Ain't Bad
I want you
I need you
But there ain’t no way I’m ever going to love you
Just don’t be sad -
‘Cos two out of three ain’t bad ...
Stallion's Gate, New Mexico
1995
Cramped confines, laced with echoes of pain. Limbs heavy with helplessness, bound and constrained. But the warmth he shares there secures him; arms enfold him in a gentle embrace, conveying strength, offering certainty. He is not alone.
And yet he is so afraid ...
"Hold me," the voice begs softly, fear written into the brilliance of its owner’s eyes. "Please. Just hold me ..."
But he can’t.
He can’t move; can’t reach to return that embrace, or hold that warmth against himself, cannot anchor it in return. He struggles and fights against the unseen restraints, but he cannot break them. They hold him back as other forces drag his companion away, breaking their contact, replacing the warmth with a chill so deep it burns.
Noooo ...
His heart protests the separation, his soul is sundered by a sense of loss. The figure is beyond his reach, offering empty arms with pleading distress.
"Hold me ..."
The words are laced with anguish. With a loneliness so vast it fills the world.
His struggles become desperation; so desperate that it feels as if he tears his own skin and snaps his own bones in the need to be free. Finally, he achieves his goal, staggering forward, reaching blindly -
- reaching to throw protective arms around that isolated figure -
- arms that close on nothing at all.
Nothing but image. Mere mist.
Pure illusion.
"Hold me," the request comes again, plaintive, beseeching ...
But there is nothing to hold on to. Nothing beneath his hands but air.
They are so close.
So close ...
And still forever beyond each other’s reach ...
"Saammm - !"
The scream ripped out of his throat with anguished force, bringing him to abrupt awareness, dragging him from the dream. Al Calavicci lurched up, his heart pounding inside his ribcage, and his whole body shaking violently.
Oh, god. Oh, god ...
"Honey?" The query was soft and shaded with sleep. "Are you okay?"
He forced himself to take several deep breaths, turning to consider the source of the concern. Tina had lifted herself up on one elbow beside him, her blonde hair tumbling around the tilt of her head and her eyes written with a glitter of alarm.
"Just a dream," he managed after a moment, his voice shaky despite efforts to suppress the effect. He reached a hand to pat at the curve of her rump where it shaped the bedclothes. "Go back to sleep, sweetheart. I’m sorry I woke you."
She frowned at him, and he turned away, swinging his legs out to sit on the edge of the mattress, where he shook and fought for self-control.
Just a dream ...
He should be used to those by now. Used to the echoes of his past that came back to haunt him from time to time. But this was not a dream he had had before.
And, up until now, the dreams had only disturbed him on the nights he slept alone ...
"Al?" The question was plaintive.
God. How am I meant to deal with this?
"Just go back to sleep, kitten. I won’t be long."
He climbed to his feet and padded his way across to the en suite bathroom, snatching up the robe Tina had left out for him as he did so. His bare feet sank into the soft pile of her bedroom carpet, and then hit warm cork. "Light," he muttered in the general direction of the pick-up, and the interior of the room softly brightened from grey shadows into pink indulgences.
Ah, sheesh ...
Normally he found Tina’s rose-tinted and extravagantly feminine bathroom a reason for amusement. But the way he felt right then, it seemed a particularly good reason for wanting to throw up.
He staggered forward to rest his hands and his weight on the edge of the vanity unit, and paused for a moment before he lifted his head and stared at his reflection in the ornately bevelled mirror above it. Dark eyes sunk into shadowed pits stared back at him, haunted and tense in their pale-faced setting. The black silk of his hastily donned robe only served to emphasise the starkness of the contrast.
Well, well, Calavicci. You look like hell ...
He sighed and reached for the faucet, spilling cold water into the basin. A dip of his hand, and some of its chill cut through the fuzzed feeling in his head; he ran a damp palm across his face and then used it to put a note of discipline into the tousle of his hair.
The images of the dream remained; that sense of loss, of utter helplessness ...
Oh, boy.
That was a bad one ...
He sank back to the support of the bath, dropping his head into his hands and waiting for the trauma to shake itself out of his soul.
He hadn’t had a dream that bad for years. Not since - not since -
Since bitter days at StarBright, drowned in poison, drowning in despair ...
Oh, god!
