This One Day

By

sHaYcH

Disclaimer:  ER and all characters, back story, etc are copyright to Warner Bros., ConstantC Productions and Amblin Television.

This is the fifth story in my ongoing series.  Spoilers for the most recent season.  I will be splitting away from exact canon, as far as some things go, from here on out.

Comments and constructive criticisms are welcome at: shaych3@yahoo.com

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This is really happening, I think to myself as Kerry bends over to lovingly pet Fric and Frak.  The dogs nudge her legs, getting her to limp into the dining room, where the cats are waiting at the table.  I feel myself smile as she sits down and begins to give each animal a loving pet or stroke.

We talked, Kerry and I.  We cried together, giving each other the chance to ask and answer the hard questions that needed to come out.  We cooked afterwards, using the mundane chore as a stepping-stone into this new level to our relationship.  My stomach rumbles pleasantly, relishing the last bits of dinner as it settles.  I think I surprised both of us when the hastily made meal tasted so good.  I’m just grateful that it’s staying down.  I have never been as nervous as I am right now.  I glance at the clock.  It’s midnight, but I know I won’t be sleeping anytime soon. 

Neither will Kerry, if the way she behaved during dinner is any indication.  It was the way she looked at me, undressing me mentally and making me wish I could just chuck the whole dinner thing and drag her upstairs right then.  Her eyes were so busy consuming me, I was afraid she wasn’t going to eat any of the food.  Thankfully, she did eat.  Tiny bite, by tiny bite, she worked her way through every bit of food on her plate.   By the time the last bite was eaten I was vibrating with desire for her, but I held myself in check.  I knew that I couldn’t push anything, not tonight. 

After dinner, she surprised me by calling in sick.  Whoever she was talking to must have had the same reaction I did because she said, “No, I’m not dying and tell Malucci that I haven’t been abducted by Aliens, I just feel a little under the weather.  Yes, okay, yes, I’ll see you then.  No, wait, ask Luka to cover for me – he owes me a favor.  Mmhm, right.  Yes, I remember about the meeting.  Tell Robert I won’t forget.  Yes, John, I’ll get some sleep.  Good night.”  Inwardly, I quake.  Kerry Weaver, the woman with the work ethic of a robot is taking a day off for me? 

I’m off tomorrow, and Kerry wants to take some time and spend a day with me.  That’s what she told me, just before she picked up the phone and called the hospital.  One whole day, for just Kerry and me, that’s the gift she is fearlessly offering.  I look down and realize the dish I’ve been scrubbing is so clean that I can see my nervous smile reflecting back at me.  Kerry’s voice filters into the kitchen; she’s talking nonsense to my menagerie, giving them so much attention that I’m positive they’ll love her forever.

“Would you like something to drink?  Some wine?  A cup of coffee?” I ask nervously.  I’m nervous, oh God, I’m shaking.  I might be sixteen again, on my first date with Amanda Brody, the girl who lived next door and had the bluest eyes in the school.  Or I might be 30-something, standing in my own kitchen with the most beautiful doctor in the ER giving me bedroom eyes.  I really couldn’t tell you the difference right now.

Kerry looks at me archly and says, “What I want, Dr. Legaspi, is for you to show me the rest of this marvelous house.”  She extends her hand and gestures toward the living room.

Oh.  Okay, that won’t be too hard.  There are three levels to this place.  That’s at least twenty, maybe thirty minutes of time killing right there.  Except, on the third floor is my bedroom, with my bed.  The bed… oh God, she’s going to think…

I have a huge bed.  That’s what she’s going to think.  I love my bed, my blasted beast of a piece of furniture that I have lugged everywhere since I found it at a garage sale in college.  That bed has seen me through so much of my life…

“Sure,” I say, wiping my hands on a towel.  “You’ve seen most of this floor, so I’ll be happy to give you the two-bit tour.  Mom and Dad collected some neat stuff over the years, and I haven’t had the heart to throw it out.”  Yeah, neat stuff Kim, as in the stuff that will distract her long enough for you both to go completely insane.  Way to deal with performance anxiety, Legaspi.

The kitchen really is the gem of the first floor, but Kerry seems just as impressed by the dining room and living area as well.  Of course, the huge cage dad built just for his oldest pet – an ancient rat named Mr. Prickle-toes – takes up most of the family room.  The old codger is happy to see us, dredging up the energy to turn a few cycles on his wheel while Kerry coos over him. 

Shyly, Mr. P wiggles out of the wheel to come over and investigate when Kerry tentatively brushes her finger against the cage.  I can’t help but smile as I lift the latch and reach in to retrieve the rat.  “Here, say a proper hello, Kerry,” I say, handing her the little critter.

I can tell she’s handled rats before, because she automatically cradles Mr. P’s pudgy body against her chest, stroking him from head to tail, while his little nose wriggles excitedly. 

“He’s so soft.  How old is he?” she asks, stroking the tips of his ears, where the fur is charcoal gray.

“I think he’s just shy of seven years old,” I reply, “I don’t really remember when dad got him.”  Mr. Prickle-toes starts to climb up Kerry’s shirt, demonstrating how he got his name.  The sight reminds me of how mom looked at dad with such affection and amused tolerance when he hobbled in with the scrawny rodent clinging precariously to his jacket lapel.

 “Honey!  Look what I found at the mall today?  Isn’t he just the cutest little bugger?” Dad boomed out, peeling the rat off his jacket and displaying him proudly.

“George, I swear, you bring home the darndest things,” mom replied in a loving tone of voice as she took his hat, then held the rat while dad put his coat away.

He had smiled so sweetly and reached out to stroke her face.  “I brought you home, didn’t I?”

“Oh George,” my mom said, blushing and tearing up at the same time. 

“Kim?  Are you all right?” Kerry’s concerned voice brings me back to the present.  I blink the tears that those memories conjure up back and nod reassuringly.

“I’m fine, Kerry.  Just caught in a good memory, that’s all.”  I relate the story and she nods. 

“My parents had days like that, too.  Not often, but when they did, there was always something wonderful about the day,” she says wistfully, handing Mr. P back to me.

I put the rat back in his cage and continue the tour.  Behind the double stairway that leads to the second floor is an old service elevator that dad had refurbished when he could no longer climb the stairs.  Kerry is pleasantly surprised when I show it to her.

“Dad didn’t mind hobbling up and down the stairs, but as he got older, his hips couldn’t handle it, so he and my uncle Ted got together one Christmas and made this old thing function properly,” I tell Kerry as we get on and I pull the doors shut.  The elevator’s engine purrs as I push the button marked with a number “2”.

Kerry gives me a tiny smile and leans against the corner, one hand resting on the rail and one on her crutch.  “So this is quite a place… your dad really put in the works…” her voice trails off as she fidgets nervously with the cuff of her crutch.  The deep growl of the elevator motor fills the silence.

I look at my feet, noticing the smooth spot where mom and dad would stand as they rode up every night to go to bed.  “Yeah, he wanted it to be comfortable.”

“It is, I mean, it’s nice, because it’s so easy to get around in,” she says softly.  There is a strange look on her face, as though the admission costs her a great deal.

“It had to be, because of his leg,” I say as the elevator comes to a bumping stop.  I reach for the handle of the door and give it a hard tug.

“You never did tell me about that.  Why did he have a cane?” she asks curiously as we exit the elevator. 

I point to one of the pictures on the hallway wall.  My mother covered the walls of this place with memories.  Pictures dating as far back as she could find from our family tree decorate the hallway, creating a mural of faces.  Medals and ribbons surround the image I’m pointing at.

It’s a black and white photo of my father in tattered military fatigues.  He is standing in the center of a ruined village, a badly burned child clings to his neck and the look in his eyes is one of stunned horror.  “Viet Nam,” I say, and Kerry nods.   “Dad told me once that after the VC shot off his leg, he almost didn’t want to come home.  He didn’t want my mother to see him as less than he had been.  I also remember mom kicking his prosthetic leg and calling him a damned fool.”

Kerry smiles shyly and glances at her own bad leg quickly.

“Anyway, after the war, he worked so hard to live with the prosthetic that he could usually get around without any assistance, but as he aged, his knees started to go.  That’s when he had to use the cane, and that’s when he and mom started adding all the conveniences.”

We walk down the hall a bit, and I point out various ancestors and family members.  I try and dredge up bits of trivia to go with faces, but sometimes, I’m left standing in front of an image saying, “And this is my great, great, great uncle’s cousin Tobias.  He was a miller in Indiana.”

Kerry stops me in front of a picture of my mom and dad taken right before they died.  Dad is sitting in the living room with Fric and Frak at his feet while mom is standing next to him, looking down at his balding head with such a look of love on her face, that tears spring to my eyes.

“They loved each other deeply,” Kerry says softly, looking at me with her head tilted to one side.

“Yes, they did.  They were this great love story - true love through every adversity and all the other fairy tale type archetypes.  It’s probably why I’m such a sucker for a sappy movie.  I’m a die-hard romantic,” I reply just as quietly. 

“Did your mother ever regret being with a handicapped person?” she asks, her voice so quiet I can barely hear her.

“Not for one minute,” I state confidently, feeling as though my mother’s ghost is very near.  “I don’t think she ever noticed a difference.  I know I don’t.”  I cover Kerry’s hand with mine and give it a squeeze.  I can feel the cold metal of her crutch against my wrist, but it feels normal, as much a part of Kerry as her bracelets or her beautiful green eyes.  What I do feel is her hand, which is soft and warm, under mine. 

“You are a romantic,” she says, her voice a little choked.  I just grin and continue walking down the hall with her.

We reach my childhood bedroom and she stops to look inside.  The room isn’t mine anymore – when I went away to college, my parents turned it into a guest room.  Yet there are still a few of my things, scattered here and there.  On top of a bookshelf is a tattered old teddy bear.  Kerry walks over and picks him up.

“And who is this handsome creature?” she asks, showing a playful side I have only briefly glimpsed before.  She delicately fingers the bear’s nubbly fur, carefully straightening out the drooping bowtie around his neck.

“That is Edward Paddington the Third,” I say proudly.

