Jack opened his eyes, blinking once, twice, to bring his surroundings into focus. The golden beginnings of dawn outlined the window shade cut into the cabin wall. Slowly, he closed his eyes again, the aches in his body immediately overcome by a strange contentedness. A happiness. His lips eased themselves into a slow smile while a lazy sigh rippled over him. He felt drugged. And then, as his senses came to life, he remembered.
He was drugged.
He was drugged with Jennifer. Memories of her were still coursing through his veins.
Jennifer was in the bed with him. Jennifer had made love with him last night. Jennifer loved him.
The last thought made his mouth stretch into a satisfied smile. She had said it. She had whispered it again right after they made love. Right before she drifted off to sleep in his arms. He had wrapped her up in the blanket and carried her to the bed, but he hadn't been sleepy at all. Not when he could hold her like he had, his skin fused to hers. Not when he could stare at her sleeping face and lean down occasionally to plant soft kisses along her bare shoulder.
Not when he could remember. It was something he knew he would never forget as long as he lived. She loved him.
Eventually, he must have drifted off to sleep as well. But now he was awake, and he used these first few minutes to replay it all in his head, his eyes closed, a hint of a languid smile on his face. Remembering.
Usually he hated mornings. They were the worst times for him, except for the nights. And maybe the days. Truth be told, it was all bad. Every moment he spent on his isle of exile alone was the worst sort of torture, increased by the knowledge that he had brought it all on himself.
But now . . .
Now he didn't mind opening his eyes fully. Not this morning. Now he didn't mind the thought of a new day. He readily turned over in the bed and reached out his arm, bringing it down gently . . .
Onto cold sheets. Still blinking the sleep away, he lifted his head to see the empty pillow beside him.
The bathroom, he decided. She must be in the bathroom. He leaned back against the pillow, but a twist of his head showed him there was no light filling the crack below the bathroom door. Trying to ignore the sinking sensation in his stomach, he sat up straighter, the thin sheet falling from his bare chest as he looked around.
"Jennifer?" he called, his throat still thick with sleep. Nothing. Everything was quiet. Much, much too quiet. There was no sign of her.
He looked over toward the fireplace. The towel was gone. Her comb was gone. He leaned over toward the foot of the bed, digging his way frantically through the blankets where he had tossed her clothes last night.
They were gone.
Jack sat back up, frozen with a familiar sense of despair, feeling a new hollowness in his chest. He reached a hand up to wipe across his nose. Had he dreamed her? He used to have dreams like that, long before reality had moved in, evicting all the hope from his heart.
Almost all the hope, that is. All except for the one stubborn splinter of optimism that he couldn't seem to remove, a permanent resident from his years of living with Jennifer.
Was that all this had been? A dream? Or some drug-induced fantasy, born after he had escaped Carl on his own? He knew it was too good to be true, but, still . . . it had felt so real . . .
It had to be real. It had to. Because if it wasn't . . . Jack couldn't bear to face that. He couldn't. He stood up, untangling himself from the covers with jerky movements, desperate to find her, uncaring about his state of undress. He was desperate to prove he hadn't conjured her out of thin air, casting her in one of his self-deluded dreams. It had to be real.
"Jennifer!" he called again, tentatively, then more urgently as he moved to the bathroom. "Jennifer!"
Before he reached the door, he froze, caught by a sound behind him. He turned and walked slowly forward, watching cautiously as the front door handle rattled, then moved. His head was spinning, and he wasn't sure whether he could trust his eyes as they watched Jennifer come inside and shut the door behind her, shaking the snow from her multiple layers of clothing.
She looked over at him, opening her mouth to speak when she paused, her eyes wide, surprised by the sight of him standing there, stark naked.
"Well," she finally recovered herself enough to joke, her eyes wandering freely over his body. "This is what I call a welcome."
Jack swallowed uncomfortably, reaching out to snatch a blanket from the bed and wrap it around his waist.
"Where were you?" he asked in a small voice, but she was too busy emptying her pockets to see the haunted look in his eyes.
"I was hungry," she explained cheerfully, "So I went out to see if I could find us something to eat, and, Jack, you'll never guess what I found--Jack . . . Jack, what's wrong?" she asked, finally bringing her eyes to rest on his pale, distressed face.
The fear that still gripped his throat barely allowed him to speak. "Nothing, I just--I woke up . . ." Each word forced itself out between gasps of breath. "And I thought I dreamed it all . . ."