He was still labouring for breath, still fighting for equilibrium. Knowing that the dream had taunted him with truth. That the one thing that might still his soul now lay utterly beyond his reach ...
"Al - honey - "
He looked up. Tina was standing in the doorway, draped in the silk and lace of her cute baby dolls; a pert and perfect picture from the kind of calendar they hang on locker room walls.
Except for the taut look of concern on her face.
He stood up. Went to her. Caught her in a close and determined embrace that she returned with puzzled anxiety. She wasn’t what he craved, but she was there, and she cared, and right then he needed that so badly ...
"What’s wrong?" she asked, her voice a little fearful. He’d scared her. Was probably still scaring her, with this sudden expression of affection that had nothing to do with desire and everything to do with need.
"Nothing," he answered gruffly, dipping to taste the skin of her neck and the perfume that lingered there. If he tried - if he let himself - he could so easily lose the pain in the oblivion of passion.
She giggled and squirmed as his hand brushed the curve of her breast beneath the silk, but she made no effort to push him away.
"Al," she half-protested as his kisses swept up the curve of her throat and his fingers explored the soft flesh that lay beneath them. "It’s three o’clock in the morning ..."
She might as well have slapped him in the face.
Three o’clock.
It was at three o’clock that he left me ...
He let go, all the promised heat draining out of him to be replaced by a sense of utter bleakness. Who was he trying to kid? There would be no substance in her surrender, no sustenance for his starving heart; all she offered was physical satiation, and even that was no longer enough.
"Hey," she reacted, reaching to prevent his abandonment. "I wasn’t complaining."
"I know," he sighed, catching sight of their reflections in the mirror, seeing the two of them, her body pressed close to his side, her head resting teasingly on his shoulder ...
What’s wrong with this picture?
They made an interesting couple; the war-weary warrior and the blonde bombshell. She was no taller than he was in her bare feet; bereft of artful makeup and draped in pink silk she was almost an ethereal creature, more innocent than she would like to think. While he -
- he was no more than a liar and a thief, stealing her time and her affection like the grizzled pirate his image currently proclaimed him to be.
An Italian prince, Sam used to say. Sheer flattery. Always got him what he wanted, though ...
The consideration of the past tense hurt. Just as much as the memory of what Sam had wanted - and got, with his quiet smile and his unashamed honesty.
But he doesn’t remember. He looks at me with those puppy-dog eyes, so trusting, so innocent - and he doesn’t remember. So I smile at him, and bully him, and tease the hell outta him, and I can’t even touch him ...
He turned to look into Tina’s eyes, finding her watching him with wary confusion. "Come back to bed, honey," she suggested softly. "It was just a dream. And it’s so nice to have you all to myself for a while."
But you don’t, sweetheart ...
She never would. His life was too inextricably tangled with one single soul that she could never - would never - replace.
"I bet you say that to all the boys," he growled, seeking refuge in a jest. She coloured. Nicely.
"Oh, Al ..." she chided, pushing at his shoulder with amused embarrassment. "You know you’re special. You always have been. Want me to prove it?"
She fluttered long eyelashes at him, coy seduction filled with innocent promise. He sighed and gathered her up, steering her out of the rose-tinted world and back into the shadows. "Not right now, kitten," he admitted wearily.
Tina threw him a worried look. "There is something wrong," she decided, coming to a halt and turning so that she held him, soft arms around his waist, softer flesh pressed against his chest. "Al - what is it? That wasn’t just a dream. It was a nightmare. I know you’ve been working hard lately. Ever since Doctor Beckett Leaped ..."
Every hour of every goddamned day, Sam. I wouldn’t even be here tonight if Beeks hadn’t threatened me with dire punishment if I didn’t take a break. And even then, I couldn’t bear to go home.
So he’d sought refuge in shallow pleasures, in company that wouldn’t complain at the imposition. Tina had welcomed him with open arms, just as she always did. You couldn’t call what they had an affair; more an extended friendship. He’d never made her any promises and she’d never demanded any.
Even so ...
He felt like a heel. He knew she was fond of him; fond enough to buy him stupid presents - and some not so stupid, like the robe he was currently wearing. And yet most of the time he sought her company it was because the company he would have preferred was unavailable.
And right now, completely beyond my reach ...
The echo of the dream clenched a tight fist around his heart. He dropped his head to her shoulder and he shivered, pulling her close, finding some comfort in there being someone to hold ...
