Title: Anthony, Book Four
Author: Clare Skinner

Summary: Walt didn't know why he bothered to plan anything anymore -- Fate seemed determined to operate on a different schedule. From an inattentive child and driver to nearly missing one of the most important events in his life, Walt's in for a bumpy year.

Book Four contains the next four, all new segments of my Anthony series. This Book continues the alternate universe series about AD Skinner and his son and contains explicit passages of sex. For those of you who thought Allison has unfairly suffered the majority of the accidents, the playing field is leveled here. And I've fleshed out Walt's family history, too, with my own characters.

The stories are rated as such:

• In The Blink Of An Eye: R
• The Recovery: R
• A Matter Of Perspective: NC-17
• A Matter Of Perspective II: R

Flashbacks, if any, are indicated by the following characters: + + + + + + at the beginning and end of the sequence.

Many thanks again to Elizabeth, my Beta Reader.

The X-Files and its characters are copyrighted by Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and 20th Century Fox Television; all other characters were created by me.

Anthony, Book Four: In The Blink Of An Eye
Author: Clare Skinner

Summary:

Sunday, January 18, 1998, 2:08p.m.

It was gray outside, the sort of lackluster, all encompassing gray that did little to cheer one's spirit or mind. Gray skies, gray clouds, gray leafless trees. Even the sodden grass had a grayish cast.

Charlee half lounged on Amelia's rocker, gazing out one of the windows overlooking the backyard. Her wide gray eyes took in the streaks of lightning snaking across the sky and she shivered at the morose Sunday afternoon. Amelia jumped perceptibly at the next resounding crash of thunder and covered her ears in case another peal followed.

Inside, the former playroom was infinitely more welcoming. It was now dubbed 'the rainbow room' by Allison and described by Walt as a 'sherbet explosion.' Trim and the bulk of the furniture were a warm, mother of pearl. But the walls, linens and accent pieces were every color of the pastel spectrum.

Allison smiled at her daughters as she finished cutting the last of the strips of border and they returned to the round table in the center of their new room. "Now we loosely roll each strip, pattern side in and immerse it as needed in the water for 10 seconds," she told them. She looked at the instructions again and rolled her eyes at the one that stated the border needed to 'rest' for six to 10 minutes before application.

Charlee picked up a strip, proceeded to roll it as directed and submerged it in the basin on the table while Amelia loudly counted to 10, spacing each number with the word 'Mississippi' for good measure. Their mother recalled the 'intense' debate over the design for the border with a grin.

Allison roused herself as Charlee was about to place the third roll in the water. "Not yet, Charlee. We don't want to get too ahead of ourselves." And please maintain the order that I've placed the rolls, she added to herself, not wanting to have to remeasure each one.

While the rolls 'rested,' Allison decided to see how the men of the household were progressing. Smiling, she carefully picked her way past temporarily moved pieces of furniture to slither through the plastic hanging across the doorway. When her brother Avery had arrived Friday night, he and Walt had immediately knocked down the wall separating Ian's former room and the guest room... and covered both areas with plaster dust. The rooms were looking much better now, however.

Walt was occupied with the paint sprayer, applying the final coat of an off-white color to the walls and ceiling. He looked incredibly 'cute' with the ballcap on backward and wearing his most tattered jeans and sweatshirt. And being the meticulous sort, he was wearing gloves to keep his hands clean, never mind that the rest of him was covered with splatters of every sort.

He'd happily spent his birthday drilling, sawing and assembling, barely stopping long enough to savor the cherry-peach cobbler Allison had prepared with last summer's backyard fruit harvest.

Avery was in the other room of the suite, painstakingly completing the trim. The boys were contentedly administering bright pigments to shelves and drawers. Ian had been remanded to Teresa's for the duration of the daytime renovations once his prowess for stealing tools had been discovered. He'd also shown a marked propensity for unplugging the extension cords.

Trevor and Anthony glanced up as Allison entered, and she could tell from the look in their eyes that they were about to plead their case on a completely unrelated matter yet another time. "Don't start, you two, the answer is still no," she said firmly.

"But Mom," Trevor whined, "we promise not to access any adult pages."

"I'm not restoring your access and that's final. If you have to go on the Internet to research something for school, you'll do it with Walt or me looking over your shoulder."

"But Mooomm--" Anthony whined. They made a good pair, whining in harmony.

"Anthony," Walt interrupted as he appeared in the newly constructed archway, "If the two of you don't drop this, we won't restore your access for six months instead of three." Both boys started to open their mouths again. "On *any* basis," Walt finished, a stern, no-nonsense expression covering his face.

Trevor and Anthony were in hot water after being caught giggling at a page of female nudes. The incident had stunned Allison and Walt, because they'd thought they'd adequately drummed responsibility into their generally mature sons' heads. Access was due to be restored on a trial basis on the first of April and the boys had to prove their trustworthiness for an additional probationary period, the length of which had yet to be determined. Separately, Anthony had been told in no uncertain terms that if he 'learned' and used Allison's or Walt's password, he'd lose all computer privileges for an entire year.

Further whining was avoided as the phone began ringing and Allison raised a finger to silence the boys. As she left to answer the phone, they reluctantly picked up their brushes, pouting.

Charlee and Amelia found Allison in her bedroom a few minutes later, absently staring out the window. Each went over to her, grabbed a hand and tugged. "Come on, Mom," Charlee began. "The border's all rested."

Walt came in behind them, without the gloves, his senses instantly alerted to something ominous. "Why don't you two go downstairs and get a cookie," he suggested.

The girls looked from one adult to the other and shrugged their shoulders. "Okay, Uncle Walt," Amelia promptly replied.

"And take your brothers with you," he called to their retreating backs as he stripped off his paint-splattered sweatshirt. He crossed the area between he and Allison in three strides and wrapped his arms around her. "What's wrong?" he murmured.

"That was Lois," Allison said eventually, leaning further into his embrace as she took a deep breath. "There was a car accident in London earlier today." Oh, God, Walt thought, Charles and Mary. "Cyril Gibson was apparently driving too fast and lost control... He's in a coma... Felicia was killed on impact... and the baby with her."

Walt released a sigh of relief before realizing that that wasn't exactly charitable of him. But how was he supposed to react to news that his fiancee's ex-husband's mistress and child had died? Especially when the ex-husband's current girlfriend called with the news?

"Basil's apparently taking it hard," she continued. "He never thought he'd figure prominently in the child's life, but he always got such a kick out of the kids when they were infants... Well, he enjoys all the stages..."

Allison's eyes became less focused. "There was a point early in my pregnancy with Amelia when we couldn't hear her heartbeat -- it turned out the placenta was lying on top of her, but I'd never seen Basil so distressed. He was pacing the whole night, a nervous wreck till the sonogram the next morning. I was concerned, but the doctor said plenty of nonthreatening reasons could be..."

She shook her head, coming back to the present. "Lois said he didn't think it was appropriate for him to call me, but she felt I should know."

Not knowing exactly what to say in this situation, Walt murmured, "I'm sorry," into her hair.

"I don't know why I feel so choked up about it. I mean, I never even met any of them and, well, you know..."

Walt turned her around, took her face gently in his hands and looked into her teary eyes. "Because you're a compassionate person who tends to take on everyone's problems and pain." He smiled slowly. "And an endearing quality it is too, as long as you don't let it overwhelm you."

Allison smiled sadly, her eyes vaguely focused on his face as she stepped back a pace. "I can't help it sometimes. Every day, ordinary people are thrust into extraordinary situations... in the blink of an eye, their whole life changes. You just never know what's going to happen, what event is going to knock you out of complacency... make you sit up and take more notice of the impact you have on others, the impact they have on you."

She paused. "Sometimes I feel like I'm not contributing anything worthwhile to this world, that I'm just taking up space. I wonder if I made the right choices on personal and professional levels." Walt stared at her, surprised. "Then the kids holler for something, I shake my head and stop trying to second-guess Fate."

Walt slowly smiled as he took her hand. "I was beginning to think I'd need an oxygen tank to keep up with you, you were getting so deep."

Allison laughed awkwardly. "I'm sure I sounded like an idiot. Basil used to call this sort of thing my 'melancholy moods.' I used to get them more often in my drinking days. Funny thing is, when I get them now, they always seem to be in response to some disjointed event versus an actual personal episode." Like Basil's attack and the poisoning, she silently thought.

Walt wrapped his arms around her waist before leaning in for a soft, understated kiss. Afterward, he held her gently, thinking his bride-to-be had a serious, philosophical side that wasn't in keeping with her typical sunny, jocular and at times, sarcastic disposition. And given his druthers, he'd much rather have her making him blush.

Friday, February 13, 1998

Allison brushed away a large cobweb and wondered how those pesky but industrious spiders had managed to make another web in such a short time. But she was in the attic, in what had once been servants' quarters, and there wasn't as much opposition for them up there.

When she and Basil had purchased the house, the third floor had been a putrid, disgusting mess, large holes open to the sky and nests perching precariously on the few beams that hadn't rotted through from water damage. Avery had merely roughed out the area, installing the most minute of 'creature comforts,' as he had referred to them.

And for some inexplicable reason, the children all found the third floor forbidding, thereby making it the perfect place to store birthday and Christmas presents... and all the paraphernalia that went with gifts.

Allison rapped her knee on a large box and swore under her breath, absently rubbing the bruised area and pushing the telescope box back a few feet. It was a joint birthday present for Anthony and Trevor, who'd shrewdly opted to combine their parties in the hope of more elaborate -- and expensive -- gifts. They'd both wanted a telescope for Christmas and after much discussion, Allison and Walt had decided to purchase two pair of good binoculars for them to be sure their interest in astronomy would last before sinking several hundred into a telescope.

Allison reached her target and felt another odd twinge in her stomach as she located a scant roll of Valentine's paper. She couldn't identify the feeling -- it didn't feel like a cramp or really like nausea either, more like a tightening of her abdominal muscles. It had first occurred a short time ago, when she'd put Ian down for his nap. The feeling subsided as she retrieved all her items, quickly made her way back to the hall, closed the door and proceeded down the stairs.

Allison glanced at her watch as she walked to the girls' room. Amelia had fallen asleep, her head propped on her arms on the table, a conglomeration of arts and crafts items surrounding her. Allison rolled her eyes heavenward and smiled as she put down her items, gently lifted her youngest daughter and placed her on her bed.

In preschool, Amelia had made valentines for all the family, but she had felt that Buster needed one, too. Allison smiled broadly as the dog jumped onto the bed and immediately settled by Amelia's side. "Good puppy," she crooned while reaching down to scratch Buster behind the ear.

Scooting back to her room, Allison changed hastily into work clothes. She rapidly applied make-up, secured her hair in an over-sized barrette and tossed her nametag-adorned labcoat onto the bed. "Just enough time to wrap this," she mumbled as she combined the various articles.

Her lips curved into a grin as she placed the four lacy, front-hook bras in the box. Not that she could model them very effectively the next night -- they were meant more as a temporary gag gift. And her doctor would lecture her from here to Sunday about buying them in advance, having advised her to wait four to six weeks to be sure all the swelling from the reduction surgery had subsided.

"Grrrrrrr," she mumbled, fighting with the paper and knocking the tape to the floor. The phone rang just as she bent to retrieve the tape -- simultaneously, she heard Teresa pull into the driveway. Tossing the tape onto the bed, and feeling her stomach oddly tighten again, Allison picked up the phone. "Hello?"

30 minutes earlier, Firestine Jewelers

Walt glanced with annoyance at his watch for the fourth time. They'd promised the pendant would be ready for Valentine's Day and if it wasn't, there'd be hell to pay.

His day was going abominably and he shifted awkwardly off his twisted ankle. He'd injured it that morning, not more than a mile from home when he'd unexpectedly stepped into a pothole in an effort to avoid getting hit by a reckless driver. The driver had gone on to run a stop sign and Walt's lips twisted into a wry grin as he remembered the look of astonishment on the idiot's face a few moments later, when Walt followed him.

Walt had laid into him in the idiot's own driveway and threatened to have his license revoked. The guy, thinking Walt was a nutcase, had of course made a few colorful remarks about Walt's ancestry before 'politely' asking him to leave... The clerk returned before Walt could finish replaying the events.

"Here it is, Mr. Skinner. Sorry about the delay," he apologized, handing Walt a rectangular, velvet box.

Walt took the offered item and quickly opened it, smiling with satisfaction at the contents. He'd decided to stay with the emerald and white sapphire theme -- the pendant was a two-carat, teardrop emerald with a one-third carat white sapphire at the top and a pair of graduated, 18-carat gold loops on either side of the sapphire. The chain was 14-carat gold and in a delicate twisted-link pattern. Walt planned to have matching drop earrings and a brooch created as birthday presents. "It's perfect," he murmured and retrieved his wallet to pay for it.

A few minutes later, credit card receipt and box safely ensconced in his inner breast pocket, he started back to work, his mind already focused on the next night. Allison had arranged to get off work three hours early and they were planning to spend a romantic night together. Walt smiled, thinking of the candlelit late dinner he had arranged to be served in the hotel room and the two dozen roses he'd ordered to be delivered. He made a mental note to remember the portable CD player for soft, close dancing music afterward.

He didn't plan to make a habit of extravagant Valentine's Days, and he was positive Allison would protest at what he was spending. Since she was scheduled to 'go under the knife,' as she put it, bright and early Monday morning, this was going to be their last hurrah for a bare minimum of three weeks. The surgery would also put a crimp in their lovemaking for another three after that.

Walt had already cleared his calendar through early afternoon, in case the procedure ran the full four hours, so he could be there when she came out of the general anesthesia. And he wished he could take the week off to help watch the kids, but several pressing meetings/reports and endless details for an upcoming conference wouldn't allow it. He'd already handed off a substantial amount of work to Roz in reference to the former, and his domestic co-organizer for the conference was up to his eyeballs in his own division's matters.

He made another mental note to find a suitable gift to thank Teresa for taking on the additional hours with the kids, although he supposed his ever-efficient Allison had already taken care of that.

7Walt looked up from his musings in time to see a young boy, about Amelia's age, standing near the back end of a late-model sedan as his mother searched through her purse for keys. The boy held a balloon on a long length of ribbon and waved it playfully in the air.

A sudden shift in the wind yanked the ribbon from his hand and without a thought, the boy ran out into the oncoming, mid-block traffic. Without pausing to consider the risks to himself, Walt bounded after the child amid honking horns. One sport utility vehicle swerved around the child and carefully pulled back into the lane after passing him.

The boy's expression was a mix of exasperation and surprise as Walt scooped him up. The mother dropped her purse entirely and ran to the fringe of traffic.

Walt planned to carry the child completely to the curb before letting him down, but the boy had other thoughts and squirmed so much that Walt lost his grip midway in a crouch.

As the child ran back to its mother, Walt stifled an oath under his breath. A split second later, he started to turn to the sound of screeching brakes and a blur of white. And he knew in an instant he wouldn't be getting out of the way this time.

The driver's-side front bumper caught him on his outer left thigh while his weight was distributed on his right side, wrenching his body forward and upward, into the back end of the sport utility vehicle. His chest and abdomen hit the mounted spare tire squarely, the tire centered over his left ribcage area. His left arm swung out from his body far enough to miss the tire entirely, but his collar bone connected with a thump. His head was spared excessive damage from the back-glass windshield due to the projection of the tire.

Walt's glasses flew off as his body continued backward and against the first vehicle again. His right foot hit the road surface a second before the left as his left shoulder struck the hood. Finally, he crumpled to the ground, his extended right hand absorbing the last of the depleted force of the collisions.

It all happened in the space of a few seconds, the various awestruck witnesses told the police a few minutes later, pointing to the child and explaining why Walt had been in the street in the first place. The child in question watched everything with wide eyes while his mother lay on the pavement, having fainted. The driver of the car bellowed that it wasn't his fault as his wife yelled at him to stop being an insensitive jerk.

To Walt, the whole thing seemed to have taken an excruciatingly long time to play out. The last things he remembered before losing consciousness were that he felt no pain and that he was sure someone had a hand inside his jacket pocket.

Back to the phone call

"Allison, it's Roz... I'm so sorry to have to tell you this... I'm... I'm afraid there's been an accident..."

Allison listened with enormous eyes and a face gone ashen. She managed to get out all the typical questions of when and where, and choked back her tears at the most important one -- is he all right.

Roz told her where he'd been taken and repeated her words of sympathy again. Allison assumed she was feeling inadequate in the circumstances and wasn't surprised when the other woman offered to send someone to pick her up.

"Uh, no, that's all right," Allison replied with dry, taut lips and a tremendous lump in her throat. "Teresa just got here, I'll... I can drive myself."

Allison put down the phone and recognized the first sensations of shock creeping in. Not now, she told herself, not till I get there. I can't afford to fall apart now. Teresa appeared at her doorway a few moments later and turned her own shade of gray at the news, enveloping Allison in a protective hug as both allowed a small flood of tears to escape.

"Go, Allison. I'll stay with the kids as long as necessary. And I'll call the pharmacy for you, too."

Allison smiled sadly and blinked her eyes repeatedly, somehow hoping that if she kept doing it, the news Roz had delivered would disappear and everything would be as it had been that morning. Walt would be cranky, with a sore ankle, but he'd be okay.

Northeast Georgetown Medical Center ER

Roz and McIntire paced the waiting room, anxiously awaiting Allison. For once, they made no attempt to conceal their intimate relationship.

Allison came striding briskly through the doors a moment later, carriage almost painfully erect, eyes strained. Both Roz and McIntire recognized the tremendous amount of self-control she was utilizing to hold herself together. "How is he?" Allison asked with a faint, trembling tone.

"They moved him into surgery," McIntire replied, taking her gently by the elbow and guiding her to one of the typical, barely padded waiting area chairs.

"How... how bad are the injuries?" Allison mumbled while Roz sat beside her and took her hand.

McIntire took a deep breath, exchanged an uncertain look with Roz and began. "Internal bleeding and damage." He continued carefully through Allison's tiny gasp. "Fractured ribs, ankle, nose and collar bone; dislocated shoulder and trauma to his head, wrist and knee. Plus numerous incidental lacerations... and he lost a couple of teeth, too." His voice remained evenly modulated and Allison strangely appreciated that he wasn't sugar-coating Walt's injuries.

She closed her eyes and bit back another batch of tears. "He'll be just fine, Allison. You know they don't come any tougher than Walt. He'll be barking commands at the staff as soon as the anesthetic wears off," Roz added, gently squeezing her hand.

Allison forced a labored smile and sighed deeply. She'd prayed the whole drive in that the incident had truly been an accident, not a carefully staged attempt to kill him. She felt her stomach tighten once more at the prospect of being so paranoid, of knowing that Clare's 'protection' didn't extend to Walt. "What exactly happened?" she faltered.

McIntire responded with the information he'd received from the police, noting the fleeting relief that registered on her face. He sat in the empty chair on Allison's other side and softly turned her face to him. "It *was* a straightforward accident, my dear," he told her, watching more tears struggling to be released. "You don't need to add to your worry by thinking it was anything else."

She noted his words were delivered with sincerity, even in her distraught state... and she knew how uncomfortable he was about her knowledge of the Consortium. Allison hoped to God his words were the truth. Only an investigation by people he and Walt trusted absolutely -- basically, two of his agents, Scully and Mulder -- would put her mind to rest. She shook her head as a spasm of tears overwhelmed her, knowing from the description she'd received about the Consortium, even the use of a small child in that way was possible.

Evening

Allison blankly smiled as yet another nurse finished the latest check of Walt's condition. She tousled Anthony's curls as he lay asleep on the second less than comfortable chair the nurses had squeezed next to the bed. She gazed around the recovery area, at the busily hustling nurses moving about the central station -- McIntire had pulled some strings to get permission for them to be there.

There were no soothing stenciled designs in soft, pastel colors along the upper edge of the walls, like in the maternity wings, just a barely softened white to go with the gleaming metal apparatuses. All but one of the beds was filled with a post-surgical patient, each waiting for a transfer to their respective floors once they'd regained consciousness and/or stabilized. Anthony and Allison had been there long enough to see two people leave and three arrive, the injuries ranging from gunshot wounds to an emergency appendectomy.

Allison turned her gaze back to Walt as she sighed tiredly and carefully resumed holding his hand, willing him to open his eyes and knowing it would happen soon. It seemed impossible to her for such a vibrant, strong man to look so vulnerable and weak. But who wouldn't, she admonished herself, with tubes, wires and bandages sprouting from so many visible areas. The cardiac lead was frightening, even if precautionary, but she felt reassured to see his heart functioning with a steady rhythm. The blasted NG tube, though, seemed incredibly dehumanizing.

Allison noiselessly scooted the chair closer to the bed so she could sit and hold his hand, slowly lowering her head to kiss his fingers as they lay across his thigh. Between the brace around his sprained right wrist, the IV further up his arm and the cardiac wire, trying to maintain physical contact with Walt wasn't easy.

Knowing that he'd come through surgery without a hitch had sustained Allison for the first hour, but now she needed to see the deep brown of his open eyes, feel the tremulous return clasp of his fingers around her hand.

Anthony sighed softly in his troubled sleep and she turned to glance at him with compassion. Roz had brought him to the hospital once Teresa had phoned to say he knew something was wrong and was extremely agitated. He'd arrived barely composed and all attempts at bravado had instantly vanished when he'd seen his father's face.

In addition to the broken nose, there was an angry-looking bruise across one cheek, substantial bandaged cuts along his chin and across his scalp and a swelling to his split lip. Anthony had turned his body into Allison's upon seeing Walt and stayed pressed close to her side until he'd fallen asleep.

She turned back to Walt as a minute movement registered in her peripheral vision. There it was again, she thought, a fluttering of his eyelids. Allison was standing a split second later, a broad smile lighting up her exhausted features.

Walt opened his eyes with difficulty, peering through the slit of one as the delicate skin around it was swollen and discolored from the trauma to his cheek. His lopsided smile was slow to develop as Allison bent over to gently kiss his hand before leaning in and softly kissing his lips. His first confused thoughts weren't that he was in considerably more pain than the last time he'd awakened as a patient in a hospital bed, but of how thankful and lucky he was to see someone who loved him so deeply. The fact that her eyes were still bloodshot and puffy never even registered to him.

"You hardly needed to go to this much trouble to get out of our romantic night, tesoro." Her eyes glistened as she spoke.

"Busted," he slurred in a murmur. "Only fair I'm finally on this side."

"True. And right now you wouldn't win any beauty contests, either. In fact, I dare say you're currently sporting a face only a mother could love... or a son." She quickly glanced toward Anthony before turning back to him with a more pronounced grin. "Lucky for you I'm a five-time mother."

Walt carefully squeezed her hand back, through his muddied thoughts grateful she wasn't crying hysterically. He assumed the more she teased him, the less serious his injuries were. "Violin?" he queried in a whisper.

Allison rolled her eyes at his attempt at humor. "You'll play about as well as before." Her fingers lightly touched those of his left hand as that arm was securely strapped across his chest. "Although not for a while. And," she bent over to kiss his lips again before softly stroking his unbruised cheek, "you need to rest. Besides, I'd rather let the doctor go over your injuries. I never was much good at pronouncing those technical words," she teased, a gleam in her eyes, before her voice got softer and sincere. "Suffice to say you'll be around a good long time, though, tesoro."

11:42p.m.

Allison stared sightlessly out the French doors of the kitchen, batting away the tears that somehow refused to stop flowing as she tugged relentlessly on the chain of her new pendant. McIntire had had Walt's personal effects released to her.

She and Anthony had stayed long enough to see Walt moved to his private room -- private this time, since many visitors were anticipated. Anthony had woken as soon as she'd gently released him onto a new chair and instantly blinked his sleepiness away, reaching for his father. Allison had let him carefully hold Walt's hand till the latter had fallen asleep, then coaxed the child to the car -- where he'd zonked back out and failed to reawaken when she'd put him to bed.

Allison sighed again and shifted position against the door. She envied Anthony... sleep had been elusive for her, the quiet time allowing her mind to stray to too many unwanted thoughts and she'd finally had to let her bottled up emotions out. Teresa had urged her to use her as a sounding board, but Allison hadn't wanted to, preferring to suffer alone. Now she was fully awash in a melancholy mood.

'Everything happens for a reason' -- she could hear her mother's voice saying it. And right along with that phrase, Allison could hear her Bible-thumping grandmother saying, 'God doesn't dish out more than you can handle.' Allison tried to analyze both doctrines, but couldn't come up with anything genuinely positive about Walt's accident. They hardly needed a wake-up call to realize their love at this point and they'd already been through plenty of the 'survive this and you'll be a stronger person' events. Maybe if I had a deeper religious base, she thought sighing, maybe the concepts of 'God's will' and Fate would make more sense.

She felt a sudden rush of empathy for the mothers and spouses of law enforcement officers and firefighters... and for her former mother-in-law. How do they do it? she wondered. How do they get through the day without being paralyzed by the fear that their loved one might not come home? She knew both organizations had strong support groups to allay just such fears, but still... Allison forced herself to shut out the unproductive thoughts -- Walt hadn't been acting in an official capacity, so his job really wasn't relevant in this circumstance.

