The Course of True Love (6/14)
by Jayel
Magus knew she was dreaming, and in the back of her mind she dreaded the moment when someone would wake her for her freezing watch. But in the front of her mind she was warm, blissfully warm, lying almost naked on her stomach on a velvety beach, listening to the sound of waves gently lapping a few inches from her bare toes. She could feel the sun beating hot but gentle on the muscles of her back and legs, the velvet powder of the sand beneath her fingertips, the tickle of her hair against her cheek, stirring softly in the breeze. This is so real, she thought with a mental sigh of contentment . . . so real and warm and safe--somehow, she knew she was safe, that no one would harm her here. No one would disturb her, because no one else was there. She was alone and safe and free . . . . and every fiber of body relaxed, and every thought in her head was sweet, too sweet to be pinned down in words . . .
"Marcia, honey, wake up," Walman urged, giving her a gentle but insistent shake. "Come on, honey, we've got to talk."
"What?" she mumbled, rolling over on her back and getting hopelessly tangled in the blankets piled over her. "Walman?"
"Yeah, honey, it's me," he said, shaking her again. "And Baines . . . we need to talk to you, pronto, all right?"
"What time is it?" she asked, glancing groggily back and forth between them. They looked so . . . demanding, for heaven's sake, like she was the one inconveniencing them by daring to be asleep in the middle of the night. "Am I on watch?"
"No, Marcia, this isn't about watch," Baines said, squatting beside Walman--they looked like a pair of Terrians who'd shown up to tell her a bedtime story. "It's about us."
"Hey, there is no *us*, all right?" Walman snapped. "At least none that involves you--"
"I think we should let Magus be the judge of that," Baines retorted.
"Oh my lord," Magus groaned, rolling over and burrowing under her pillow. "Somebody just shoot me . . . "
"Is he telling the truth?" Walman demanded. "Is there something going on between you two that I should know about?"
She snatched the pillow off of her face and sat up, giving them each a stern glare in turn and receiving an expectant, hopeful smile in return. "Can't we talk about this in the morning?" she asked wearily.
"Marcia, come on," Baines said with a nervous laugh. "Tell him about this morning, behind the transrover--"
"Yeah, honey, let's hear about that," Walman interrupted. "The truth, I mean--I've already heard his version."
She looked at Baines. "You told--? Right." She ran her hands back through her hair, trying to finish waking up and collect her scattered thoughts. "Okay, Walman . . . . ahm . . . gee, well, this morning, behind the transrover . . . we were loading that deadwood . . . and I was just standing there, and he was just standing there, and then we were looking at each other, and . . . what did you say? You said something about my hair, and the morning sun, and . . . I'm sorry; I don't really remember exactly what you said, but it was great--anyway, Walman, Baines kissed me, and it was lovely, and then Danziger showed up, and we stopped kissing." She stopped--from their faces, she could see only too clearly that she was making absolutely nobody happy with her version of events. "And so far that's it," she finished.
"Well, that sounds like just about enough to me," Walman said angrily. "Am I wrong? What the hell am I supposed to think?"
"I don't know, Walman; I would guess that what you think is entirely up to you," she retorted. "And Baines, if you think this morning really meant something, then I guess that's entirely up to you--"
"No, it isn't," Baines corrected with a smile. "I mean, yeah, partially, but not entirely." He gave Walman a wary look. "Right now I'd say you have the deciding vote all the way around."
But I don't want to vote, she wanted to scream--maybe if she screamed loud enough, they'd go away and let her get back to her dream. "So what, this is some sort of contest now?" she asked. "I'm supposed to choose between you? Is that it?"
"Something like that," Baines said, suppressing a laugh.
"What's so damned funny?" Walman demanded.
"Nothing, man, nothing," Baines promised, still grinning. "This whole thing, maybe--listen, you guys talk, all right? I'm just going--" He stopped at the sound of a woman's scream ringing through the camp. "Hey, did you hear that?"
"Yes," Magus answered, scrambling to her feet. "That sounded like Bess." She made it to the tent flap just as another scream rang out.
"That is definitely Bess," Walman agreed, snatching up his rifle. "Come on--let's see what's going on."
***
Danziger woke up in front of an almost-dead fire with an excruciatingly stiff neck--the last thing he remembered was wondering if he should go out looking for Tara. "Oh man," he groaned, heaving himself upright and rubbing his aching neck.
"I was wondering when you'd wake up," Tara said from the doorway. "Guess what?"
He turned his head and almost forgot his pain. She was standing with her back to him, pointing a luma out into the night, and she was gorgeous. Her feet and legs were bare, and for the first time he noticed the tattoo, a twisting green vine laden with deep scarlet flowers which twined around her ankle and up her right leg, disappearing beneath the hem of the shapeless t-shirt that fell a few scant inches below her childishly rounded behind. "How did I miss that?" he muttered, remembering the shorts she had worn all summer.
"What?" she asked without turning around. "Oh, the vine thing--it had faded until you almost couldn't see it . . . Hey Danziger, I said guess what."