"I’m sorry," he murmured. "Oh god, Tina, honey. I’m sorry."
Her own embrace tightened in reflex reaction. She pressed soft lips to his neck and cheek, offering reassurance for a distress she just didn’t understand.
"Talk to me," she whispered, almost like a mother to an agitated child. "Tell me what’s wrong. Let me help you."
Talk to her?
The idea was insane; how could he possibly explain ...?
But I have to. I can’t go on like this. It isn’t fair. It isn’t fair to her.
It hadn’t mattered before. Not when their intimacy was a simple matter of mutual pleasure, when all they had had was fun. Tina was hot, and she knew it. He’d pampered her because of it, and never with any serious intent. But now -
This evening had not been from want, but from need. He could see that now, could recognise the impulse that had brought him here.
Thinking I could escape for a little while ...
And he had. For a while at least. Tumbled in her arms, lost in her desires, he could pretend that nothing had changed. That his world had not shattered and left him with nothing but the fragility of uncertain faith.
He will come home. He has to. He’s pursuing his great adventure, just as he always intended.
But the retrieval program hadn’t worked. Wasn’t going to work. And what should have been a triumphant jaunt with a hero’s return at the end of it had become a desperate odyssey with no determinable end in sight.
"Okay," he decided softly, untangling himself from her warmth and guiding her to sit on the edge of the bed. "You want the truth, I’ll tell you the truth. But I don’t think you’re going to like it. If you want to throw me out afterward, I shall quite understand."
"Al," she protested, with a confused half-laugh. "Why would I - ?" Sudden suspicion brought a faint frown to her face. "What is it? You haven’t got someone pregnant, have you?"
The suggestion threw him momentarily; it was so far from the subject on his mind that he struggled for a response to it.
"No," she went on warily, eyeing his reaction with shrewd assessment. "That wouldn’t worry you. Not like this ..." She reached out to clasp at his hand and he settled himself beside her, reluctant to meet her eyes. "It’s Doctor Beckett, isn’t it?"
He froze, every muscle taut with alarm.
Does she know?
"Al," she smiled with fond indulgence, wrapping his hand in her own. "We’re all worried about him. You know that. You can’t let his situation prey on your mind. It’s not good for you. And it’s not going to help him, if you make yourself ill, now is it?"
He let his breath out slowly, somewhat relieved to find her assumptions to be innocent ones, even if she’d hit the reason for his unsettlement dead centre.
Maybe I don’t have to tell her.
Most of the people at the Project lauded his dedication toward the well-being of his friend. They knew he had been landed with two almost impossible tasks: to keep the Project running during its Director’s enforced absence, and - at the same time - try to keep that same absent Director as safe and as sane as circumstances would allow. If he had days when he was as gruff with the crew as a bear with a sore head, then they understood and kept out of his line of fire. But Tina wasn’t most people. She was someone he’d tried - unfairly - to use as a safety valve, and it wasn’t right to let her think it was merely duty that preyed so savagely on his mind.
Damn it, he considered with self-annoyance, I should have run this past Beeks before I let it get to this ...
Except that - while the compassionate psychiatrist was well aware of the real situation - Beeks was still a shrink and, as such, someone Al found hard to trust completely.
Something else I’m gonna have to change.
It had been five weeks since Sam Beckett had stepped so precipitately into the Quantum Accelerator. Five weeks of alternating hope and despair, paced by interminable waiting. Three Leaps so far; more to come according to Vega. Sam wasn’t coming home any time soon. And Tina was waiting.
With wide and unsuspecting eyes, filled with nothing more than affectionate concern.
Oh, god ...
"Tina. Sweetheart," he began, a little amazed at his own bravery. "There’s something I have to tell you.
"Something about - Sam and me."
She looked at him expectantly, a sweetly seductive siren in the dimness. His awareness of her lusciousness did not help him one little bit. Nor, for that matter, did thinking of Sam.
So he turned away, seeking focus in the shadows. While one of her hands still clasped his own, the other slid further up his arm, intending comfort but disturbing the weight of silver that sat around his wrist. Chiralaquoi silver. The luck totem Naomi Beeks had once given Sam and that he had left - along with his watch and his wallet, and some other personal items - in the top drawer of the Commodore’s desk just before he Leaped. Al couldn’t even remember claiming it; it had just been there, nestled against his skin, so many days later, when he’d finally found time to stop and think.