“The third?” she asks, a note of curiosity in her voice.  She strokes the bear’s fuzzy fur one last time, and then carefully replaces him on the shelf.

I flush and duck my head.  “Yes.  I, um, sort of chewed up number one and number two ended up being dropped off of the ferry.”

 

Kerry laughs brightly.  “Your bears lead adventurous lives,” she kids, smiling warmly. 

 

I chuckle while she opens the closet and discovers the door-length growth chart carved into the backside of the door.  Mom kept the door, even after I left for college.  She could have easily replaced it, but she didn’t.  Every year since I was two is cataloged with a picture of or a drawing by me next to the mark and date.  Kerry’s finger slips down the door, stopping at each mark while she silently reads the inscription.  Her fingers trace the outlines of my drawings fondly. 

 

Finally, she looks up and says, “You were a beautiful child.  And you grew so fast!”  Her eyes have layers of emotion in them and I have to work double time to puzzle out their meaning.

“Do you want children, Kerry?” I ask softly, tilting my head curiously.

She sighs sadly, and suddenly the room is filled with the specter of Johnny, her son that died so tragically.  I move toward her and catch the quietest of sobs.  Gently, I pull her into my arms.

 

There are no tears, but she shakes with the effort to quell her emotions.  I don’t speak, just calmly rub her back as she leans against my chest, absorbing what strength she can from me.  After a time, she pulls away and answers.  “Yes, I think I would like more children.  Someday.  Maybe.”  Her face is a study of falling emotions – hope, sadness, uncertainty and again, hope.

“I like kids,” I say, brushing the hair away from her face, then running my fingers over her cheeks and neck.  “I’ve always wanted to have a couple running around this place and driving the animals crazy.”

Kerry closes her eyes and leans into my touch while her hands fumble to catch my waist.  Her eyes open at my words and she asks in a timid voice, “you do?”

“Oh yes,” I say, laughing warmly.  “Can’t you just see it?  Poor Fric and Frak would never know what hit them.”

I can see this image is running through Kerry’s mind as she begins to laugh.

Her eyes catch mine mid laugh and she says, “Would you do that with another woman?  Have children, that is?”

“In a heartbeat,” I say gently, yet eagerly.  I shrug a little.  “Well, I would with someone I was committed to, and who was committed to me,” I hedge honestly.

A secret, shy smile creeps over her face.  “Dr. Legaspi: Secret Nester, I presume?” she says, her smile turning mischievous.

“Caught me,” I say, laughing.  “’Footloose and fancy free’ Kim is really ‘settle down with the wife and kids’ Kim.  My friends would be scandalized!”

“I think I like that Kim,” she says softly, stepping so close, I can smell the slightest hint of jasmine that clinging to her skin.  “Don’t get me wrong,” she says, laying her head against my chest.  “I like the other Kim, too.  But … I, well, I want-“

“Sh,” I hush her gently.  “Let’s not talk about tomorrow when today hasn’t even begun,” I tell her, not wanting to let the hope that is exploding in my heart completely take over my body.  This is not the time to go crazy and plan our wedding – especially when we haven’t even had our first official date.  No u-hauls here, thank you.

“Kim, I’d really like it if you would kiss me now,” she says quietly, tipping her head up slightly.  I am more than happy to comply.  Our lips brush together softly as her hand slides up to cup my shoulder blade.   I let my fingers drift down her arm and cover the hand that still grasps her crutch.  Our fingers tangle as we sway.  I feel clothing brush my neck.   Her grip on me is tight, but her kisses are light, not teasing, but tender.  My heart pumps rapidly as our tongues touch for the first time since that night. 

I can feel the breath hitch in my throat and then she moans.  It is soft and deep and turns my bones to water.

“God, Kerry,” I whisper between kisses. 

“Kim,” she replies, reaching up to brush her fingertips across my face.  Her eyes search mine while her fingers tangle in my hair. 

We are breathing hard, sweating and panting as though we have run a marathon.  “Do you want to see the rest of the house?” I ask in between taking gulps of air, thinking that my old closet is perhaps the last place I’ve fantasized about Kerry and I making out.

Kerry blinks and suddenly realizes where we are.  Embarrassed, she steps away from me, tugging on her shirt.  I nearly bite my lip in frustration.  This is not the reaction I wanted, damn it.

“Yeah, sure, I’d love to see the rest of the house,” she replies woodenly.

“Kerry,” I say, reaching out to touch her arm as she straightens up.  “My bedroom is on the third floor,” I say in a conversationally flirtatious voice.

She gives me a sideways glance, obviously mulling through my words.  Her cheeks begin to redden, but it is the desire that flashes in her eyes that tells me that the embarrassment is gone.  “I believe that I would love to see your room, Kim,” she says in a deep, husky tone that sends chills coursing up and down my spine.

“Wonderful,” I reply, voice cracking just a little.  “Because I’d sure hate to find out how the two of us fit on that old bed over there,” I whisper as I move passed her and out into the hall.

Kerry joins me in the hall and we get on the elevator and ascend to the third floor.   This is my domain; this is the space I have made my own since inheriting the house.

 

The walls are decorated with family photographs as well as artwork from all over the world.  Kerry looks at each one and I try to provide some anecdote to accompany it.

 

She is looking at a photograph of my mother and me; both of us are wearing clown costumes, surrounded by laughing children.  My face is smeared with frosting and my mother’s hands are covered in paint.  Balloon oddities of all shapes and sizes decorate the floor around our feet.

“That’s my cousin Beth’s tenth birthday party.  Well, her birthday about ten years ago now.  She was really into clowns; her mother really wanted to hire a professional, but couldn’t afford to, so mom and I kind of agreed to do it.  I’m not sure I’ve ever breathed so much helium in my life,” I say, shaking my head.  “But the kids loved it.  We made weird balloon animals all day.”

“And your cousin?” Kerry asks, studying the image further, no doubt noticing the horrendous amounts of cake and ice cream that were liberally splattered over my clown costume.

“She thought her Cousin Kimmy and Auntie Carol were the coolest,” I reply smugly.  “I haven’t seen her in a while, though.  I think she’s in her first year at the university now,” I add wistfully.  I should call Carol and find out how Beth is doing, and whether or not she needs an older cousin showing up at her dormitory to rehash old times.  Kerry smiles and we continue down the hall until it turns.  On one side of the hall is the door to the library, the other leads to my bedroom. 

“This is the library,” I say, opening the door so that she can go in to look around. 

She does, marveling at the rows and rows of books neatly filed and stacked in the oak bookshelves.

“How long did it take you to do this?” Kerry asks, touching the bindings of the books with reverence.

“Actually, I didn’t do this, mom and dad did.  I just helped.  Anyway, I think it took us about a year to find everything and put it all together.” I reply, walking over to the fireplace and touching the picture that rests on the mantel.  It is of my parents and me, taken just after the last book had been shelved.  My uncle took the picture while mom and I wrapped our arms around dad.  We’re all smiling and dad’s ever-present tie is just slightly askew.

Kerry gives this picture the same intent examination she has all the others and it suddenly occurs to me that she is very interested in my family.  She clings to the various bits of family history I relate like a child to a favorite toy.  Calmly, I slip my arm around her shoulders and say, “Maybe we can add a few of our own pictures to the gallery.”

She turns sharply and gives me a strange look.  “What?”

I shrug nonchalantly.  “Well, I mean, I’m sure you’ll want to come to Easter dinner with me, right?  I’m betting that cousin Beth will love meeting a Real Live ER doctor, and my uncle will have so much fun regaling you with all his various aches and pains.”  Just the thought of Uncle Charlie and his never-ending list of complaints brings a smile to my face.  Oh yes, my crazy family will love Kerry. 

“I don’t… I don’t know if I’ll be free for that, Kim,” she says, but her eyes tell me a different story. 

“Well consider this advance notice, Kerry.  I’m asking you out on a date for that night.  You think you can switch shifts for that?” I ask playfully.  A nagging twinge of worry makes me add, “I don’t want to push you though, okay?”

She swallows and nods slowly.  “I know,” she says softly.

“Good,” I say, nuzzling her with my cheek.  I feel the hard metal of her crutch against my leg as she slips her arm around my waist.  A moment later, her other hand comes to rest on my stomach, and begins to stroke me in slow, gentle circles.   We stand like this for several minutes, holding on to each other loosely. 

At first, I notice that the longer I hold her, the stiffer Kerry becomes.  Her gentle petting almost stops and I start to pull away, but she hangs on, shaking her head.  “No, I like this, please stay,” she says, her voice a little ragged.  Slowly, her muscles relax as she leans into me.  Her hand slips under my shirt and tentatively brushes over the bare skin of my abdomen.  Caught unaware, I take a shuddering breath of surprise.  She stops, freezing up like a thief caught in a flashlight beam. 

“It’s okay, I like that,” I whisper, brushing a kiss over her forehead.  Her fingers start dancing on my skin again, slowly, painting tiny designs that raise gooseflesh in their wake.

“I’ve never been a cuddler, but I can’t seem to stop touching you, Kim,” she says quietly while her fingers continue to explore the edge of my waistband.  Goosebumps are racing across my skin as little chills of pleasure run up and down my spine.

I smile into her hair and kiss the top of her head.  “I’m not complaining,” I say honestly.  “I like the way you touch me, and I love to touch you.”  I bring my hand up and stroke the nape of her neck to demonstrate.  Her fingers still as her eyes drift shut, and then she resumes her slow examination of my abdomen.

“So, um, so…” Kerry’s tongue seems to be getting in the way of her eyeteeth and confusing what she’s trying to say.

“So?” I ask, playing with the hairs on the nape of her neck.

She takes a deep breath and turns to look at me.  “So, is this all there is to this floor?  Where do you sleep?” she asks in a deep, throaty voice.  Her eyes are filled with promises that my heart prays are real.

My heart drops out of my chest, hits the floor and bounces back into my throat.

“Kim?” Her fingers dance across my back, pulling me deeper into her. 