She leaned her head back against the glass and recalled his expression as he'd regained consciousness. Even though his features had been distorted, he'd never looked handsomer to her. Must have been the relief, she fleetingly thought. She now fully understood why he'd been eager to push their relationship forward after *her* tenures in the hospital.

Allison tugged on the chain some more and felt like Buster or Tabitha -- that is, she felt like she'd spent the last minutes chasing her tail. Well, I guess one good thing has come of this, she thought, turning in the direction of the hall doorway as she heard sounds of softly plodding feet. If I had any doubts about desperately needing him in my life, they're gone.

Anthony sleepily rubbed his eyes as he walked down the stairs and toward the light in the kitchen. He didn't remember coming home and had still been wearing his socks and shirt when he'd woken up in his own bed. Part of him felt exhausted, but part of him was restless. His mind was filled with his own nagging thoughts and he very much needed to talk to Allison about them. He felt his own eyes teaming with tears when he saw Allison's red, swollen ones.

Anthony flung himself into her arms, voice quivering as he wrongly interpreted her condition. "Did Dad get worse?"

Allison held him tightly, rocking him as she replied. "Radar jammed, sweetheart?" She kissed the top of his head softly. "No, he's fine, we'll go back and see him in the morning."

Anthony sniffled as he pulled away and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "Then why are you crying?"

She gazed into his confused eyes with the utmost compassion. "Because I love him, sweetheart." Allison knelt down in front of him. "Sometimes adults hold back their emotions at the time of a crisis and they come tumbling out later."

"You shouldn't do that, uh, Mom. It isn't healthy."

Allison smiled back as she noted the odd inflection when he'd called her Mom and the grown-up sense to his words. She steered him to a chair and sat beside him. "What do you need to talk about, honey?"

"How did you know I needed to talk?" he questioned with a mystified and sleepy expression.

"Because sometimes mother's intuition is just as good as telepathy," she countered with a warm smile.

Anthony fidgeted for a moment before launching in. "If Dad died, what would happen to me? I know he's okay now, but what if something else happens before you get married? Would I have to go to Boston and live with Mom's family?"

"Oh, sweetie." Allison gently stroked his cheek while he attempted to keep a new flow of tears at bay. "You shouldn't worry about things like that." She took a heavy breath. "Getting married doesn't automatically guarantee me custody, Anthony, only adoption does." And your grandparents could contest that if they really wanted to, she silently added, hoping his telepathy wasn't being employed.

"Then can't you adopt me right now? I love Gramma and Grandpa and Uncle Darryl and Aunt Denise and Emily and Elliot, but I love *you* and Trev and Charlee and Amelia and Ian too."

Allison looked at the glistening tears on the tips of his eyelashes and felt her heart ache as she compassionately smiled and wrapped her arms around him. Anthony might as well have been her own: He had Trevor's intellect, part of Amelia's coloring, Ian's ready smile and, unfortunately, Charlee's paranoia. "And we all love you very much too, Sweetpea." She pulled back and ruffled his hair. "I don't believe there's any legal problem with adopting you before your dad and I get married. We'll talk to him about this tomorrow... I'm sure he won't have any objections."

Sunday, February 15, 1998, 9:15a.m.

Anthony stood nervously next to Walt's bed, holding Allison's hand as he finished reciting his 'speech' about adoption. He'd been dismayed at how out of it Walt had been Saturday morning as a result of the injuries and, more directly, the medication, and had agreed with Allison that waiting an extra day would be better. Now he took a deep breath, waiting for his father to answer.

The dehumanizing nose tube had been removed, as had the cardiac lead, but the bruising had intensified, making Walt look more fragile temporarily. Talking was also a problem, the still-swollen lip making everything sound drunken and slurred -- not to mention that it was uncomfortable. He put these thoughts aside at the earnest expression on his son's face.

"I don't think it's silly, Anthony. Allison can call my attorney and we'll get the paperwork rolling ASAP." Walt attempted to smile broadly, the lopsided result almost comical as Anthony beamed in happiness and excitement and carefully laid his head on Walt's chest. Allison's eyes were bright with affection as they met Walt's, silently expressing her love.

The moment was interrupted by one of the nurses, checking Walt's vitals again. She'd no sooner left when Roz and McIntire showed up. The two barely tempered their radiant expressions upon seeing Walt before exchanging banal greetings and inquiring as to his condition.

McIntire beamed at Roz before pulling her hand to his lips and kissing it. "We have some news and wanted the two, well, three," he nodded at Anthony, "of you to be the first to know... We got married last night."

Walt was caught speechless and glad that he could fall back on the injuries making his speech appear skewed as he stammered a reply. Allison responded warmly and instantly, hugging both in turn and voicing her congratulations. Anthony broke into a huge smile... he loved it when people he liked got married; their thoughts were always so warm that he could never help feeling them.

Roz squeezed Ned's hand affectionately. "And I have you to thank for this." Allison looked toward Walt as his face registered confusion. "Your accident prompted Ned to realize just exactly how precious and uncertain time is. Of course, since you'll be laid up for weeks, we can't take a honeymoon for a while," she finished with a wink.

That comment brought a smile to everyone's face. "Shifting back to more straightforward matters," McIntire began, "The prelim report on your accident came back. It's been officially ruled just that." Walt noted the minute change in Allison's posture registering relief. "The car that initially hit you was doing between 35 and 40 at the time of impact."

Anthony's eyes grew large. "Seems the driver and his wife were arguing and he wasn't paying attention to the road," McIntire continued. "He's got a history of speeding citations, too."

The two of them left a few moments later after leaving a basket of homemade double-chocolate chip cookies to supplement the hospital's bland diet. Anthony proclaimed them terrific just before he left with the McIntires in search of the perfect cinnamon roll and promised to return in an hour.

Allison sat on the edge of the higher-backed, more comfortably padded chair, and gently held Walt's right hand, slowly stroking the fingers. All she and Anthony had done during the previous day's visit had been to stay by Walt's side, providing silent support. Allison had wanted to stay throughout the day, but the grapevine had informed her personnel cuts were being bandied about and her prolonged, repeated, albeit unexpected absences from work, could make her an 'unofficial' candidate to let go -- politics at its best. She sighed as she unconsciously tugged on the chain of the new pendant before pulling it out from under her blouse.

Walt was still feeling fuzzy and had reluctantly agreed to the sedative the previous night. He was now allowing the minimal amount of medication to be administered because he intensely disliked having his senses dulled more than he disliked pain. He opened his eyes and saw the pendant. He arched his eyebrows in surprise. "Where'd you get that?"

An impish grin appeared on Allison's face. "Why? Wasn't it for me?"

Walt made a less than half-hearted attempt to swat her hand and briefly explained his last recollections before losing consciousness.

"So I wasn't uppermost in your mind, huh?" Allison baited him. "Don't bother to answer. With your job, it's only natural you'd think somebody was trying to rifle your pockets." She stroked his fingers some more. "More than likely, they were tucking your glasses in there, since that's apparently where the hospital personnel found them. They were pretty smashed up and since you never quite got around to getting another backup pair after Ian broke the last ones, I thought I'd see about getting some replacements tomorrow. And I'm going to bring the rest of the kids to see you... if I can convince the nurses to let us all in for a few moments. The kids are anxious to see you and are working on an enormous get-well card as we speak."

Walt smiled contentedly for his 'family' and his mind automatically corrected what he thought was her error over the day. "Just make sure you don't carry Ian, it'll be too much strain too soon after the surgery," he replied while stifling a yawn.

Allison raised her eyes in surprise. "Surgery? You hardly expect me to go ahead with that while you're in the hospital, do you? I can't ask Teresa to watch the kids for basically the whole week."

Walt slowly shook his head, replaying everything she'd said and struggling to respond. "You shouldn't cancel it. Can't you call your mom?"

Allison looked at him with exasperation. "Walt, I hardly think you need to be wasting what little energy you have on this subject. Besides, Mom isn't at my beck and call."

He dropped his head back the few scant inches he'd raised it off the pillow and quietly sighed, stubbornness not letting him give up the 'discussion' even if she was right about his energy level.

"You're having second thoughts again, aren't you?" Walt recalled Allison relaying the news about the severing of the milk ducts during reduction surgery and the unlikelihood of being able to breast-feed.

Allison stretched her neck to one side before responding. "Well, yes, partly. But the timing's not good any more and since the rest of my vacation time is already set, it'll have to wait till next year." When I'll hopefully be pregnant and can postpone it till after the baby has been weaned, she thought.

Walt carefully shook his head at her 'logic,' relatively sure of what she was thinking and not saying. And sure he wasn't up to the task of arguing with her over it. "Have you already contacted your doctor about this?"

Allison narrowed her eyes at the question, sure there was a hidden agenda behind it. "I left a message with his service to call me -- he's out of town. And don't get any ideas, buddy," she shook a finger at him. "This is *my* decision, remember?"

Walt attempted to fix his most complacent smile on his face. "Yes, dear, of course."

She arched her eyebrows at him, not buying what she assumed was an act, but unwilling to pursue it and tire him out further. Besides, by the time she took Anthony home at lunchtime, she figured, Walt would probably forget all about it.

7:08p.m.

Allison yawned before releasing Walt's hand and slowly stood up to stretch. He was asleep again and her muscles were protesting at the amount of time she'd spent idle. She was debating whether to wake him to say goodbye, knowing he'd want to know when she left, but not wanting to disturb him. Her debate was interrupted when the door opened behind her and an unlikely person strolled in.

"Egads and little fishhooks, he's nearly every color of the rainbow," Jude Hogle noted, setting her suitcase and over-sized handbag down next to her.

Allison swore audibly under her breath and instantly knew Walt hadn't given in... he'd planned and executed an end-run -- so much for his senses being hazy. "Mom, how'd you get here?"

"Flew, of course. You know it only takes 90 minutes with a direct flight, and I took a taxi to the hospital." She examined Walt more closely. "Really, AJ, sometimes you ask the most ridiculous questions."

"Well," Allison started, "you didn't need to come." Convenient for the funeral, though, since I'm going to strangle Walt, she silently added.

"Don't be pig-headed with me, young lady. At least Walt had the good sense to ask for help... and he's the one who can claim he's not thinking straight with the concussion," she continued with a mild reprimand.

In the end, Allison opted not to wake Walt, though the idea of disturbing his sleep held a perverse pleasure now. She gently kissed his lips before grasping the suitcase and leading her mother out the door. Mrs. Hogle prattled on as she and Allison exited first the hospital, then the parking garage, relaxing into the comfort of Walt's vehicle -- Roz and Ned had brought it to the house late Friday.

"So what's all this rubbish about postponing your surgery? You and your sister seem to have a blindspot when it comes to breast-feeding. I bottle-fed all four of you and you turned out fine," Jude began, clearly warming up to the subject.

Allison shot her a sideways look and returned her eyes to the road. "I seem to recall breast-feeding was frowned upon in the 1950s. Avery was the only one with a shot at it from an in-vogue point of view, and because of your predilection for keeping us all equal, you didn't."

Jude snorted. "For your information, I haven't always followed the norm. And don't scoff at keeping kids equal when you're trying to do the same thing." Allison slowed for a red light and shifted her thinking to how she'd get back at Walt for this. She listened with half an ear as her mother ran down the list of numerous obstacles she'd faced in breast-feeding the kids.

"Sounds more like an argument against having more kids, period," Allison opined when her mother -- at last -- paused for breath.

"Surely you don't buy that nonsense about breast-feeding being your time to bond with the baby?"

"Of course not. I get irritated whenever I hear that, because it implies the only way a mother can bond is through nursing. I just feel it's important from the antibody standpoint and the extra calories it burns. I can certainly use that help losing weight."

"And your back pain will just magically go away on its own, right?" Allison scowled in reply. "Look, AJ, I know you can be more stubborn than two mules when you want to be, but think of it from a different angle." Jude had a suspicious gleam in her eyes. "Walt's going to be laid up for weeks with, uh, restricted activity. I would assume the temptation to ignore doctor's orders would be lessened if you were both out of commission at the same time."

Monday, February 16, 1998, 4:18p.m.

Allison shifted in her wheelchair, willing the pain in her breasts to subside. Her mother, with help from Teresa, had continued the 'coercion' until Allison had finally given in... and since the surgeon hadn't called back until late the previous night, none of the plans had been interrupted.

She sighed now as Jane McCormick, Walt's attorney, left the room, briefcase full of signed paperwork for Anthony's adoption. "Do I want to know what she was referring to about pushing paperwork through?" Allison asked with an eyebrow askance.

"I called in a few favors to get Clare's and Anthony's names changed," Walt replied, looking sadly reminiscent for a few seconds.

Allison paused before forcing some jocularity into her voice. "Just so you don't get off on using your influence, *Mr.* Skinner. So are we going to keep two attorneys after we're married, or do we have Jane and Brian compete for our business?"

Walt was about to answer her seriously until he noted the prankish expression now on her face. "I hope the fact that you're making jokes means you're not planning to hold a grudge."

Allison raised an eyebrow suggestively as he reached for her hand. "I'll get you when you least expect it."

He smiled in what he hoped was a warm fashion and carefully rotated his sprained wrist to stroke his thumb along her palm, wanting to pull her into his arms, and knowing better than to try it. "So when do the troops arrive?"

Her expression brightened instantly. "Anytime. The nursing supervisor said they could stay 10 minutes tops, as long as we don't disturb any of the other patients."

"Planning to have the kids wheel you back, Ms. Invalid?"

Allison swatted his thigh playfully. "At least I'm able to walk to the bathroom, tesoro."

Walt wasn't about to be outdone, especially since his energy reserves were no longer exhausted. "But do *you* have nurses bidding to give you a sponge bath?"

Allison turned her head toward the door, listening as numerous small feet approached. "Only the male ones."

The visit had been a rousing success and the card, just as Allison had promised, was enormous. Each child had utilized a half-sheet of posterboard to record their sentiments and the finished product had been hole-punched and tied together with ribbon.

Anthony's contribution was a detailed drawing showing over a dozen marine species peacefully cohabiting, a resurrection of an old interest. And Walt had sighed, wondering if he'd be spending part of his recovery time scoping out aquariums.

Trevor had drawn an intricate scene of a spaceship landing on Jupiter, Charlee a barnyard scene with cats prominently featured and Amelia had taken a stab at drawing Walt himself. At least that's what he assumed the stick figure with glasses, tie and briefcase was. She'd also pasted on a valentine that Allison had commented looked suspiciously like the one that had been meant for Buster. Lastly, Ian had contributed a wild abstract arrangement of random slashes that had brought an even bigger smile to Walt's face.

Walt had been both glad and saddened when the time was up. Glad because it tired him out more than he'd thought it would, saddened because the feeling of warmth, of family, was intoxicating and he'd hated to have it end.

Alone now, he thought back to when he'd been in the hospital after Cardinal's bullet and shuddered, recalling how cold and alone he'd felt. He thought for the umpteenth time about Clare, about their relationship... and about how much easier the recovery would have been with her loving presence.

He'd recently come to the painful realization that he just wasn't sure if he'd truly been in love with her. He was sure that when she'd 'entered' his life, he'd been open to the possibility of commitment, of a long, serious relationship. But he couldn't reconcile whether that openness had made him inclined to fall in love, or just in love with the prospect of *being* in love. It had all happened so fast. He was positive that she'd completed him once, but again, time was clouding his perception. Would the great sex have kept them together, all things being 'normal'? Would he have felt trapped into continuing the marriage because of his responsibilities as husband and father if he'd been sure love was absent?

Every now and again, when he thought of her, it was as if her involvement with the Consortium had never happened... that she'd always been his straightforward soulmate. He'd think of the family he'd imagined that December day on Allison's porch... of the snowball fight between Anthony, Clare -- what were the names of the other children he had envisioned? --'Lee, Jeremy, Becky' -- and himself. If he tried, he could make it seem so real. And still, he just couldn't be completely sure of the sincerity of his love for Clare -- sometimes it felt pure and honest, and other times, it felt false and strained.

He put an end to his thoughts, as they were once again giving him a headache. He was completely sure of only one thing... his love for Allison and the children. His feelings for them were so overpowering that it scared him sometimes. He'd be totally lost without them and couldn't believe he'd once considered leaving them behind. They were now as essential to him as eating, as breathing. And in the blink of an eye, he realized that November was too far away.

Title: Anthony, Book Four: The Recovery (Or How to Drive Your Fiancée Nuts)
Author: Clare Skinner

Tuesday, February 17, 1998
Day Four of the Recovery, 9:47a.m.

Pain dulled by extra-strength ibuprofen, Allison made her way to Walt's room, pausing only long enough to swear under her breath as another visitor inadvertently bumped her in a highly sensitive area. At least labor pains came and went, she thought. And even then, she continued, they didn't last long... but this stupid pain was unrelenting.

She arrived just in time to see a nurse finishing up Walt's sponge bath. Allison smiled suggestively at him before dropping her overnight bag and coat, wandering over. The fifty-something nurse asked Walt if he wanted the portable armtray put back over the bed and he replied in the negative. She gave Walt a final beaming smile before leaving, referring to him as 'darlin' with a pronounced drawl.

"Any idea how much she paid for the privilege of ogling your physique?" Allison asked with no attempt to hide her amusement. She also noted that the kaleidoscopic coloration on his face was abating, the brightest colors having faded to resemble a Monet landscape.

Walt responded with a smug expression before changing the subject. "Any thoughts about Anthony's pendulum move back to marine life?"

"Hope he swings back to astronomy in time for the party," Allison replied, shrugging. "I told you not to buy that telescope so soon."

"But it was a great price for its capabilities..."

"Yeah, yeah. We can't justify spending four hundred on one child, though, *two* hundred is bad enough. And it would set a dangerous precedent if we did it for all the kids... It would buy a hell of a nice aquarium, though," she said with a sigh, taking hold of his offered hand and easing onto the edge of the bed.

"I don't know," she continued. "He's only coming up on eight, and despite how mature his intelligence tends to make him, he's still entitled to change his mind a lot, especially when it comes to hobbies." Walt nodded absently, his mind elsewhere. "I suppose if we have to, we can ask the various grand- and great-grandparents to contribute, since they're always saying they don't know what to get the kids."

No comment from Walt. "Hey," she shook his hand slightly. "Are you listening to me?"

"Um, sure, carissima. I was just thinking about Roz and Ned," Walt hedged. "Wasn't it something, them getting married?"

"Yeeesss," Allison replied slowly, wondering why he was bringing up a subject she thought they'd talked to death two days ago. "Why?"

"Well, I've just been thinking that a lot can be said for the type of wedding they had. A quick ceremony and the legalities are over." Walt kept his eyes purposely averted from her face.

"Are you going somewhere with this? Or are you just rambling?" Allison rejoindered, staring at him expectantly while a reasonable idea of what he was referring to percolated in her mind.

"How would you feel about changing our wedding date? Moving it up."

Allison blinked at this request. "Excuse me? How far?"

Walt tried to swallow, but his mouth was suddenly dry. "Sometime this week?" Allison stared at him before she began to spout numerous objections. Walt felt bolder as he cut her off. "Just listen to me. The accident got me thinking, too. I don't want to take the chance that something else is going to happen before November, however paranoid that sounds. A nice straightforward civil ceremony now and we could get pregnant that much sooner. And we could still have the bells and whistles like we originally planned... sort of like renewing our vows."

Allison attempted to locate the logic of his words and failed. She reached for his forehead instead, to his puzzlement. "No fever," she announced, frowning before getting up. "I want to see your chart. Whatever medication you're on is affecting your judgment."

Walt made a grab for her hand and winced as he turned his wrist too quickly, the damaged ligaments not appreciating the maneuver. "Allison, wait, there's nothing wrong with my judgment."

"That's a matter of opinion," she replied, pausing at the door and thinking how he'd dismissed her idea of the simple ceremony in the backyard. She also decided to play along for a while to test how serious he was.

"Look, Allison, *carissima,* please come back. I can't chase you down the hall to talk about this." His expression complemented the wheedling tone perfectly and Allison smiled inspite of herself as she returned.

"But just think how many of your entourage would be counting their blessings for the backless gown." Walt returned the grin, taking her humor as a sign that a rational discussion was possible. "You realize, of course, that I'm never going to allow a renewal of vows to take place at that posh hotel."

"Well, so we'll lose the deposit, I can live with that. Especially since you were against getting married there in the first place," Walt answered, grasping her hand once again.

No wonder the price of the telescope doesn't faze him, she thought, if he's willing to eat all that deposit money.

"Besides," he added with an impish smile, "I like the idea of a Christmas baby."

Allison arched her eyebrow at him as he continued that maddeningly effective stroking of her palm. "Yeah, I like the way you said 'we.' You just want another tax deduction for the year. Or possibly an excuse to get out of that annual office party."

Walt's quickly reflective expression indicated these were two possibilities that hadn't occurred to him. "Nothing wrong with either of those scenarios," he replied, thinking this was going much better than he'd anticipated... and wondering when she'd lower the boom.

"Tesoro," here it comes, he thought, listening to the patronizing nature of her tone, "having an opulent renewal ceremony is not a substitute for a traditional wedding." He sighed in disgust and leaned back on the pillows. "You said you wished you and Clare had waited--"

"And if we had, circumstances would never have allowed us to get married," he countered, visibly annoyed.

"And that's supposed to somehow justify rushing to the altar now?" Allison got up and wandered away from him, irritation mounting, both for the conversation and her less than calmly delivered response. "I simply mean that you've suffered a traumatic event and I don't believe you're thinking as clearly as you will be in a few days... after you come home, for instance."

"I don't want to wait that long to talk about it," he grumbled.

"Well, I don't want to talk about it at all. For crying out loud, Walt. We've already made the announcement. We won't have *any* honeymoon if we change the date. Not to mention the fact that our family has made arrangements to take vacation in November to join us." Allison's voice escalated as her annoyance began growing again.

"They still can join us, for the renewal ceremony. And we'll be like Roz and Ned, delaying the honeymoon." Allison rolled her eyes and turned away from him. "Besides, it wouldn't break my heart if my family decided not to come."

"Are you going to start that again?" she asked as she crossed her arms in a combative stance.

Walt narrowed his eyes. "Why not? You changed *your* mind about the surgery."

Allison shook her head, recalling his poisonous look when he'd discovered she'd contacted his relatives via his mother's address book. "Act your age."

" *I'm* not the one who contacted them. I was perfectly happy ignoring their existence."

Allison noted the icy tone, but gave not an inch. "Then your mother wasn't very successful at teaching you forgiveness and compassion. *She* managed to let go of the past; why won't you?"

Walt's jaw tightened as he slowly and evenly responded, "Just leave it alone, Allison."

"No. Neither one of us follows any particular religion. Why should your parents being shunned by their respective families because your mother was German Lutheran and your father was Russian Orthodox still bother you?"

Walt felt his anger steadily steeping. Why wouldn't she drop the subject? She knew he hated discussing his family -- it was bad enough that she'd gone behind his back and sent Christmas cards, starting a dialogue with both sides. "There's more to it... And that's all I'll say," he said through clenched teeth.

Allison stared at him for a few seconds until he shifted his eyes away from hers. "Fine. You lie here and stew in your unforgiving juices." She removed her wallet from her overnight bag and stormed to the door.

"Where are you going?" Walt called after her, with a prominent scowl.

"To try and remember why I'm marrying you in the first place."

Allison sat at the cafeteria table and blew across her cup of hot chocolate. She knew her own ancestors hadn't always had the most sterling of character, but she couldn't imagine what was so terrible that a normally tolerant man like Walt would refuse to discuss. She screwed her eyes up in memory of his reaction when the two Christmas cards had arrived, coincidentally on the same day in early January. She'd never seen his anger erupt so quickly or intensely before, playing out in a matter of seconds as sarcasm first appeared, only to be replaced by complete silence most of the evening. He'd refused to explain his reaction then and had only repeated his vague contention that religious differences had distanced the family. And as appealing as the thought had been, she'd opted not to ask Anthony to use his gift to ferret out the information.

No matter how many times Allison had read the letters, she couldn't find anything to indicate that the families were other than happy to reestablish contact. Sofia Dengel Schwenk, Magdalene's youngest sister, had responded via her bilingual daughter, Louisa, and had enclosed a faded picture of 'Maggie' taken in 1930. Walt had shown a faint interest in the photo, concentrating solely on the solemn face of his mother.

Anna Kafelnikov, spinster sister of Nicholas, had enlisted the assistance of her younger brother Yuri and his son, Dmitri, to draft her letter. When questioned about how the family name of 'Kafelnikov' had become 'Skinner,' Walt had mumbled something about Ellis Island incompetence.

Swallowing the last of the hot sweet fluid, Allison asked herself again what difference it all made. Was staying upset about his 'secret' worth it? She decided not and decided being irritated over moving the wedding date up was more 'realistic.'

Allison looked at her watch and decided that enough time had passed for a cooldown period. She stopped to get some takeout and began the walk to Walt's room, noting that the meds for her own recovery were wearing off already.