It was only the fact that he had been wearing it that had stopped him from opening the bottle of Scotch he’d half-intended to think with ...
"You’re his best friend," Tina encouraged sympathetically. "Everyone knows that. And you mustn’t blame yourself for not stopping him. I mean - it was the middle of the night. You weren’t even there."
Oh, yes, I was ...
Fast asleep and oblivious to the man’s dilemmas. If only he had realised ... But that wasn’t the issue now. That was past. Written in stone. And - unlike the absent scientist they discussed - he had no power to go back and change it.
"I mean - I know how much you care about him - "
"No," Al interrupted firmly. "You don’t. That’s what I’m trying to say. Sam - " He took another careful breath. "I don’t just care for him, Tina. I love him. And not just as a friend, or a brother, or even a son ..." He turned to look at her as he spoke, needing to see her eyes, needing to read her reaction. "Heart and soul, kitten. It’s not just a friend that I’ve lost back there in time. It’s a piece of me."
Tina stared at him, her ministering touch frozen in astonishment. A doubtful smile tugged tentatively at her lips. Her expression demanded that he be joking.
She really needed him to be joking.
And her face went quietly white as she realised that he wasn’t ...
"How - how long have you known?" she asked faintly. The question raised the ghost of a smile on his face.
"Well," he admitted wryly. "I was a little slow to realise, but - ah - I guess '86 was probably the turning point."
That wasn’t the answer she'd been expecting.
"As long as that ... Al? Does he know?"
Another reason for his smile. This one turned it a little bitter. "Right now? No. No, he doesn’t. But before - "
Oh, god. Before ...
"I suppose," he decided after a moment, "you could say it was his idea ..."
This wasn’t an easy confession to make. He was an intensely private soul, and he liked to keep his personal matters personal. His brash and surface liberality was a shield that he kept between himself and the rest of the world, and it was hard to step out from behind it. Hard to be honest with the words, when the words could not really convey the truth he needed to express.
"We - uh - " His normally expressive hands sought for gestures that he stilled before they could formulate themselves. With Sam - even with Beeks - he might have given them full rein. But Tina wasn’t ready for the flippant jokes or the suggestive implications that allowed him to safely distance himself from the depths of his heart. "That is - Sam, he - "
Another careful breath.
Just spit it out, why don't ya?
This was worse than sitting in the confessional ...
"Sam’s - gay, okay? He - he’s been that way all his life. And he and I - "
"Oh, my god!" Tina slid backward in involuntary reaction, putting distance between them, her hands lifting to her mouth, her eyes going utterly wide. "You - you - you bastard!"
He’d expected shock. Maybe even a little anger. But her sudden indignation was startling.
"Tina, I - "
"Don’t you say a word," she demanded, pointing a trembling finger at him. "How dare you? How dare you come into my bed and make love with me when all the time ... God," she swore a second time, looking away from him, fighting for comprehension. "I knew you slept around, but - but - both ways? Al - that’s not just dumb, that’s crazy. Don’t you know what you're risking? What I’m risking? That’s the surest way there is to - "
"Ah, jeezus, Tina," he growled tightly, interrupting her tirade. "I’m not a fool. This is Sam Beckett I’m talking about, not - not some piece of rough trade I hauled off the streets! I just told ya - I love the guy. And I’d never, ever, do anything that might hurt him."
"That’s not the point," she shot back, equally incensed. "What if he - ?"
"He," he went on firmly, "isn’t like that. Okay?" The anger helped; it brought the words bubbling to the surface in a way that tentative sincerity never would have. He reached out and caught at her hand, preventing further escape, forcing her to confront his truths. "Now you listen, and you listen good. I didn’t have to tell you any of this, but now I’ve started you’re gonna let me finish."
She nodded warily, watching him with anxious alarm. He’d never been violent toward her - that wasn’t something he ever did - but right now she couldn’t be sure of what he might do.
"You’ve worked with Sam; you know how he is. You think he’d be stupid enough to take the kind of risks you’re talking about? He had a - a friend die of AIDS, back in '86. He knows the score better than most. And he’s clean. For that matter - so am I. Sam made the check a standard on the regular med-tests - so if you don’t believe me, you can go pull my file and look.