All the fantasies, all the half-remembered memories of one night together are on the verge of being shattered.  One way or the other, I am about to make good on my promise.  I said I’d stay.  Now what?  How is it that she, the supposedly uptight one seems so calm yet I’m as nervous as a kitten?

“Kerry,” I reply softly, cupping her face in my hands.  Our foreheads touch.  “I want so much for this to be just right,” I whisper my secret fear into her lips as we kiss.

“I don’t care about ‘just right’, Kim,” she replies slowly.  “I’m supposed to be the novice here, remember?  You could be the worst lesbian in Chicago and I wouldn’t know it.”  Her nose crinkles so cutely when she smiles.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I blurt and then cover my mouth.

“Kim,” she says in her best ‘stop that nonsense’ voice.  Her hands still their caress.

“Yes?” I squeak.

“There is no way you are the worst lesbian in Chicago,” she says sternly.  “Not when you can leave me breathless with a single touch.  Besides,” her voice drops down coyly.  “You kiss better than nearly everyone else I’ve kissed.”

“Nearly?” I return in a playfully arch tone.

“All right, damn it, you’ve got the best lips of anyone I’ve ever kissed!” she grudgingly admits.

I blink as a tiny giggle bubbles its way up and erupts.  She laughs.  I giggle again and soon, we are both laughing so hard, we’re crying.

“Oh, God, I needed that,” I say, as I wipe the tears from my eyes.  My sides hurt, but I don’t care.  Kerry gives me a cross-eyed grin and I almost start laughing again.  Where did this woman come from?  Where did the prim and proper Dr. Weaver go?  I return her funny face with one of my own and she starts laughing again.   Suddenly, I’m not so nervous anymore. 

 

“It’s this way,” I say, still laughing, heading out of the library and across the hall.  “In here,” I open the door and reveal my room.

The master bedroom is enormous, taking up most of the third floor.  This was how mom and dad had planned it, though.  The room was their refuge, the only place in the world where they were able to escape their duties.  This was the one space where they could be Carol and George Legaspi, husband and wife.  They left their professional lives behind when they came here, and I try to do the same, though I don’t always succeed.

My bed dominates the center of the room, filled with soft pillows and warm blankets.  A small refrigerator that I keep well stocked with midnight snacks hums quietly in a corner.  Above it is a small microwave, handy for heating coffee, tea or a cheap dinner.  To the right of my bed is my desk.  This is my concession to my professional life.  A computer sits in the center of the desk, bracketed by trays of paperwork.  Piles of folders and documents cover every remaining inch of the desk’s surface, some even spilling out onto the floor.

Kerry hasn’t noticed the bathroom door, which is across the room from my bed, because she’s too busy ogling the bed frame.  My gigantic bed with its most unusual frame is definitely a conversation piece.  I start talking softly, calmly, hoping to keep Kerry’s attention divided between my words and the bed.

“Mom and I found it,” I say, stroking my finger over a carving.  “Right after I came out and she was finished with her version of freaking out, we were shopping at various antique stores and estate sales.  We came across this huge garage sale out in the suburbs.  Antiques littered the lawn, and mom made me stop, because she was looking for unique and unusual things for the loft.  It only took her a few minutes to find this, hidden under a canvas drop cloth.  She was so excited, and she just had to show it to me.”  I smile in memory as Kerry continues to stare at the bed.

“Kimmy, you must come see this!” Mom shouts in a giddy voice. 

Curiously, I set aside the vase I had been looking at and walk over.  She lifts a corner of the cloth and points at this intricately carved bed frame.  It seems simple at first glance – it’s covered in scrollwork and curlicues of some intertwining motif.  Very pretty – certainly more decorative than I am usually given to – but there was something… odd… about the way the shapes entwined.

That’s when I realize what I’m looking at.  My cheeks turn as red as apples as mom chuckles evilly.  “Oh honey, you must have this, it’s so…so perfect.  Your dad will have a coronary.”

The memory fades as I continue to tell the story.  “Mom loved to shake dad up about my sexuality.  He was okay with it, but having it in his face, and you couldn’t be much more obvious than this,” I touch one of the carvings.  It’s lovely, two women, wrapped as much in each other as they are in their blankets.  It’s not pornographic, for there is nothing overt about any of the carvings, but there’s no doubt as to what the figures are up to.  “Of course I bought it.  Why shouldn’t I? 

I had no roommate, no disapproving girlfriend, and besides, what the hell did I care what anyone though about my bed?”  A touch of defiance crept into my tone.

“Kim,” Kerry’s voice was a strangled mix of emotions.  I watch quietly as she slowly traces one of the more intimate carvings.  “You…” her voice vanishes.  She clears her throat and says, “You sleep in this bed?”

How best to answer the question?  Dare I be bold?  Oh what the hell, Legaspi, you only live once…

“Yep, every night for the last five plus years.  Yes, it’s hedonistic, but it’s one of my only vices.  Well, that and long showers.” I say quickly, hoping to catch her humorous side again.

“What?” she asks, dazed.

“Long showers, you know… I usually stand under the water for twenty minutes or better, longer, even, when it’s cold,” I’m babbling, but I have to.  Kerry’s face is closing itself to me.  Damn it!  I knew the bed would be a bad idea.  Maybe I should have stayed on the second floor.  I get ready to do some damage control by taking a deep breath and saying, “Kerry, look…”

Just then, Odin comes running into the room, jumps on the bed, rolls over onto his back and gives Kerry one of his best, “pet me, I’m adorable” looks.  I nearly bite my tongue as her hand, seemingly of its own volition, sinks into his soft fur.  Odin begins to purr loudly, twisting himself around so he can nuzzle her fingers, washing them with his raspy tongue. 

Suddenly, Kerry can’t seem to stand anymore as she sinks down onto the bed to devote her entire attention to Odin.  Of course, the orange tabby doesn’t mind the increased affection.  He eats it up, turning his purr motor to high gear.  Slowly, I lay down on the other side of Odin, adding to his delight by scrubbing gently at his ears. 

“He loves this, you know,” I say softly, carefully keeping my eyes on the cat.

“Yeah,” Kerry’s voice is almost nonexistent.  “I used to want pets, when I was a child.  Couldn’t have them, though.  Mother and Father felt that subjecting an animal to the vagaries of international flight was cruel.  In Africa, I had the farm, and Johnny.  After that,” she takes a deep breath, “after that, there just wasn’t any time for a pet.”  I file away the tiny bit of data about Kerry’s past for later analysis and consider what I’m going to say now.

Our hands graze in passing as we continue to lavish attention on Odin.  His purr is so loud, I’m almost afraid he’ll strain something.  “Well,” I begin conversationally, “I have plenty of pets to share.  You’re welcome to come over anytime for a pet fix.” 

A smile teases the corners of Kerry’s mouth.  She looks at me as her hand slides up Odin’s body and twines with mine.  “I’m going to take you up on that, Dr. Legaspi,” she says sternly.

“I’ll take that under advisement, Dr. Weaver,” I reply, bringing her hand up to my lips to kiss her palm.  She doesn’t flinch.  I kiss her wrist and she sighs softly.  Odin takes this moment to vanish as quickly as he appeared. 

“Kim, about the bed…” Kerry begins to say as I continue to lay gentle kisses along her wrist and hand.

“I don’t care about the bed, Kerry,” I growl softly.  “I’ll burn it if you hate it.”

“I don’t hate it,” she replies, sliding closer to me.  She pulls her hand away from me to reach up and pull me in for a kiss.

“Mm,” she mutters in between kisses.  “Have I mentioned,” kiss, “that I,” kiss, “love the way you,” long, breath stealing, stomach wrenching, groin heating kiss, “use your mouth?”

I pull away, panting.  “I think you’ve mentioned something about that, yes,” I say breathlessly.

“Good,” she replies, reaching out to grasp the edges of my shirt.  “Because I would hate it if I had forgotten to say anything.”  My shirt comes off easily and Kerry tosses it aside, going right for my bra next.

“Kerry?” I ask, reaching for her clothes and she nods slowly, smiling shyly.

“Yes,” she whispers.  The word is freedom in a syllable.  There’s a particular sound to clothing as its being removed, a shush-whoosh sound that can mean exhaustion at the end of a long day or the release of long pent up flesh.  This is both and neither.  My skin reacts to the chill in the room but is warmed quickly by the heat radiating off of Kerry’s body.

In our disrobing, we have moved to lie side by side on the bed and I take a moment to look at Kerry.  In the soft light she is more than beautiful.  I can tell she is a little nervous because her breathing is shaky, but so am I.  We have been here before, mapped this territory, but it is still so new.  We have never been here in this place, where we know that going back is not the answer to the question that hangs delicately in the air between us. 

I run my fingers over the flesh of her hip, causing her to gasp.  “I want to show you something,” I say to her.

She laughs.  “I think you’re doing a wonderful job of showing me all kinds of things, Kim.  I’m not sure there’s much more you can show me…”

I chuckle.  “Oh, if only you knew, Kerry Weaver, if only you knew.  Just watch…” I say, reaching over to shut off the lamp.  Then I retrieve a special remote from a drawer in my nightstand and press a button.

There is a quiet grinding of gears and then, a piece of the roof moves.  Kerry jumps, but settles as the skylight reveals the winter sky.  Snow has ceased to fall and the clouds have partially cleared.  A few determined stars twinkle merrily, adding to the magical effect.

“You are such a romantic, Kim Legaspi,” Kerry whispers, scooting up against me and tucking her head under my chin.

“Freely admitted, Kerry Weaver,” I whisper back, wrapping my arms around her.  She feels so good against me.  It’s wonderful to lie next to her soft, warm body.  I entertain romantic thoughts of snuggling all night just like this.  Then I catch a whiff of the wonderful, spicy fragrance that is Kerry’s perfume and I am nearly overcome with desire for her.  She is so hot, so sexy – the press of her flesh against mine is driving me to distraction and yet I dare not rush. 

We lie quietly, staring at the sky.  After a while, I think she has fallen asleep and I start to plan how I will pull the covers over us, but she has a surprise for me.  Before I can completely comprehend what’s happening, she is kissing warm, wet spirals from my neck to my navel.

