth still clutching the damp paper towels they'd used.

Mick started the silent hybrid and turned to Beth with a grin. "It is quiet, I'll give you that."

"Uh-huh."

"If it just didn't sound like my Cuisinart when it goes over fifty... He grinned over at her, his eyes glittering in the dim light from the dashboard.

I'll never get used to that silver in his eyes... It reminded her all too much of Temecula. The image of Mick blindly looking up at her from the table where he lay, torn open by the lethal bullets, his irises almost completely silver, made her shiver. Forcing it from her mind, Beth plastered on a smile and retorted, "Have you ever even turned on your Cuisinart?!"

The bantering continued as they headed for home.

The phone rang until finally the voicemail message clicked in. "This is Carl Davis of the L.A. County Detective's Office. I'm unable to take your call at the moment. Please feel free to leave a message and I'll return your call as soon as I'm able."

Dammit! Ben Talbot thought. His dismay was not evident in his voice as he left the detective a message. "Carl, this is Ben. Just wanted to check in and see how you're doing. I'd like to know if you're coming back to work this week. If you are, there's someone I'd like you to meet." He paused, but decided not to say more. "Give me a shout if you get a chance. Unofficially, of course."

He laid his cell phone on the couch next to him and took a long swallow of the beer in his hand. Well, there was nothing more he could do now except...wait.

The door swung open and Beth staggered in, tears streaming down her face.

"Goddammit!" Josef exclaimed, jumping to his feet, dumping Simone unceremoniously on the floor.

He'd called his attorney to come keep him company while he waited on Mick and Beth to return from their - in his mind - ill-advised rescue mission. While they waited, he was engaging in what had become one of his favorite pastimes - making out with the beautiful brunette. The sight of Beth wiping tears from her face, however, had driven all thoughts of romance from him and confirmed his worst fears.

"What the hell happened?!" he shouted, rushing over to the young woman. "Where's Mick?!"

"He's..." she began in a choked voice, then bent over, helpless with laughter, flapping her hand toward the door.

"Here, Josef," an amused voice said from the hall. Mick pushed into the apartment, a big grin plastered on his face. "Mission accomplished."

"You two scared the shit out of me!" Kostan got out from between gritted teeth. "Come on, Simone, we're leaving!"

"Ah, dad, don't leave mad..."

"Fuck you both! And I'm not your sire, I just re-turned you!" Josef bellowed and stalked out, a bewildered Simone in tow.

"Josef didn't take that well," Mick smiled happily at the memory of his best friend's angry exit from his apartment the night before. It had only added to the giddy hilarity they had felt all weekend.

After their triumphant return from breaking into Carl's house and cleaning out the incriminating contents of Mick's thermos, they'd spent the rest of that evening watching 'Daddy Long Legs', the Fred Astaire classic Beth had found for Mick.

"What did you think?" he had asked anxiously when the black-and-white movie ended.

"Loved it," Beth had stated emphatically.

"Really?!"

"Really. Leslie Caron was adorable and Fred...wow."

"Yeah, he was something special. I never get tired of watching the guy dance." Mick's voice had sounded wistful.

"That's not really us, though Mick," Beth had interjected, guessing his thoughts. "I know you look at that May-December romance thing and think that's the way we are, but it's not."

"No? I am eighty-five, you know - and you're still in your twenties. That seems pretty May-December to me."

"Not the way I see it. You're an eternal thirty-year-old. Pretty soon, I'll be the December part of the relationship!" Saying that out loud had been a jolt as she thought briefly about what that reality would be like someday.

"Um-hmm." He'd kissed the top of her head in gratitude.

Now, it was late Sunday night and the couple was relaxing in bed, listening to music, after the latest in what had been a string of love-making sessions since the ban imposed by John Spector had been lifted. Mick's lips twitched at the heavy sigh that emanated from the small woman next to him.

"Don't tell me; let me guess. You're thinking about going to work tomorrow."