"And don’t give me those innocent eyes, Doctor Isherwood. I know damned well you’ve hacked into practically every personal file and encrypted system this project has. Vega loves you for it. It keeps him on his toes."
She grimaced and glanced away, and he allowed himself the barest smile of grim satisfaction. He’d known about her insatiable curiosity ever since he’d hired her, and he didn’t give a damn what she did to gratify it, as long as it didn’t endanger the project, or its director. The really personal stuff was safe enough. Vega took care of that.
"So - cut the righteous caca, and think for a moment, willya? Think about Sam. About how he is. You think he’d go in for one-night stands and sleazy affairs? Do ya? Do ya?"
Tina shook her head, trembling a little at his vehemence.
"Well," he said, relaxing a little. "He doesn’t. He’s strictly a one-guy guy. So am I, come to that."
Now she frowned. "But you - you have all kinds of affairs."
"Not with other men, I don’t." His growl was impatient. "And I’m careful. God damn it," he spat, "you know I’m careful."
She was still wrestling for comprehension. "But if you’re gay - "
"I never said I was," Al grimaced, releasing her hand to throw his own out in a gesture of despair. "Just Sam."
Just Sam ...
He turned away from her, unable to sustain the anger; the remnants of it abandoned him, leaving nothing but bleak despondency in their wake.
"I don’t understand," Tina protested softly.
"I’m not asking you to," he sighed. "Hell, I don’t even know if I understand it myself."
This was a mistake. A real mistake.
But it’s too late to turn back now ...
"Listen," he offered after a moment. "If you want me to go, I’ll go. You can forget we ever discussed this. You can forget us, period, if you want to. I never meant to hurt you, kitten. I just - sometimes I need - "
He wanted to explain somehow, and yet all the things that came to mind sounded pathetically like fishing for sympathy.
"Just forget it," he suggested wearily, letting his shoulders slump. "Just - let it go, okay?" He stood up, intending to step across the room so that he could pick up his clothes. "Go back to sleep," he advised as he did so. "Come the morning, you can make out this was all a dream ..."
God, I wish it was. I wish I could go home right now and find Sam waiting for me ...
"Oh, yeah. Sure." Tina was suddenly standing beside him, her hand on his outstretched arm, her face written with a determined frown. "Just forget it, you say. You wake me up, at three in the morning, and you tell me that, and then you expect to walk out on me? You forget it. You’re not going anywhere until I throw you out. If I throw you out ...
"Look," she went on, the determination sliding into anxiety. "Al - I - I don’t know how I’m supposed to react. When a guy tells you he’s married - that’s one thing, right? B-but this? I just don’t know. It’s a shock."
"Yeah," he acknowledged, unwilling to meet her eyes. "I suppose it is ..."
She let go and turned away, wrestling with her thoughts, and he waited, thinking that perhaps he ought to leave, but not wanting to. Not wanting to face the prospect of being alone.
I could go back to the project. Check on Sam’s progress. Vega might keep me company ...
"S’funny," Tina’s voice noted after a weight of silence. "I never even dreamed that might be the reason ..."
"Reason for what?" he asked, glancing back at her. She’d moved back to the bed and was sitting among the pillows with her legs half-tucked under her and her hands folded over her knees. Another picture for the calendar ...
"Oh," she shrugged, "I dunno. Why you never have a serious girlfriend. And why you let everyone think that’s what I am. As serious as you’re ever likely to get, that is ..." She found a little giggle, a sudden note of semi-hysteria that seemed to come from nowhere. "And I guess that’s why Doctor Beckett never - well, you know."
He knew. Sam’s embarrassed handling of all the women who’d tried throwing themselves at his feet was general project scuttlebutt. Common consensus was that their Project Director was both shy and too saintly for his own good. Alonzo hadn’t been averse to encouraging the supposition, even if he’d never directly confirmed it. Nobody had ever so much as even suggested the real reason behind his reluctance.
Tina giggled again, a reactive, unsure of itself sound. "Everyone thought he’d - like - taken a vow or something. And all that time he was - all the time you were - oh, my."
She’d gone from indignation to bewilderment. He wasn’t sure if that was an improvement or not.
"Not all the time," he muttered, a little defensively.
Sam was always so damned busy ...