“Ker-“ I start to say, but the word is choked off by a sigh of pleasure as her lips cover my nipple, sending a shockwave of heat and need through me.

Her hands wander my body, shaping each curve and slope lovingly and, after getting over my shock, I gleefully return her caresses.  I cannot believe how curious she is, tasting and touching me in places that have been so long ignored. 

How can I not return her desire one hundred fold?  My lips follow the arch of her throat, the curve of her breast, the dip of her navel and over the rise of her hips.  Slowly, I taste each bit of skin as her hands alternately thread through my hair or the blankets below us.

Her moans, her sighs, the way she moves below me urges me on.  The scars on her leg, the dimples of her knees, and the angle of her ankle – each of these I must touch and taste; acquiring the map of Kerry Weaver’s body is a task that takes hours. 

She is silver, golden and pure.  She is sweet, honey and lemon, like fine mead, satin and heady on my tongue.  We rise and fall only to rise again, reaching for the stars with heedless abandon. 

Afterward, we lie together, panting, thirsty and exhausted.  Kerry’s fingers are absently dancing across her abdomen and her toes are curling and uncurling.  I feel rather catlike and am debating whether or not I want to curl up and sleep or get up and pee.

Kerry shifts onto her side and begins to move damp strands of hair off of my face.  She kisses my forehead briefly and I smile.

“You okay?” I ask, getting ready to throw up all of my defenses. 

“What?  Oh, I’m fine.  Great.  Fine.  Great.  I said fine, right?  Because I am… fine that is, and great too,” she says absently.

Oh God, I think, I made Kerry Weaver babble like a love struck teenager.  I am a goddess!  I resist the urge to break up in fits of giggling only by the slimmest of margins.  Okay, Legaspi, get a hold on yourself and talk like an adult now.

“That’s, um, great, Kerry.”  Oh God, you are hopeless, aren’t you, Legaspi?  Yep.  That’s me - hopeless, helpless and thoroughly one hundred percent gone ass over teakettle for this woman who is picking hairs off my face.  “You’re sure?” I ask hurriedly, just in case I imagined her first answer.

She stops playing with my hair for a moment and her eyes go distant.  “You know, I never thought it would be so, um, you know, um,” she fumbles a bit, making strange motions with her hand.

“Good?  Different? Bad?” I offer the three adjectives that usually come up at this point.

“Wet,” she states flatly.

I can’t help the short bark of laughter that erupts from me.  Kerry sits up and turns on the light.  She is frowning.  Uh-oh.  I think I’ll start a book and call it Rules of Making Love to Kerry Weaver.  Rule number one will be: Do Not Laugh at Kerry after Sex. 

“It’s not that funny,” she says, when I continue to grin.  I cover my face with my hand, but it’s to late.  The giggles are free, running loose and making merry havoc of my love life.  I lie there and have myself a good laugh.

“Are you quite finished?” she asks me some minutes later.

I clear my throat noisily and sit up.  “Yeah, um, heh, yeah, I think so,” I say, trying not to smile.  She just gives me another one of her patented ‘you are so dead, Legaspi,” looks.  I lick my lips.  “Kerry, um, you have had sex before, right?” I ask, getting out of bed and padding over to the fridge.  Maybe something to drink will cool her temper.

She glares at me.  “Yes.”  Oo, icy voice.  This is not good.  Nope, not good at all, Legaspi.  Okay, hmm, what to do…what to do.

“Soda?  Water?” I hold up the bottles as a peace offering.

“Water, thank you,” she says.  Well, at least she’s still polite.  We haven’t gotten to the throwing things and shouting obscenities stage.  That’s good.  Maybe she won’t kick me out of my own bed after all.  Especially good since she looks so damn sexy when she’s mad. 

I smile timidly and hand her the bottle.  She opens it and takes a long drink.  I drink from my own bottle and wait for her to speak.

“I guess that was a stupid question, wasn’t it?” she finally says after finishing the bottle and setting it on the nightstand.

“Well,” I say, coming back to the bed and sitting down.  “You’re the medical doctor in the room.  You do know more about the human body and its functions than oh, say, five of my good friends.”

She just gives me puppy eyes.  Oh God, Kerry Weaver puppy eyes are painful and sexy all at the same time.  Help! 

“It is my first time with a woman,” she says quietly, as if that explains it all.  Which, of course, it does. 

“But hopefully not your last,” I say nonchalantly, praying that she doesn’t slap me.

Suddenly the widest of grins spreads across her face. 

“Definitely not.”  She reaches up to shut off the light and straddles my legs.

“So I’m forgiven for being impertinent?” I ask as she begins to touch me.

“Shut up and kiss me,” she commands.

I prove I know how to follow orders and do just that.

At some point we sleep.  I wake before she does, amazingly, so I watch her sleep, wrapped up in our blankets and in me.  Her scent is still jasmine, but now it is tainted by sweat and something else, something so perfectly right that I inhale deeply and smile.  Her eyes open and I say, “Good morning.”

She blinks owlishly.  “Kim?” she asks sleepily.

“If it isn’t me, then who are you dreaming about these days, Kerry?” I ask playfully.

She comes fully awake and realizes her surroundings and our entangled position.  “Did we…?” the question is left hanging in the air.

“Yes,” I answer honestly.  I won’t lie to her about this.  I don’t think I could ever lie to her about anything.

“Oh,” she answers in a hollow tone and my heart deflates.  “Oh,” she repeats, softer this time.  A look of joy and relief floods her face.  “Then I wasn’t dreaming?”

“No, not a dream – wait, you dream about making love to me?” I have to know.  She reaches out and smoothes her fingers over my eyebrows, which are arched.

“Every night for the past several weeks,” she admits softly. 

“Did I laugh at you in your dreams?” I ask, recalling our conversation from the night before.

She grins ruefully.  “No.  Usually, you’re ah, a little less incline to speak.  Unless you’re screaming my name…”

“Ah, so you’re what, the perfect lesbian lover in your dreams?” I can’t resist the opportunity to tease her.

She flushes.  Wow, I didn’t know the blush would travel that far…

“Well, yes… aren’t you?” she counters slyly while putting pressure on a certain part of my anatomy.

“Yes,” I draw the word out while reaching down to cup my hands over her bottom.  “But I happen to think I’m pretty damned good in reality, too.”  I squeeze gently, pulling her into me.

She gasps.  “You’d be right about that,” she says, her breath hitching.  I grin and kiss her.

“Shall we greet the day?” I ask, continuing to move under her.

“What?  Yes!” she agrees enthusiastically.  I think I am in charge, but she proves me wrong.  Her lips set fire to my skin, her hands cool it down.  She’s touching me, caressing me, kissing me everywhere.  She is outside, a brush of lips against my thigh.  She’s inside, fingers slipping over-under-up-in and I start to fall.

I feel my head thrust back as she speaks to me wordlessly, telling me things I have wanted to hear since the first day I laid eyes on her.  I’m falling even more, flying, falling, flying and… 

“…I’m falling,” I whisper brokenly as she touches me.

Her lips press against mine.  “I’m here,” she whispers back, cradling me.  I cup her face, kiss her, cling to her and let go…

…And I land in her arms, kissing her fervently.  I feel tears trickling down my face and when I open my eyes, I see that she is crying as well.

“Kerry, I,” I whisper as I let my fingers drift down her face, neck and arm.  Our fingers entwine loosely and I rub my thumb over the soft webbing of skin between her thumb and forefinger. 

“What is it, Kim?” she replies warmly, squeezing my hand.

“I’ve got to warn you about something,” I say hoarsely.

“Oh?” One eyebrow rises curiously.

“If you keep doing that to me, I’m going to fall in love with you.” I am serious.  I’m already half in love with her anyway.  It wouldn’t take much.  Not even a shove. 

She just smiles knowingly.  It’s all the permission I need.  I can feel my heart cracking open and letting her in.

“I’m serious,” I protest weakly.

She nods, “I know.”

“Can you handle that?” I ask sincerely.  I don’t want to scare her, but frankly, the depth of my own feelings scares me.

“I’m not sure, but, if there’s a problem, I’ll let you know,” she replies honestly, and I accept that.

Kerry turns over and snuggles up against me.  I wrap my arm around her waist and cup my hand over her belly, holding her close.  We both drift off to sleep.

I’m awakened by Xena and Gabrielle, whose combined weight make the bed shake mightily.  I sit up as Kerry laughs while the two cats meow stridently.  Soon, the entire menagerie, minus one pudgy rat are galloping around the room, jumping from the floor to the bed, barking and meowing in hungry tones.  My own stomach joins the clamor for food.

I push the covers away, saying, “Okay, okay, I hear you, I’m feeding you, hang on!”

“Mmph!  Cold!” Kerry mumbles, grabbing for the blankets and patting the spot where I’d just been.  One eye pops open.  “Come back to bed?” she asks hopefully.

A chorus of meows and barks greets her as the animals do their best to wake her.  Fric and Frak commence licking her face while the cats pounce her and pad up and down her body.  She sits up and rubs her eyes.

“Now I see why you don’t have an alarm clock,” she says grumpily, sitting up and rubbing her face.

“I haven’t needed one for a while now,” I say, giving her my best morning smile.  “Here, you can wear this,” I toss her an old robe and put on another one.  My robe on her body drags the floor, but she looks so good in it that I’m tempted to ignore the pets in favor of the bed.

She cautiously limps over to me and wraps her arms around me.  “Good morning.”  Her embrace is anything but timid.  I begin to wonder if this really is happening.  Maybe I’m just dreaming, again.

Frak bites at my toes and barks insistently.   Definitely not dreaming.  How wonderful is that?

“You’d better feed these monsters before they think we’re their breakfast,” Kerry says, letting me go so she can retrieve her crutch.

“Okay.  If you want, you can take a shower… it’s over there,” I point to the door across from my bed.  “I’ll get your clothes … oh shit!  The clothes!” I scamper down three flights of stairs with the animals chasing after me.  Kerry’s laughter, light and airy, also follows. 

“Damn it!  How could I forget…” I didn’t put the clothes in the dryer before we went on our little tour. 