Jennifer absently deposited the cans in her arms onto a nearby table, never taking her eyes from his face. "Oh, Jack," she murmured, taking three steps toward him until she could bring her hand up to caress his cheek, wiping the perspiration from his skin. "It wasn't a dream. You really were kidnapped and drugged and--"
"No!" he cut her off dismissively. "You! I thought I dreamed you."
"Oh," Jennifer replied quietly, almost shyly, as she finally understood his meaning. "It wasn't a dream," she assured him. "I'm right here."
Jack brought his shaking hands up to cup her face, his thumbs moving over her skin as if testing her words. He wanted to believe them so badly, but he couldn't bring himself to trust the idea that she wasn't going to disappear any moment. And he didn't know if he could survive it if she did disappear, just like she had so many nights before. Just like she had this morning, when he had opened his eyes. He still couldn't bring himself to believe this was real.
His eyes traveled rapidly over her face, soaking in the sight of her. He leaned forward, pressing his mouth against hers, testing the feel of it, but it still wasn't enough. He still couldn't believe this was truly happening. He needed her to be real. He needed it more than anything he had ever needed before. He needed it so much, it scared him.
Wrapping his arms tightly around her, he pulled her against him, kissing her even more deeply. Reminding himself to slow down when she broke away briefly, gasping for air. But then, before he could form words, she was back, kissing him back with her special brand of enthusiasm. He groaned into her mouth, unable to hide his desperation.
Jennifer could feel that desperation, in the hands that pressed urgently into her back, in the tension-filled muscles beneath her own hands as she ran them over his shoulders and down his arms. That desperation she could sense in him made her desperate to respond, to soothe the anxiety she could still feel, beating wildly under her lips as she kissed her way across his chest.
Jack could feel cooler air surrounding him, and he realized the blanket he had wrapped around him was gone. He had no idea how that had happened, but as he looked into her mischievous, twinkling eyes, he didn't care. He didn't think anymore. He had one goal. One desire. He had to prove she was real.
Jennifer felt the same urgency as she fell back onto the bed, pulling him down beside her, feeling him tremble with the efforts to keep his movements under careful control. She could feel the caged energy within him as his fingers fumbled with the buttons of her shirt, his spiraling desperation warring with his determination to treat her as gently as possible. As much as Jennifer understood it and even loved him for it, right now there was only frustration. She could feel it overflowing through both of them, and Jennifer wanted nothing more than for him to use his shaking hands to rip the cumbersome clothes away. But he wouldn't. He couldn't, she knew. At least, never for himself.
"Jack," she whispered near his ear. "Hurry. Please. I need you."
Jack groaned to hear his very own thoughts on her lips. Her lips that were making him think other, very, very good thoughts. Her lips that made him stop thinking altogether.
Freed by her words, he immediately gave up on her sweater and dropped his hands to her waist, slipping his fingers against her skin and sliding them down, down across her legs, dragging every unwanted piece of clothing from her body and tossing them carelessly aside. Once the bottom half of her was bare, he brought his hands back up, sliding them across her skin, moving up to tackle the intricacies of her sweater buttons once again. Once and for all.
But she surprised him, leaning up and pushing him onto his back, knocking the wind out of him, leaving him to do nothing but stare at her as she climbed on top of him in one swift motion, lowering herself down until he sucked in any air that could fit into his lungs.
With a sultry, triumphant smile, she leaned down and kissed him, her lips moving across his with such passionate force that they left him breathless and senseless. She molded herself to him, running her hands across every inch of his skin that she could reach as she began to move. And move again.
Part of Jack felt guilty for this, for giving into this when he hadn't even touched her yet. But that was the part that was still able to form coherent thoughts, and it was rapidly being swept away by her eager movements. And by the fact that she was quickly rectifying the other situation, crossing her arms and pulling both her sweater and blouse up and over her head in one smooth gesture, tossing them wherever they would land. Leaving her only in her sheer white camisole. Jack solved that problem himself, sliding his hands up over her hips, flat against her abdomen, pushing the nearly transparent barrier up as he went, its silky texture sliding easily over her smooth skin. Skin that distracted him quickly from his original purpose.
Jennifer took over for him, impatient to be free of any material that could come between his hands and her body. She brought the camisole over her head, pausing only to release a low moan when he moved against her in a particularly good way. When he touched her in an even better way.
By the time she finally found the strength to toss the camisole aside, her limbs were barely working anymore. His fears that he might be going too fast for her were ridiculously unfounded. The desperation in his eyes, coupled with the year she had gone without this feeling, had turned her senses inside out. She fought to breathe as she watched his eyes travel unhindered over her body, growing darker and darker as he looked up at her, his lips parting to allow hot bursts of desire to escape from his lungs.