Walt opened his weary eyes again and exhaled forcibly. However irrational it was, he didn't want to tell Allison the shameful history of his family.

He recalled the look on his father's face the one time the old man had seriously told him to be glad he'd been adopted and could claim no actual blood ties to the Kafelnikovs or Dengels. And Walt recalled the only time his parents had had an out-and-out fight -- October 8, 1993 -- the date that his father had discovered his mother had not only taken it upon herself to forgive both sides, but had actually contacted them. His tearful mother had phoned him early that next morning to say that Niko had left the house in a rage and still hadn't come home.

Walt remembered how unsettling it had been even as an adult to think of his solid, stable parents separating. But his father had come back, and the argument had been talked through. Niko hadn't wanted anything to do with his own family still, but had agreed that he had no right to stop Maggie from restoring communication with her side.

And here Walt was, more than four years later, not wanting to forgive either side for things that happened well before he was even born. Things that directly involved people who were no longer alive. Things that, compared with the Holocaust, couldn't even be called minutely trivial.

He closed his eyes again and thought about Allison's words -- and those of his mother from years ago -- before he reached a decision. Allison was wrong, his mother had been successful in her teachings to him... and life was too short to carry decades-old bitterness to the grave. Besides, he thought with a wry smile, maybe Allison will be more willing to budge on the wedding date if I concede on the family issue.

Allison was relieved to see a calmer, if not more resigned, expression on Walt's face as she returned. She wasn't frightened of his moods, but neither could she say she looked forward to being present for the more negative ones. She pushed the chair over to the head of the bed while he, in turn, watched her, trying to gauge the state of her disposition.

"I brought you some apple juice," Allison said, opening the carton in question and inserting a straw. "Do you want me to move the tray back?"

"No," Walt answered, reaching for the carton. "I don't suppose you'd be interested in a trade?" he asked hopefully, eyeing her cup of coffee.

Allison settled back into the chair, tossing her wallet onto the tray. "Nope... after the nurses confiscated your cookies, I'm not taking any chances." She winced after swallowing an almost scalding mouthful of a nearly flavorless brew. What it lacks in taste, she thought, it makes up for in heat. "Drink the juice, it's good for you."

.".. Coffee any good?" Walt ventured wistfully, wishing he'd managed something wittier to ease the awkwardness between them.

"I've had worse." From vending machines, she thought as the silence lengthened.

"Allison, I'm sorry about earlier. I shouldn't have gotten so irritated. I can hardly expect you to jump for joy about the wedding and I know you don't understand why I'm so," he searched a moment for the right words, "closed-minded about my family."

She looked into her lap, pursing her lips. "No, I don't, but it's your right to feel that way... and I've decided not to press it."

"Perfect," he replied with a rolling of his eyes. "And I decided to tell you."

He looked past her, barely registering the fleeting smile on her face as he tried to gather his thoughts in a cohesive, objective manner. .".. My mother was a remarkable and intelligent woman... not that most women aren't," he added with a smile. "She was petite, gentle and graceful and... and beautiful. She had a great love of the arts -- music, dance, painting. She was always dragging me off to some theater, cinema, or concert when I was growing up... to broaden my horizons, she'd say -- not that I appreciated any of it."

Allison smiled at the blithe expression on Walt's face as he remembered those now-cherished times. And then she watched his facial muscles contract into a frown as his memories shifted.

"Unfortunately, she wasn't allowed to truly pursue any of these loves when she was younger, because her father, Ludwig Dengel, was a miserly, cruel, chauvinistic bastard. He considered it his wife's fault that they had five daughters in a row and he showered all his 'affection' on the three boys that followed."

Walt paused and drank some juice. With the bitterness he was feeling, it might as well have been vinegar. "My mother was in many ways a rebellious child, very independent, not afraid to speak her mind, very industrious and persuasive... but try as she did, she couldn't win his love. He simply saw the five girls as liabilities, expensive because he'd have to pay for their weddings... He refused to tolerate anything but strict obedience and my mother resisted playing the part of trained dog. She squared off against him, taking the blame for anything her sisters did to protect them, and she wasn't even the oldest... If child abuse was as monitored then as it is now..." Walt shook his head in painful memory.

"Once, when my mother was 13, she found a wallet. It didn't contain a fortune, though there was enough to buy needed shoes for all the children. While my mother contemplated the morality of keeping the money at all, one of her sisters, Ute, squealed about it to Dengel, I guess in the vain hope of ingratiating herself... He beat my mother, confiscated the money and blew it on a fancy gold pocket watch."

Allison shook her head in disgust and wondered how a girl coming from such a loveless home could manage to grow up as well-adjusted as she had, able to shine around the mental and physical scars to retain a caring, sweet nature.

Walt still hadn't gone on and Allison could see the veins in the side of his neck bulge in anger.

"But the last straw was when Dengel arranged a marriage for my mother. According to her, Heinrich Zeller was a loathsome, arrogant, lazy, humorless moron, 22 years her senior. She flatly refused to marry him... and Dengel flew into a rage, beating her within an inch of her life while her mother, sisters and brothers just watched... My mother told me she could hear her youngest sister, Sofia, screeching at Dengel to stop, until she received one of the blows for her trouble."

Walt swallowed the lump in his throat before going on. "Dengel made my mother a literal prisoner in her own house for two months, continuing the beatings whenever she tried to exercise her independence... She escaped four days before the wedding and fled to Switzerland, where her favorite aunt, Gudrun Wallechievsky, lived... When she arrived, my mother could barely stand from exhaustion. Aunt Gudrun wanted her to stay until she was stronger but was afraid, like my mother, that Dengel would turn up and while Gudrun was indomitable in spirit, she was frail in body and couldn't offer much resistance. She was able to contact friends in the United States, though, and arranged for my mother to be employed as a nanny."

Walt's eyes got shiny as he looked vacantly at the wall before going on. "Dengel arrived less than a day after my mother left. When she disembarked in New York, the Trumbles, the family who met her in the States, said they'd received a telegraph that Gudrun had suffered a heart attack and died... Whether Dengel had directly caused it, my mother never wanted to know. She worked for the Trumbles for seven years -- they were her sponsors for naturalization, and she officially became a citizen in 1937."

Walt started to take another sip, but decided he'd had enough of the sweet juice. Allison relieved him of the carton and gently took his hand. "Do you realize you always referred to your grandfather as 'Dengel'?"

Walt looked at her quizzically a few seconds before blinking his eyes. "I suppose I did. I guess I'm still trying to distance myself from him."

"It's no wonder, he sounds like a perfect beast," Allison indignantly replied before easing her tone. "Your poor mother..." Wallechievsky -- Walter, Allison thought. "She named you after her aunt, didn't she?"

Walt stared into Allison's soft eyes for several seconds before replying. "Yes... She was with her for less than two days, but in that tiny amount of time, my mother said Aunt Gudrun restored her spirit, her confidence, her faith. She felt the best way to thank her and preserve her memory was to name a child after her."

Allison tenderly stroked Walt's cheek with her other hand, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. "I assume you would have been called 'Gudrun' had you been a girl." He smiled reflexively and kissed her fingers as they hesitated by his lips. "Sort of makes 'Sergei' not so bad in retrospect, huh?"

"Sort of," he agreed, squeezing her hand. "The rest of her story you pretty much know. The Trumbles moved to Austin, she met my father and they married in 1938."

Allison smiled sweetly. "And your father encouraged her to follow her passions."

"Yes."

Walt took a tremendously deep breath as he prepared to recite his father's history. "If you thought Dengel was a monster, you'll hate Kafelnikov more. They were unfortunately quite similar, although the latter was far more gullible... and despicable... My adopted paternal grandfather sold his eldest son to the Russian army when Sergei was 13 -- he tried to sell my father, too, but the army refused him because he was too small and weak... Sergei died four months later. Two months after that, my father was traded for the rights to a worthless goldmine."

Walt let the words sink in a few moments, studiously avoiding the look of shock on Allison's face. "Ivan Kafelnikov," Walt pronounced the name with revulsion, "considered his children property and saw nothing wrong with using them as chattel. And unfortunately, he had quite a few, as the only thing he was good at was procreation. My adopted grandmother, Nastasia, had 10 children in 13 years -- she died in childbirth with the 10th at the age of 27."

Allison grimaced in sympathy and covered her mouth with one hand, the other still in Walt's. "My father used to say Nastasia had the face of an angel and a beautiful, lyrical voice." Walt closed his eyes and shook his head. "Shortly after she died, a disease swept through the entire village. From what my father described, and his later infertility, I'd say it was mumps. Three dozen people died, most of them children... three of his siblings alone, including the newborn... There wasn't any money for a proper burial, so just like with my grandmother, they were buried in a shallow grave behind the house."

Allison squeezed his hand tighter while tears appeared at the corners of both their eyes. Walt fought his back and went on. "Kafelnikov remarried about a month after that and instantly, another baby was on the way. 'Olga' was no more than a frightened child herself, my father told me, but she tried to protest when Kafelnikov began selling his children again."

Walt wanted to punch his fist into the mattress, but knew his wrist wouldn't appreciate it. "The man my father was traded to treated him no better and in turn sold him to some fisherman. He hid on one of the other boats anchored in the Black Sea one night -- the 'Georgi' -- and slowly made his way to the States by working on freighters for free passage. The various sailors always called him 'skinny' because no matter how much he ate, he never seemed to fill out. When he arrived at Ellis Island seven months later, he'd scraped together about two dollars and taken on a new surname.

It was several seconds before Walt went on. "God only knows what might have happened to him if the Prestons hadn't literally stumbled across him. His clothes were much patched, he still looked emaciated and was barely able to speak more than a dozen English words, but they saw in him a determination to succeed. And he saw in them, the compassion and security he'd missed. I suppose he took a great risk, going off with total strangers, but he trusted them immediately. He became their unofficial foster child and returned with them to Austin."

Allison squeezed his hand again and made no attempt to speak as his eyes closed, confident that nothing she could say would be adequate in the situation. Even though he'd managed to keep his voice fairly level throughout the recitation, the repeated pauses, the way his jaw would slacken and partly drop, his tendency to stare off into nothingness and the agitated way he'd plucked at the hospital gown had told Allison how much the actions still pained him.

She felt guilty for pursuing the matter at all and particularly ashamed now for going behind his back. How different things were now in 1998, she thought. No one would even notice a 13-year-old boy alone in New York City, but in 1927, a kind, sympathetic couple had. And if it had been two years later, she continued, the streets would have been full of shabby-looking children.

Walt shuddered as visions of his parents as helpless children filled his mind. He'd seen so many terrible things throughout his career and he'd tried to be compassionate with the victims, knowing that having them recall traumatic events was often just as horrific as experiencing them. But he'd never really identified with them till now, and even so, he knew he was feeling the pain as a disjointed third party... but by verbalizing the stories, he'd felt it just the same. He thought it a shame he hadn't had this acute awareness when he'd been an active field agent, and by the same token, he hoped it would never be necessary to use it.

He opened his eyes and gazed at the unabashed love in Allison's eyes. They talked quietly about how Nikolai had tried to keep track of his siblings via correspondence with a trusted friend, and how betrayed he'd felt when they'd accepted his money but never replied. How he'd later taken Conrad Preston's first name as his middle one when he'd applied for naturalization, how he'd Americanized 'Nikolai' to 'Nicholas.' How he'd absorbed like a sponge all the knowledge that Conrad had imparted to him about the hardware business, in addition to excelling in his schoolwork once he'd gotten the hang of English. How he'd willingly joined the Army to fight for his new country in World War II and received two Purple Hearts. And how the best thing that ever happened to him was falling in love with Maggie.

Walt told Allison how very much in love his parents had been. How despite the hardships they'd faced as children, they'd wanted kids of their own, only to discover that nature had been against them. Walt told her how difficult even adoption had been because of his parents' birth in foreign countries, but then how fortunate they'd felt to receive him 13 years into the marriage. How fantastic they'd been as parents irregardless of their lack of proper role models in their early life.

"They showed me what was important -- love, children, friendship, career success -- and they did it by example." Walt shrugged, thinking how his priorities had changed. "I spent an awful lot of time on the last one," he smiled warmly at Allison as she responded in kind and stroked her palm softly. "Almost to the detriment of the others, but I wised up in time."

"I think that's why the phrase 'better late than never' was invented, tesoro."

1:15p.m.

Walt stirred the shapeless mass of 'food' on his plate and scowled at it before pushing the plate aside. He could identify carrots and broccoli by color only, the steaming process they'd been cooked in rendering them instantly dissolvable. And then there was the overcooked white rice... a mushy, tasteless marvel. At least the SOS he'd endured in the Marines had had *some* flavor. The only portion of his current lunch that had a normal texture was the squiggling square of raspberry gelatin... and since he'd never developed a taste for it, he shoved that away in disgust, too.

"How do they expect me to get stronger when all they're feeding me is baby food," he grumbled aloud, unconsciously sliding his tongue to the three sets of stitches that represented where his teeth had been. He was going to have a lovely time with the dentist sometime in the near future.

Walt shifted his focus to a pleasant daydream while he waited for Allison to return. And it was a great one... a huge, juicy porterhouse steak, rosy pink in the middle, charred just so on the outside, covered with sweet Spanish onions, jalapeno peppers, mushrooms and smothered with a strong, tangy barbecue sauce. Then there were the fries... thick homefries made from red potatoes, a mound of them, with a tub of cheddar cheese sauce to drown them in. Plus an enormous hunk of toasted garlic bread, with real butter and gobs of garlic. And last, but not least, a tremendous slice of double-suicide chocolate cake; the piece had to be six inches high and it was all his. He concentrated so hard he could almost taste and smell the food.

"What are you thinking about? You're practically drooling." Walt's eyes opened, his attention shifting abruptly to Allison's inquiring face, and he fixed her with a devilish smile. "If your mind is in the gutter already, buddy, you're in for a very long convalescence."

Walt shifted gears quickly and looked suggestively at her. "Well, how about a real kiss to tide me over?" She arched an eyebrow, not sure what he was up to, but carefully leaned in anyway, bracing her hands on either side of his head. Her eyes opened quite wide in surprise a few seconds later and she hastily pulled away, snagging his unused paper napkin. Walt smacked his lips in satisfaction. "Aaahhh... Italian sausage sub with onion rings."

"Aannnddd," she prompted with a sarcastic tone, wiping her lips a last time.

He looked briefly contemplative, running his tongue across his lips, the upper one still tender. "And a spearmint breath mint."

She looked triumphant. "Peppermint, you desperate, uh... *food* voyeur."

He grinned easily, still savoring 'her lunch.'"What else can I do? This slop masquerading as food could gag a maggot."

"What do you expect them to feed you with your insides torn up? Four-alarm chili or jambalaya? You'd have acute indigestion for a week, not to mention other intestinal problems. And don't think once you get out of here I'm going to ignore their menu plan, either." (The impact of the mounted tire had damaged the bottom half of his stomach, his pancreas, duodenum and large intestine.) Walt fixed a childlike pout across his lips in response. "And by the way, you nearly just gave me brush burn with all that stubble."

"Don't remind me," he muttered. "I hate having a near-beard. I can't wait to get this crap shaved off." The initial bandages along his chin had been removed just before lunch.

Allison draped her coat over her overnight bag and pulled a small sheet of paper from the pocket. "Well, you're going to have to wait for the facial abrasions to heal up before a razor is coming anywhere near your face. At least they didn't have to shave your head to stitch up the scalp lacerations." He narrowed his eyes, not amused. She held out a small sheet of paper. "Here."

Walt took the sheet with a questioning expression. It contained a phone number and six dates. He recognized the number as that of the Marine Corps Combat Development Command -- once a Marine, always a Marine -- and instantly realized the significance of the dates. Not only was she conceding on changing the wedding date, she'd already found a new location for the ceremony and reception. "Have I told you how much I love you recently?"

She pushed his tray table aside and repositioned the chair. "Not nearly enough," she quipped, sitting down. "And I can eliminate three of those dates right now."

"Well, September 20 is obviously out, right on top of Charlee's birthday. And May 17 is smack in the middle of that conference." Walt scrutinized the remaining dates.

"Scratch August 16 and July 12, too. The former is Andy and Joy's 25th anniversary and he's taking her to Hawaii for two weeks."

"Are you sure about that date?" Walt absently muttered, looking at the remaining two. Allison eyed him strangely till he finally looked up. "What?"

"My brother and sister-in-law have been celebrating it the same day since they got married, you ditz. Of course I'm sure."

Walt gave her a 'smart ass' look in return and went back to the list. "What's wrong with July 12?"

"Audrey's due date is the first. She'll go late, so that's out."

"Short of scheduling a caesarian, how could you possibly know that?"

"Because her other three were late, as were mine, except for Charlee." Allison took the list back from him.

"How late is late?"

"Hmm?" Allison was clearly distracted. "Five days with Trev, eight with Amelia and 13 with Ian... Why do you think he weighed 10 pounds? Technically, Charlee was a week early because they induced me with the toxemia. And she still weighed nine-three. Can we get back to the matter at hand?"

Walt winced at the weights, just as he had when Clare had told him Anthony's birthweight. "How much did Trev and Amelia weigh?"

"Eight-two and eight-fifteen; babies tend to get heavier with each successive pregnancy." Allison retrieved her wallet from her coat pocket.

"Then a child of ours is doomed to be late... and huge. Clare went two weeks late with Anthony," Walt announced with a thoughtful tone, thinking neither he nor Allison would be described as particularly small in stature.

Allison was concentrating on her checkbook register, specifically the calendar portion of it. "If you want to get truly technical about it, it's believed that the child releases a chemical when it decides it's time and triggers the onset of labor. Apparently mine and Anthony liked where they were and didn't want to come out."

Walt arched an eyebrow again. "Where'd you hear that?"

"Read it. Have you exhausted this line of questioning?" She stared at him expectantly, her arms crossed. "Wedding date?"

He shook his head to clear his mind. "Uh, yeah. March 29."

Allison tilted her head. "Strewth! You would. That's less than six weeks away. And what about Anthony and Trev's party? It's tentatively planned for right about the same time."

"Well October 25 isn't practical. We'd be just as far ahead to leave the original date." Allison's expression indicated that that was fine with her. "And you know as well as I do that Anthony and Trev will be perfectly happy to have us get married *as* their present. Having said that, though, what about a Saturday?"

"They're all booked."

"All of them?" Walt needlessly repeated.

Allison stared down her nose at him. "Well, okay, May 1 was open... 1999." He rolled his eyes and sighed. "The backyard is looking better and better, huh, tesoro?"

Walt returned her smirk. "Do you think we can pull it off in six weeks?" His mind fleetingly remembered what was possible in that time frame... falling in love and conceiving a son had been.

"Would that be the royal 'we'?" She now sighed at his serious and hopeful expression. "If we cut a lot of corners, I suppose so, yes."

Day Five, 1:38p.m.

Allison stifled another yawn as she wove her way past the hospital personnel, various carts, wheelchairs and gurneys that lined the corridor. She arrived outside Walt's room as a nurse was chiding him for failing to eat his food again and threatening to have him put back on fluids. Walt didn't say anything, but his expression said plenty.

The nurse straightened her back a bit more and returned his haughty look. "Don't you be giving me the evil eye, *Mr.* Skinner. I don't care who you are, you'll do as I say or else." The nurse looked Allison up and down as she tried to edge into the room. "Are you his fiancee?"

"Guilty," Allison admitted, amused by the situation.

"Can you talk any sense into the man?"

"I doubt it. He's very pig-headed." She leaned down to stage-whisper into the smaller woman's ear. "Anal-retentive type, you know. Has to be in control of everything. Very high opinion of himself. I wouldn't put up with it if he didn't have a tremendous 'hidden' talent." Allison raised her eyes suggestively. Walt adopted one of his trademark looks, the one that said 'you're not getting the upper hand,' 'I'm not saying anything more' and/or 'dismissed.'

"Indeed... Well, he needs a strong hand to keep him on the straight and narrow," the nurse replied as she turned back to look at him. Walt had presence of mind to blank his expression. "You be good to this lassie, or I might discover one of your doctors has prescribed a barium enema." Allison ducked her head, biting her lip to curb her laughter as the nurse left.

"Did you enjoy emasculating me in front of 'Drill Sergeant' Moody?"

"As a matter of fact, it was the most fun I've had all day. You must have really gotten on her bad side; I understand barium enema threats are saved for the most difficult patients." She tossed her coat onto the extra chair before leaning down to kiss him. Allison stopped just short of his mouth, her hair falling into his face. "And I haven't gotten around to lunch, so behave." She arched her eyebrow, as did he, before completing the kiss. "You know she's just trying to do her job. Look at it this way -- not eating the food is likely to keep you here longer. And just think how much more quality time you can spend with the 'Drill Sergeant,' in that case."

Walt narrowed his eyes in response as she toed her loafers off, pulled the other chair to the bed, sat down and propped her feet onto the mattress near his thigh. "You have a devious streak." She smiled as another yawn seeped out of her, then leaned her head back against the chair. "Do I risk telling you you look like death on a soda cracker?"

Allison pulled her head forward, narrowing her eyes and lightly whapping him. "Been watching M*A*S*H* reruns? You're lucky I look this good, considering the trace amount of sleep I got."

Walt looked mystified. "The call to Kiev shouldn't have been bad -- of course, the time difference for Wurttemburg works out worse, but I wouldn't think you had to talk to them very long."

"I didn't, and Louisa sounded tentative about making it over at first. She and Karl have passports, but Sofia doesn't. I was thinking you could use some of your 'influence' with consulates and attaches or whatever to push hers through."

"Oh, so now I'm *allowed* to use my influence, huh?" Walt retorted with a grin. "I'll have Roz get on it. I'm assuming money, or the lack thereof, is coming into play here?"

Allison shifted enough to pull a piece of paper out of her jeans pocket. "Yup. Louisa was grateful and embarrassed when I told her we wanted to pay their way." She ran her eyes down the sheet till she came to the item she wanted. "Airfare, flying out of Stuttgart," she named a price. "And the hotel offered a discount if we rent a dozen rooms." Walt raised his eyes in a thoughtful gesture before pursing his lips. "Yeah, I know, it's still going to cost a small fortune, but it's better than a tunk in the head with a sharp rock."

He shook his head with a grin. "Is that another of your mother's phrases?" Allison smiled broadly. "What about the Ukrainian relatives?"

"Well, we ran into some luck there. Dmitri and Katerina are starting another four-month rotation at Houston the first of March." Walt's cousins were scientists attached to the MIR Space Station project and had been working with the US for the past year. "That airfare will be negligible compared to the rate to fly Anna and Yuri. And there's the fact that neither of the latter speak English."

"Clare spoke Russian," Walt quietly said as Allison put away her notes.

She raised her eyes in question. "Well, that puts her one up on me. I never had the patience to learn a foreign language, just the odd phrase. At any rate, Dmitri suggested we fly Anna and Yuri out to Houston and they can all fly in from there."

"So if the phone calls didn't take too long, why are you so bushed?"

Allison yawned as if on cue. "Because Amelia's bronchiectasis flared up and she kept me awake most of the night."

Walt immediately looked more concerned. "You should have told me that first, Allison. What did Frank say?"

"That he's still unwilling to recommend surgery as long as she responds well to the antibiotics. I'm going to keep her home from preschool tomorrow, but she'll be fine. She can help Mom and me get started on the dresses. It only took us three visits to fabric stores to get everything we need. And if you really care, Audrey's and the girls' dresses are going to be periwinkle blue."

Walt quickly decided not to tell Allison that that happened to have been Clare's favorite color. "Well, just so you don't think I'm resting on my laurels here, I managed to come up with an invitation design."

He nodded toward a sizable book on the table next to the bed. Allison raised her eyes in moderate surprise when she finally noticed the printer's book. " *Where* did you get that? And why? With less than six weeks, I hardly think formal invitations are necessary. If you're bound and determined to get something on paper, we can print something off the computer."

He grimaced at the thought. "I'm *bound and determined* to do this right, Allison. Kimberly's brother-in-law manages a printing shop. If we agree on the design and wording by five today, he's promised he can have the finished product delivered to the house on Saturday morning."

Allison gazed into the earnest and expectant eyes of her lover and sighed. "And no doubt I'll be addressing them to go out in the afternoon post. All right, fine, whatever you want."

"Don't you want to see what I picked?"

"Not really, no." The pout that crossed his face rivaled anything the kids had ever managed. "Walllt. If you're happy with it, then it's fine." The pout actually deepened. She sighed with exaggeration and got up to retrieve the book, gently putting it on his lap. "What page?" He told her, his expression brightening. Allison flipped the pages, expecting something crisp, clean and uncomplicated. She frowned when she reached the page and turned one forward and back, sure he'd misspoken. No. It couldn't be.

His features collapsed at her reaction. "You don't like it."

"I didn't say that," she contradicted. "It's just... not what I expected." The design had a delicate meandering vine with tiny bluish flowers dotting it. The paper was a pale blue parchment and the text more of a royal blue. It basically *was* simple, but... "You just didn't strike me as the, uh..." she frowned as she tried to find the right word. "What made you pick this pattern?"

