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The whole night comes rushing back into my head like a flooding river and a flush creeps up my skin as I realize just what the solid thing I hit was--Ed.
Another crash of thunder rocks the building but Ed continues to sleep on, oblivious, and I watch him as he turns through his dreams. The window is casting a pale light into the room; the blinds are only partially drawn so an intricate shadow-pattern of raindrops dances on Ed's skin. The sheet's fallen to his waist and his arms are wrapped around the pillow; the muscles in his back shift in glorious, flowing harmony as he moves slightly in his sleep, only marginally disturbed by the tempest outside.
I tear my eyes away from Ed, who is still slumbering on, and glance at the clock. Only ten minutes until my alarm goes off and I have to start the day. I bite back a sigh and slip down underneath the covers, sliding my arm around Ed's waist. Ten minutes is an eternity when you don't know how much longer you'll have your lover. The quiet patter of the rain on the window provides a calming, even tempo and swiftly I'm in that hypnotic state between sleep and awakening.
The alarm beeps much too soon; I reluctantly slide out of bed and watch Ed slowly wake.
"Time s'it?" he mumbles through a yawn, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.
"Six thirty," I say. "Do you want to shower first, or should I?"
He yawns again. "Can you make coffee and I'll go first? I'll go fast."
I start to nod before the simplicity of it all strikes me. No awkward discussions, no horrible morning-after "I'll just go then, shall I?" mutterings, just...easy. Too easy; some part of me knows that we're eventually going to have to talk about this, because what relationship--there, I said the word--functions without at least minimal communication? I've had too many fail because of my lack of skills in that area; I'm not about to let one I was lucky enough to have drop into my lap founder and die just because I can't open my mouth to talk every now and again.
"Sure," I say, reaching for my boxers and a t-shirt. "Coffee'll be ready in about five minutes."
By the time he stumbles into the kitchen and drops into a chair, clad only in yesterday's rumpled pants, the coffee's done and I set a mug in front of him. "Cream's in the fridge, sugar's on the counter," I say, before sitting down across from him with my own steaming cup. I wrap my hands around the mug and look him straight in the eye. "Ed? We need to talk."
On to Part XVIII, Ed's POV, by Cassatt
Email Tobias Charity with feedback
Rating: PG-13
Summary: McCoy
Copyright July, 2003, Tobias Charity
A sudden crash of thunder rips me out of a restless sleep, and as the aftershocks ripple away I'm left flailing in the bed, my arms tangled in the sheets until suddenly I hit something solid that--what?