Jennifer leaned over, quickly pressing her mouth against his, running her hands freely over his arms and chest, up through his hair, feeling her own fall onto his face, its delicate strands covering him, moving as they moved.
She sat back up, shaking her hair back into place, and the sight of it falling around her shoulders was nearly enough to send Jack over the edge. He closed his eyes, struggling desperately to hold on until he felt her collapse against him, gasping his name in short, staccato breaths. Only then did he let go, reaching for her waist as he fell, spiraling, suspended in air for one amazing, glorious moment.
When his heart began to beat in a more normal rhythm, he ran his hands up, over the blanket of her bare back as she lay on top of him. He reached up into her hair and lost his fingers there while he learned to breathe again, loving the feel of her stretched out across his skin.
The first muscle Jennifer was able to move was her mouth, smiling when she felt him press his face against the top of her head and inhale deeply.
"Mmm," she murmured against his chest. "I take back what I said before."
Jack leaned back to look down at the top of her head, worried, his eyes crinkling with concern. "What?"
"This is what I call a welcome," she gushed happily.
His breath rushed out in a relieved sigh, then he chuckled, relaxing back against the pillow, running his fingers through her hair. Over and over again.
"I still don't understand this," he admitted quietly.
Jennifer leaned up until she could gaze down at him, her eyes sparkling. "Well, you see, first the bee visits the flower, and then the pollen is--" His look cut her off, and she was thankful to see a less serious expression cross his face, with even a hint of a smile.
"You know very well what I'm talking about," he chastised, his fingers quickening in her hair.
She nodded, staring down at him. "I do. And it's simple. I love you."
He swallowed hard, moving his fingers to trace her cheek. "But I don't understand why."
"Oh. Why." Her eyes narrowed in contemplation and she tried to hide her grin. "Hmm. That is a tougher one."
"Jennifer . . ." he pleaded.
She released a sympathetic smile, running her fingers over his chest. "You don't have to understand it. You just have to accept it. Just like I finally have."
"It's easier said than done."
"I'll help you," she promised, leaning down to place a soft kiss on his lips. They lingered there an extended moment before she pulled back, laying her head down against his chest once more. "How was that?" she murmured. He sighed, the depth of the sound in his lungs vibrating against her cheek.
"I still think I'm dreaming," he whispered.
Jennifer picked her head up again, her worried expression matching his as she stared down at him. "Maybe you are, Jack. I wonder how we could test it . . . Oh, I know," she said with mock realization. Her hand disappeared below the edge of the blanket.
"Jennifer!" Jack suddenly cried in high-pitched voice, reaching down to grab her wayward hand.
"Did that help?" she asked innocently.
"Yes," he nodded, his eyes serious again. "Now I know I'm dreaming." He leaned his face up to hers, his lips meeting hers in an intoxicating moment of sweetness. Jennifer pulled back to look at him again.
"I'm sorry I scared you this morning," she said, her voice filled with sincere apology.
He didn't acknowledge the truth in her statement, but he didn't deny it either. "Where did you go?" he asked simply.
"I was hungry," she explained, pulling back and wrapping a blanket around herself. "And I knew you hadn't eaten in a while, so I went hunting for food."
"What, did you trap and skin something? Did you kill the wabbit?" he joked, eyeing her speculatively as she pulled away from him. He joked, though in truth, nothing she did would surprise him anymore.
"Don't be silly," she said, giving a short eye-roll as her footsteps echoed quietly on the wooden floor. "I don't have a gun," she said, so casually that his eyes widened. "No," she continued, "I found something better. Do you remember that time we were stuck out in those woods in the snow after that train wreck?" She climbed eagerly back on the bed, her hands full of small cans.
His face wrinkled in distaste. "I'd rather not, if you don't mind. That little band of party goers would not be the ones I'd choose to eat my last supper with. Of . . . maybe. Present company excluded, of course," he added as an afterthought.
She flashed a smile at him. "I couldn't find any food in here, but I did find a storage container outside with these in it." She held up one of her cans.
"Weenies?" His face crinkled again. "You have to be kidding."
"Come on, Jack. These got us through a very tough time."
"And made it even tougher. Yes, I recall," he said grimly.
Jennifer ignored his pessimism, pulling off the tab on the can and popping one into her mouth. "This could be your only breakfast. Are you sure you don't want any?"
Jack watched her, his nose crinkled. "No, thank you. I do believe my own tongue would taste better than those."
"Well, I can't argue with that," she mumbled quietly, ignoring the shocked look on his face. "But suit yourself. I'm enjoying them," she shrugged, eating another one.