"I've always liked flowers." Walt's voice was shy. "My father gave my mother at least a single one every day their entire marriage. Sometimes it was a rose, but mostly it was a small bunch of wildflowers... buttercups, daises, forget-me-nots."

Allison's expression softened instantly. Walt had tried bringing her flowers for no reason a few times, but stopped when she'd said they looked better in their natural environment. She resolved to let him cut bouquets from the soon-to-be-plentiful blooms in the yard and present her with his tokens of love more often.

"If you really don't like it, we can choose something else," he offered with downcast eyes.

She leaned over and kissed his forehead. "It's fine, tesoro. I sometimes forget what a romantic dunderhead you can be. Should I assume you have the wording all worked out, too?" He flashed a smile and inclined his head back toward the nightstand. Allison picked up a single sheet of paper and shook her head in amusement, noting the writing wasn't his typical scrawl. "And what body part did you have to flash to get one of your nurses to take dictation?"

Day 10, 10:27a.m.

Allison pulled the van into the driveway with the private transport vehicle right behind. She already had visions of happily going back to work for the peace, Walt's attitude toward recuperation and therapy not even remotely matching hers. He'd fumed and complained about being transported this way and been quite opposed to hiring a home health-care worker. He complained until Allison had pointed out that her surgery prevented her from doing much to assist him and that his other choices for getting to the bathroom were her mother or Teresa.

He was still peeved about having a plaster cast on his ankle, too, but the doctors had rightly concluded he wouldn't stay sedentary with a simple air cast, despite the surgery to his knee. And with the damage to his collarbone, shoulder and wrist, crutches were out of the question right now... so his bruised ego was going to further suffer the indignity of a wheelchair.

"What time does the hired help get here?" Walt asked as soon as he was alone with Allison.

"Eleven o'clock for the health-care worker and 11:30 for the therapist," she replied as she tucked the comforter around him.

"Good." Walt eyed the wheelchair sitting in front of the window with disfavor. "The sooner I can get rid of that thing, the better."

"Don't count on it being any time soon, 'Muscles.' Overdoing therapy will only sabotage your recovery. The new knee cartilage has to have time to take hold and the cruciate ligament time to heal from the repair surgery. You should count yourself lucky that you didn't damage the ligament any more than you did and that your cartilage tear could be fixed at all. Look what happened to that Olympic skier. And I'm not having you disrupt the healing process for those ribs either. So you'll do only what you're allowed and nothing more. Got it?"

"Uh huh," he mumbled, not paying her much attention. "What's for lunch?"

Allison knotted her eyebrows with disapproval, assuming the words had gone in one ear and out the other. "Mashed vegetables in a paste."

Walt wasn't taken in by her expression. "Very funny."

She stuck her tongue out at him and stood up. "Poached eggs on toast with a light cream sauce."

He wrinkled his nose. "Why don't you just say 'eggs benedict'?"

"Because there's no Hollandaise sauce, cheese or meat."

Walt loudly exhaled through his still-present teeth and hoped they wouldn't fall out for lack of something substantive to chew. "What's wrong with Hollandaise sauce?"

"Citric -- lemon juice," she replied while angling for the door.

"Can I have milk yet?"

"You don't even like milk unless it's with cookies or cereal, so what difference does it make?"

He hunched down against his pillow and growled after her retreating form. "I liked it better at the hospital."

Allison was luxuriating under the hot, pulsing water. Not being able to take a shower for a week because of the surgery had been horrible. But she was making up for it now.

Walt was with the therapist and his first, rotating health-care worker, Ryan. Ian and Amelia were having lunch with her mother, and the other kids were at school. Ummm, she thought, no interruptions, just a long, relaxing shower. Who would believe that water could feel so erotic, Allison pondered.

She barely heard the stall door open. "Allison?"

She dropped her head before turning to look at him. "What?"

Walt ignored her less than enthusiastic tone. "I just wanted to let you know the therapist was leaving."

She narrowed her eyes as he looked her up and down. "Take a picture, it lasts longer." He abruptly shut his mouth. "You had to interrupt my shower to tell me that?"

"Is that what you're calling this? You've been in there 20 minutes. I'm surprised you don't look like a prune." Walt didn't make much effort to hide his jealousy over shower use.

"Yeah, well, go back into the bedroom, the steam isn't good for the wheelchair's electronics." She didn't know if that was true, but she didn't care at that point. "What are you doing in that thing, anyway?"

"I got tired of staying in bed."

"You've been home a whopping two hours, isn't it too soon to be antsy?"

"Both the therapist and Ryan said my wrist is strong enough to utilize the controls, so I don't have to stay in bed all day."

Gee, thanks, Allison mused. She gazed at him with a deliberately seductive air. "So you're looking for something to do? Something to keep yourself occupied?" He wet his lips as she leaned down, her newly smaller breasts just inches from him. "Go ask Ryan if your wrist is strong enough for some heavy-duty, repetitive, manual activity."

Oh, boy, he thought, so much for waiting three weeks for sex.

"There's a stack of ironing a foot high with your name on it."

He blinked a few times before scowling. "Damn tease."

Day 11, 11:05a.m.

Allison opened the front outer door to retrieve the mail, Ian a few feet behind her, Buster right on her heels. She sighed as Buster made straight for the sassafras tree and effortlessly jumped on top of the railroad ties that boxed it in. No doubt the bulbs were peeking through the ground under the mulch already. Should be beautiful for the wedding, she thought.

She blew through the mail, noting various bills, ad circulars and other assorted detritus. Allison looked up in time to see Ian roll his way into the box, instantly covering his clothes with soggy leaves. "Ian Richard Wright! Get out of there!" Her son simply gazed back at her, grinning. "Buster, house," she yelled, and wasn't altogether surprised that the puppy responded on the first command -- of course, Buster didn't wipe his paws and left a trail of muddy prints down the hall. Cats were easier, she thought, they toilet train themselves, don't need to go out to do their business... She closed her eyes briefly as a distinct sound reached her ears from just inside the inner front door.

Ian decided to come in on his own after all, and stepped in the pool of vomit that the cat Tabitha had just heaved. Stifling numerous oaths, Allison caught her son's hand as he tried to escape. "Mom!" she hollered over the noise of the sewing machine. Mrs. Hogle appeared at the drawing room doors a few seconds later. "Would you take 'Messy Marvin' here and clean him up?" Jude wrinkled her nose at the lovely aroma of decomposing leaves and dog and hastily began stripping her grandson's clothing.

Allison looked upward at the apologetic cough she heard. Ryan stood at the top of that section of stairs. "Your presence has been requested, Mrs. Wright."

She arched an eyebrow at the twinkle she saw in his expression. "Inform his highness I'll be up after I've finished cleaning up here."

"You called, your regalness?" Allison deadpanned as she came through the door, mail in hand. She noted that Ryan lowered his head to mask his grin before excusing himself and leaving them alone. Walt narrowed his eyes as she sauntered to the bed.

"You can stop with the 'royal' treatment anytime."

"Really, oh Grand Poobah? I figured since you seem to expect instantaneous service, I should use the correct terminology."

He smirked at her sarcastic tone. "Not in front of the hired help... It undermines my authority."

"Yeah, right. And stop referring to Ryan like that... you're corrupting the kids."

He narrowed his eyes until they were slits and put his hand out expectantly. "Mail."

Allison turned her head to the door with exaggeration and whistled under her breath. " *Every* delicious inch of him."

He took the offered mail. "Down, girl. You're sidelined, remember?... What's so special about him, anyway? Even your mother half-drools at him."

"Are you blind? There isn't something familiar about him?" Walt continued to gaze at her, bored. "He's the same build and height as you, has the same eyes. Your voices are similar, too, though Ryan's is higher. And there's something sexy about a moustache."

"Am I supposed to be flattered that you're ogling a guy because he reminds you of me? And in another week *my* mustache will look better than his, not to mention I'll have a hell of a nice beard to go with it."

"I thought you were looking forward to getting rid of the whiskers?"

"Well, I'm changing my mind... I didn't realize I'd look so distinguished." She rolled her eyes as he finished pawing the mail with a frown.

"Just what are you looking for, anyway? You can hardly expect any of the response cards from the invitations to be back this soon."

He shook his head and pushed the pile of mail back toward her. "I can't believe we haven't gotten the menu options from Quantico yet."

"Would you get over your obsession with food already? We've got a solid week before choices have to be made... and I'm not showing you the menu till then." Walt looked like he was going to argue, so she cut him off. "Because your three entree choices would be filet mignon with mustard-caper sauce, paella and lobster thermidor, based strictly on the fact that they all have ingredients you can't have."

She watched him flicking his tongue over empty space for the umpteenth time. "And stop doing that, too. Your teeth aren't going to magically grow back."

"I happen to have been partial to my teeth, Allison. I went out of my way to take care of them... especially when I was smoking"

"Yeah, yeah. Most people I know don't even have their wisdom teeth. From that perspective, you only lost one tooth."

He pouted again and mumbled something unintelligible. "What's for lunch?"

"Hot dogs."

He brightened before he noted the twinkle in her eyes. "For me?"

"Spinach noodles and tofu flavored with chicken bouillon."

He slumped against his pillow again. "Blechh. I'd rather have the vegetable paste... Hey, I can't eat bean curd/tofu, can I? And I thought bouillon was too salty?"

Day 16, 9:07a.m.

Walt was relaxing, eyes closed, in the pulsing water of the whirlpool, thinking that in another week, he'd be able to shower. Of course, finally being free of the waterproof bandages over his sutured abdominal region would be nice, too. As would losing the bag on his casted ankle for the hydrotherapy leg extensions.

He fantasized about being on a secluded beach, warm tropical water lapping at his toes, a cool mai tai in one hand and his nude wife snuggled tightly against his own bare body. The brilliant sunlight was giving her abundant, long wavy hair a redder cast than usual...

"Okay, Walt, time to get you cleaned up." Damn, Walt thought, eyes opening at the voice... the male voice. It was bad enough having to be assisted with 'natural functions,' but getting bathed by another guy did things to his ego. But in another week, Ryan would be gone.

"Can't I do this by myself?" Walt questioned again while Ryan rolled his eyes, pushing Walt forward to soap his back.

"Your mobility isn't wide enough yet, and stop asking questions you already know the answers to." Both men looked toward Allison as she stood in the doorway. "You have a phone call, Ryan. I'll stay here with Prince Charming."

Ryan left, making no effort to hide his grin.

"Just because you'd be more than happy to let him wash *you* doesn't mean I have to be. At least he doesn't have the gall to try to clean *every* portion of my anatomy." He waited for Allison to make a flip comment while she held the wet washcloth and eventually craned his neck to look at her. "Knock it off," he commanded upon seeing her wistful expression.

Allison shook her head after a few more seconds, an evil smile on her face. "Damn, but you just interrupted a hell of a nice daydream... So do *I* have permission to wash 'every portion of your anatomy'?" She noted that the extensive bruising to his outer left thigh was about a third of its original color intensity.

Walt stifled a groan as she was already running the soapy cloth across his chest, brushing his nipples lightly. "Just don't start anything you're not prepared to finish," he warned, with too much superciliousness. Allison arched a disapproving eyebrow and immediately thought of how she'd pay him back for 'pushing' her into the surgery.

She quickly maneuvered the cloth lower, into the water and against his groin. He jumped and began muttering objections, his voice getting fainter as she whispered some of the most creative and erotic 'dirty talk' he'd heard in a long time. And in between words she'd flick her tongue against the contours of his ear, all the while manipulating his inflating erection.

Walt wished he could grab the wall of the whirlpool for balance and thrust into her hands, but he couldn't get his left arm up that far because of the mending collarbone and she had his other arm pinned. He heard a faint creak but paid it no mind as he felt himself on the verge of one of the fastest-wrought climaxes of his life.

Then she stopped abruptly.

"Everything all right, Ryan?" she asked sweetly as the health-care worker came back into the bathroom. She also ran a hand against Walt's luxuriantly bearded cheek.

"Fine," Ryan said cheerily.

Walt didn't bother listening to anything else -- he was too busy trying to stifle his gasp and groan as Allison's fingers squeezed the base of his penis hard.

12:34p.m.

Walt warily eyed the covered plate Allison was carrying. The therapist had just left and Ryan had disappeared for lunch. Walt was still peeved over the whirlpool episode and unwilling to be civil. "Just leave the swill and go away," he grumbled.

"My, we're in a lovely mood," she quipped.

His eyes narrowed to the point of nearly disappearing. "It took me a full frigging minute to convince my body to stay relaxed after your little prank. And every time that damned washcloth came in contact with *any* part of my anatomy, I had to start over. I hardly," and she choked on his choice of words, "think I deserved that."

Allison cleared her throat. "I have to disagree. That was not only for forcing the surgery, but also for getting Ben Latham to bring you work yesterday when he was supposed to be inspecting my brother's work, for trying to have Roz sneak work in during her visits *and* for having the impertinence to call me on your cell phone when I didn't 'hop to' fast enough with the mail earlier in the week." She pulled the cover off the plate. "And you really don't deserve this, either."

Walt arched a cautious eye and hesitantly stirred the food with the fork. "Is this *real* chicken?"

"It couldn't be any more real if I'd plucked it myself. Now the gravy is milkless, but if you're a good boy and eat all your veggies, I might let you have a piece of angel food cake."

Walt would have stuck his tongue out at her for her tone alone, but he didn't want to risk losing dessert.

Day 24, 9:23a.m.

Walt was enjoying his shower immensely... understanding why Allison had hogged the water for so long before. God, it felt good to have the water spray down on him -- and he vowed not to take another bath for months. Well, except for the cottage... as long as Allison was right there with him.

He tentatively put all his weight on his right leg, finding it strange to be able to do it again. And in a few short hours, the plaster cast was coming off and an air cast put on in its place. He was anxious to start doing weight training with his knee, even if he could only use one-pound weights. Despite the still bland and seemingly low-fat diet, he could just about feel his muscle turning to fat -- he knew definitely that he'd lost strength. He couldn't do much about his upper body other than careful isometric exercises, but hopefully he could stop the battle of the bulge down below.

Allison popped her head into the shower. "Gee, *dear,* you're turning into a prune."

He cast a sideways look of 'tough' toward her until he noticed she was coming in and was appropriately undressed. "To what do I owe the honor of your presence, carissima?"

"I was afraid if I didn't roust you, I wouldn't get *my* shower. Besides, you still need somebody to do your back." She followed the focus of his eyes down to her breasts. "You know, you've got a two-track mind lately -- food and sex."

"Well, you know what they say, you always want what you can't have."

"Hmm. You'll just have to settle for another kiss."

Allison carefully moved closer, her body just grazing his as they meticulously explored each other's mouth. "You sure the whiskers don't bother you?" he murmured.

"They tickle a little, but I'm getting used to it. And you're right, the beard gives you an air of distinction. You look like a stereotypical English professor."

"Like your grandfather?"

Allison cocked her head to one side and fixed him with an uncomprehending stare. "My grandfather? One owned a string of nurseries and the other was an independent dairy farmer."

Walt groaned to himself as he belatedly realized *Clare's* grandfather had been the English professor. "Well, they both have a certain scholarly look about them," he improvised.

She nodded briefly, still looking puzzled and took the washcloth from him, lathering it back up as his eyes shifted to her breasts again. "Go ahead, you can touch 'em," she sighed.

He smiled and tentatively reached out with his right hand, gently stroking. She quivered immediately. Walt looked up with a trace of anxiety. "Still sensitive?"

"A bit. They'll likely be better once I dump this latest round of hormones." She put his hand back. "So do they pass muster?"

Walt continued to caress, lightening his touch to a feather-like pressure. "How does your back feel?"

"Great."

"Then they more than pass muster." And I can only assume the scars will fade some in time, like my 'Nam ones, he thought to himself. "So we're waiting another three, four days before we test the 'sexual waters'?"

She gave him a reproving gaze. "Neither one of us is up to missionary, and me on top isn't going to work very well unless you want me to put my weight on your bad knee or your bad shoulder... and anything more creative than that is well beyond possibility at the moment. Manual and oral are about it... and I don't really see how you could be comfortable doing the latter until your collarbone and/or ribs have healed."

He tried to keep his expression contrite. "Sorry. But that hardly means you can't..." he stopped before he wedged his foot in his throat. "Why don't we be mature, patient sorts and wait till the wedding night? We're halfway there now. And we can even make a bet to see whose resolve holds longer."

She pulled away from him to soap his back. "Sounds like a sucker bet to me, *dear.* "

She moved back in front of him a few moments later and he forced himself to shift mental gears. "Are you losing weight again?"

"Maybe a couple of pounds," she shrugged. "I don't know. I'm not really keeping track. Why?"

He sighed as she glided the cloth over his chest. "Because you're perfect just the way you are."

Allison stopped washing him. "What do you want now?"

He endeavored to look innocent. "Can't I pay you a compliment..." Her expression plainly said she wasn't buying it. "Oh, all right. I want to plant a small vegetable garden."

"And you thought you needed to butter me up for that?"

Day 31, 1:45p.m.

Allison watched Walt from the family room doorway as he sat at the table and was preoccupied at the laptop, absently munching sugar cookies and slurping real milk -- skim, of course. Dairy products had returned to his diet and he'd scarfed down stuffed shells for lunch.

She assumed he was finishing his diagram of the proposed garden. He had copies of numerous appropriate books in front of him and had purchased a computer program to design the whole thing. Allison had questioned the need for all the paraphernalia, but had decided if it kept him busy, out of her hair and channeled his sexual energy, who cared?

Walt had all but hounded her the last two weeks, trying to 'help' with the wedding plans. He'd even gone so far as to write personal vows for them to exchange. Allison had thought he was kidding and had expected the vows to be pompous and lordly, to go along with his newly developed 'aristocratic' attitude. And she'd had to bite back her maudlin response when she'd read the soul-searching words -- she'd still told him to curb it back some, saying they didn't need the guests gagging in their seats.

Allison sighed as she gazed at his unencumbered right ankle, propped on one of the chairs. Whenever he wasn't on it, he took the air cast off, saying the tendons needed to 'breathe.' He'd been carefully negotiating the stairs on his own for a few days and was wearing a strong support bandage on his knee. Walt still grudgingly had the lightweight bandage on his wrist and the sling for his collarbone, but tended to keep his arm out of it -- though his elbow remained tight against his hip. She drove him to the therapy facility each morning -- since he was mobile now, he didn't need in-home treatment -- and he spent twice as much time on the treadmill. And Allison had discovered she had to watch him on it, since he'd set the pace too high otherwise. She also had to have Teresa confiscate the adapter cord, so he'd be grounded at night. Allison had foreseen the inevitable use of dumbbells and gotten the doctor to halve the weight limit, knowing Walt would double it.

And these last two weeks before the wedding were no doubt going to be worse, she thought, especially now that the tuxedos had been ordered the previous day and Walt had been utterly disgusted to order a size up. He'd argued for minutes about being able to tone up before the wedding and Allison had informed him that he'd need substantially more than two weeks to fit back into his normal size. Ned McIntire -- still dumbfounded to have been asked to be his best man -- had looked on in amusement until he'd been informed that his own measurements had expanded some. Only the boys had managed to get their usual size and they hadn't cared, turning up their noses at having to wear the garments at all.

The wedding plans were progressing. Dresses were done, response cards were back, food, cake and flowers had been chosen, rooms and limos were reserved, flights confirmed. Walt had spent the better part of two days sorting through their CDs before cajoling one of the experts at HQ to dub the songs together for the reception. All Allison had to work on at the present was the menu for the rehearsal brunch -- and once she had that, she'd be prepping as much of the food as possible.

Walt finally appeared to be finished tinkering and sat back, looking toward the door as he grabbed the last cookie. "You're hardly going to tone up eating those," she informed him.

They heard a heavy-sounding truck pull into the driveway. Walt craned his neck to peer out the window and Allison ducked her head to see out from her vantage point. A second later, Amelia hollered down the stairs that Ian was awake and stank.

Walt hastily put the air cast back on. "Why don't you get Ian and I'll see what the deal with the truck is." Allison raised a dubious eyebrow but agreed as Walt grabbed his crutch and hobbled to the vestibule.

When she came back down a few minutes later, she found Walt on the back porch, half-sitting on the railing as he watched deliverymen from a local garden shop unloading. "What the..." Allison put Ian down and commanded him to stay put while she grabbed the invoice from Walt's hand. "Fertilizer... paving stones, chicken wire... a rototiller?" She looked at him in astonishment, wanting to smack him and trying to quickly think where it was safe to whack -- she settled on his butt, numerous times. "You *have* gone off your rocker this time. If you ordered all this stuff, what the--" she noticed Amelia had followed her out and rapidly changed words, "heck were you working on?"

Walt cautiously removed his right hand from the railing -- where he'd placed it to counterbalance the teetering motion her smacking had caused -- before replying. "The final arrangement for the vegetables and melons."

She looked again at the invoice and made some quick calculations. "You're using *all* the space behind the garage, aren't you?" He remained silent but smiling as the workers kept their eyes averted from the little drama unfolding. "How much -- *1600* square feet? No wonder you got a rototiller. Who the... bleep is going to run that? Your collarbone can't be subjected to that kind of vibration. And who's going to do the planting and maintenance and--"

"Carissima, I've got it all arranged. I hired somebody to do the tilling and anchor the posts. And by the time the actual plants and seeds go into the ground, I'll be fine; Anthony and Trev can dig holes for the berry bushes. As far as taking care of the garden goes, I'm going to do it... with some help from the kids."

Amelia ventured down the steps with Ian. "You're figuring to pay them to weed? Good luck. And what about harvesting and preserving? Who are you going to sweet-talk into doing that?"

He tentatively wrapped his arm around her. "Have I told you lately how beautiful, understanding and lovable you are?" Allison narrowed her eyes before whacking him again.

Day 38, 9:40a.m.

Allison was up to her eyeballs in flour as she heard Walt, Amelia and Ian returning. She blew away a loose strand of hair and kneaded the dough some more. The kids came scampering into the kitchen while Walt followed at a more sedate pace, limping and automatically taking the cane leaning against the table. He was wearing the air cast only because of the walk; he still had the heavy support bandage on his knee but had discarded both the wrist bandage and sling.

"Where have you been? You called me more than 45 minutes ago. I knew I never should have let you walk back from the school," Allison chided.

Amelia wrinkled her nose at the can on the counter. "Oooh, sauerkraut. Let's get outta here, Ian, b'fore Mommy makes us eat it." She took her brother's hand and left.

"Yeah, yeah, we went slow. What's the 'kraut for?" Walt inquired, setting a tablet of paper down as he slumped into a chair, looking exhausted.

Allison fixed him with a perturbed glance. "Oh ye of little memory -- Ukrainian sauerkraut bread... your aunt and uncle supposedly love the stuff."

"Right," he murmured, his attention on the tablet. "You know, I never really paid much attention to the school's playground equipment. There's an impressive wood and rubber arrangement."

"Aaannd?"

"And I drew a sketch of it... I was thinking I could design something smaller for the backyard."

Allison glared at him. This was what happened when men had too much time on their hands. "That's why you borrowed Charlee's tablet of paper? Where the hell do you figure to put this monstrosity?"

He glanced up at her words. "It won't be a monstrosity. I said smaller... and I was going to put it against the garage, move the swingset further out into the yard."

"Gee, that should cut down on the lawn," she replied sarcastically, punching the dough with unnecessary force. "When are you going back to work again?"

10:55a.m.

"Allison," Walt hollered from his position on one of the family room sofas. He had a pillow under his knee and the air cast on the floor next to him. Amelia and Ian were enthralled with a children's show, even if they'd seen it at least 10 times. "Allison!"

She wandered to the doorway a few seconds later. "What?" she huffed. "I'm cooking the 'kraut, so make it snappy."

"Can I put a couple of tubs of cherry tomatoes on the back porch steps?"

Allison rolled her eyes. "You don't have enough in the garden already?"

"I was putting Beefeater and Roma in the garden. Romas are supposed to be good for making sauce."

"Yeah, yeah," she muttered on her way back to the kitchen.

15 Minutes Later

"Allison?"

She appeared a few seconds later, rolling pin firmly in hand. If she were confronted with a potential criminal, she would have been holding the rolling pin in exactly that way. "What," she growled through clenched teeth.

"Were you going to do anything with that strip between the garage and the fence?"

She screwed her eyes shut. "It's all of five feet wide and nobody sees it... why would I?"

"Good, then I can have it?" Walt didn't bother to look up as he concentrated on his laptop.

"What now?" she complained.

"A couple more cucumber plants, some honeydew melons and rhubarb."

"Rhubarb?" She started smacking the flour-covered pin against her hand. He took no notice.

"Yeah, for strawberry-rhubarb pie. Of course, it'll be a few years before the rhubarb yields a good crop." He looked up after he got no response and discovered she'd left.

30 minutes later

"Allison? Are you in here?"

Walt hobbled into the kitchen after repeated calls had failed to get Allison to come to him. She was beating more batter and barely acknowledged him. "I've got a prelim drawing for the playset and I want your opinion." Allison shoved the tablet aside without looking; Walt immediately frowned. "Amelia liked it," he whined.

