Walter Skinner stood at the window, drawing the heavy draperies back with one hand. Outside, the sunlight was reddening as evening approached, and the bulk of the mountain some five miles away looked hazy, as if a sheen of dust coated the hills. The air conditioning from the duct above his head blew cool air on his bare shoulders, and the touch of that air felt good to skin long-warmed by bedsheets.

He heard Mariel's bare feet padding almost soundlessly up to him, and felt her arms slipping around him from behind. Her hands slid up his breast, the palms gently cupping his masculine nipples as she rubbed her soft cheek against the back of his neck. He sighed, letting the drapery fall shut but otherwise unwilling to move as her softly-mounded breasts and gently-rounded abdomen pressed against his back and buttocks. "Mm-m-m-m," she murmured, softly kissing his shoulder "Up so soon, Walt?"

He turned, and gathered her into his arms. "No, not really. Just checking on things." Holding her tenderly, he met her kisses warmly, and chuckled when he tasted her cool, sweet mouth "You've been eating your Aunt Ellie's cookies and drinking the iced tea, haven't you?"

Mariel smiled. "Yep. But I saved some for you."

He smiled, too, holding her away from him a little, letting his eyes move lovingly over her unclad figure. Her cheeks blushed a soft, dusky pink as his gaze caressed her, and her eyelids fell as the blush deepened. Walter was glad that she was becoming less shy about standing before him like this. He loved to look at her, and hoped that she enjoyed looking at him.

Since they'd arrived at her aunt Ellie Martin's house earlier that afternoon, they'd spent most of the time in bed. Walter had to chuckle to himself at the thought of how that would sound if he said it out loud. And, yes, he *had* made love to Mariel and she to him, deeply and warmly, renewing their bond and their vows. But they'd also rested quietly together, talking softly. He took care then to gently draw out her feelings, encouraging her to vocalize any pain or confusion or doubts she felt about her abduction and the subsequent desert trek she'd been forced to undertake.

Although it wasn't easy to let down his guard, even then, he in return had told her of his fears and the aching loneliness he bore when she was not at his side Now, standing safe together in the shelter of the small bedroom, Walter lifted his hands to her shoulders. He said, "I love you, Mariel, and I'll always be thankful that you were given back to me." He pressed his face against her hair, nuzzling her ear, kissing her face with slow, open-mouthed touches. "For too long after the flood passed," he whispered, "I thought...I thought that you were gone from my life forever." --- And if you had died because of that smoking bastard --- he thought --- I would have become a murderer with no regrets --- But Walter Skinner would never tell his wife how close he had come to the unthinkable.

She tried to laugh a little. "And you think that I'm not thankful? " Serious again, Mariel drew her fingertips across his face, stroking his high cheekbones. She murmured, "Honey, I'm with you, for always." She reached up to hold him, pressing close.

He kissed her again, smoothing his palms over her back and waist and gently-curving bottom, claiming her with his touch. " You know what else?" he smiled at a thought. "I think that the strength in your fine, sturdy body helped bring you back to me. Honey," he went on, looking at her closely, "I think it's possible that you wouldn't have survived in that flooded wash if you had been a smaller, more slightly-built woman."

"I...I didn't think of it that way," she murmured, looking up.

"Well, please do, because I think it's true." He slid both hands up her back, fingertips finally massaging her scalp as he pulled her head back very gently, opening her throat to his kisses. "And right now," he whispered, "I want to show you again how thankful I am." Groaning a little, she shifted in his arms, her own arms squeezing his shoulders tighter. "Oh, love...keep that up and I'll be very warm and very ready...."

Walter continued what he was doing. "Promise, honey?" he murmured, finally lifting her into his arms to carry her to bed.

"Yes, promise...." The soft murmur was her surrender.

A long while later, they lay quietly together, both pleasantly tired. Mariel stroked Walter's head as it rested on her breast. She enjoyed the weight upon her, loved the feelings it gave her when he nestled his head closer, sometimes reaching over a little to kiss the opposite breast. After a while, he drew back a little to look at her, to enjoy the sight of his wife's body as she lay relaxed and drowsy and satisfied by his love. "You're so beautiful," he whispered, stroking her face, bending to kiss her warm, languid mouth.

"I love you," she whispered.

Whispering back the words that were true, and always would be, he settled his head on her shoulder. After a moment, he rubbed his flattened palm over her abdomen, looked tenderly into her sleepy grey eyes. "Honey," he asked quietly, "when will we know if you're pregnant now?"

Reaching up to playfully tangle her fingers through his chest hair, she thought about that. "When we get home," she said, "I'll get my charts and figure out where I was in my cycle when...when all this began. It depends on when I ovulated."

Walter caught the little hesitation in her voice. He knew that it was up to him to make sure that no one ever involved Mariel in this business again. Right now, he kept his thoughts focused on his main concern. "So if you ovulated within the past couple of days..."

She smiled, picked up his sentence. "...Then there's a chance."

He clasped the hand that was still playing with his chest and just as playfully nibbled at her fingertips. Smiling, he lazily stretched his big frame upon her, bracing his weight off her chest with bent arms. Mariel arranged herself just right beneath him, and he heard her sigh, felt the warmth of the slow exhalation on his skin as he kissed her shoulders.

She murmured dreamily against his ear, "You know, doing this right now may not improve the chances much....I mean, what with the timing and all...."