He watched her in mild amusement. "I believe we've already established that your threshold for self-inflicted torture is very high, if only by the fact that you're here with me like this."
"Jack," she scolded gently, but he only responded by reaching over and dropping feather light kisses onto the curve of her bare shoulder, moving up to her neck.
She sighed contentedly. "Are you sure you're not hungry?" she asked again, somewhat concerned.
He pulled back to look up at her. "Actually, now that you mention it . . ." He closed in again, nuzzling her neck.
"Jack!" she chided, laughing, making him pull away and look at her again. "Again?" she asked in disbelief.
"Well . . ." He looked sheepish and uncomfortable. "Not if you don't want to, of course . . ." But she had already set the can in her hand on the bedside table and was sliding down into the bed beneath him. She grinned up at him.
"I guess . . . if we have no other way to pass the time . . ." she intoned in a voice of mock boredom.
Jack took her challenge, looking over around the room. "There's firewood over there," he said, with a nod in that direction. "You know, I've always wanted to try my hand at whittling--" His attempt to rise off the bed was quickly met with a forceful tug, pulling him back into place. He adjusted himself quickly and easily, leaning back down to kiss her neck again, enjoying the vibrations of her laughter against his lips.
"But I will warn you," she breathed happily, "This is the only Christmas breakfast you're going to get."
He froze.
"What?" he asked, startled by her statement.
"Didn't you know today is Christmas?" she asked, blinking up at him.
"No, I--" Most of the time he would be hard pressed to know what month it was, much less the day. Most days it was better for him that he forgot. But not today. It couldn't be.
"Jack, what's wrong?" Jennifer questioned, sitting up straight next to him, taking in his pale complexion. "What is it?"
He frantically moved off the bed, grabbing for his clothes with frenzied movements. "We have to go. We have to get out of here," he insisted urgently, until she pulled him back down on the bed and forced him to look at her.
"Jack, please tell me what's wrong," she asked firmly.
He breathed heavily. Brokenly. "I swore . . . I swore I wouldn't miss another one of her Christmases. Not another one. I swore it." He avoided her eyes, staring out into space, lost.
"Oh Jack," she whispered, her voice aching with love for him. "Jack," she forced him to turn his distraught eyes into hers again. "You're not going to miss anything. We're going to make it back, and even if we didn't, she's only two. It's just a day. We can have Christmas morning tomorrow. Or the day after that. We can make every day Christmas. What's important is that you will be a part of all her Christmases from now on. Forever."
He stared at her, desperate to believe her heartfelt words. "And it doesn't bother you that you could miss the day? That you're not with her this morning?"
"Yes, of course I miss her and hate that we're not with her, but for once, I think it's more important that I'm here, working on the best present she could ever have."
He inhaled a shattered breath. "And what is that?" he asked warily.
"A family," Jennifer answered simply. "With parents who are happy."
Jack's eyes dropped from hers, his fingers absently tracing the pattern on the bedspread. "Jennifer . . . I don't meant to look a Christmas gift horse in the mouth, so to speak . . ."
"Yes?" she prompted.
"Well, I mean, I was just wondering . . ." His fingers moved in faster circles as his words stumbled out. "It's just that . . . you said you loved me, and I was just curious to know if your questionable judgment extended to anything else . . . like maybe the possibility of you thinking about . . . one day, in the future . . . marrying me again." He stopped breathing, glancing up at her out of the corner of his eye.
She stared down at his fingers, now pulling frantically at the frayed threads in the spread. After a while she looked up at him, a strange light in her eyes. She shook her head.
"No. I don't think about marrying you again."
He began to nod, swallowing hard. Trying to find an indifferent smile. "I see. I understand completely. I do. And I don't blame you. Of course, that would be the most foolish--"
"Jack," she interrupted, making him look up briefly at her, then immediately regret it. He wished she didn't look so damn happy.
"What?" he responded tightly.
"Come with me," she instructed, then bounced out of bed to pull on her clothes again.
"What?" He looked up at her, confused. "Where?"
"You'll see," she promised mysteriously. "Just get dressed."
"Why?" he asked suspiciously.
She looked down pointedly at his nearly naked form. "Because you may be a little cold in what you're wearing now."
"You want to go out there?" he balked. "But it's warm in here. And safe, and--"
"Jack," she broke in, "Just trust me, okay?"
He stared at her for a minute, sighing heavily. Then he stood and began to dress. He had no idea what she had in mind, but he knew it didn't matter. If Jennifer wanted him to follow her, then he would.
Anywhere.
******