Allison bristled and swiveled suddenly to face him. "Did you make me the beneficiary of your life insurance yet?" He gazed at her, confused, and nodded. "Then stop pissing me off before you find yourself the recipient of a fatal accident."

"Hey," he sputtered as she pushed him aside to reach for additional ingredients. "Why are you mad at me?... You wouldn't get the money anyway once you were convicted, you know."

She gripped the counter and took a deep breath. "Well, at least in prison I'd get some peace and quiet. I am *trying* to get the baking done for Saturday and you've done nothing but interrupt me all morning. Don't you think you should be focusing those little gray cells on the wedding, *dear*?"

He looked at her eyes and decided against making a sexist joke. Between the rolling pin -- heavy marble, if he recalled -- and stainless steel wire whisk, he could possibly be hurt. "There isn't anything for me to do," he countered. "And I told you to hire a caterer for the brunch; I never said you had to kill yourself making all the food."

" *Go away.* "

"No. If you're going to stand there accusing me of not helping, I'm going to defend myself. You won't let me cut the grass, you won't let me do the laundry and thank God you actually *did* hire somebody to come in and clean. What do you expect me to do?"

She blew air noisily out her mouth. "The weather reports predict warm temperatures for this weekend. You can clean off the patio furniture and sweep the back porch."

"That's no fun," he childishly grumbled.

" *Then get out of my kitchen and leave me alone.* "

Day 44 (wedding day), 4:38a.m.

Allison hugged the pillow tighter over her head before tossing it aside. Clare hadn't been kidding when she'd warned her about Walt's snoring. Having heard him before, she hadn't thought it could be much of a noise.

And now she shook her head, thinking she'd attended quieter hockey matches. It wasn't just the wake-the-dead snoring, it was also the shifting and flopping all over the bed that made it impossible for her to sleep. Poking yielded silence for about a minute before the serenade started all over.

Allison knew if she didn't get at least a few hours of sleep, dark circles would dominate her features no matter how much make-up she used. With a sigh, she grabbed her pillow and headed down the stairs. She curled up on one of the sofas and basked in the sounds of comparative silence. She wondered how everyone else was managing to sleep through the clamor before she felt herself finally drifting off.

Not five minutes later, she was awake again.

"Allison... Allison?" She opened her eyes to see Walt gazing down at her, concern on his face. "What's wrong? Do you feel sick or something? Why didn't you wake me up instead of disappearing like that -- I was worried."

She stopped herself from rolling her eyes since he seemed completely earnest, even though annoying as all get out. "The only thing wrong with me is exhaustion, Walt. I simply came down here to get some sleep... *alone.* "

"You don't want to sleep with me?" he asked with a wounded tone.

"Not when you're snoring louder than a freight train at full throttle and rolling worse than a tanker caught between cresting waves."

He stared at her a few moments. "When were you on a tanker?... Oh, I get it." He slumped onto the edge of the sofa and dropped his head. "I'm sorry. I really should have listened to you before, too. My stomach wasn't quite ready for beef yet and it's not helping my nerves any."

Allison sat up and tenderly stroked his once-again smooth cheek. "You don't have anything to be nervous about, tesoro," unless you don't let me get some sleep, she added to herself, in which case I might not be accountable for my actions. "Some Pepto should ease your stomach, but I don't know what I can do to assuage--"

"Just come back to bed, carissima. That's all I need. I promise I'll settle down as long as you're in my arms... pressed close against me, breasts softly heaving against my chest..." His eyes were rapidly darkening as they stared at her cleavage in the button-down nightshirt.

Allison shook her head. "I do believe I hear the sound of someone's resolve breaking. And with less than 24 hours to go, too," she said with a wink.

Title: Anthony, Book Four: A Matter Of Perspective
Author: Clare Skinner

Sunday, March 29, 1998, 10:18p.m.

Allison swung the rental car around an enormous white oak and parked in front of the cottage. It had a deep porch that extended across the whole of the structure. She noted two natural cane rockers and a welcoming pair of old-fashioned lantern-style lights. She shut off the car and stepped from the vehicle, inhaling deeply the fresh aroma of the nearby water. The cottage wasn't situated right on Long Island Sound, but further back into Connecticut, along Hamburg Cove.

Walt slowly exited the vehicle, his knee stiff from the relatively short drive from the airport. Despite an aisle seat on the plane, he'd still been more confined than he would have liked. He listened to his knee pop in the stillness of the night and heard Allison's responding chuckle. "Sounds like I just married an old man," he heard her say.

"Right about now, that's how I feel."

She walked to the trunk, preparing to retrieve their belongings. "Let me show you around first, carissima." Allison smiled and took his offered hand, careful to help him up the few porch steps without seeming to. He fumbled in his pocket for the key, opened the door and flipped on the light switch. Illumination came from a single, centered fixture and Allison entered, surprised at the furnishings.

She'd expected a card table and folding chairs, books -- if any -- to be stacked on the floor, chairs and sofa to be garage sale rejects, window treatments to be bland shades and the bed to be a modified cot. *That* fit with her idea of rustic. She turned to Walt and smirked. "I think we need to discuss the word 'rustic,' Walt."

"It's a matter of perspective, Allison. The mechanics are antiquated and as you can see, there's not much privacy for the bathroom."

She had to agree at that as a shower curtain hung across the front section of the 'room.'"A 'matter of perspective,' huh? The furniture is at least three times nicer than the stuff I had in my first apartment."

Walt beamed as she walked into the area. "Most of it belonged to my parents."

She peered over to the fireplace and the bookcases flanking it, assuming he'd built them. Then she turned her gaze back toward the massive brass-framed bed, her vision barely noticing the table behind the sofa full of pictures. Finally, she turned around and found Walt staring at her, his expression one of love, relief and pleasure.

Allison smiled at him a few seconds before glancing at the dining table. "What's this?" She wandered over and picked up the note propped against the cut crystal vase of flowers -- she gave Walt a sly glance, as they were the same combination as the flowers in the wedding -- primrose in a lavender-blue color, creamy orchids and yellow tulips.

" 'Allison and Walter, we're so happy for you and hope you can join us for dinner Tuesday night. Enjoy the pie. Mrs. B.' So I'm actually going to meet the saintly Mrs. B?"

Walt took Allison's hand. "She'd probably shoot me if I didn't. Like I've said, she seems to think I'm the underfed son she never had," he said with a grin. "She fussed like crazy over Anthony the two times I brought him up. You've heard him go on about 'Gramma Millie.'... So you like the place... Mrs. Skinner?" he asked unnecessarily, wrapping his arms around her.

"I love the place, Mr. Skinner... almost as much as I love you."

"Wow, that much, huh?" She wriggled her nose at him as he laughed. He caressed her cheeks with his thumbs. "Well, allow me to show you how *I* feel." He kissed her slowly and deeply, hoping to ignite her passion -- only to be disappointed when she yawned at the end.

Allison covered her mouth and grinned sheepishly. "Sorry. The lack of sleep is catching up with me. I'd better get our stuff before I fall over and do a Rip Van Winkle."

"I'd help, but--"

"Yeah, yeah. You're semi-incapacitated and you'll carry me over a threshold at a later date." He grinned and paddled her behind as she scooted toward the front door.

She'd no sooner cleared the door before he gimped over to the sofa table and pulled open a drawer. He removed a brand-new crystal picture frame and scanned a note attached to an envelope enclosed: 'Walter, I removed the pictures with your first wife and replaced them with the ones you sent as requested. Hope you like the new frame. MB.'

Walt retrieved a packet of photos from his windbreaker pocket and quickly inserted the one he wanted into the new frame. He paused to gaze at it with affection, running his index finger over the smooth surface of the glass before moving to the bed to light the pair of oil lamps.

Allison meandered back in -- after having tried out the rockers -- and dropped their two over-sized totes, laying Walt's cane beside them. She rubbed her stomach as she killed the outside lights and wondered what Mrs. B had filled the fridge with... well, icebox was more like it. Allison hadn't seen one in years and grinned as she opened it, musing that it was stocked like another period of time, too: Two quart-sized glass bottles of milk, eggs stacked in a bowl, a stick of real butter, a jug of apple juice, several items of vegetable produce and two sizable breasts of chicken. There were also a couple of hand-labeled containers that proved to be homemade applesauce, grape jelly, bland tomato sauce (so labeled) and interestingly enough, mozzarella cheese. Allison sniffed this last package and grinned again, wondering if she'd stumble across a bottle of dandelion wine, too. A quick peek into the tiny freezer section revealed a tub of vanilla ice cream, looking for all world as if it were freshly cranked.

She yanked on the light bulb's pull cord and retrieved a sparkling clean glass tumbler from the shelves opposite the apartment-sized electric stove, briefly taking in the additional provisions -- peanut butter, coffee, sugar, cereal, a large jar labeled 'pancake mix' with instructions, spaghetti, chocolate sauce, walnuts, homemade white bread, home canned peas and squash, jarred soup and two bags of more baked goods.

"Looks like Mrs. B is trying to woo Walt herself," Allison mumbled while she poured a glass of milk.

"Did you get lost or something?" Walt hollered from around the corner.

"Nope," she yelled back, closing the icebox door. "Just wondering if I dare cut into that pie."

"How can you possibly be hungry after the reception?" he queried from his seated position near the top of the bed.

"I always get peckish when I travel." Allison examined the pie and decided it was blueberry. She also opted to have a banana instead since a bowl of fresh fruit was conveniently on the table. What didn't this woman think of? Allison wondered as she tossed the skin, then wandered past the bath area and glanced in. Her hand clamped down on the wall and she leaned back to look into the area again. "That looks suspiciously like bath oil, Walt."

He got off the bed and moved the two paces over to her, biting off a section of banana and speaking around it. "It certainly does, and before you say anything, I did not ask Mrs. B to put it there."

Allison gave him an assessing look anyway. "What about all those candles, Mr. Romance? It seems pointless if the water doesn't stay hot very long."

He smiled slyly as he took her hand. "I had a new water heater installed, though with the weather being so warm, I don't think it was necessary." Allison attempted to stifle a yawn as he stole another bite. "Why don't you have a seat on the bed, carissima, I'll get whatever we'll need."

"Don't talk with your mouth full," she lectured as she crossed the two feet and plopped onto the bed, noting that his parents had invested in an excellent-quality mattress. She took a bite of the banana before he finished it off for her, speculating what he could be getting since she assumed they'd be sleeping in the buff and birth control was no longer an issue. Her glance turned away from his bent form, toward the sofa table, and she stopped in mid-chew.

Walt returned with a tissue-wrapped package and followed her line of vision. " *Where* did that come from?" she asked.

"The table? I think my parents bought it at a little furniture shop owned by..." Allison gave him a scathing look and smacked his thigh. "Oh, you mean the picture?" Walt tossed the package onto the bed and retrieved the new frame, sitting next to Allison afterward. She snatched it from his hand as he grinned -- and he stole the last of the banana. "If you don't happen to like that shot, there are two rolls worth of pictures in my coat pocket."

Allison glanced toward the garment and smacked Walt again. "Only you would get wedding pictures developed the same day. And this one is just fine." Walt gazed at it some more while he took her hand, partly to ward off getting hit again, partly to stroke her palm. "I told you my nephew Jason was a good photographer," she added, her tone softer.

The picture had been snapped a few seconds after the chaplain had instructed Walt to kiss his bride. Allison's fingers were wrapped around Walt's neck, her chin tipped up in preparation for the kiss... the love radiating from their eyes was blinding.

Walt put the frame aside, tilted Allison's chin and slowly kissed her, carefully trying to lean them back. Allison's elbow hit the package and she playfully nipped his lip before sitting back up. "I thought we agreed no presents?"

She repositioned herself on the bed, sitting cross-legged, while he smirked and trailed his index finger along her jaw. "Sue me. I had Roz pick up something."

Allison arched an eyebrow as he handed her the gift. She weighed it tentatively in her hands. "Hmm, seems too heavy for trashy lingerie... maybe a nightshirt?"

His eyes glowed. "I told you I prefer 'em, even if I *did* buy that other set."

Allison gave him another considering look. "Knowing your humor, this had better not have some ridiculous slogan."

"Like?" he prompted as she began opening the paper.

"Like 'ADs do it barking commands,'" she replied. The thoughtful expression crossing his face had her shaking her head. "Great, now I just gave you an idea." She beheld the garment and bit back a sarcastic comment. There were two pieces -- a v-neck, button-down shirt and full-length pants. The top was long, made from crushed velvet and satin while the pants were pure satin... both were a delicate peach.

"So are you going to smack me again?" he teased.

Allison was about to reply when she noticed something in the shirt's patch pocket. A devious smile grew as she removed a pair of bikini briefs -- male briefs. "I'd say Roz got you something, too." She turned the jungle-striped briefs over and fell back on the bed, laughing.

Walt grabbed the item from her. "What's so..." he groaned as he read what was embroidered in bright red on the front of the underwear -- 'Contents will explode under pressure.' He crumpled the briefs and tossed them at the back door. "I'll kill her," he muttered, turning beet red.

"Oh, I can't *wait* to see you model those!"

" *Fat chance,* Allison."

Walt finished brushing his teeth and tugged on the kitchen's pull light, meandering back to the bed amid the soft glow of the oil lamps. He could hear the various creatures uttering their nocturnal calls through the open window as he reached Allison. She looked beautiful, the color of the nightshirt highlighting her features, making her skin look translucent. She was lying on her side, facing him, knees bent, legs slightly apart, right arm draped over Walt's side of the bed and eyes closed.

He remembered how he and Clare had barely made it back to their room after the ceremony, tossing their clothes every which way in their hurry to make love again. And he congratulated himself for developing maturity and patience since then. He sighed, however, as her tantalizing cleavage caused a familiar series of sensations to course through his body. She stirred as he continued to trace lazy circles on her knee.

"Umm, I can't believe I drifted off that fast," she murmured, moving her arm to make room for him. He scooted up the bed and leaned against the propped pillows, gathering her in his arms. "Mmm." She rubbed her head on his bare chest, dropping a hand into his lap. "You're still wearing your briefs," she yawned.

Walt kissed her hair and tightened his hold. "I'm not expecting to do more than sleep tonight, carissima."

"Resolve firmly in control again?"

"You could say that. If I made love with you right now, all I'd get was your body."

Allison leaned up and gazed into his eyes. "And what's wrong with that?"

He tucked her hair behind her ears. "When I make love with you, I want all of you -- body, mind and soul."

She arched an eyebrow. "You don't want my heart?"

He leaned forward and kissed her painstakingly. "I'm counting that as part of your soul."

A few moments later, they were snuggly ensconced under the covers. Allison held up her left hand to gaze at her rings, Walt's fingers intertwined with hers. The wedding bands were a yellow gold with brush strokes and beaded edges. "Trev and Anthony looked so solemn when they carried those on the pillows," Walt remarked.

"I think my grandfather told them it was bad luck if they fell off."

"The one who rides a motorcycle and whose date was younger than you?"

Allison chuckled. "Grandpa tends to be the free spirit of the family... embarrasses the hell out of my mother," she sighed. "As opposed to my paternal grandmother, who quietly told me I was tempting fate by wearing a white gown *and* showing that much skin."

"What skin? All of your bosom was covered... there wasn't even a hint of cleavage."

"I believe she was referring to my bare arms and partly exposed back." Allison yawned some more.

The gown had had a halter neckline with stretch illusion yoke extending from the applique covered bosom to the neck, which had been also appliqued; three strings of tiny beads had edged the yoke. The dress had also had a basque waistline and a full A-line skirt. Allison had worn a single orchid in her swept-up hair.

"Are you sure you don't want sex tonight?" she yawned again.

Wanting it was a far cry from expecting or demanding it, he thought. "Go to sleep, carissima. I promise not to snore." She inclined her head for a last warm kiss and was asleep 30 seconds later.

Walt was about to douse the oil lamp when his gaze fastened on their wedding picture again. He couldn't get over how calm and relaxed he looked, knowing his stomach had been a shifting mass of molten lava. His nerves had been strung up tighter than a brand-new shrink-wrapped videotape, paranoia making him fear he'd trip over his tongue, feet or both. He'd steadfastly rejected the use of his cane for the ceremony and reception alike, though acquiesced to bringing it along for the honeymoon.

Walt smiled as he recalled viewing Allison on her father's arm. A tiny bit of tenseness had abated as she'd approached, looking absolutely breath-taking -- his heart beat faster in memory alone. How she'd been able to mask the circles his restless sleep had caused, he didn't know, but he'd fallen in love all over as she'd taken his hand and they'd turned to the chaplain.

The girls and Audrey had looked lovely, too. Amelia and Charlee had thrown their primrose petals with purpose, Amelia's efforts more erratic. They'd both had baby's breath woven into their braided hair and Charlee had beamed so long and bright Walt was almost afraid her smile would burn out. And Audrey, despite claims of feeling hideously awkward, had been radiant... glowing with the life within her. It was a glow Walt eagerly anticipated seeing within Allison.

And he could still hear McIntire's words echoing through his head -- 'I could launch into a long-winded toast, but I believe I can condense what I want to say into simply this. Allison and Walt, To love and be loved is the greatest joy on earth.' Then there had been that incessant tapping of the glasses to get them to kiss -- something Walt was all for doing, just not in front of a crowd. He kissed Allison's hair now and stroked her back.

He shifted his eyes from their picture and stared at his parents' wedding photo, noting how happy they were. Thinking they would have been dismayed over the knowledge gained over the weekend, but pleased at the bonds forged.

Walt hadn't been sure how to react to his European relatives; his natural inclination was to be impassive. But Anthony had greeted all with the exuberance of youth and innocence, relaxing everyone. Both sides had brought tattered pictures and commented on how this feature of Walt's or that was just like Maggie's or Niko's. Walt and Allison had belatedly realized that Maggie had never revealed he'd been adopted and decided it was best not to do so now, fearing that awkwardness would overshadow the weekend.

The sauerkraut bread and Springerle cookies had been hits, as had the scrapbooks Walt had grudgingly created. Allison had urged him to input favorite memories of his parents and he'd printed those to go with the copied photos. The Dengels and Kafelnikovs had been grateful and willingly offered their own stories to be recorded and later transcribed.

Sofia, the youngest Dengel girl, had looked disarmingly like Maggie... and Walt had warmed to her immediately. Maggie's elder sister, Ute, had been forced into the marriage that she'd avoided -- and Zeller had proven to be every bit as awful as Maggie had described. Sofia had married a returning German soldier. Their mother had died from a heart attack in 1948. World War II had taken a heavy toll on the rest of the family -- the middle girls had died during one of the bombings; Ludwig Dengel and two of the three boys had perished as soldiers, the youngest had lost a leg.

By most accounts, the Kafelnikovs had faired worse. Walt had planned to be reticent on the topic of his father's never-replied-to letters, but 'Uncle' Yuri, despite protests from his son and seemingly from his sister, had insisted on asking why Niko had never contacted them. Walt had diplomatically framed his response. He'd noted the incredulous expression that had crossed Anna's face as she'd haltingly spoken to her nephew.

The trusted friend the letters and money had been sent to had perished in a fire a few months after Niko had been sold.

Walt had feared that Anna would collapse, she'd shuddered so violently... and then she'd cried tears of relief and sorrow, wrapping her surprisingly strong arms around Walt and hugging him tightly.

The fate of the rest of the family had been hurriedly disclosed. Ivan had died in a drunken brawl shortly after his 12th child had been born. The five youngest children had died in the famine of 1932-33. Only Anna and Yuri had survived, she as a military courtesan, he conscripted into the Russian army at 14.

Walt shook himself from his memories. His hand lingered on the oil lamp a few seconds longer as he glanced at the two wedding pictures once more. His parents had been married almost 56 years, every bit as in love in 1994 as they'd been in 1938. He knew 56 years for he and Allison was a stretch -- he'd be 103, she'd be 95 -- but he was positive their love would never wane.

The next Morning

Walt awoke with a pleasant haze, assuming he'd find Allison still snuggled close. He frowned as she wasn't in the bed... then he noticed the back door open. He retrieved his glasses and quickly -- as quickly as his stiff knee would allow -- donned a pair of sweats from his bag and joined her on the porch.

She was lounging in a rocker, sock-clad feet propped on the railing, satin pants alluringly inching up her legs, a quilt lightly wrapped around her as she absently sipped from a mug. "Morning, Mrs. Skinner," he murmured, leaning down to kiss her lips and instantly seeking more.

Allison watched him smack his lips in satisfaction afterward. "Was that for me, Mr. Skinner? Or were you trying to snag some of my coffee?"

"Both," he sheepishly replied, dropping into the other rocker and taking her hand.

"Would you like me to make you a cup?"

"Only if it's high test."

"Sorry, I looked through every nook and cranny in the kitchen, but Mrs. B only seems to have purchased decaf. I did, however, discover this inside that storage bench." She reached inside the quilt and pulled out a khaki-colored, crumpled hat with numerous fly hooks adorning it. Walt took it and instantly placed it on his head, grinning.

"You want to explain to me why you're willing to be seen in public in that and won't model those briefs for me in private?"

He fixed a perturbed glance on her as he removed the hat. "This isn't that public and it's hardly the same thing."

"It's a matter of perspective, Walt," she commented, taking another sip. "I take it you're quite the fisherman, if the amount of tackle I saw is any indication."

"It's relaxing, uncomplicated and I don't have to think."

"Yes, well, don't expect me to clean the fish."

He stroked her palm again. "That sounds like you're willing to sit under a shady tree with me."

"Whatever your heart desires, *dear.* "

Walt raised his eyes in anticipation. "What my little heart most desires is getting you back into that bed and out of those clothes."

"Well, you're going to have to wait on that, my stomach wants food."

Walt dipped his head as a flush spread across his cheeks. For reasons he couldn't understand, hearing Allison's words brought to mind the similar phrase Clare had uttered after their first night together. Allison glanced at him as she stood up and rolled her eyes. "Honest to God *edible* food, Walt, and no 'meat' that can't be cooked."

He gazed at her in brief confusion before he realized she'd misinterpreted his expression. "Yes, *dear,* " he improvised.

Allison was attempting to finish the breakfast dishes, but a certain persistent male with roving hands was impeding her progress. "If you'd leave me alone for two minutes, I could get this done in peace. Why are you so desperate to get me undressed and into the sack all the sudden? And what happened to that considerate, patient guy who was here last night?"

He didn't answer until he'd gotten the nightshirt buttons open, having already divested her of the pants. "He's still here," Walt answered as he began stroking her breasts. "He's just being upstaged by the guy who's very psyched for sex."

Allison closed her eyes at the stimulation and leaned against him and his 'projection.'"Feels like you're physically psyched, too." She dropped a fork into the metal sink with a clatter as his lips began ravaging her neck. "I suppose if I suggested we slow this down, you'd have an argument handy."

His response was a muffled: "Mmm."

She gasped as his lips started to explore her collarbone and his hands moved down her body. Allison barely had time to turn around before Walt's mouth descended on hers, claiming her breath, urgently exploring the well-traversed territory. His hands moved back up to push the nightshirt from her shoulders before they cupped her buttocks and he surprised her by lifting her tight against him.

Allison didn't really expect him to carry her back to the bed, but still wasn't prepared when he deposited her on the counter. She started as her flesh connected with the surface. "Yikes!"

Walt gazed at her with burning eyes barely tempered by her outburst as he shed his clothes. "Did I set you on a fork?"

She squirmed. "No, but this metal is damned cold. Are you sure you want to do this here? It's been my experience it doesn't work too well."

"The counter is the standard height... and I've never had a problem or complaint before."

Allison arched an eyebrow. "Sounds like you've done this a lot... *and* that you're damned cocky."

She deliberately pressed her knees together and refused to cooperate when he tried to gently push them apart. They stared into each other's eyes a few seconds in comic battle before Allison acquiesced. "You're being a tease again," he informed. Walt moved between her legs and held her face.

"And you're trying to be dominant," she returned. He winked and dropped his head to nuzzle her breasts. "Oh, shit," she murmured, momentarily leaning back before remembering there weren't any upper cabinets to prop her head against.

Walt would have been concerned that her words indicated pain, but he assumed that wasn't the case, as she was holding his head to her chest. He alternately suckled each breast a few moments longer, finding the texture of the scars oddly erotic and beaming as Allison moaned each time his tongue came in contact with them. At length, he went back to her mouth, hoping he wouldn't scorch her lips with the extraordinary heat his passion was generating. He wrapped one arm around her shoulders and fumbled the other hand between her legs to verify she was ready.

Allison balanced her hands behind her for support and leaned back as he gripped her hips and thrust upward a few times. She barely had the chance to enjoy any sort of sensation when she felt Walt abruptly thrust faster and simultaneously mutter, "Shit, shit, shit!"

He dropped his head against her shoulder and wasn't able to savor any part of the aftershocks, being too embarrassed over his 'performance.' Allison recovered from *his* climax and cleared her throat. "Um, tesoro -- you slipped below a seven."

Walt stopped just short of glaring at her as he pulled out. "I'm well aware of that, Allison." He glanced down at his receding erection and grumbled at it. "Traitor."