The animals bounce around me as I quickly start shoving clothes from the washer into the dryer.  Once that’s going, I dole out food to each animal until they are all gathered around bowls, greedily gulping up their morning snack.  Even Mr. Prickle-toes seems inordinately hungry this morning, going after his vegetables as if he’s been starving.

I dash back upstairs to locate something for both Kerry and I to wear while her clothes are drying.  Something of mom’s, maybe… I dig through the closet in the second floor bedroom, where I keep a few of her old things, out of sentimentality more than anything else.  Mom and Ker are a bout the same size, I tell myself frantically.  And maybe she can fit into one of my old shirts…  A pair of charcoal gray slacks comes to my hand.  Perfect!  Mom never wore them because they were just a little too short, but they should be perfect for Kerry!  I grab them and head for my own bedroom.

The shower is on, running smoothly.  I lay the pants on the bed and grab a blue button down shirt off the hanger and throw it on top of them.  I locate her bra and panties from the day before.  Hmm, the panties are probably a ‘no’, but the bra… I toss it over to the bed, just in case.  Panties too.  The scrubs go into a small pile with my own clothes.  More laundry for later, I sigh unhappily. 

“Towels!” I blurt, rushing out to the linen closet and grabbing several huge, fluffy towels.  These I take back to the bedroom and into the bathroom. 

My shower doesn’t have a door or a curtain.  It was designed not to need one, and it allows me to catch a glimpse of Kerry standing under the spray of hot water.  She is touching her lips with the tip of her finger; her eyes are closed, as though she is lost in thought.  Her other hand is holding onto the rail built into the wall. 

As I lay the towels down on the sink counter, I notice that she’s neatly hung her borrowed robe on the peg.  I have to smile.  She’s so considerate. 

“Kerry, I put some towels on the sink for you,” I call out.

“Hm?  Oh, okay,” she calls back.  I hear her move under the spray of water. 

“Are you hungry?  Do you want me to make some breakfast?” I’m nervous again.  Something about the way she was just standing there in the shower bothers me.

“Um, I don’t know…”

 

“Kerry, is everything okay?” I ask, reaching out to touch the tiles on the shower wall, hoping she can feel me reaching for her.

Silence, except for the running water; my heart begins to hammer in my chest.  Not again… All of the old fears come dancing out of the shadows, teasing me with memories of Jessica.

Damn it! I am not going to stand here and let this get away from me, from us!  If there’s a problem, I’m going to fix it.  Somehow, some way, I’m going to fix this!

“Kerry, I’m coming around to see you,” I warn her, my voice strong and sure.  I leave my robe on the peg next to hers and walk around to the entrance of the shower.  Kerry is leaning against the wall, her head cradled on her arms while the hot water beats down her back.

Fearlessly, I step into the shower and wrap my arms around her.  “Kerry,” I whisper into her ears as she abruptly stands up, tensing in my embrace.

Her hands grip my arms tightly.  “Tell me it’s all right,” she whispers, not looking at me.  “Tell me that I’m not crazy to feel the way I do,” she says pleadingly.

“God, Kerry, no!  No, you’re not crazy,” I turn her around so that we’re face to face.  Hot water streams over my neck and shoulders, spattering against her.  I cup her cheeks in my hands and kiss her softly.  She doesn’t resist, sinking against me. 

“I don’t want to be crazy,” she says raggedly as I hold her. 

 

“If you’re crazy, then I must be insane,” I reply.  “Kerry, I’m falling…”

“Kim, not yet,” she stops the words from tumbling out of my mouth.  “I can’t... not yet, okay?  This is all so… different.  Strange.  But… good, too.”

“Okay,” I nod, kissing the top of her wet head.  “I’m scared too.  I don’t want this to go away.  I’m prepared to fight to keep what is growing between us.”

“Good,” she replies, kissing my throat.  “Because I’m probably going to be scared for a while.  You might need to remind me of why this is happening, every so often.”

“I can handle that,” I say as we kiss.  The water begins to cool and I realize that the tank must be emptying.  “We should hurry, or we’ll be taking a cold shower,” I say softly, reaching for the soap.

We take our time in washing each other, touching without trying to inflame.  Kerry is determined not to lean on me, but I don’t mind supporting her.  The water is icy before we’re through, but we are comfortable with our feelings again.

Dressing in front of Kerry is interesting.  She is sitting on the edge of the bed, toweling her hair dry and watching me.  I try not to be self conscious as I slip into comfortable clothes, but I can feel my skin heat under her gaze.  I turn and give her an arch look.  “See something interesting, Dr. Weaver?”

“Oh yes,” she replies just as archly.  “Very interesting.”

“Care to give it further study?” I invite without any hesitation.

She considers the offer, and then a weird look crosses her face.  “I would, but my stomach has other ideas.  Perhaps another time?”

“That’s a rain check, Dr. Weaver,” I say, flashing a bright smile at her.

She smiles and dresses while I scoop up the laundry and shovel it down the chute. 

“How does bagels and juice sound for breakfast?” I ask while she tucks her shirt in.  I hate to say it, but Dr. Weaver looks mighty fine in my clothes.

“Wonderful, if you add coffee,” she returns, looking up and smiling at me.

“Coffee it is,” I say, walking over to kiss her briefly before heading downstairs.

She joins me a little later just as the bagels are popping up out of the toaster.  I’ve set the table and started the coffee.  Breakfast is a silent affair of chewing and slurping.  Funny how those little noises can seem so intimate.  The sound of the washer and dryer in the background blends with the running noise of the refrigerator and the various wheezes and sighs of the animals to create a unique domestic symphony.  I could get used to this.

I eat quickly – more out of habit than anything else, and leave her to enjoy a leisurely meal.  Some quick housework takes up my time while she languishes over the paper.  I make a grocery list – last night’s dinner all but wiped me out of real food.

By noon, the clothes are clean and folded.  Breakfast is long over and the coffee is gone.  I don’t think either of us noticed the passing of time.  When she finished reading her paper, Kerry quietly played with animals while I did housework. 

“Maybe…maybe I should go,” Kerry says finally when I lay her clean clothes on the coffee table in the living room.  She is sitting on the couch, petting the cats.  Odin is curled up in her lap while Xena and Gabrielle take turns vying for her hands.  Zeus and Hera lounge indolently on the other half of the couch, blinking sleepily and purring loudly.

“You don’t have to go,” I say quickly, “but I won’t make you stay, either.  I mean,” I wrinkle my nose at her, “you’re not a prisoner.”

“I don’t want to be in your hair,” she says lamely.

I smile.  “You’re not.  It’s nice, having someone here besides the animals.  Besides, I kind of like you in my hair,” I say, twining my fingers in the still damp curls.

“Can I help you?  I feel,” she shrugs, “kind of useless just sitting her and playing with your cats.”

“Actually, you’ve been a big help.  Usually, those guys are under foot while I’m cleaning.  You’ve kept them busy for me.”  I shove a protesting Zeus and Hera aside and sit down on the couch.  “So thank you,” I add, giving Kerry a big grin.

“You’re welcome, but I was thinking of something like… offering to wash the dishes… or maybe I could make us lunch?”

“Dishes are done, actually,” I say.  “And, well, I need to do a little grocery shopping before we do any cooking.  But if you’d like we can go over to the little deli down the street…”

Kerry’s fingers twitch in Odin’s fur and the big orange cat stretches out, exposing his belly. 

“He is so taken by you,” I say in amazement.  Odin is usually a very loving cat, but he’s never latched on to any of my guests the way he has with Kerry.

“I like him too,” she says fondly. 

 

“Maybe I’ll call you Kerry-cat, in honor of him, then,” I suggest mildly.

“What?” she stutter-laughs.

“You know, a pet name.  All couples have pet names.  Generally it’s something mundane like ‘honey’ and ‘sugarplum’, but Kerry-cat works just as well.”  I shrug nonchalantly.  “But if you don’t like it…”

She smiles shyly.  “No, I like it.  It’s… kind of strange, that’s all.  I’m so used to ‘Kerry’ or ‘Dr. Weaver’ that I forget about nick names.”

“I was Curlz or Too-tall in high school,” I volunteer immediately, hoping to make her feel more comfortable.

She laughs.  “I kind of like just Kim, or maybe, Kimmy, when I’m feeling mushy.”

I can’t believe that Kerry Weaver just said the word “mushy” in relation to herself.  “Stick with Kim,” I advise with a laugh.  “Kimmy makes me feel ten years old.”

“Kim, what comes next?” she asks out of the blue.

“What do you mean?”

She shrugs and gestures at both of us.  “With us?  I mean, with men, it’s pretty cut and dried.  There’s the dating, the sex and the breakup and/or marriage.  But… God, how do I say this without sounding nuts?  I just don’t want to fall into that rut.  That’s my path to failure.  I really care about you, Kim.  I want this to work.”

Somebody get a bucket, because I think I just melted.  “Kerry, I don’t know.  I don’t try to think about what’s next because… well… because it spoils the fun.  I mean, if you knew, for instance, that I was about to crawl over and kiss you, what would you do?”

“Kiss you back?” she says, smiling sweetly.

I stand and click on my stereo.  Light classical music fills the room.  “Let’s dance,” I say, reaching down and grabbing her hand.  I tug once, and she resists, but a second tug gets her to stand.  She reaches for her crutch and I stop her.  “I’ve got you,” I say softly, pleading with my eyes.  Kerry looks away, then back into my eyes and surrenders herself to my care.

We move carefully around the room.  “See, surprised, aren’t you?”

“Yeah…” she says, concentrating on not trampling on my feet.

I kiss her then, shattering her concentration.  I lead us around the room locked in that embrace and she fights me for only a moment before letting go and enjoying the dance.  “Now you lead,” I say, when the music changes.

Slowly, she catches the beat of the music and takes the first step.  She is still leaning on me, but it is her feet that I follow, her hands that lock around my neck and pull my head down for the kiss, her lips that nip at mine, her tongue that teases my mouth open.   We fly together.  The music is all I hear and Kerry is all that I feel.