"Okay," she breathed, reaching a distracted hand to rearrange the tumble of her nightdress. "Let’s see if I’ve got this. You - and Doctor Beckett - have a thing, right?"
It wasn’t quite the way he would have put it, but ... "Yeah. Yeah, you could say that."
"A good thing?" The question contained a plaintive note. She was still finding this hard to believe.
"A very good thing," he confirmed quietly, sure of that at least.
"Umm. Right." She fiddled distractedly with the ribbons that dangled from her wrist. "Well, I guess I always knew he was important to you ..."
"Tina - " Al moved almost without being aware of it, stepping forward and dropping to the edge of the mattress so that he could meet her eyes. "I told you. I love the kid. Heart and soul. All that mushy stuff. Sometimes I think I’d feel that way even if he paid me back with kicks and abuse. He sure as hell takes advantage sometimes. But - right up until the day he Leaped - I knew he loved me back, however much he got absorbed in his work, or carried away by his dreams. Now - " He paused to take a careful breath. "Now he doesn’t even remember me.
"I like to think that - maybe in his heart he does. He trusts me. I still have that much. But it’s such an innocent trust. Big puppy-dog eyes, all vulnerable and full of hope ..." He shivered, turning his head to stare at nothing at all. "And I have to tell myself this is Sam, and he can cope, and he’s gonna make it. But all he is is this goddamned image, and everything I see has happened already, and I can’t help him, and I can’t protect him, and I can’t so much as touch him ..."
The memory of the dream resurfaced, choking his words; he wrestled with the sudden surge of emotion, locking it away with tight determination -
- and then he felt Tina’s arms slide around his shoulders in a tentative embrace, offering instinctive comfort to his distress.
Oh, god ...
It had been a long time since he had expected the touch of a woman’s arms to convey anything other than specific pleasures. The reassuring hug was the last thing he had been anticipating, and it utterly sabotaged his inner struggle for composure.
Don’t. Please - don’t ...
There was only one soul in the entire world that he trusted enough to see him cry; but it took all the lessons of a long hard war - and the years, the bitter years, that had followed it - to keep himself from tipping over the edge right there and then. Five weeks of constant stress, oscillating between the elation of success and the lows of desperation, had taken their toll.
But he would not - could not - let himself break under the pressure.
Sam was depending on him, wasn’t he?
He reached to pat at a gentle hand where it caressed his shoulder and adopted a defensive grimace that wouldn’t have fooled his absent lover for a second. "Frag it," he growled, managing to sound vaguely aggrieved, "I need a cigar ..."
Tina’s arms tightened in disconcertion - and then she laughed. Softly, and with decided warmth. She rested her chin on his silk-clad shoulder - a little like the kitten he had nicknamed her - and wrinkled her nose at him.
"Al Calavicci," she decided. "You are - like - weird, you know? Stay right there. I think I might be prepared to make one exception to my rule."
She slid away, buffing his cheek with her knuckles as she abandoned him, and he watched as she reached to rummage in the drawer of her bedside table.
It gave him a chance to take three long, slow, breaths.
"And don’t you go thinking this sets a precedent," she warned. "Ah-hah! Thought this was where I’d hidden it."
She came back, to present him ceremoniously with a cellophane-wrapped cigar; a fat one, reeking of expense and distinction. "It’s the sort my Daddy likes to smoke," she explained, at the look he gave her. "I always take him one whenever I go home for a while. But - I can buy him another one, can’t I?"
Another?
He didn’t need to read the gold-edged label to recognise the brand. No-one - not even Sam - had ever quite so matter-of-factly handed him a seventy dollar Cohiba ...
"Tina - ?" he queried warily. "You - ah - made me promise not to smoke in the bedroom ..."
"So?" she shrugged, shuffling down to cuddle up close. She leaned companionably against his side and reached to pluck the cigar back from his fingers. "I said I could make an exception." She smiled in the semi-darkness. "Daddy always lets me light his," she explained, setting about the task with expert dexterity. "There. You know," she sighed, handing back the now-smouldering tobacco, "he’d tell me to show you the door."
"He would?" He took a careful puff and let the sweetly mellow smoke work instant magic. He’d spoken out of defensive reaction, but he’d been right. The comfort of the cigar made him feel a whole lot better.
More in control ...