"I take it this doesn't happen very often?"

He took a few steps back from her, still grousing under his breath. "Not in a hell of a long time, no." He had a bizarre image of Clare's surprised face before he suppressed it.

Allison hopped off the counter as he tugged on the now-flaccid appendage. "Could have been worse... at least the sperm ended up in the right place," she teased.

He copped a disgusted look. "And that's supposed to make me feel better?"

Allison's hands gently encircled his penis and took a stab at revitalizing it. "I've sent more than one humiliated male running after the sight of my bare breasts had caused a premature ending to the festivities." Walt frowned and pouted at the same time. "So can we move this to the bed now? I'm confident that you'll be able to keep me entertained until the curtain rises on the second act."

A few Hours Later

Allison locked the back door, picked up her watch from the dresser and started to put it on as she walked past the bed. She dropped the timepiece and it skittered next to the sofa table. Bending down to get it, her dress pocket caught on the drawer handle, skewing her balance. "Damn it all to hell," she muttered, carefully separating the fabric from the handle and seeing a note with Mrs B's handwriting inside the now-open drawer. Curiosity got the better of her and she examined the contents of the envelope.

She leaned against the table as she scanned the three photos, all apparently taken at the same time. Two were solely of Clare, and Allison put them aside after a few seconds. The third was of Clare and Walt -- he was standing behind her, arms wrapped snuggly around her waist, his expression one of pleasure. Clare was leaning against him, a laughing smile on her face as she had her arms wrapped around his.

Allison was stunned at the happiness exuding from the photo, at the obvious love between the two. It wasn't so much that Walt looked younger as it was that he looked more open, not guarding his expression. Clare was beautiful in the shot, Allison thought uncomfortably, hair rolled back off her face, skin glowing. The dress Clare was wearing was almost identical to the one Allison was wearing now. On Clare it flowed gracefully, nipping her ankles; on Allison it was defined by her curves.

Walt peeked back into the cottage, wondering what was taking Allison so long.

Despite the fact that he was hardly quiet, she didn't appear to hear him and he grimaced when he saw the photos of Clare laid on the table. His mind, unbidden, drifted back to when he'd taken them. He could hear her voice telling him to hurry up and stop being so fussy about the 'perfect' light. And he could still see the exasperated look on her face as she'd turned away from him while he'd continued fiddling with the settings. But the extra time had been worth it as he'd caught her glancing across the water with a beautiful, wistful expression when he'd finally been ready.

Allison turned toward him and saw his unfocused expression, his lips slightly parted in a smile, as though he was remembering something pleasant. His gaze sharpened and he stared at her. "These pictures of you and Clare are wonderful, Walt. Where were they taken?"

He shuffled toward her and sheepishly smiled. "On a ship in the Aegean Sea, on our way to Crete."

Allison stared back at him. "When were you in Greece?"

Walt shook his head. "What?" He belatedly realized his words and blushed furiously. "We weren't, I mean I wanted to go there as a delayed honeymoon, but..." He swallowed hurriedly, "The pictures were taken off the Jersey coast. We, uh, went down to Cape May one weekend." He took the images from her and deposited them back in the drawer. "I'm sorry, carissima. I should have had Mrs. B remove them entirely. I'm sure seeing pictures of Clare, on our honeymoon..."

"Walt, you don't have to apologize. I don't expect you to banish all memories of Clare," Allison murmured, pulling his chin back up. "You loved her and I'll never be jealous of that. I know how much we love each other and *nothing* is going to threaten that. Not ex-husbands, 'ghosts'... or anything else."

He smiled as he wrapped his arms around her. "You are the most compassionate person I know." Walt pulled her closer and deposited a kiss on her lips.

"It balances out my stubborn side," Allison retorted after a few seconds as she'd expanded on his kiss. "Now we'd better get moving before one of us gets too attached to the bed."

Walt arched a thoughtful eyebrow and Allison wondered what idea she'd given him now.

Two Hours Later

Allison put the sparse remains of their lunch into the basket before leaning against another stalwart member of the white oak family. She gazed at the other trees populating this section of the State Park and sighed at the gorgeous day. Numerous others had taken advantage of the warm weather to visit Gillette Castle and were enjoying their food on nearby picnic tables.

Walt had walked back to the castle to sketch it a few minutes previous, so Allison decided to peruse the souvenir book Anthony had requested, trying hard not to drip juice from the apple she was munching. She'd just finished reading about stage actor William Gillette's early career when she felt a 'nap attack' overtaking her and closed the book, laying the core down on a paper towel.

"You dozing off on me again?" Walt uttered, dropping the cane and lowering himself onto the blanket.

"Mmm. Nothing like fresh air and good food to make me sleepy."

"Why don't you stretch out and take a quick nap, carissima." He crawled over to her -- still holding the sketch pad -- and leaned against the tree, patting his lap. "You can use my lap as a pillow."

"What are you going to do?"

"Don't worry, I'll keep myself amused," he responded with a twinkle.

Allison arched that familiar eyebrow again and Walt fleetingly wondered if one day it would freeze in that position. However, she did stretch out, her head cradled on his thighs, and was asleep a minute later. Walt smiled as he drew his index finger along her jaw and noted how the diffused sunlight played off the angles of her face. She was wearing little make-up today, a trace of blush, a smidge of lipstick and a hint of liner at the corners of her eyes. Walt watched as a subtle breeze ruffled the hem of her lightweight dress, blowing it up her legs a few inches.

Walt tenderly brushed her thick hair back from her face and flipped to a fresh page. His mother had been thrilled when he'd shown promise as an artist, and he knew she'd been disappointed when his attention had switched to sports. He was amazed now that his talent could be so readily tapped again and wondered how quickly he'd fill his old book -- he'd dug it out of one of his recently moved boxes just for the honeymoon.

He quickly fanned through the rest of the pad, checking for used sheets and was alarmed to find a sketch of Clare. His face slowly softened as he gazed at the image that had haunted him for months after her supposed death in 1989. Walt had drawn her the way he'd most wanted to see her -- cheeks full and flushed, eyes twinkling with love, abdomen swollen with their child.

He'd drawn that particular image over and over in varying sizes, sometimes adding another image of the child nursing at her breast. Walt had tried including himself in the sketches, but they'd never come out right. He thought he'd removed all the drawings of Clare, transferred them to a folder, but he'd obviously missed one. Walt carefully ripped it from the sketch book now and then was stuck. He hated to fold the page, however ridiculous that was, and decided to roll it before tucking it under his sock and pant leg. Allison may not have had a problem seeing photos of Clare, but he was sure a nude drawing would fall into an entirely different category.

45 Minutes Later

Allison awoke with a yawn, stretching and slowly rotating her neck.

"Hey, sleepyhead... feel better?"

She beamed up at him and yawned again. "Much." Allison craned her neck and looked past his lap, at the open book laying next to him. She sat up hurriedly and reached for the pad. "You were drawing me?" she asked, incredulous.

"Uh huh."

"But Walt, these are, are..." her voice trailed off as she gazed in wonder at the dual images and flipped the page to find more.

"What's wrong? Don't you like them?" he faltered.

"No..." Allison looked into his hurt eyes and corrected herself. "I mean, that's not it. They're wonderful, Walt. I just had no idea you were this talented."

"I don't know why you're so surprised," he countered, watching her stare at the images. "You saw the playground sketches."

Allison deadpanned a look back at him. "That's not the same and you know it. These involve shading and depth and..." she gazed at the image of the castle. "And talent I have none of."

"It's a matter of perspective." Allison flashed a 'smart ass' look at him. "Being able to draw, carissima. It's a matter of being able to draw perspective."

"Uh huh," she murmured, flipping back to the pages of her as an idea ambled into her mind -- she decided to wait till they were alone to launch it, however, envisioning Walt's blushing response.

A few minutes after they'd been in the car, she broached the subject. "So how are you at drawing nudes?"

He sputtered and wet his lips as the flush began spreading. "Are you offering to pose?"

"Provided you don't ask me to assume some ridiculous 'come hither and take me' pose, yes."

"I wouldn't do that," he mumbled before getting hold of his startled senses and airing his opinion with a pronounced tone of distaste. "I know plenty of guys get off on having their girlfriends or wives pose for boudoir photos or God forbid, videotaping themselves having sex, but I think it's..." Allison coughed suddenly and he hesitated, frowning. .".. Which one did you do?"

"The videotape," she answered after several seconds, concentrating on the road.

Walt rubbed his hand across his mouth and forcefully shut out the vision of Allison and Basil performing for the camera. "Basil *would* want to do that," Walt muttered. This time Allison didn't bother answering at all -- which made him leery. "Allison? It *was* Basil, right?"

"How close are we to the turn?"

She steadfastly refused to meet his penetrating gaze and Walt swallowed a sour taste, not knowing how much further he wanted to press the matter. Her sidestepping answer indicated to him that it either wasn't Basil, or worse, she'd done it more than once with different partners.

At one time he'd found the prospect of taping himself intriguing, but one horrible and sickening case had forever banished the possibility. He swallowed and allowed Allison her privacy. "The turn's about a half mile yet."

Allison finished making two glasses of lemonade -- not entirely from scratch, since she'd used a 'plastic' lemon -- and hesitated over taking one to Walt. He'd been moody the rest of the way back and had mumbled something about doing some solitary fishing as soon as he'd gotten out of the car. Allison had started to ask if he wanted company but he'd cut her off, repeating the word 'solitary.' She'd managed not to pout, barely, and had changed to shorts and a T-shirt.

She moved into the dining area and dropped into a chair. She found Walt's reaction to videotaping sex and drawing nudes incongruous. Both could be done in the privacy of one's home with no one the wiser. Basil had wanted to take a slew of nude photos but since he hadn't had the necessary developing equipment, she'd balked.

Allison thought back to the car. She'd been on the verge of making a sarcastic comment about taping sex when she'd observed Walt's stiffening body from the corner of her eye. She was sure he wouldn't appreciate how eager she'd been to participate in the filming -- how *she'd* been the instigator. Still, she wondered, why does Walt find the prospect so repugnant?

Walt sat under the shade of a maple tree, staring sightlessly into the water, his line limp... not that it mattered -- he had no bait on the hook. Jeez, he really hoped there weren't multiple copies of Allison with -- whoever -- floating around. That's just the sort of thing that destroys careers, he thought. Then he yanked on the reel and tossed the pole onto the ground. "You adolescent, self-centered prick," he muttered.

What the hell is wrong with my perspective, he asked himself. It wasn't like he was chaste and pure -- though it *was* disconcerting that his two wives had been more adventuresome than he was. Between Clare's experimenting with S&M and Allison's 'film career,' his mind began to wander back to that case in San Diego.

"I don't think you'll catch many fish that way," Allison volunteered as she approached.

He ducked his head and willed the appalling images away, afraid to face Allison until he had his expression under control. He picked up the pole and cast the line back into the water, noticing this time that there was no bait and hoping she hadn't. "Just taking a breather," he muttered lamely.

She took the rod from him, handed him the lemonade, kicked over a rock and in a swift motion attached a worm to his hook. "I think that'll work better." Allison recast the line and sank down next to him, plucking a long blade of grass and chewing on it.

"Thanks. Guess the other one fell off," he lied as he took the pole from her. He gazed at the water, smacking his lips, while she tugged on tufts of grass. Walt finally cleared his throat while he lowered the pole to the ground. "I'm sorry about earlier. That whole subject is just... just a sore spot with me... I can't really explain why." Well, more like I don't ever want to, he silently added.

"That's okay. If it makes you feel any better, I had the sole copies" -- he bit his lip at the plural -- "and I destroyed them years ago." Allison leaned back on her hands and looked out over the water. "They were a byproduct of my free-spirited nature... it crapped out toward the end of the 1980s."

Walt did some quick arithmetic. "So Basil *wasn't* in them?"

She turned her face back to him and curled her lips. "Nope. Believe it or not, he never went for the idea... I doubt his ego could have taken the scrutiny."

Walt set the half-empty glass in a little hollow of the tree's exposed-root system and held his hand out to her. Allison willingly shifted position to his lap and leaned her head against his shoulder. "If you'd like to withdraw your offer to pose, I'll understand," he murmured into her hair as he kissed it.

"One doesn't have anything to do with the other as far as I'm concerned, tesoro." She pulled at the fabric of her shirt. "However, you might not be so keen after I tell you something... it's not shocking, but it might cool your ardor."

A dozen scenarios swam through his mind and he sighed. "Go ahead."

"I was short on funds one semester in college, so I signed up to be a model for an art class... a nude model." She heard nothing from Walt and hurriedly finished. "I've no idea how many of those drawings are lurking about, but my hair was really short, I was a good 20 pounds lighter and it was basically 20 years ago, and I don't look the same now anyway."

Walt felt a chuckle rising in his throat and tipped her chin toward his face. He lowered his lips to hers and shut her up. "Much as I would have preferred you earning money as a waitress, I recognize it could have been worse -- Playboy could have been passing through or you could have been a stripper."

Now he really had her confused, but she opted not to pursue it. "So are you finished pretending to fish? I'm feeling the urge to shed some clothes." Allison stood up and started backing her way to the cottage, removing her shirt as she went.

Walt tossed the pole aside, knocking over the glass. "Right behind you, Mrs. Skinner."

Three Hours Later

Allison was starting to get genuinely interested in William Gillette's life and unconsciously rocked her crossed ankles as she read the book spread in front of her.

"Keep your legs still, carissima."

She immediately ceased the motion and tilted her head to gaze at him. "How much longer? Despite the temperature, I'm starting to get chilled. Besides, you said the *last* one was going to be the last one." Allison was laying on her stomach, diagonally across the bed, buck naked, hair loosely pulled back and to the side, cupped hands camouflaging the lower half of her breasts.

"Almost," Walt murmured, making a few adjustments. "And I let you have a break an hour and a half ago."

She sputtered and flipped to the last page. "Break? That wasn't a break. That was the artist succumbing to the seductive nature of his model."

"I don't recall any sounds of complaint," he knotted his eyebrows playfully, "just one long sigh of contentment."

"If this book weren't for Anthony, I'd throw it at you," she rallied.

He laughed and laid down the pad. "Done."

"Hallelujah!" Allison allowed her neck to drop, pausing to stretch it before rolling onto her back and spreading her arms wide. Her head was partly off the mattress -- as were both of her hands -- and her legs were close together, bent at the knees. She peered back at Walt, upside down, and her expression became alarmed as he looked intrigued, reaching out to release her hair and arrange it.

"Wallllt, you can't be serious... you've already done five sketches." He grabbed the book once more as she groaned.

"It's a beautiful pose, Allison," he countered.

"Like hell it is. I look like a sacrifice. Not to mention the fact that I'm already losing circulation in my hands." He moved closer and put both hands securely back on the bed. "Gee thanks," she droned.

Walt moved back and frowned. "Something's not right..."

"You mean other than my state of mind for allowing this to continue?"

He wriggled his nose at her and climbed onto the bed, straightening her left leg and making her bent right one more vertical. "No." Walt looked again and pushed Allison's bent leg slightly down against the opposite thigh, partially obscuring her mons. "Perfect," he murmured.

"You are going to owe me *big* time, mister."

Walt smiled slyly and kissed the tip of her nose. "I'll make dinner, carissima."

She arched an eyebrow and Walt had to fight down his laughter as it appeared more like a grin. "Dinner's just the tip of the iceberg, tesoro."

"Don't worry -- turn your head a bit and look past me -- I'm planning a grand finale for the evening. One guaranteed to keep you 'sighing' for quite a while."

Allison was lounging on the sofa, warm once again and pleasantly stuffed from Walt's meal -- he'd taken the second chicken breast she'd cooked that morning and diced it, heating it in the 'bland' sauce, liberally spooning it over spaghetti and topping the combo with freshly grated mozzarella. He'd even warmed the bread and tossed together a crunchy salad just for her, raw vegetables still being anathema to his system.

She sipped her cup of tea and reached for the tablet of paper that was balanced precariously on the sofa table. Her eyes lit up in appreciation at the favorable way he'd repeatedly sketched her.

As she scanned the drawings, she noted that the edges of the tablet were yellowed and pondered how long he'd had the book... and who else he'd sketched. Likely Clare, she thought.

Allison glanced over to the kitchen and watched him finish doing the dishes, thinking she'd love to capture *his* form on paper and wondering if she could con him into doing a self-portrait. Nope, she decided, people seldom see themselves as others do.

She went back to the images of her and quickly realized that only one showed her buttocks... a portion of her anatomy that he'd always claimed to love. "Walltt? How come you ignored my bum?"

"What?"

She turned to see him filling a bowl with an enormous hunk of the ice cream. "There's only one drawing out of six."

He spooned a tremendous amount of chocolate sauce over the heap before answering. "Oversight." His hand lingered on the spoon and he contemplated how she'd respond to 'sexual adventures with food.' Damn, if we made a mess, Mrs. B would end up washing the linens... and I definitely wouldn't be able to look her in the eye after that, he mused. He cleared his throat and expanded on his answer. "I'll be more than happy to do as many intensive studies of your bottom as you want, carissima."

She gazed at the leer on his face and automatically responded. "Sketchbook not necessarily in hand." He started tossing whole walnuts on his frosty concoction while she frowned. "Walt, really, I can't eat another bite."

"Hmm?" He absently sucked some sauce off his finger. "Oh, well, I guess it's all for me then."

"Not unless your 'grand finale' is to serenade me with your ingestion... you're not allowed nuts."

"Shit! That's right." He stared at the bowl a few seconds, pouting, then started taking the nuts back off, pausing to suck the chocolate off.

"Good God, Gertrude," Allison muttered, eyes rolling.

"Well, I'm not wasting it," he mumbled, looking at her and wondering what the origin of *that* particular phrase was. "Where are you going?"

"I thought I'd take a bath... since you and your ice cream seem to want to be alone," she smirked.

Washcloth rolled and placed under her neck, Allison luxuriated in the massive clawfoot tub. The light aroma of melon wafted into her nostrils and she believed Walt when he'd said the bath oil hadn't been his idea -- he wouldn't have chosen a fruity scent.

She felt surprisingly warm fingers -- considering what he'd been eating -- caressing her shoulders right after the shower curtain rustled. Then soft lips nuzzling her neck as she breathed a sigh of contentment. "Mmm."

"Thought you'd fallen asleep on me again, carissima," he murmured.

"How could I? I could hear you rummaging through drawers like crazy. What were you looking for?"

"Skooch forward," he replied, ignoring her question.

She complied, feeling too relaxed to much care about his search anyway. "Sure you want to come in here?"

He slithered in behind, long limbs smoothly gliding past hers. "Why not?" Then he caught a whiff and groaned. "Now I'm going to smell like a fruit salad."

She settled back against his furry chest and waited for the inevitable... a few seconds later his large hands gravitated to her breasts. He could just about cup all the flesh at once now that they were smaller... and she arched numerous times as he played, her head stretched languidly against his shoulder.

Allison jumped more than she'd meant to when his hands meandered to her thighs, slowly working their way to her mons. His mouth -- apparently still hungry -- feasted on her neck. His right hand returned to her breast while the left continued to stimulate further south.

For the next minutes, Allison became aware of several distinct sounds -- her increasingly halting breath and moans of enjoyment; soft popping noises as Walt attended to her neck, shoulder and ear, minute splashing caused by the motion of those talented southern fingers and incongruously, the spigot dripping. And she knew he was enjoying himself, judging by the poking her back was getting.

Her cry trailed off as she bit her lip, habit forcing her to be quiet. She resettled bonelessly against him after the climax ended, smugly satisfied. "Wrist bothering you?" she teased.

"Didn't think you'd appreciate me stopping in the middle to change hands."

She glanced at his expression and nipped his chin. "You're so considerate."

"And don't you forget it," he agreed, pushing her forward. "Come on, wife. I'm taking you to bed."

"Didn't take long for you to start 'ordering' me around, husband." He grinned again as they exited the tub and he slowly dried them off. She noted a flickering luminescence prior to leaving the bath area and realized he'd lit all the candles she'd removed from the bath shelf. "Just what are you up to?" she inquired, ignoring the obvious as a certain appendage bobbed its way to the bed.

He went over to the dresser, turning up the volume on the radio before returning to her. "Dance with me?"

Dancing stark naked, she thought, taking his offered hand. Well, why not?"I thought you were taking me to bed?"

Walt held her so close her breasts were squashed between them. "In a minute," he murmured, tilting her head back and tickling her lips with the tip of his tongue. She yielded to the pressure immediately, getting a taste of the ice cream and sauce after all. Walt trailed his hands down her back to her buttocks, letting her grip around his neck keep them together. He would have liked nothing better than to pick her up again but his shoulder hadn't thought kindly of the maneuver earlier, so he didn't.

Instead, Walt backed them slowly toward the bed, gently pushing Allison into a seated position as he kneeled before her. His eyes had a glowing quality, extenuated by the candles, as he softly massaged her foot. He'd discovered on his own how sensitive her feet were and had added the knowledge to his mental list of her erogenous zones. When he completed both feet, he gradually worked his hands north, pampering every inch of her legs till he ran out of room and his fingers met.

Allison gazed at him with charged, luminous eyes, waiting to see what he'd do next. She'd already been regaling him with susurrant sounds of encouragement.

Walt stared into her eyes a few seconds, completely still, silently baiting her. Then his fingers continued the treatment he'd given her in the tub and she groaned. His grin broadened as his fingers ceased moving after 20 seconds and she groaned even louder, closing her eyes and dropping her head back.

He sank to the floor, mouth sloppily kissing the soles of her feet before his tongue took over around her ankles. Walt decided against monkeying with her Achilles' tendons, remembering all too well the reaction he'd gotten with Clare... and why. No, he told himself, concentrating more fully on Allison as she gasped again, I will not think of that cigarette...

Allison gripped the sheets tighter as his progress brought him steadily closer to her mons. He was alternating between legs, laving her with such diligence; unconsciously, she leaned back on her hands, spreading her legs wider. She felt her breath coming in rasps again and struggled to tease him. "So do I taste like melon?... oh."

He'd run out of leg again and this time, hadn't bothered to pause.

As she balled the sheets in her hands, he pressed his thumbs into the crease of flesh joining her thighs to her hips... and the rest of his fingers stroked the outside of her thighs. She felt like a can of Pillsbury crescent roll -- ready to spring with a nudge of pressure in just the right place.

Walt could feel her body tensing and knew she was close -- well, there were plenty of other signs, too. Like the radiance of heat coming from her skin, to name one. Or the slickness of sweat he discovered behind her knee when his one hand moved that way, to name another.

He grinned evilly when she thumped his back, ostensibly because he'd shifted his attention to her navel -- he returned to his original destination.

Right there, she silently cried, knowing Walt knew exactly where to stimulate without being told -- unlike Basil. That's great, Allison, she told herself, think of your ex at a time like... "Ohhhh, tesoro."

She quickly realized that her previous analogy had a flaw, since *this* pressure was taking a delightful length of time to fully release. She fell onto the bed when her climax was finally over. Walt winked in the direction of her face before blowing a raspberry onto her stomach. "Yes, as a matter of fact," he stated out of the blue.

"Yes, what?"

"You do taste like melon. Honeydew down below and, uh, *musk*melon up higher." He waggled his eyebrows for effect.

She mumbled an oath at him and grabbed a bed pillow, whacking his head with it. Allison noticed something peculiar where the pillow had been and raised an eyebrow. "Why were there dish towels under the pillow?"

Walt climbed over her. "Because I didn't have the foresight to bring any silk scarves and I discovered *you* didn't bring any nylons."

"What's wrong with your handcuffs?"

"They'd only take care of hands, not feet... and cold metal isn't what I have in mind." He illustrated his point by nuzzling one breast.

"Why not? *I* already endured it in the kitchen," she rallied and whimpered.

Walt wrinkled his nose. "I'd just as soon forget that whole episode. Trust me, you'll be more comfortable with the cloth," he mumbled.

"What do you mean *me*?" she replied, pulling his head away and feeling suddenly cold. "I thought you wanted me to tie *you* up."

He propped himself on his elbows and continued teasing her nipples with his fingers. "I want you on the bottom, totally submissive and completely under my control."

She shoved him aside. "I'm sure I can live without that lordly tone... And I was plenty submissive a few moments ago, *without* being restrained."

"Forgive me if I don't trust that you'll stay that way," he answered condescendingly. She shot him a haughty look. "Just concede...you won't be disappointed, I promise."

She cautiously eased back on the mattress and spoke with sarcastic compliance. "You are lord and master, I yield to your will."

Walt sat back on his knees and egoistically viewed his handiwork. He'd already tried the knots and knew they were secure. She's good, managing to put a hint of wounded expression into her eyes, he thought, knowing she'd protest if she really didn't want to comply. Allison lay in an almost perfect 'X,' Walt not having been content to simply tie her arms above her head.

"So what now, kemo sabe?"

Jeez, she's got an unlimited vocabulary, he thought, wishing she'd chosen a different one... and failing to notice the trace of strain in her voice. "You submit to my desires, woman."