We dance until the music stops and the DJ comes on to quietly announce the title of the piece. 

“This is turning into quite a day,” Kerry says, not willing to let go of me.  I don’t mind - I don’t want to let go of her, either.

I nod.  “Yeah, but it’s like that, sometimes.  At least, it is for me,” I qualify my statement.

“For me, too, with you.  But, it’s getting late, and you need groceries…”

We part and stand looking at each other.  The radio drones on in the background.  Xena chases Gabrielle into the kitchen.  Zeus and Hera are coiled together in a patch of sunlight, cleaning each other.  Odin is sleeping on the couch.  Mr. Prickle-toes is sleeping in his house.  Fric and Frak are lying by the couch, scratching their ears.

“Kim-“

“Kerry-“

We speak simultaneously.

“Why don’t you-“

“I’ve got an idea-“ she says.

“Okay, you first,” I say, smiling.

“What if I make you dinner?” she asks shyly.  “We could go have a bit of lunch, stop by my place for some things … come back here… I’ll cook… stir fry, maybe?” 

She’s trying to convince herself as well as me with her words.  Oh, God, how I want more time with this woman.  I want all the time with her.  I don’t want to rush, to smother her and drive her away.  I also don’t want her to cling to me either.  What’s the balance in this?  I chew on my lip thoughtfully.

“We both have to work tomorrow,” I point out.  “My shift starts at eleven… what about you?”

“I’m working a twelve, but it’s a night shift,” she admits.

“Okay, maybe this can work,” I say, tapping my lip with the knuckle of my right forefinger.  “My shift is a night shift as well… We’ll just have to get enough sleep…”

“So you want to…?” she says, a smile creeping onto her lips.

I can’t say no.  “Yes, I want to.”

Lunch is so much fun.  They know me at the deli, so we get fast, non-curious service and then a table is quickly cleared.  The sandwiches vanish while we talk about the kinds of things we each like in stir-fry.  This conversation leads to other favorite foods where I admit to my love for anything chocolate.  Kerry laughs, leans over and whispers conspiratorially, “I’m a chocoholic too.” 

Full and happy, we head out of the deli and back to my place.  We take my car, because the SUV is much more comfortable in the weather than her little Saturn.  Of course, the weather is gorgeous, but that doesn’t stop me from suggesting my car over hers.

We head over to Dominick’s for groceries and then to her place for her things.  She packs a small bag and grabs a wok and some tools out of her kitchen.

“Kerry, I have a wok,” I say, chuckling softly as she packs industriously.

“Not this wok, you don’t,” she replies and gives me a ‘don’t mess with me’ look.

“Okay, I’ll bite… what’s so special about that wok?” I ask, hoping that I’m safe enough in my chair at the kitchen table.

She strokes the beaten metal of the pot with one finger before shoving it into a sack.  “I seasoned this one,” she replies offhandedly.

“Is this a cook thing?  Because if it is, I’ll never get it.  Mom tried for years to get me to understand, but beyond basic nutrition, I’m definitely not your first choice for dinner chefs,” I explain readily.  “I can bake though,” I add in my defense.  “Cookies, cakes, brownies… anything with chocolate, really.”

She smiles.  “Then you can make dessert.”

“That’ll be easy.  One Kerry Weaver, naked…” I drift off as she her eyes widen.  “Okay, maybe we’ll have brownies instead,” I offer quietly.

She looks away and her hands flutter around the bag nervously.  “No, no, the first one,” she swallows loudly, “sounds great, um, really, it’s just that I didn’t expect you to be-“

“So forward in my obvious desire for you?” I purr, standing and striding over to wrap my arms around her.

“Yes,” she mumbles bashfully.

“Kerry, there isn’t one minute that goes by that I don’t think about how you smell, or taste, or feel.  God, if only you knew how beautiful you are to me when you’re lying under me naked and covered in sweat,” I whisper.  Her hands grasp my shirt tighter and tighter as I speak.  I can see her heartbeat pound in the pulse point at the base of her throat. 

“Kim,” she whispers harshly.

“Hmm?” I reply, stroking the nape of her neck with my fingertips.  I can feel goose bumps rise as I do this, so I don’t stop.  She shivers and tries to catch her breath.

“If you don’t stop right now, we will never make it back to your place,” she grits out between clenched teeth.

“That might not be a bad thing,” I say, capturing her lips in an intense kiss.

“No,” she answers, drawing the word out in a long moan, “but I really want to cook for you, Kim.”

Several answers pop into my head, but I bite my tongue.  I’ve got to let her test her feet in the water between us as well.  “Mm, Okay,” I say, leaving one last kiss behind as I let her finish packing.  “I think you’re worth the wait.”

Kerry grins and gathers her bags.  “Okay, I’m ready, let’s go.” 

The drive back to my house is quiet, punctuated only by intermittent commercials and DJs on the local jazz station.  My hand vibrates on the gearshift while Kerry picks at the rubber on her crutch.

“Earth to Kerry, come in Kerry?” I call out in an attempt to bring her back from whatever universe she’s flown off to. 

“What?  Oh, hey, I’m fine, Kim.  Really.  I’m just thinking about the recipe for dinner,” she says, her eyes twinkling merrily. 

“Okay, just checking,” I reply.  I know I shouldn’t be nervous, but I am.  It’s only been one day since we had our breakthrough and less than that since we made love.  We made love.  God, don’t think about that Legaspi, you’ll wreck the car and then where will you be?  I look out at the streets, watching traffic and trying to keep my mind on getting us home where I can put my hands anywhere I want to on Kerry’s body. 

Just as I’m about to change lanes to get on the freeway, her pager goes off.  She pulls it off her waistband and reads the message.  She sighs resignedly and asks, “May I use your phone? I left mine on the charger back at home.”

“Sure,” I nod down to where its located and she picks it up and dials a number.

“Hey, John, what’s the problem?” she asks in a sharp voice.  I can just barely hear Carter’s voice through the tinny speaker, but I can’t make out any of his words.  Kerry nods and taps a finger against her lip.  She listens some more, then says, “Hold on a sec, John,” she covers the receiver with her hand and looks at me.  “Would you mind helping me to rescue John?  He’s locked himself out of his apartment.”

“Not a problem, just tell me where to go,” I listen while Kerry tells the young resident that she’s on her way, and then gives me directions on where to go.  “So,” I ask conversationally while maneuvering through early evening traffic, “how is it that you have a key to Dr. Carter’s home?”

Kerry laughs.  “Didn’t I tell you?  John used to live with me.  Of course he had to move out when I was promoted, but we became friends during that time.  When he found a new place, he asked me to keep an extra key for him in case of an emergency.” 

“Were you two intimate?” I try to keep my voice light, free of any of the jealousy that I can feel buzzing under my skin.

“With John?” Kerry’s expression of amused horror almost makes me feel better, but not quite.  She shakes her head vehemently.  “No, no, though I’m sure there were those who thought so…” she trails off; staring out the window at something I can’t see.

“But?” I prod, needing to know and hoping she doesn’t mind my curiosity.

She cocks her head toward me.  “Does it really matter?”

I bite my lip.  “No,” I drawl slowly.  “Not really.”  Yes, really.  Of course it matters.  God, I’m not a saint.  But I keep that to myself. 

Kerry must have seen the real answer in my face though, because she reaches out and covers my hand with hers.  “Kim, John and I were – are just friends, that’s all.  Really.  You know all about my romantic history, I promise.  You’re the one with the mysterious past, you know.”

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.  “Okay, so no shooting daggers at Carter’s back with my eyes, right?” I ask playfully.  Kerry rolls her eyes and sticks her tongue out at me.  “Oo, promise?” I tease.

Kerry’s cheeks turn so red, it looks like she’s been slapped.  “You are such a devil, Dr. Legaspi!”

“Why?  Because I’m horny, or because I know just where to poke you?” I’m really on a roll now; her ears are just as scarlet as her face.

“Kim!” she gasps, covering her face in embarrassment.

I laugh joyfully.  “You know, Kerry, you can always ask me about anything in my life.”

“Yes, I know,” she replies quietly as the blush fades from her skin.  “I didn’t think it was that important.  When I need to know, I’ll ask,” she adds, a little smile playing around the corners of her mouth.

“Okay,” I nod.

I pull off the freeway and onto the street that leads to Carter’s apartment.  Kerry begins fidgeting with her crutch again.

“Um, look, I don’t, um, want you to think that I don’t, um, care, about us, but, um, I’d really like it if we could keep it, I mean us, between,” she motions toward me, then her, “us.  For now, anyway.  Is that okay?”

“Sure, sure,” I answer, nodding.  I know this drill.  I can do this in my sleep.  This is where I get to be Kerry’s “um, friend” until she can figure out how the person is going to take the news that their heretofore straight friend is now gay. 

“I just really don’t…” Kerry tries to explain, but I shake my head.

“No, no, it’s okay.  I understand,” I’m letting her off the hook for now.  No one becomes gay in a day. 

“Really?  You’re sure?  I mean, I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable around my friends, and I don’t want you to feel like I’m marginalizing our relationship.”  Now that she knows I’m not going to push her, Kerry has found her tongue.

“Kerry,” I say, reaching over to take her hand in mine and bring it up to brush a kiss across her knuckles.  “It’s really all right.  I won’t be the big bad lesbian girlfriend … yet.”  I wink and smile to show that I’m teasing.

“Okay, good,” she nods, but her eyes are still filled with worry.  I let her hand go and concentrate on locating the entrance to Carter’s complex.

It doesn’t take too much time to find it, and Carter.  The boyishly handsome resident is sitting on a stairwell outside of his door with his head cradled in his hands.  He stands when he sees my SUV pull up and park.  I hop out and make my way around to see if Kerry needs any help, but John is already there, solicitously helping Kerry to step out onto the slushy ground.  He calmly stands still while she gets her bearings, unobtrusively shadowing her, but allowing her to struggle with the slippery ground herself.  My opinion of the young man goes up a few notches. 