Walter Skinner laughed, very gently, loving his beautiful wife. "Well," he considered, "we really should keep in practice, don't you think?"

"M-m-m-m...yes, a very good idea," she whispered, at last giving herself up to him as completely as he gave himself to her. Later, after she was asleep, he reached easily to the night table and poured his own glass of the iced sun-tea. He debated a moment over the cookies before taking a chocolate-chip one. He didn't normally eat in bed, but this seemed like the right time for the snack.

The tea was refreshing and just bracing enough. Although relaxed and happy, he knew he wouldn't sleep again, so he just sat up beside Mariel, watching her sleep while he finished the snack. They had a lot to do after they got home, he knew, but he'd tried to make this small interlude as good for her as he could, both emotionally and physically. Looking down now at her sleeping face, her parted lips, the rhythmic rise and fall of her breasts to her breathing, he had the distinct feeling that he'd succeeded at his wonderful task.

Shifting a little on the mattress, Walter reached out to very lightly stroke Mariel's abdomen, low down between her hips --- Maybe, just maybe --- he thought --- something else wonderful will come from this afternoon --- Smiling, he slid out of bed, covered her softly with the sheet, and went out to see what he could find in the kitchen for dinner.

The room was in semi-darkness, as it always was. The blinds were shut tightly, only a thin, slitted glare along the edge of the louvers announcing the sun. Pools of artificial light from shaded lamps poured down over the men sitting in the deep leather chairs. Only the occasional lift and fall of a chest or the creep of a hand toward a nearby glass proved that the men were, indeed, alive. Cigarette and cigar smoke fogged the air whitely, thin little drifts ghosting in the slight draft from the ceiling ventilators.

He sat in one of the chairs, a damply frosted glass on the table beside him, cigarette briefly between his lips as he drew in the smoke. A few feet away, the tall, stocky man stood near a bookcase, a folder in his hand. "So, your investigation yielded entirely negative results." The stocky man's reedy tenor voice was a statement.

"Yes," the smoker replied. "Entirely."

No one else spoke as the man passed the folder to another man sitting beside him: an older man, his expensive suit impeccably pressed. "And Mrs. Skinner --- she knows nothing?"

"I'm convinced of that," the smoker said calmly, dusting the ash off the tip of his cigarette against the rim of the ashtray. "She had no idea what I was searching for, or why."

After a moment's silence, the stocky man remarked, "I wouldn't have thought that the assistant director would marry a...stupid woman."

The smoker gave no sign, but his instincts alerted at those words. Deciding that studied indifference would best suit his reply, the grey-eyed man responded in a cool, bored tone. "In her own field, Mrs. Skinner is a consummate professional. In any other regard..." He let it trail off, finished with a shrug.

"I see." The stocky man looked slowly around the room, meeting every pair of eyes. "This business is concluded, then," he said, seeing the slow nods of agreement. Still holding the folder, the nattily-dressed man raised his eyes almost lazily. "Perhaps," he said, focusing on the smoker's face, "it would be best to keep our options with Mrs. Skinner open."

Shrugging again, as if the question was of no importance, the grey-eyed man said, "Certainly, if there's no more productive way to waste our time, effort...and money."

The other man chuckled almost inaudibly. "Very well. Then of course we must be done with it."

The men in the room finished their drinks, extinguished their cigarettes or cigars, and stood to gather their coats. The well-dressed man handed the folder back to the stocky man, but kept his gaze on the smoker opposite him. Then he gathered his own coat and stood up when the smoker did. As the others left the room, the well-dressed man said quietly, "Stay a moment, please." Not showing his surprise, the smoker nodded. "Of course."

When the door closed and the two were alone, the older man said, "So, Jonathan, are you sure the report is...entirely complete?"

He looked back at the other's quiet, almost amused eyes. Sometimes it was easy to forget how many years they'd known each other, how much of his own past this man knew about. He'd been in the office that morning when the smoker hurried in a little late, elated because Lorene had agreed to marry him. Neither man had known that, by the evening of that day, Lorene would be disposed of as knowing too much.

"Of course it's complete," the smoker said, still apparently bored. "Yes, certainly, as to the facts, I'm sure." The older man drew his coat on slowly, turned slightly to pick up an umbrella. "I saw her once, you know. Mrs. Skinner is...very attractive."

The smoker laughed. "I find her as attractive as I'm sure she finds me."

The other joined in the amusement with his eyes. "Of course. I'm sure that a woman finds a man devastatingly attractive when he interferes in her life, threatens her husband, kidnaps her and puts her in a position where she almost loses her life." He buttoned his coat, met the other's eyes squarely. "How very obvious that is."

"Completely." The smoker gathered his own coat, drew out another cigarette.

"Then good afternoon, Jonathan."

"Good day." He watched the older man leave the room, and drew on his cigarette deeply. So....The smoker wondered how much more closely he would have to watch his own back now. He honestly wasn't sure of how much the other man knew, or suspected. He *was* sure that any suspicions the other might have would not affect any future decision.

Once outside, among the anonymous, "going-home" pedestrians crowding the sidewalk, the smoker walked slowly toward the apartment he kept here. He would not think of the quiet in that apartment, or the approaching darkness, or of Mariel Skinner lying in her husband's arms. His own time was long past, his choices irrevocable. There was nothing left but the timetable that could not be altered. Dropping his cigarette onto the sidewalk, he crushed it under his shoe before continuing down the street.

The End --- For Now....