For the next 20 minutes, or so, he planned to nuzzle, nip, caress, lave, kiss and suckle her as though he were worshiping a goddess. He was certain she'd have sarcastic comments on hand for when he started his pattern of slow thrusting, and he had his retorts all ready.

So when he felt the coldness of her skin, he was puzzled. He looked up to her face and saw her jaw tightly clenched, her eyes closed, tears trickling. "Allison, what's wrong?" Walt was completely baffled.

She scarcely opened her eyes and peered at him through the tears. "I don't want to do this," she whispered.

Walt untied her as fast as he could, swearing at himself as his fingers stumbled over the knots and wondering how he could possibly have missed her reluctance. He'd no sooner gotten her free than she clung to him, nearly winding him with the fierceness of her grip.

He realized he must have unearthed a dormant fear and felt powerless to placate her. His imagination soared grotesquely before he could stop it.

She whimpered and shook in his arms, trying to burrow into his flesh, seeking his warmth to banish her dismal memory.

Walt wanted to wrap the quilt around her as she shivered, but every time he tried to separate from her, she whimpered and hung on tighter. My God, he thought, it had to be bad... really bad. He started to kiss her hair, but that just seemed to agitate her. Cautious stroking of her back yielded no protest, so he concentrated on that for numerous minutes.

At length, she went limp, not fainting, but seemingly unaware of where she was, blinking and still shaking. "Hot tea?" she murmured.

He made it in record time.

She was curled in a ball when he returned, the quilt snuggly surrounding her. It wasn't until she'd finished the beverage that she attempted to say anything else... and then he immediately shushed her, wrapping his arms around her and rocking.

"Remember how I said I was more free-spirited in the 1980s?" she hesitantly began in a monotone, several moments later. Walt nodded. "I was seeing this guy -- Peter--"

Another Peter? Walt wondered. He remembered Clare's experience with a Peter. Were all the perverted shits named Peter?

"We did all sorts of things... videotaping... bondage. It was fun, different... I went along." She paused to sniffle. "We were, uh, messing around late one night; he'd tied me with scarves. And then the condom broke -- it was his last one. There was a shop just down the street that was only going to be open a few minutes more... I told him not to worry about me, so he threw some clothes on and took off." Allison stared into space for a moment. "I guess the store closed early or something. Peter kept going... so he told me later."

Uncomfortable and stupid, Walt thought, but hardly enough to prompt her reaction.

"There was a weird guy living in the complex. He made me nervous. I think his name was Stan..."

Walt vaguely heard Allison as he felt his stomach tighten at the name -- Stan... Stanislav... the sexual predator from San Diego.

"He'd always leer at me... he brushed his hand against my hair once... and he'd make disgusting sucking noises and... and point at my chest." Oh, God, Walt thought, coming back to the present. "Nobody in the complex liked him and he was suspected of breaking into several of the apartments. Nothing of importance ever seemed to be taken, just stuff moved around... it had already happened to Peter."

She shivered in memory. "I heard the door open about five minutes after Peter left. I'm not sure what stopped me from saying anything... I could hear him rifling the living room... then he was in the kitchen, in the fridge - he helped himself to a beer. I wanted out of the restraints so bad but I was afraid to move, afraid to make any sound, afraid he'd..."

Walt released his breath and feared the worse when she didn't go on. The background check hadn't revealed that she'd ever been assaulted, but all that meant was nothing had been reported. "Did he... hurt you?" Walt bit his lip, desperately wanting her to say no.

She shook her head, fear blazing from her eyes in recall. "He didn't even turn the television on... he just sat there, quiet. Then I could hear him chuckling and making kissing noises. And then... then..." she swallowed a whimper and spoke in a rush. "He jacked off on a picture of me."

Sick bastard, Walt thought, holding her tighter.

"I was paralyzed... barely breathing. He left right after that. Peter must've come back about 10 minutes later. I was shaking so bad he had to cut the scarves."

"Oh, honey," Walt stammered, starting to smooth her hair and stopping.

"I couldn't let anybody tie me up again... not even the kids in one of their games." Why in God's name did you let me, he wondered. She stared at him with cloudy eyes. "I thought I could tolerate it with you. I... I knew you wouldn't leave me..."

"Carissima, I'll never leave you. And I'll never force you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. I love you more than anything on this earth." He tilted her chin for a kiss, prepared to make it as passionate as she needed -- it ended up being chaste.

"I'm sorry, Walt--"

"Don't say that, Allison. There's nothing to be sorry about. Let's just go to sleep, honey, we're both wiped out. I'll hold you close and you can fall asleep in my arms."

"Would it be all right, I mean..." she fidgeted with the quilt, unwilling to part with it.

"Carissima? Know what I'd really like? I'd like you to wear my present, okay?"

She nodded with glistening eyes, grabbing the items and heading to the bath area to change. Walt ran a hand over his face, feeling a new sharp pang for Stanislav's victims. Allison was still scarred after more than 10 years over what *hadn't* happened, but those poor women...

Next Morning

Allison awoke completely atop Walt. At first, she thought last night had been a bad dream, then grimaced as she realized it hadn't been. She glanced at the clock and couldn't believe how late it was. Trying to hide her anxiety and then falling apart had drained her, but why was Walt still asleep?

She laid her head back down and snuggled into him. Peter and that... night -- she hadn't consciously thought of it in years. Allison recalled drinking more heavily afterward and struggling to maintain a relationship with Peter. And she recalled her relief when he'd been transferred out of state two months later. Then had come Ken and his erection extraordinaire and finally Basil. After the gymnastics of the first two, Basil's shy and simple approach to sex had been refreshing. Of course, that had changed dramatically throughout the marriage... and she was sure Walt would never believe it.

I should have said something to Walt beforehand, she thought. I was an idiot for thinking I could handle it. Maybe I would have been able to if I'd talked to him first, she mused. But now it didn't matter, he wouldn't try again... and she wouldn't offer.

She started nuzzling his neck and shoulder, wanting to waken him as pleasantly as possible. Wanting to tell him how much she loved and needed him.

Walt was aware of soft lips doing amazing things to his skin as he rose through a sleepy fog. "Mmm, what a way to wake up. I'll take you to the alarm clock any day."

"Well, I'm falling down on the job, tesoro. It's after 10a.m."

"Shhh," he leaned up to kiss her. "We're on our honeymoon, no time schedules." He kissed her again, longer and more fervently. "How do you feel, carissima?"

"100 percent better."

"Well enough to talk some more?"

Some of the effervescence went out of her eyes, but Allison was calm. "Okay," she said softly, laying her head against his shoulder.

"Did you talk to anybody?"

She knew he meant right after and sighed. "No... I mean no one other than Peter. He really tried to understand, to help me, I have to give him credit for that. But the relationship didn't hold up after. It seemed like my fear was so irrational I didn't want to talk."

"Carissima, you came within a hair's breath of being raped... there's nothing irrational about fearing that."

"That's what Audrey said when I told her a couple of years later. She and Ryan were looking for ways to spice up their sex life and she asked me if I'd ever done bondage... It's kind of weird being asked for sexual advice by siblings," she lamely joked.

.".. Allison?... I don't mean to dredge up more painful memories, but are there any other sexual situations you'd like to avoid?"

His voice had been a perfect mix of apology, concern and tenderness. Still, she took a deep breath, baring her soul. "Anal sex," she quickly went on after his sputter. "I'm sure you'd be incredibly gentle, but I'd still--"

"You don't have to qualify your answer, Allison. That, uh, position isn't one I've ever wanted to try." What was it one of his lovers had called him?"When it comes to sex, I'm basically a 'vanilla' sort of guy."

Allison sat up quickly and moved away from him. "What?" he asked in alarm.

"Don't want to get hit by that lightning strike." She bent over him again with shiny eyes. " *Basil* was a vanilla guy, Walt. And when he was feeling daring, French vanilla. *You,* on the other hand, are chocolate on your simplest days... deep, rich and satisfying. And with some extra effort, you're fudge ripple."

"Is that so, Mrs. Skinner?" He nipped her chin and started tickling her, tossing the covers aside and rolling on top of her after she'd slid away. "I didn't realize you were such an ice cream lover."

"Well, I am... and right now, I want some."

"You do, huh?" Walt captured her mouth and released some burgeoning passion. "Chocolate or ripple?"

"Whichever you had in mind last night." She watched the spark fizzle from his eyes. "Really, tesoro, I'll be as submissive as you want--"

His fingers were instantly against her lips. "Not submissive. Let's drop that word from our vocabulary right now. You're my equal... and what I'd *like* is your cooperation."

And he got it in spades.

A few moments later, Walt was doing everything he'd envisioned the previous night. But this time, Allison was being completely responsive, nipping, caressing and kissing right along with him.

They were sitting up, Allison balanced on his thighs, facing each other -- equals. Walt hadn't realized how sensitive *his* neck was, until Allison began laving it. He suddenly wished he was clean-shaven so she could minister to his throat, too -- and he nearly jumped out of his skin when she ran her tongue over the stubble anyway. A long, low growl escaped his lips before her mouth cut off the sound.

Ooh, Allison thought, I love it when he does that. Walt was not only energetically kissing her, he was also massaging her tailbone, then running his fingers up her spine to press delicately into her shoulder blades. Up, down, around again -- it felt fantastic. She managed a murmur as he nudged her head backward and suckled the hollow at the base of her neck.

Walt's mouth meandered to her collarbone and he felt and heard her appreciation. Then he dipped her further back and tended to her breasts, grinning against the rosy beige flesh as she arched and stretched her arms behind her for support.

Eventually, they were flat on the bed, Walt hovering over Allison, eyes smoky and deep. "Here's where I need your cooperation, carissima," he gasped. "Don't, uh, move with me, 'cause I plan to do this very, very slow."

She nodded her assent and he finally sank into her, beginning that infuriating pattern of thrusting that he found so appealing. Fully in, then fully out, both at an agonizing snail's pace.

Allison was familiar with the technique, knowing that it heightened the overall experience for the male strictly because it prolonged the encounter... provided the male in question could maintain the pace. Basil had tried it a few times, but hadn't had the patience to see it through. She knew she'd start keening, however, if Walt kept it up to conclusion.

He altered his pattern to pulling out every third thrust and Allison felt the waves crest then crash over her, shuddering in ecstasy. Walt had a supercilious grin on his face when she stopped moaning. "You and that stupid grin."

He grinned broader. "Thrust lightly with me." Before she could argue, he was setting her mouth on fire.

A seemingly short while later, Allison glanced at the clock and couldn't believe how long he'd been at it -- not that she was complaining... not in the least. She felt on the verge of exploding and had been teetering there for forever. Thank God, she silently muttered as he finally seemed to be abandoning pulling out completely. His eyes were screwed firmly shut, like he was lost in concentration... which seemed apropos to her. She merely took her signals from him; *he* was the one exercising the control.

"Allison?" His eyes were open and glowing. "Put your fingers at the base of my spine and massage... quickly."

Ah-ha, she mused, he's losing it. She did as he asked and marveled as he groaned in a new pitch, then pumped more furiously and actually howled. She didn't have time to feel left out, since his howl ended when his mouth fastened onto her breast.

Suddenly, *she* was wailing, bumped over the edge and feeling the most incredible waves of pleasure. Allison clamped down on him with muscles she'd thought were too loosened by four kids to produce much pressure. And then he was howling again and she realized he hadn't ejaculated the first time... which drew her lengthy orgasm out even more.

Walt waited a full minute before he pulled out, feeling like a feeble old man... but an extremely happy one. He flopped face down next to Allison and waited for a semblance of strength to return. "You know," Allison began, lungs still heaving, "I'd heard that guys could have multiple orgasms, but that was really something. Was that the point of that pressure spot on your back?"

Walt was still half out of it, basking in contentment. "It never happened like that before; rubbing that spot just tended to make climaxes stronger whenever Clare--" *Shit,* did I really just say that out loud, he groaned.

Allison rolled onto her side to gaze at his flushed -- from embarrassment now -- face. "Well, as long as we're 'sharing,' Frank never had me on the brink for so long... and that second release was... I guess I'd have to say you achieved a perfect score, Mr. Skinner."

"You can congratulate me later," he mumbled, raising his head with a grin. "Right now, I need a nap."

"Uh huh," she intoned, swatting him as her breathing leveled again. "You'd better store up a ton of energy, tesoro, because according to Basil, *his* orgasms were stronger when I was pregnant -- why, I couldn't say."

Walt rolled onto his side and trailed his fingers against her abdomen. "In that case, I want to get you and keep you pregnant till the day I die."

Title: Anthony, Book Four: A Matter Of Perspective II
Author: Clare Skinner

Tuesday, April 14, 1998, 10:33p.m.
National Airport

Walt stood at the back of the holiday crowd, waiting for Allison and the kids to disembark. They'd gone to her parents for Easter.

The original plan had been to go to Boston for Easter, but Walt had only returned to work on April 2 and didn't envision a full day off till mid-May, when the International Law Enforcement Summit would be over. Allison had argued that they should scrap an Easter trip entirely, coming so soon on the heels of their marriage. But Walt had made the reservations anyway, flipping the Detroit and Boston journeys, rightly assuming that Allison would prefer not to visit with Clare's family without him.

They've only been gone five days, he thought, watching the first passengers walk down the jetway, but God, how I missed them. Walt still couldn't believe Allison had willingly bumped off the earlier flight, but his ever cost-conscious *wife* -- and how he loved the sound of that -- had reasoned that six free tickets were worth the inconvenience. Especially since the kids didn't have school the next day.

He mentally went over the state of the house as he waited, wondering what task he'd forgotten, knowing he'd spent his tiny amount of free time tinkering in the garden, coddling the first round of cool-season produce. Let's see, he thought, got fresh milk, changed the cat litter, picked up all my newspapers, watered the plants... damn -- forgot to run the dishwasher.

His exuberance over greeting them waned as the crowd thinned to a handful of people and they still hadn't appeared. Fearing something had happened, he walked to the attendant manning the metal detection/x-ray station, flashed his badge, explained why he was there, signed the logbook and proceeded through, gun holstered.

Walt forced himself to walk calmly to the plane, realizing that not having direct contact with Scully and Mulder for six weeks had done nothing to quell his paranoia.

One of the in-flight attendants smiled at Walt as he boarded the plane, pointing to his family.

Allison was bent over the girls, trying to wake them. Ian was in the aisle seat, soundly out as well. Trevor and Anthony were leaning against other seats, both on the verge of sleep.

"Hi, Dad," Anthony said, yawning. Trevor's head snapped up and he hastily pushed his glasses back up his nose.

"No one but a prince is going to wake the sleeping beauties," Allison opined in the way of acknowledgment, straightening to greet him.

"Let me try," Walt offered. "Charlee, Amelia, time to wake up, time to go home," he wheedled. He kissed both girls on their foreheads and then smiled smugly at Allison when the girls' eyes opened.

"Showoff," Allison grumbled with a smile.

Once in the van, Allison nearly fell asleep herself with the kids, waiting for Walt to return with their luggage. "Remind me never to fly with them by myself again," she requested when he climbed in the driver's seat.

"That bad?"

"Perfect angels till five minutes after our first flight left. Then tagteam hellions until *this* flight left... Amelia would drink four sips of soda and have to go to the bathroom. Charlee wanted a fake jeweled collar for Tabitha -- since when do airport gift shops carry pet stuff? Trev and Anthony kept badgering me for money for the arcades. Ian kept dragging me over to the food machines, pointing at everything."

"Doesn't sound like the vouchers were worth it, carissima."

"Yeah, yeah," she yawned. "However, we can now fly to Boston free and still have enough to cover one ticket to London."

"On the other hand," he said, rolling down the window and paying the parking attendant. "So, uh, is there any good news?" he asked as they drove away.

Allison cocked a tired eyebrow. "Like what?"

Walt glanced back at five sleeping heads and lowered his voice anyway. "Are you still late?"

She rolled her eyes. "Better luck next month."

Sunday, May 17, 1998, 7:23p.m.

Walt trudged into the master bedroom, glassy-eyed and bone-tired. He plopped onto the bed as Allison exited the bathroom. "You look *worse* than death on a soda cracker, Walt."

"Thank you," he answered. "But the conference is over, no major hitches -- well, there was that minor fracas yesterday -- but we don't have to host it again till... hell, I don't care."

She went back to sorting through two plastic containers of clothes. "Did you eat? I can warm up dinner for you."

He sat up and shrugged out of his suit coat before tugging on his tie. "I'm too tired to eat right now. All I want to do is soak in the whirlpool and veg out for the rest of the night."

"Speaking of 'veg,' now that you're not going to be working 70-plus hours a week, are you going to start harvesting? The kids and I are already dealing with radishes and beets, and the Swiss chard is nearly done."

"Yeah, yeah, I know; I'll start pulling my share. And I'm planning to get to the warm-season plants this weekend."

"Wonderful, more work for me," she mumbled. "Hey, do me a favor? Think about what you'd like for your birthday while you're soaking."

He paused, sock in hand. "Birthday? I can barely think far enough ahead to next month and the trip to London. And you want me to think about something eight months away?"

She held up a sweater covered with tiny bows, wrinkling her nose. "Yuck, I thought I threw this out... It won't kill you to try, tesoro." He got the other sock off and started for the bathroom, pulling his shirt out and encountering his service weapon; he had forgotten his gun was still holstered. "Oh, I left something for you by the sink," she said.

"Uh huh," he mumbled.

He bumbled into the bathroom. Allison dug down to the bottom of one container and located a denim jumper that was tent-sized, all the while grinning. She heard a yell from the bathroom before Walt came bolting back out, suddenly wide awake and fully energized.

"It's, it's, it's a plus sign," he babbled.

"Glad to see you noticed." She held up a shirt adorned with the words 'Baby on board.'"Can you believe I actually wore this with Trev?"

"What?"

She tossed the shirt aside and grinned some more at the expression of shock on his face. "You should at least be hugging me by now."

"What?" Walt finally shook it off and enveloped her, squeezing tight as he kissed her enthusiastically.

"Ouch."

He released her and instantly had his hands on her stomach. "Are you all right? Did I hurt the baby?"

"Of course not." Allison rubbed her side. "Just take the gun off before you hug me again."

He stared at her nonchalance with wide eyes. "How can you be so calm? When do we go to the doctor? Should we tell the kids now or wait? What about childbirth classes?"

"Would you slow down? Before I know it, you'll be doing cartwheels all over the house," she teased, eyes twinkling as he slipped off the holster. "I'm calm because this is my fifth baby and I've had all day to let it sink in."

"You've known all day and didn't tell me?" Walt was incredulous, his hand hovering over her chest of drawers before he laid the gun on it.

She deadpanned a look at him, hands on hips. "You were incommunicado all day. How was I supposed to tell you?"

He looked at her a second. "Oh, right. Well, can't you be just a little excited... for me?"

"Just a little?" he nodded while she hemmed and hawed. "Well, I suppose..."

It finally occurred to him that she was deliberately being low-key just to pull his chain.

Walt 'tackled' her against the bed, both falling onto it and the clothes. He propped himself up and pushed her hair from her laughing face. "You really do enjoy driving me crazy."

"And a few seconds ago you were afraid hugging me would hurt the baby -- now you're jumping me."

He knew from her arching eyebrow that both were fine. He kissed her again before his hand lit on the sweater with bows. "I may not have the best fashion-sense, but this is ugly. And I'd just as soon you didn't wear that T-shirt, either."

Before she could answer, Anthony appeared at the door, huge smile firmly in place. "Is everything all right, Dad? I thought I heard a, uh, scream."

Walt stared at his son's radiant expression. "You already know, don't you?"

Anthony beamed as he walked in and sat on the bed. "It was kinda hard to miss, Mom was so happy all day. Cool birthday present, huh, Dad?"

"Perfect. Go get your brothers and sisters so we can tell 'em."

Anthony took off, hollering down the stairs.

"The actual due date *is* January 17, tesoro, but with my track record, the baby will probably be born closer to February 1."

"Close enough," Walt mumbled, kissing her once more.

Four Hours Later

"Mmmm." Walt settled Allison by his side. "Basil was right."

Allison raised her head. "About what?"

"Sex and pregnant women."

"Oy vey," she groused, getting out of bed.

"Where are you going?"

"To get some clothes and unlock the door... For your information, he was referring to the last trimester -- when sex gets more creative to allow for my belly."

They repositioned themselves a few moments later, Walt placing his hands on her stomach again. "Would you stop already. You won't be able to feel any movement for months yet."

"Just getting in practice. So why didn't you want to call your folks tonight?"

"Because technically, one shouldn't make the announcement till the doctor has confirmed. But *you* jumped the gun with the kids... not that Anthony could have held it in much longer."

"He was pretty happy, huh? And did you see Amelia trying to diaper her doll?"

"Charlee was the same way with Ian; her enthusiasm with a real baby lasted till his diapers started to stink. Trev's used to this, but Ian'll be the wild card."

"Why's that?"

"He'll have to give up baby-of-the-family status."

Walt was still slowly caressing Allison's stomach, only half-listening to her. "So when do you want to pick names?"

"Oh, brother. I'm probably five weeks according to the formula and three and a half in actuality. We don't need to worry about names for quite a while, tesoro."

"Three and a half?" He did some mental figuring. "But the only time we had sex that week was the 22nd."

"So?"

"But -- but that was a quickie in the shower... it was hardly my best work."

"It only takes one sperm, you ditz."

"I *know* that. I mean I wanted our child's conception to be more special than that."

"Sounds like your perspective is skewed. Our child was conceived in love, Walt... and that's all that matters."

Sunday, July 5, 1998, 11:07a.m. (week 12 of the pregnancy)

"I'll tell her, Ryan... and good luck." Walt hung up the phone and ambled to the bathroom. Allison was hunched on the whirlpool half wall, looking miserable.

"How did you manage to work yesterday?"

"By keeping a bucket by my side all morning." She sat up more, one hand on her upset, already slightly swollen stomach, the other hand rubbing her forehead. "And now was a crappy time for the chain to decide to be open till six on a holiday."

"Could be worse, carissima -- you could work for a 24-hour drugstore."

She took his offered cup of water with nary a smile. "Thanks so much... the higher-ups are seriously considering it to stay competitive."

Walt sat on the edge of the half-wall, wrapping his arm around her as she laid her head on his shoulder. "Thought I was going to need a wheelchair for you at Heathrow."

"You nearly did. That was my most miserable trip to England. And discounting toxemia with Charlee, this has been my worst pregnancy." She sat up straighter as he grimaced.

"Oh, honey. You know I'd carry the baby if I could."

"Spoken like a true male." She stood up and walked unsteadily to the bedroom.

He managed to grin and frown at the same time. "Sure you're up to Ian's party?"

"As long as I stay upwind of the barbecue, I should be fine. I hope to God this nausea goes away before your summer harvest is ready to be processed. Dealing with the fruit trees and your bumper crop of strawberries has been bad enough." She tried to clear her head of food. "So who was on the phone?"

"Ryan." Walt watched his wife's features contort. "Audrey's in labor."

"Lucky her," Allison grunted, before running back to the toilet.

Tuesday, July 28, 1998, 3:54p.m. (week 15)

Walt made his way to the little thicket off the back porch of the cottage. He was carrying two glasses of lemonade and a bag of muffins... and he nearly dropped all of it when he reached Allison.

She was sunbathing... nude.

Walt gazed with marked appreciation from lightly tanned toes to paler buttocks to auburn highlighted head. "Okay, Lady Godiva, time to cover up... you're disrupting the hot-air balloon contest."

Allison turned her head toward him with a grin. "Funny, the contestants don't seem to be complaining." She rolled over slowly, glancing at the sky even though she knew he was kidding. "How 'bout half an hour more?"

He put the refreshments down and tried not to smack his lips at her fuller breasts. "Persuade me."

She cambered an eyebrow, not expecting him to concede at all. His eyes gravitated to her 'pouch' as she sat up, still leaning her weight on her hands. "Come 'ere," she purred.

As soon as he was close, she reached a hand behind his head and pulled his face to her, laving his lips then plunging her tongue into his mouth -- it wasn't going to take much persuasion. Allison clasped one of his hands and lowered it to her swollen abdomen; she pulled back from the kiss and gazed at him expectantly.

"Oh, all right. You can cook a little longer. But only because it's past the prime sun hours and if I slather on more sunscreen." She rolled her eyes. "What?" he asked as she increased the pressure of his hand.

"You wanted to know when I felt the baby moving."

"What?!" He attention snapped to her belly and he started rubbing.

"Just hold still. You keep rubbing, you'll stimulate the little wiggler and he/she will stop."

"But I can't feel anything." He concentrated a few seconds and frowned. "Are you sure?" She cuffed him on the head. "Ouch."

"I've got just a little experience here, Walt. Of course I'm sure."

"Then why can't I feel anything?" he pouted, rubbing again.

"Because the baby is still too small for anyone but *me* to feel."

"Then why did you tell me?"

She cuffed him again. "Because you've been badgering me for weeks to let you know 'just as soon' yadda yadda yadda. It'll be another couple of weeks before *you* can feel anything."

He sat on his heels, dejected. "Oh."