I follow his gaze to the rear window and I realize that he’s staring at the pride sticker that decorates the lower corner.  His eyes flick up to my face, then quickly away.  Hmm, this one isn’t dumb, I think, wondering just how long it will be before he privately approaches Kerry about her “friend” Kim.

“I’m so sorry I had to interrupt your day, Kerry, but I couldn’t reach my folks,” Carter is saying as Kerry digs around in her purse for John’s key.

“It’s all right, John, Kim didn’t mind taking a detour,” she says absently.  He looks up and I give a little wave and paste my best cheerful Girl Scout smile on my face.

“Dr. Legaspi, I’m sorry if I caused any trouble –“ He says, but I wave him off.

“It’s all right Carter, that’s what residents are good for,” I say teasingly.  He smiles and looks me up and down.  He stares at my neck for so long I have to wonder if Kerry left any marks.  Or maybe it’s just the fact that my shirt is unbuttoned and slightly askew.  I keep my smile wide and open while he and Kerry head up to his door and she lets him in.

“Thanks again, Kerry.  So, uh, would you ladies like to come in for some coffee or tea?  It’s the least I could do…” he offers, but Kerry shakes her head.

“Not this time, John, I’m still not feeling so great, um, Kim was just taking me out to get some things from the store,” Kerry explains weakly.

I maintain my “Girl Scout of the year” smile while John nods and apologizes yet again.  Kerry finally limps across the wet grass and I help her climb back into the car.

“I thought he was going to apologize your ear off,” I say as we pull out of the driveway.

Kerry chuckles.  “John has good manners,” she says, her voice tinged by an almost motherly fondness.

“Sounds like he’s going to go far in the ER, if you have anything to say about it,” I observe, while Kerry runs her fingers through her hair.

She shrugs and shakes her head.  “He will if he can get his priorities straight.”

“He’s young, perhaps it’s just the folly of youth?” I suggest.

She raises an eyebrow and says, “I can’t afford that folly, not in my department.”

“But you have to admit, he’s a hard worker,” I say in his defense.

“Kim, can we not talk about work?” she says, her voice tinged with irritation.  “When I’m with you, I don’t want to think about the ER.  I don’t want to be Kerry the doctor with you, just Kerry the woman.”

“Okay, but I do like Kerry the doctor too, you know.  You don’t have to go out of your way to separate yourself for me,” I say fondly.

“I know,” she says, smiling gently.  “That’s what makes me want to be more myself with you than anyone else.  I haven’t felt as comfortable with another person in a long time.”

I want to close my eyes and bathe in that smile.  I want to stop the car and lean over and pull her into my arms and hold her until the world comes to an end.  How could everyone around Kerry ignore the person that leaks out of the edges of her mask?  I can only smile and say, “I’m glad.” 

Our hands link for a moment, and then I have to change gears.  I knew I should have bought the automatic! 

We get to the house and get inside, where the animals are impatiently waiting to be fed and cuddled.  Kerry plays with them while I dig out their food and serve it up in the laundry room.  Once they’re fed, Kerry takes over my kitchen, shooing me out with a wave of her hand and an arch of one perfectly sculpted auburn eyebrow.

While Kerry cooks, I go searching for my camera.  I’m determined to add her to my gallery.  The downstairs area begins to fill with a cacophony of wonderful smells and I have to go investigate.  Standing in the doorway, I watch as Kerry moves around my kitchen, carefully dicing, peeling and chopping bits and pieces of things into the wok.  Herbs and sauce are added sparingly at different times.  Each time, she takes a taste and savors the flavor.  She is so deep in concentration, that she does not notice me.  I take my camera and quickly snap off a couple of pictures, then set it on the sideboard.  The food smells so good, I decide to sneak in and steal a bit.  Slowly, I step into her domain and creep toward the stove.  She turns just as I reach the wok and spots me.

“Kim!” she cries out, a note of reproach in her voice.

“Hey, it smells so good in here that I had to come investigate.”  My stomach growls and backs me up.

Kerry bites her lip and snickers.  “Oh, all right, here,” she takes a bit of julienned carrot and holds it out to me.  Raising one cocky eyebrow, I lean over and wrap my lips around her fingers and the carrot bit and capture it – and her fingers – between my teeth.  Caressing the bit of food out from her fingers with my tongue, I moan appreciatively.  Her eyes flutter closed and then snap open when I pull away.  “There, that’s all you get for now.  Now go out and,” she grabs my shirt and pulls me around toward the door, “set the table or something.”

I steal a kiss first, and then another because the first one is so good.  “Okay, I’m going,” I say, but she pulls me back for a third kiss, which melts into a fourth.  I’m about to go for round five when the crackle of cooking food in the wok disturbs us.

“Go!” she says, pushing me away.  “I can’t let this burn.” 

I laugh and grab the dinnerware.  I spot the camera and set the plates down on the table.  I manage to snap two more pictures without Kerry noticing and then I have to put it away so that I can set the table.

Standing in front of my dining room table, I contemplate how I will lay out the seating for our second homemade meal together.  Last night, after the stress of the day, we ate huddled over our plates at the small table in the kitchen.  Tonight is different.  Tonight, I have brought out pretty candles, fine wine and special napkins. 

Should I seat us across from each other, so that we may stare lovingly at favored bits of anatomy?  Would Kerry be more comfortable seated at the end of the table, where she will have enough space not to feel penned in?  I’m nearly ready to chuck it all and set up in the living room on the floor when Kerry comes out and clears her throat.

“Need some help?” she asks and I spin around to see her leaning in the doorway, a lazy smile dimpling her cheeks. 

I rest my hands on the table, leaning back slightly and shrug.  “Not really.  I’m just creating art.  Table setting is an art, you know,” I’m trying for coy.  She quite nearly buys it, but I think she notices that I haven’t even moved the napkin rack one inch.  Kerry walks up to me, looking me in the face the whole time.  Her smile never leaves her face as she first looks behind me to the right, then the left and returns to looking at my face.

“Real artistic sense you got there, Dr. Legaspi,” she says, cradling her chin on her fist. 

I sigh dramatically.  “All right, you got me.  I’m trying to figure out the most romantic seating arrangement possible, okay?”

Her smile transforms into this goofy grin and she asks shyly, “Why ever for?”

I stand up straight and take her free hand in mine, stroking my thumb across the calluses built up from years of handling crutches.  “For you, of course,” I reply softly, bringing her hand up to press a kiss against the knuckles. 

She turns her hand against my face and caresses my cheek.  “Mushball,” she accuses gently, tapping a finger against my nose.  “Just set the damn table.  You can be romantic after we eat.”

“Promise?” I ask, allowing my voice to drop an octave.

“Promise,” she agrees, heading back into the kitchen.

I decide to give her as much room as I can, and set the table with so that she will be at the end of the table and I will be to her left.  Just as I’m finishing up with the table, I hear her searching around in the kitchen for something.

“Kim,” she calls out to me in the strangled tone of one who is about to hit their peak frustration level.  “Where the hell do you keep the large bowls in this place?”

“Just a second, Kerry, I’ll get one for you,” I say, sauntering into the kitchen.  Kerry has opened all of the cupboards and is bent over at an awkward angle, searching through my pots and pans for a bowl.  Her crutch leans precariously against the counter, looking like it’s going to topple over at any minute.

I open a cupboard, reach up and easily pull down a large bowl.  “Is this what you need?” I ask sweetly.

“You,” she grumbles, snatching the bowl from my hands, “are too damned tall.”  She rescues her crutch and begins carefully shredding some lettuce into the bowl and then adds a bunch of diced vegetables, topping it off with some kind of thin dressing.  “Here, be useful and put this on the table and then bring me our plates,” she directs imperiously.  There is a smile in her eyes, however, and I reach over and pat her on the butt. 

“Yes, dear,” I say, scooting out of the kitchen before she can respond.  When I return with the plates, Kerry is standing in the middle of the kitchen giving me this look.  “Kerry,” I ask, setting the plates on the sideboard, “is there a problem?”

She frowns, gripping and releasing her crutch.  “What are we doing?  Here?  Right now?”

Oh, crap.  Here we go again.  A wave of fear ripples over me, leaving me to grab the edge of the sink and hang on tight.  She did warn me.  Somehow I thought maybe we’d get through the rest of the day, though.  “Having dinner, I thought,” I reply uncertainly, searching her face worriedly.

She shakes her head tightly.  “No, not that.  It’s the… it’s us, and the things we say, and the way I feel when you look… at… me… like that,” she says, her voice drifting away as I continue to watch her face. 

I let go of the sink and take a step toward her.  “Like how?” I ask, keeping my voice low and soft.

“Like everything I do means something, like you’re really having a good time with me, like I’m not the Bitch of County Memorial,” she replies.  “Kim, I’ve never done anything like this before.  I’ve never been adventurous, or romantic, or even particularly interested in expending so much energy on a relationship.”

I nod, taking another step toward her. 

“I’m so comfortable with you, I don’t know when I’ll be able to say that and not marvel over how true it is.  It’s been less than a day, and I already feel like we’ve been together forever.  I want to think that we’re an old couple, but we aren’t.  Why am I so comfortable?  I should be scared as hell, heck, I am scared as hell, but not because of anything to do with you.  I’m scared that I won’t be able to handle this and that I’ll end up pushing you away.”

Another step.  I could touch her now, if I wanted to, but I don’t.  I wait for her, keeping my body and face open to her.  “What makes you think that?” I ask, hoping she’ll respond before she notices that my “counselor’s hat” is sharing space with my “girlfriend’s hat”.

“It’s what I’ve done since my first marriage failed,” she replies, looking up at me with liquid eyes.  “Don’t let me do that to you, Kim.  I don’t think I could forgive myself if I did.”

 

Counselor and lover fight a silent battle within me, but this time, the lover wins.  “I won’t, Kerry, I won’t,” I whisper, and she reaches for me.

“I must sound like a broken record by now,” she says, a self-mocking laugh following her comment.  “I hope you’re not sorry you let me stay here tonight.”

“No, never,” I reply, holding her tight.  “You have every right to be…”

“A bundle of scattered wits?” she interjects nervously. 