"Uh-huh." Tina swept a tumble of hair away from her face. "Never get involved with married men, he always says." She adopted a little pout of rebellion. "As if I didn’t know how many times he’s cheated on every one of his wives."
"Uh - kitten," he pointed out, "I didn’t exactly say - "
"I know." She shrugged a second time. "But - what you did say - the way you said it - you - you meant every word and ... Oh - " she sighed. "I guess it isn’t the same, is it? I mean - Daddy gets married the way some men collect cars. The minute a new model comes along he just can’t wait to trade in the old one. One of these days I’ll go home and find my ‘mom’ is younger than I am."
Alonzo put out his arm and pulled her close, understanding a little of the hurt bewilderment that lay behind her words. He’d always been vaguely grateful that he’d never had any children. Messing up his own life had been bad enough ...
"S’funny," she breathed, tipping her head onto his shoulder. "You and me, really. Don’t you think?"
He grimaced around the expensive cigar.
Yeah, sweetheart. It sure is ...
They sat that way for a while, in wary silence; she was clearly wrestling with her thoughts. He just tried not to think at all.
"Al?" she asked eventually, her question tinged with anxiety. "Why did you come round here tonight?"
Why?
He asked himself the same question, while she waited uneasily for his answer.
"I guess," he confessed eventually, "because it hurts to go home."
Because it’s a place filled with his echoes; somewhere where I have nothing but memories ...
"Oh." She sounded disappointed. "So all you wanted was company. Anybody’s company."
He turned his head, finding her eyes barely inches from his own. They held a glitter that hinted at hurt feelings.
Was that it? he wondered, and knew the answer as soon as the doubt occurred. "Not just anybody’s," he denied softly.
There’s no company between strangers. Just shared loneliness.
She smiled, a little wanly. "You’re only saying that," she accused, although the words held no rancour. He shook his head.
"Uh-uh," he insisted. "Tina - you’re special, ya hear?" His arm tightened, holding her warmth close against him. "I needed you tonight. Not just anyone, but you. Because you’re my friend. Because you know Sam, and you know what he’s facing. And - and just because, okay?"
I’m gonna have to live through this with or without her, he realised, watching her face for some response, some sign that he had not shattered their easy-going relationship with his honesty. But it’d be a whole lot easier with her ...
She considered him thoughtfully for a moment longer, then sighed, closing the final distance between them to plant a soft and determined kiss on his lips. After which she giggled. "You taste just like Daddy," she announced with a grin, and dipped back for a second go.
He met her halfway, responding to the contact in a way he hoped her Daddy never would ...
He doubted that she really understood the grief he carried. Tina lived on the surface, content with material things; the disasters that touched her world were met with petulant tantrums and then dismissed as if they had never existed. But her comprehension wasn’t the issue; it was her acceptance that counted.
And while the simple sweetness of her kiss had no power to ease his wounded heart, it did take away a little of the sting. Just a little ...
"So what’s it like?" she asked, as he recalled himself just long enough to ensure that the rest of that very expensive cigar was stowed safely out of harm’s way.
"What?" He turned back, both hands now free to explore the tempting textures of warm skin.
"Making love to Sam Beckett."
He leaned back and stared at her; there’d been no jealousy in the question. Just artless curiosity.
"I bet he’s real gentle," she went on, sliding herself backward so that she could lie invitingly among the pillows. "Those big strong hands, and that incredible body ..." She sighed longingly at the thought. He went on staring.
And there were memories of strength and gentle passions; of sharing and expressing both without fear or hesitation. Of laughter, and rough-housing, and infinite tenderness.
Of togetherness ...
Memories - not just of making love, but of being loved.
Oh, god.
I miss you, Sam ...
"Just - you know," she murmured softly, the toes of one foot kneading teasingly at his thigh, "I always wondered ..."
He caught the foot, caressing a soft ankle
and running his hand up the smoothness of sleek skin. Delicate, pampered flesh
that led to enticing secrets. "Yeah? Well, you can go on wondering,"
he advised with a warm growl, following the touch of fingers with the impact
of lips. "I’m not about to kiss and tell."
"Ohhhh," was her only answer, which was exactly the one he had been looking for. He immersed himself in the moment, seeking refuge from the traumas of his life, knowing - as he did so - that it was merely an illusion of escape he sought rather than its true release.
That he’d never have.
Not until the day Sam finally came home ...
Return
to the Archives