Allison softly stroked his cheek. "Hey, buck up. If you think you're up for it, you can always help put junior back to sleep."

He missed her immediate meaning till she tried to unfasten his shorts. "Outside?"

"I've wanted to take you outside for weeks. First you drove me nuts building that playset, then Saturday you replanted the cool season veggies. All the while taunting me with your bronzed, reconditioned body."

Walt cocked a conceited eyebrow. "When morning sickness goes--"

The rest of his words were cut off as she yanked his shirt over his head.

Several Hours Later

"Okay, we'll see you bright and early tomorrow, Darryl. 'Bye." Walt put his cell phone down on the desk. "They should be here between eight and eight-thirty." Walt sat next to Allison on the sofa, taking her hand. "Elliot's been talking nonstop about seeing all his 'cousins' again."

Clare's nephew would be spending two weeks with them while his sister was going to Paris on a school trip and his parents were gratefully taking a second honeymoon.

"The three musketeers reunited," Allison replied, grinning. "Once Elliot gets a look at that playset, he may not want to go home."

"What can I say, I'm talented. And an extra pair of hands for weeding is always welcome."

"Uh huh. Not to change the subject, but we've got to do something special for Charlee's birthday. Now that our trip to Boston has been bumped to Columbus Day weekend, Amelia thinks we're going for *her* birthday."

"It's a shame your co-worker wasn't asked to be in that wedding in March, or else you could have traded more vacation days for our honeymoon."

"Yes, but then we wouldn't be having this little quickie vacation now. And I'd just as soon see Boston with autumn foliage than blister in August heat."

"True. And I'd hate to be repeatedly picking up my swooning, pregnant wife from the pavement." He laid his hand on her stomach again. "Are you and the doctor sure about that due date? You seem big to me. Kimberly was probably two months further along before she showed this much."

Allison kissed his lips gently. "This is my fifth, *dear.* The muscles are plenty stretched. And your assistant had a peanut of a baby after the labor from hell."

"Unlike your sister, who barely broke a sweat and delivered an almost full-grown halfback."

Allison giggled and laid her head back against the sofa cushion. "I'll take an easy delivery any day. Trev was pretty good, Charlee was nasty because she had to be induced, but Amelia and Ian were clear sailing. A couple of twinges, a quick trip, the resident broke my water and 30 minutes later it was all over."

"I don't see how a 10-pound baby could be easy."

"It's a matter of perspective, Walt. Ian had a small head... Kimberly's son had a big one."

He was quiet for a few moments. "Amnio is safe, right?"

She took his hand. "Amniocentesis is safe, tesoro; only half a percent of mothers experience anything more than some cramps. And I even missed that when I had the procedure done with Ian. It's just a safeguard because of my age." And I know you're going to worry the whole month while we wait for the results, she silently added.

He squirmed anyway, despite her assurances. "So when are you going to have a sonogram?"

"Probably a few weeks after the amnio... Provided the baby cooperates, do you want to know the sex?"

Walt took a deep breath. "I'm not sure. I mean it would be nice to stop referring to the baby as 'he/she,' but I'd kind of like to be surprised, too."

"That's it," Allison announced. "We can take Charlee to the hospital for the ultrasound -- just her. She'll be thrilled to be the first one to see the baby."

Tuesday, September 1, 1998, 6:34p.m. (week 20)

Charlee held tight to the sheet of photographic paper that depicted four views of the baby. "Can I tell 'em, Mom? Please, please?"

Allison gazed into her daughter's twinkling eyes before glancing at Walt. "If it's all right with Walt, Sweetpea."

Walt knew he'd cave even before Charlee turned that 1000-watt smile on him, but he still took a few seconds to decide, basking in the glow. "Okay, sweetheart; go ahead."

Charlee went tearing up the steps, hardly inside the door as she exclaimed, "It's a girl!"

Two Hours Later

"Are you sure about this? I mean, we could end up with a ridiculous name."

Walt and Allison were sitting at the family room table while the kids congregated around the coffee table.

Allison finished writing her choice, then folded it. "No chance. Besides, I told Anthony we'd pick the baby's name out of a hat and he's holding me to it.

Amelia came up to them for the third time, still excited. "How 'bout Lavender?"

Walt grimaced as Allison shook her head. "Try again, sweetie. And try to think of a name that's not a color or a flower."

"Rose wasn't bad," Walt opined, bringing up Amelia's last selection.

"Petal, Walt. She said *Rosepetal.* "

Ian sidled up to them, pointing at Allison's bigger stomach. "Ba'y."

Walt picked Ian up and bounced him on his left knee, the right one stiff from the high humidity. "What should we name your sister, Ian?"

"This'll be good," Allison offered, taking Trevor's vote, peeking at it and nodding.

"Nay."

"What did he say?" Walt was still getting the hang of 'toddler talk.'

"He repeated 'name.' Who's that, Ian?" Allison pointed to each child in turn.

"Twev. Ant'ny. Charwee. Me'a."

"And what's your name?" Walt asked him, amused.

"Nay."

Ian squirmed his way down as Allison wrote on another slip of paper. "Now what?" Walt queried.

"I'm writing down Ian's vote."

"Allison," Walt drawled. "You're just trying to stack the deck in your favor."

"Um, Princess?"

Allison snorted. "Likely to be apropos, but no, Amelia."

Amelia stalked away while Walt whapped Allison on the thigh. "Thanks a lot."

Anthony brought his choice up with a grin. Allison added it to the pile without looking. "Aren't you going to check that one?" her husband intoned.

"Nope. He already told me what he wrote."

"When?"

She lowered her voice. "Just now, when he asked how to spell the middle name."

"I didn't hear him." Allison glanced at him patronizingly as Charlee approached with her ballot. "Oh," he whispered.

"Very nice, Charlee," her mother complimented. "You're holding us up, small fry."

Amelia tried once more. "Loonette?" The three oldest children groaned while she pouted and stomped her foot. "Ohhh, jus' write down whatever you want."

"Okay," her mother agreed, scribbling.

"Hey, that's *really* not fair. You've gotten three votes," Walt objected.

"So sue me. Trev, let me borrow your cap."

Allison placed the slips in and shook the hat, Walt still grousing. Amelia was allowed to pull the 'winning' name, which she handed to her mother... who handed it to Walt.

"Rebecca Magdalene," he announced, smiling.

That had been his choice, except it was written in Anthony's writing.

Walt gazed at the grins all around him and snatched the cap, opening the rest of the pieces of paper and reading them aloud. "Rebecca Magdalene, Becky Maggie, Rebecca Magdalene, RM, Rebecca Maggie, Rebecca Magdalene... I think I've been set up," he conceded.

"Can we have some ice cream, Mom, to, uh, celebrate?" Trevor hedged.

Allison glanced at the clock. "All right."

The kids scooted to the kitchen and Walt tugged on Allison's hand. "Thank you, carissima."

She leaned toward him and softly kissed his lips. "You're welcome. I know how much you wanted to name her after your mom." She touched her stomach with a gleam. "Feels like *Becky* wants some ice cream, too."

Walt absently placed his hand near Allison's out of habit, not truly expecting to feel anything and wondering if his wife would be interested in his brand of ice cream later. Then he forgot about that when he felt something.

"Hey! I can feel her!" He lowered his head as though he expected to be able to hear her next. "Wow, she's really moving... Think that means she likes her name?"

Monday, October 19, 1998, 6:28p.m. (week 27)

Allison hung up the phone, a bitter taste in her mouth. She forced a smile as she heard the kids clamoring up the porch steps and Walt's car pull into the garage.

"Hey, Mom, check it out!" Anthony held up the first of the Brussels sprouts.

"Yuck," Charlee responded, coming in behind him and placing a head of cabbage on the counter.

"Ian's got the last of the carrots," Trevor announced, himself carrying two different kinds of lettuce.

"Ian!" Allison scolded, taking his pail of carrots away with one hand and snatching the one he was chomping on with her other. "That's dirty."

"Mommy!" Amelia tugged on her mother's sleeve as she tried to wet a paper towel to clean Ian's mouth. "The pumpkins are getting hard. I can read my name!"

Allison rolled her eyes as Walt entered the kitchen.

"What's that, sweetheart?" he queried. She repeated her words with equal excitement. "That's great, Amelia." He looked at Allison's taut features and recalled the same expression on his face a few weeks previous, when the results from the amniocentesis had come back -- thankfully, all was fine. "Go wash up, kids."

They scampered away while he dropped his briefcase.

"Carving the kids' names into the pumpkins while the skin was still soft was a great idea, Walt."

"I've been known to get 'em every once in a while," he commented... and he reasoned her expression had to be in response to her job. "They're not going to let you keep your schedule, huh?"

"Nope," Allison replied, clicking her tongue.

Allison's drugstore had decided to be open 24 hours. The current options were seven consecutive 12-hour nights, one week on, one week off -- or five, eight-hour days one week; five, four-hour days and two, 12-hour days for the other week. It worked out to 84 hours in a two-week period, no matter how you looked at it.

Walt shook his head in disgust. "Well, I hate *both* 'options.' I'm sorry, Allison, I know you managed to work 10-hour shifts carrying Amelia and Ian, but I don't think long hours are healthy. You come home more beat each night and--"

"I quit," she interrupted.

Walt's mouth hung open -- they'd certainly talked about the possibility, but he hadn't expected her to decide on her own. "You what?"

"They wanted my answer immediately. Halloween will be my last shift and since it comes out to slightly less than two weeks' notice, I might be axing myself from ever working for them again. But I don't care, I can always join another chain down the road... or even switch to a hospital--"

"Or you can simply be a stay-at-home-mom, carissima. Something you know I'd like very much." He pulled her into a tender clinch, mindful of her now-sizable stomach... and getting 'kicked' in the process by Becky. "Taking care of six children is a full-time job in my book... I'll even pay you to stay home."

She gazed into his waggish eyes with her own mischief. "Would that be real money, or services?" Allison grabbed his buttocks.

Three Hours Later

The kids had gone to bed and Walt was in the basement, having appropriated the one semifinished room for a woodshop nearly a year ago. He'd spent a considerable amount of time in his former father-in-law's garage during the trip to Boston, concocting who knew what sort of plans. And he'd somehow managed to bring supplies into the house without witnesses. Everyone could hear the saws running and curiosity was high -- Walt kept the door to his 'sanctum' locked. Even Anthony seemed in the dark.

Allison was sitting on a sofa in the family room, surrounded by infant clothes. She was scrutinizing each item for excessive stains... and the pile of unacceptable apparel -- wear only if it's the fifth change of the day -- was growing. Charlee had been easy on clothes, and all her things had been passed to Amelia. Amelia, on the other hand, had spit up regularly, had repeated diaper accidents and had crawled toward anything that was dirty. Trying to keep her clean had been a chore.

Just like Ian, Allison thought, writing down more items to purchase for Becky. The only major item they needed was a crib, maybe. His older siblings had switched to a bed at two years of age -- Ian was firmly attached to his crib, however. He'll be two-and-a-half when Becky's born, Allison mused. He *should* be in a bed by then... and if not, we've got that bassinet. That'll work for a few months, she concluded.

"Um, carissima? Would you come downstairs a minute? I'd like to show you something."

Allison mumbled 'in a sec' as she scribbled something else down, then ambled over to him. She'd gained 15 pounds so far and figured not to waddle till the start of her ninth month.

Walt had another of his goofy grins plastered on his face. "What?"

"Just thinking how beautiful you look." He ran his fingers over her stomach. "Radiant."

She cocked her infamous eyebrow. "Are you buttering me up so you can buy another saw?"

He chuckled and tipped her chin for a kiss. "No... but I could use a new toolbox."

"I have it on good authority that one will be under the Christmas tree."

They kept up the banter as they walked into the basement, passing the open laundry-room door. The additional pantry shelving was teeming with home-canned goods, and the newly purchased freezer was likewise filled to the hinges.

"Close your eyes," he requested as they reached the doorway. She did and he led her into the room, turning her. "Okay."

Allison gasped as she stared at his creation. It was a sleigh-bed crib in a cherry stain. And knowing her husband, Allison was positive it had been meticulously crafted from actual cherrywood. All the screws were recessed, the hinges were perfectly stainfree and straight, the rails were absolutely smooth and the wooden medallions were intricately designed.

"It can convert to a daybed, so that might help Becky's transition from crib to bed. And later on, I can take the ends off and the back section would be a headboard -- it'll be a full-size bed. I didn't want to show it to you till I had the teething-guard thing and caster wheels on." He stopped blathering and waited for her to comment... and he waited.

"Allison? Aren't you going to say anything?"

She was still speechless as she ran her fingers along the rails. "Oh, tesoro, it's beautiful." Allison heard her voice crack and thought that she was an emotional idiot.

Walt wrapped his arms around her and kissed her hair. "My father made one like this for me -- they lent it to someone and never got it back." He turned her some more. "I made a changing table, too. And I'm going to strip the dresser from the guest room to match... I know I probably should have checked with you about the stain, but..."

"Cherry is perfect, Walt... It'll match Clare's rocker."

He sighed in relief, not having been sure how she'd feel about having Clare's rocker in their child's room. "I got started on something else." He led her to a work table and pointed to a photo in a book.

Allison's eyes bulged. "A rocking horse? Walt, she won't be old enough for this for..."

There was that pout again. "I just wanted her to have something under the tree. Ian can play with it... all the kids can use it, I'll make it sturdy enough to support Anthony and Trev, too."

She glanced at the image again, unconsciously smiling. "You're going to spoil her rotten, tesoro," she observed. "To paraphrase my mother, 'You'll love her to pieces, then love all the pieces.'"

Monday, November 9, 1998, 11:50a.m. (week 30)

Allison and Walt entered an enormous combination toy and children's clothing store. They'd had an early lunch and each took a cart -- Allison solemn, wondering if she should have insisted he go to work, Walt only marginally controlling his enthusiasm at finally being allowed to buy something for their daughter.

"Where first, Allison?" His eyes were bright and darting in all directions -- it was just like having one of the *real* children in tow -- or Basil, she thought.

"Jeez, ooh man," she mumbled under her breath. "This way."

She led him past the formula aisle, seeing him peer down it anyway. They'd already had a discussion about trying to breastfeed since her sister had produced milk -- three ounces in a single day by pumping round the clock. Allison had informed her misguided husband that that was hardly enough to sustain a baby. They bypassed the diaper and wipes section, too, there being a stockpile at home.

Allison paused at the mattresses, consulting her list before finding what she wanted and taking the tag. She turned to say something to Walt and discovered she'd lost him. She found him two aisles back, looking at strollers.

"We don't need a stroller."

"But the carriage is looking worse for wear and if we got a *jogging* stroller, I could take Becky with me," he argued.

"At 6a.m.? And she can't ride in one of those contraptions until she can sit up by herself."

He started pouting -- it was getting to be a reflex action. But Allison refrained from mentioning that.

Allison also deliberately refrained from commenting on his ability to jog -- despite his efforts at rehab, his knee wasn't 100 percent. He still jogged, but had only been able to work up to half his previous mileage and that was taking him the same number of minutes. If he pushed himself more than that, his knee swelled painfully.

" *Maybe* we can get a new stroller next spring." He perked up at that and Allison decided to try to get him out of her hair. "Why don't you go start on the kids' Christmas lists."

He wandered off and she rapidly filled her cart with mundane items like bottles, pacifiers and changing pads.

Allison was deciding between sheets when he returned, his cart full, but not with Christmas items.

"Walt!" she pursed her lips. "We have more than enough baby toys -- put 'em back. And the same goes for the stuffed animals. We could open our own zoo."

He considered his options for a moment, then decided to try bargaining. "Can we keep the mobile?"

She glanced at it, thinking the animals were cute as she tossed three packages of sheets into her cart. "All right, it's generic enough to go with whatever fabric I buy, but the rest *goes back.* And since you're so determined to look at the baby stuff, go pick out some bibs and onesies."

He gave her his sappy grin and tempered it as someone passed them. "What size?"

Allison told him and he took off again with an annoying lilt to his step.

Walt caught up with her by the carseats. "I was hoping you'd get a new one. Amelia's old one is looking ragged."

She dropped a package into her cart and disagreed. "The seat is fine. What all did you get now?" Allison rooted through his cart with a groan. "First of all, you've got twice as many onesies and bibs as I said. Second, I didn't tell you to get clothes. Third, you've got the sizes all wrong for them anyway. And fourth, *no* toys."

"But..." he sputtered.

She straightened him out and sent him -- protesting--on his way, having divested him of the Christmas list.

Allison realized she hadn't seen Walt in a while and went searching for him, gearing up for the unnecessary items she was sure he'd have. She remembered how excited Basil had been with Trevor and how he'd wanted to buy the whole store, too. Maybe one or two toys, she mused with a sigh, as long as they're small.

He was by the larger items again, this time scanning the swings, playpens and highchairs. She eyed his cart suspiciously and noted outfits, the correct number of onesies and bibs, three stuffed animals, a bathtub set, a bedding set... and four small toys.

He saw her from the corner of his eye. "You know, Allison, I could make a highchair. It'd be an heirloom, just like the crib."

Ooh, he had her with that remark. "What about the bedding?" she tapped the article in question.

Walt noticed she wasn't giving him flack for the other items and felt encouraged. "It matches the mobile and you won't have to stand in line getting fabric or struggle to make all that stuff... you can put your feet up and relax." He saw her glancing at a swing and pushed his luck some more. "Just think how much quieter one of these new swings would be... no more grating squeaking noises," he wheedled.

"Were you a snake-oil salesman in another life or something?" she reciprocated, resolve failing.

"The kids have been giving me pointers."

Saturday, November 28, 1998, 1:15p.m. (week 33, give or take)

Allison was in the attic with her mother. Her father and Teresa had taken the kids shopping.

"I can't believe Walt," Mrs. Hogle commented, cutting a sheet of paper and preparing to wrap one of the plentiful presents. "Does the man know the meaning of the word 'moderation'?"

Her question was in reference to the fact that Walt was in his workroom, simultaneously making a three-story dollhouse for the girls and a multitask game table for the boys. And he planned to make Ian a scooter.

"He's enjoying himself -- he used to help his father build things. I think he somehow feels more connected to him this way." Allison paused and made no effort to stifle her grimace -- Becky was pressing on her sciatic nerve. She rubbed her back gingerly while her mother looked on in sympathy. "Redoing the kids' rooms started an out-of-control spiral. Did I tell you he's planning a series of toys for Becky? And that he wants to make adult-sized swings, benches and a gazebo?

"Where on earth are you going to put a gazebo?"

"I try not to ask anymore. By the time he retires, he'll have a flourishing side business... and we won't have a cubic inch of free space."

Jude Hogle picked up a bag and groaned. "What happened to 'I will never buy one of those disgusting things'?" She held up a Barbie box.

Allison heavily sighed. "One of her schoolmate's got Amelia one for her birthday... and it's all I've heard for weeks. Besides, if you look closely, you'll see the only doll I bought is the realistic, 'mature' Barbie."

They settled back into silence for a while.

"So, um, are you happy for Basil?"

Allison's eyebrow shot up as she attached a bow. "What kind of question is that? Of course I'm happy for him. For him, Lois and Betsy. The kids are excited about the wedding, too."

"So why am I anticipating a 'but'?"

Her daughter shrugged and carried a box of in-line skates to the wrapping area. "No buts, I just wish we were going with them -- but Walt can't get time off with the year-end reports, and the airlines won't let me fly that close to my due date. It's great that Mary and Charles are going to take them... do you realize the kids have more frequent flyer miles than most adults?"

Wednesday, December 30, 1998, 11:08p.m. (week 37 1/2)

Walt grinned as he entered their bathroom. Allison was on the bath-scale, wearing nothing more than her panties.

"I don't think you can get away with that in the doctor's office, carissima."

He came up behind her and peeked over her shoulder just before she stepped off. Walt got on in her place before wandering over to join her at the sink. "You weigh seven pounds less than I do," he teased. "If I go on a diet, you could end up weighing more."

"For your information, Mr. Skinner, I've gained just exactly what my doctor recommended."

"And you look fantastic," he complimented, gazing at her mostly naked body with desire mounting. "Your breasts are nearly the same size as before the surgery." She cocked her eyebrow as she brushed her teeth. His fingers trailed across her bulging abdomen. "Although, you seem smaller here, all of a sudden."

Allison spit out the toothpaste. "Becky dropped. All the kids did about a month before they were born."

He crossed his arms and half-pouted. "So it really looks like it'll be another month, huh?"

"She'll come when she's ready, tesoro. I already told you the internal today yielded no signs of impending labor."

"Yeah, well, a guy can hope, can't he?"

She lifted his downturned chin and kissed it. " *I* was kinda hoping for payment... feels like I haven't been 'serviced' in a while."

"I feel like I've died and gone to heaven," Walt sighed, plopping onto the pillow.

"You look more like you're on the verge of a coma."

He rubbed a hand over his forehead and grinned. "These double climaxes are draining."

"And I feel *so* sorry for you," she droned, rolling over to retrieve her panties. "I think we need to find a new position, my hip didn't appreciate being, uh, 'rotated.'"

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" His expression was instantly alert and serious.

"No. I have been thoroughly and wonderfully loved," she emphasized, reluctantly donning clothing while Walt retrieved his own garments and unlocked the door. "So what time should Anthony and I come by your office tomorrow for First Night?" The Skinners were planning to attend the series of family-oriented New Year's Eve events that culminated with a grand fireworks display.

"How about 6:30p.m. I should be sick of the place by then. We'll get some dinner and then do as many of the activities as your feet can stand."

Saturday, January 2, 1999, 6:50a.m. (week 38, give or take)

Walt took a deep lungful of brisk air and tried to ignore the throb coming from his knee. He slowed his pace to compensate and scowled, thinking he could almost walk faster. He gave up entirely a few moments later, chiding himself for being a clumsy oaf.

He'd rented a pair of ice skates on Thursday so Anthony wouldn't have to skate alone. Three years had made a huge difference in his son's confidence and ability -- plus Clare's student boarder had been a good teacher. Walt wasn't as graceful, having seen little snow growing up in Texas and never attempting the activity as an adult. But Allison could hardly go out on the manufactured rink with Anthony, so... Walt had fallen repeatedly as more experienced skaters had whizzed by him and he'd thought Allison would go into labor from laughter alone.

They were due to meet the kids and Basil's parents at the airport early that afternoon. The Wrights were staying over -- in the boys' beds, since the guest room was no more, waiting to be used as a nursery -- and continuing home to London the next day. And Amelia had apparently picked up a cold -- I just hope it doesn't trigger her bronchiectasis, he thought.

Walt heard a siren close by as he recalled how quiet Anthony had been these last few days. He and Allison had given him lots of attention, but it wasn't quite enough to replace the comradely spirit of his siblings -- he was so attached to them now.

Walt rounded the block and stopped dead -- there was an ambulance slowing in front of his house. He found a reserve of energy, and adrenaline shut off the pain to his knee as he ran to the paramedics.

"What happened?" he interrogated.

One paramedic glanced sideways at him with a pronounced 'mind-your-own-business' look as the stretcher was yanked out. "Nothing that concerns you, sir."

Walt narrowed his eyes on reflex and laid a hand on the smaller man's arm. "This is *my* house, and it's indeed my business."

"In that case... your wife's in labor."

"What?!"

Walt sprinted to the porch, seeing Anthony at the door. "Hurry up, Dad, you'll miss it!"

Walt bounded up the stairs like a teenager, finding Allison on the floor of their bedroom, in the final stages of labor. He struggled to remember everything he'd learned in the refresher class and wishing he'd held out and dragged her to the six-week childbirth series.

"How can you be in labor? You were asleep when I left. You're never early -- you swore you'd be late."

The paramedics pushed past him and he recognized the look they gave him -- he resolved to stop sounding like a lunatic.

"Don't just stand there like an idiot," Allison snapped, grunting through clenched teeth, trying not to push. Another contraction cut off any further gems of wisdom.

"The head's crowning," one paramedic instructed. "Go ahead and push, Mrs. Skinner."

"Gladly," she muttered, bearing down and heaving.

Walt stood rooted to the spot till Teresa shoved him. He then squatted onto the floor -- where Allison was leaning against the cedar chest -- and regained his control, remembering to take her hand and then wincing as she proceeded to do her best to crush it. "You're doing great, carissima. Keep breathing." God that sounds stupid, he thought.

"We've got the shoulder... one more push and..."

Suddenly, the room was filled with the sound of Rebecca Magdalene Skinner screeching at the top of her diminutive lungs.

Walt beheld his daughter and was awestruck. He cut the cord as instructed, barely taking his eyes off her. She looked both huge and tiny... absolutely beautiful -- and her blotchy skin tone and the numerous pint-sized cuts that temporarily marred her face weren't even worth noting.

And then time simply stood still for Walt. He was dimly aware of the activity around him, of Teresa patting him on the back, Anthony grinning from ear to ear -- though looking seasick at the same time. All he could see was his gorgeous daughter and lovely wife. He brought Allison's hand to his lips, then lowered his face to kiss her... and at that moment, he was the happiest man on earth -- in all matters of perspective.