"What, Tara, what?" he responded crankily, hauling himself to his feet.
She still didn't turn around. "It's snowing."
"Oh no," he groaned, joining her at the door. Sure enough, the luma's beam revealed a star-storm of white flakes flying merrily through the darkness. "How long has that been going on?"
"Not long," she said, shining the beam around the clearing. "I just came in less than an hour ago, and it hadn't started then--oh God, look . . . " She stopped the light on a graceful, four-legged creature that was just emerging from the trees. "That's a deer, isn't it?" she said.
"Yeah, I think so," he agreed. The animal seemed to be posed for their benefit, staring back at them with the roundest, softest brown eyes he had ever seen, one foot poised as if for flight, its ears pricked up to catch every sound beneath an impressive rack of antlers. "I think your light has it paralyzed."
"Poor baby," Tara crooned. "I'm sorry . . . " She flipped the switch to off, and the deer bounded back into the trees.
"What did you do that for?" he joked. "We could have eaten on that for days--"
"No!" she protested, putting a restraining hand on his chest, her eyes searching the dark for other signs of life. "Don't you dare--"
"Tara, don't be ridiculous," he soothed. "I wouldn't any more shoot a beautiful animal like that than you would."
She looked at him, first his face, then at where her hand still rested on his chest. "I know," she admitted, blushing. "Sorry . . . "
"It's okay." She started to take her hand away, and he found himself stopping her, holding her warm little palm against him. "Aren't you freezing?" he asked, looking down into her eyes.
"No . . . well . . . that wind *is* a bit nippy, now that you mention it," she answered with a shy grin that should have seemed calculated but somehow simply didn't. "Maybe we should shut the door and pack . . . the sun'll be up soon."
"Is it that late?" he asked, not really caring how late it was but needing something to say, something to continue to conversation and postpone whatever lay beyond the compelling pressure of her touch. This was exactly what he had promised himself he couldn't feel, this wanting--needing--to touch her back. The soft, slightly-soapy smell of her seemed a part of the crisp but muffled patter of the snow on the fallen leaves, as inviting and inexplicable as the suddenly-lurid painting on her leg--how had she managed it? Surely the clatter of a bath would have awakened him. "I thought I just dozed off . . . "
"You were tired," she offered helpfully, her tone brightly casual even as her hand moved sinuously over the muscles of his chest, a tentative caress that was like a question as it slipped up over his shoulder and along his throat, her eyes focused determinedly ahead. "I guess bickering makes you sleepy . . . "
"Tara, wait," he said, meaning to push her away but finding his hands around her waist instead. "You don't want this--"
She looked up at him then, and laughed, her blue eyes dancing with happiness but not, he thought, with triumph. "You wanna bet?" she retorted playfully, slipping both hands up around his neck, standing on her bare tiptoes to do it, making her t-shirt ride up even higher. She bent his head down to her and kissed him, a gentle pressure of her lips on his that was confident but wary, as if daring him to object.
"It's not really me you want," he insisted, allowing her to nestle in closer, feeling her warm little body mold itself to his own. "You want . . . " She stopped him with another kiss, and this time he responded, his tongue accepting her lips' invitation to taste the warm wet of inside.
"Maybe," she admitted when the kiss broke, her fingers entwined in his hair. "Maybe all I really want is Val back, and all you really want is Devon." She pressed her open mouth to his throat, tasting his skin, making him shiver with more than the cold. "But I'm positive that I want this," she continued, curling closer still into his embrace. "And it sure feels like you and me, doesn't it?"
***
Morgan crashed through the campfire in his haste to reach his wife, scattering embers in his path even as he threw back the tent flap. "Bess, baby, what's wrong?" he demanded, dropping to his knees beside her.
"Morgan, I'm so sorry," she wept, her face too pale and dewy with sweat. "I tried to make it stop . . . I thought if I could just lie still and quiet, it would stop . . . "
"What, baby, what?" he said, brushing back the wisps of hair that were clinging to her forehead. "Julia!" he yelled back toward the door.
"I'll get her," said Baines, the first of the other group to arrive. He turned and pushed past Magus and Walman and sprinted for the medtent.
"It hurts," Bess complained, pressing a hand to her swollen belly. "Oh God, Morgan, it hurts so much; I know there's something wrong--"
"Hang on, sweetie," Morgan soothed, gathering her up in his arms and holding her convulsively tight. "Julia's on her way . . . she'll fix it . . . " He pressed his lips to her brow, rocking her back and forth. "She has to be able to fix it."
End of Part 6
Author's Chapter Notes:
WARNING TO THE DEV AND DANZ FOLKS: If the possibility of either of these characters having any romantic/sexual interest in anyone else gives you a migraine or heart palpitations, for the Terrians' sake, don't read the second section of this. On a related note--there is some mild sex stuff in here, but nothing they couldn't have shown on Sundays at 7. Anyone who wants to disagree (or agree, naturally) should feel free.