"Huh?" Beth turned her head, which was resting on his shoulder, to look up at the vampire. "What are you talking about?"

"That big sigh."

"I didn't sigh!" she protested.

"Yup. It's the sound people make who are dreading Monday morning. I've heard it before."

"Not from me."

"No, not from you," he agreed. "Not until now, that is. Tell me you weren't just thinking about going to work in the morning."

Beth sighed again, consciously this time. "You're right. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Just quit the job." He kissed the top of her head again, inhaling her scent, that lovely combination of sunshine, perfume, and pheromones that was unique to Beth.

"I can't quit. Josef-"

"Josef be damned!" Mick interrupted. "Beth, you don't owe him anything. You don't owe vampires anything." He pushed himself up to a sitting position, leaning against the solid wood headboard, and pulled her closer to him, wrapping both arms around her as if to shield her from his kind. "Live your own life," he said, adding with a touch of sadness, "It will be over before you know it. Trust me."

"I don't owe them anything?" Beth repeated incredulously, drawing away from him, her blue eyes flashing with indignation. "Mick St. John, I owe them your life! Without Josef and the rest of the vampires who helped, you would be dead right now. Of course I owe them. And so do you, I might add."

"Calm down!" Mick pulled her back down against him. "Just because they helped me doesn't mean they get to run your life. Look, I'm as grateful as I can be and Josef knows it." Now, it was his turn to sigh. "And, knowing him, he will most assuredly make me pay. But you don't have to stay in a job where you're miserable. Certainly not because of me!"

For several seconds, the only sound in the room was the soft jazz playing, Etta James honeyed voice singing in the background.

"I'm not miserable," Beth finally said, entwining her fingers with his as she searched for the right words. "I still think the work is interesting - and important. I feel like I'm making a difference - when Talbot lets me, that is. It's just being around him that's working on me. I can't look at him without thinking about what happened to you - and wondering if he had a hand in it."

"Carl doesn't think so. You told me that."

"I know. I still can't keep from wondering though. And the way he's capitalized on it since Christophe Durand swung public opinion in his favor - that just turns my stomach."

"I think," Mick said, stretching his long legs out as he measured his words, "that if there were a connection, someone - you, Carl, Josef, the geeks, someone - would have found some evidence by now."

Beth grunted noncommittally. "Maybe. Can't keep myself from thinking about it, though." She listened to Etta's soulful voice for a moment, then changed the subject, "So, what's the deal with this song, Mr. Jazz Expert. When did it come out?"

"Nice job of obfuscation," Mick teased, putting a finger under her chin to tilt her head up for a kiss.

"Ohhh,' Beth breathed when they finally broke apart. "I love it when you talk dirty to me." Her face broke into a teasing smile.

Mick laughed out loud. "Okay, I get it. No more discussion about your job tonight - but, Beth, you can't put it off forever, you know." When she nodded with a sober face, he relented. "This is A Sunday Kind of Love. Came out the year after the war ended, 1946. Etta didn't do the first recording; her version came out the following year. I'm sure most people would say that hers is the definitive recording - like most everything she did."

"How do you remember all this?" Beth asked wonderingly, resting her hand on his - healed, it's healed - abdomen.

"Well, the year after the war ended... pretty much everything about that year is burned into my brain. I would guess that most World War II vets you would talk to would feel the same way. If they were still alive, that is." He absently stroked her, running his long fingers slowly up and down her back, his thoughts a million miles away.

Beth snaked her arms around his waist and squeezed gently. She could only imagine the things Mick had seen and done in his long life - many of them painful, leaving scars that she couldn't see. They were there, though.

"Hey," she said quietly, "did I ever tell you how much I love you?" She pulled his head down for a kiss.

"It's late," Mick whispered, thinking of the long Monday ahead of her.

"Don't care," Beth whispered back throatily, kissing him again. This time, it quickly turned into something much more as Etta sang in the background. Sleep is highly overrated anyway.

End song: A Sunday Kind of Love, Etta James