“Exactly.”  We cling to each other until our stomachs remind us that Kerry is a really good cook.  We laugh, separating so that Kerry can fill our plates while I grab the bottle of wine from the counter where it has been breathing. 

I pour the wine and sit down, waiting for Kerry to join me, but she shakes her head.  “Taste it first,” she says in a quiet voice.  “I’d rather remain standing, so that if you hate it, I can get a head start in running away,” she explains, a sardonic grin twisting her lips.

“Kerry,” I say, gesturing to her chair with my fork.  “Sit down.  I’m sure I’ll love it.”  But she refuses silently, shaking her head.  I sigh, but I know I’ve lost this one.  I take a bite and make much of rolling my eyes and letting her know that it tastes wonderful.  Which it does.  “Kerry, this is great.  Really, it is.  Now will you please come and sit down with me?”

Kerry slides into her chair and takes a sip of the wine.  “So you really like it?  I mean, it’s not exactly true Chinese…”

“Hey, hybrid cooking is cool,” I reassure her.  Indeed, the mix of flavors in the stir-fry and in the salad is wonderful, crisp and sweet, without being too crunchy or syrupy. 

“Here, try this,” she says, reaching out with her fork to spear a bite of chicken.  She dips it into a small bowl of sauce and offers it to me.

Carefully, I lean over and take the bite into my mouth, marveling at the layered flavors.  “Tangy, sweet,” I swallow and take a sip of wine.  My eyes start to water just before my tongue feels the burn.  “Whoa!” I blurt.  “That’s got some kick, Kerry,” I say, drinking down my wine in one long swallow. 

She grins and takes a large bite of food covered in her sauce.  “It’s something I learned to make in Africa,” she says, after swallowing her bite. 

I get up, eyes streaming tears and grab the milk from the fridge.  “Potent stuff,” I rasp hoarsely after pouring a glass and drinking half of it.  “I like it,” I add, sitting down and trying the sauce again, this time with a bit of vegetable.  After several tries, I decide that I really do like it, even if it does sear the roof of my mouth.

Kerry watches me as I eat so I take time to savor every bite, rolling my tongue over the sauce and letting its flavor explode in my mouth.  The sweetness is what I notice first; it’s a soft, almost honey-like texture with just the barest hint of the heat to come.  Then, there is a sharp tang followed closely by a burst of fire.  It strikes me that this sauce is much like Kerry herself, all sweet and tangy and thoroughly blended with a fire that burns both hot and slow.

“Delicious,” I say, taking one last sip of wine and wiping my mouth.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Kerry says, setting aside her empty glass. 

Zeus and Hera choose that moment to parade over and wrap themselves around our ankles, reminding us that they require their cuddle time.  I reach down and give each of them a promissory stroking and then rise to clear the table. 

Quietly, Kerry and I clean up, putting away the food and washing the dishes while discussing the relative merits of sherbet over ice cream.

“I think ice cream is the perfect cap to a meal that’s really spicy, though,” I say as I load dishes into the dishwasher. 

Kerry shakes her head and hands me a rinsed plate.  “No, sherbet is better, because it’s so crisp.  It clears the palate without being so heavily sweet, like ice cream can be.”

I shake my hair back out of my eyes and return, “Okay, what’s your favorite flavor?  I like lemon, myself.”

“Lime, of course.  Tart without being overly citrus,” she says as she rinses her hands off and reaches for a towel.

I look at the now clean kitchen and grin.  “You’re right, Kerry, we do work well together.  I don’t think I’ve ever had the kitchen clean this fast after a meal.”

“Well, I don’t believe in letting the dishes lie around,” Kerry shrugs and drapes the towel over the sink.  “It’s not very healthy, especially with pets.”

“Hmm, could this be our first point of contention?  The eternal debate over housework?” I ask as we start making a pot of tea.

Kerry chuckles.  “Well, I don’t know.  We don’t exactly live together…”

“Yet,” I interject, watching as Kerry’s grip on her crutch nearly slips.  “Oh come on, Kerry, you don’t really believe that old joke, do you?” I ask, laughing gently, hoping to take the look of abject terror out of her eyes.

“Joke?” she says hoarsely, fumbling with a teabag.

“You know, what do two lesbians do on their second date?  Rent a U-Haul,” I deadpan the joke. 

She laughs nervously and continues to stare blankly at the teabag in her hand.

“Kerry, it’s just a joke, really,” I reassure her.  “I’m not looking for a ring and a ceremony, honest.”  Well, a ring and a ceremony would be nice, but not yet.  After all, it’s only been what, two, maybe three months since we met?  Add to that the fact that we’ve only had one night of passion and the mix doesn’t even shake up to equal “going steady” much less a proposal of marriage. 

She takes a deep breath and drops the teabag into the pot.  “I’m sorry.  I just wasn’t expecting that, I guess.”  She takes off her glasses and cleans them and then puts them back on. 

“Hey, it’s all right, it’s not like you’re the expert on lesbian interpersonal relationships,” I say, pouring hot water into the pot and watching the steam rise. 

“People would certainly be surprised, though, wouldn’t they?” she asks distantly.   “If I moved in with someone – with you.”

“Kerry, people would be surprised if you wore a tutu and danced Swan Lake in the ER,” I say flippantly.   Her eyes go wide and her hand comes up to cover her mouth, but the giggles bubble up from deep within her, shaking her.  Soon, she is clutching the sink, laughing so hard; tears are streaming down her face.

“A tutu?  Me?  And am I dancing this alone, or do I have my maidens in attendance?” she asks, in between guffaws.  I get the sherbet and ice cream out, dishing out two generous servings.  She eyes my dish of vanilla, but I just shrug abashedly.

“Well, I’ve always thought that Malucci and Romano might do justice to tights and tutus.  Dr. Benton is a little too tall though,” I say, gathering up the tray and heading for the living room.  “You coming with me, or are you going to stand there and laugh your butt off all night?”

She waves her hand, still laughing.  “I’m coming,” she says, catching her breath and taking a firm hold on her crutch.  “Really, go on, I’ll be there.”  More giggles follow me out of the kitchen.  Shortly, Kerry joins me.  Her face is somewhat damp and she carries herself in the posture of someone who is trying very hard to maintain a serious demeanor.

“Come on over here,” I say, patting the couch.  Two of the cats jump up and begin to circle, but I shove them off so that Kerry can have the prime spot of real estate next to me.   She sits down and I offer her a cup of tea and her dish of sherbet.  As she takes it, Odin jumps into her lap and puts his paw on her chest.

“Well hello there, old man,” she says to him, reaching down to stroke his ears.  He meows and shoves his head into her hand.  Fric chooses to lie at my feet, while Frak chooses Kerry.  Xena and Gabrielle bookend on the back of the couch, cleaning each other.  Zeus and Hera have cuddled up on the little bit of space left at the end of the couch.  Missums has appropriated my lap, so Kerry leans against my shoulder.  A flick of the remote button turns on the radio and soon the room is filled with the sound of quiet jazz and purring cats. 

The ice cream is just what my stomach needs after the spicy meal, and the tea feels wonderful going down.  Kerry eats her sherbet slowly, letting each bite melt on her tongue before swallowing.  Surreptitiously, I sneak my spoon over to steal a bite of her dessert.

She catches me, but doesn’t say anything, just allows me to take my bite.  “Mm, you’re right, this is good,” I say, swallowing the tart treat.  “Here, try this,” I say, offering her a spoonful of the vanilla ice cream.

She takes it, and nods.  “That’s good too,” she admits and soon we’re trading bites of ice cream and sherbet.  I get an idea.  I take a bite of ice cream and let it melt in my mouth and then lean over and kiss her just after she takes a bite of sherbet.  At first, she starts to pull away, but then she leans into the kiss.

The mixture of flavors is powerful.  The lime, vanilla and the ineffable essence that is Kerry blend perfectly.  I set my half finished bowl aside and concentrate on kissing Kerry. 

We part with a mutual sigh.  “That was very nice,” Kerry admits, taking a drink of her tea.

“Yeah,” I agree dreamily, picking up my bowl and playing with the remainder of my dessert. 

She smiles and concentrates on her food.  Shortly, we are setting aside empty dishes and sitting back on the couch, content to enjoy the peace and quiet.

I begin to doze off while Kerry turns her attention to the animals.  My last thought before sleep overtakes me is that I wonder if Kerry is as comfortable as I am.

I wake up to her prodding me in the shoulder. 

“Here, lay down,” she guides my head down into her lap and sinks her fingers into my hair, lightly scratching my scalp.  I groan contentedly and snuggle close to Kerry.  She smiles and caresses my face.  “I’m not very tired yet, but you’re welcome to nap here for a while,” she says softly. 

“Mm, thank you,” I say, reaching out to the coffee table and grabbing the remotes.  “Here, this one is for the TV, this one is for the stereo, cable…” I sleepily instruct Kerry in the delicate operations of dad’s entertainment center.  She smiles and takes them from me, covering my mouth with one finger.

“Shh, naptime, Kim.  I think I can figure this out,” she reassures me, and I close my eyes.  Soon, I hear the radio quiet and the TV come on.  She turns the volume down so low that all I can hear is a murmur of sound that fades away when she starts stroking my hair again.

I don’t know how much time passes like this, with me curled up like one of the cats on her lap, and her stroking my hair, but some time later, she shakes me.  “Kim, wake up, there’s a phone call for you.  It’s the hospital.”

Sleepily, I rub my face and accept the phone.  “Hello?  This is Dr. Legaspi.”

“Kim, it’s Dr. Lloyd, one of your long terms just came in.  DOA.  Lonny Parker.  I thought you’d want to know,” Ben Lloyd is my best friend in the psych department, and this is one the reasons why.  He always calls when my patients opt out.  He knows that I would rather be prepared for the paperwork than have the surprise waiting for me on my desk.

“Damn it, I thought I had gotten through to him.  Thanks, Ben, I appreciate it.  Has anyone talked to his mother?” I ask, sitting up and reaching for my cup of now ice-cold tea.

“Yeah, Dave Malucci up in the ER did, so did a Dr. Romano, the surgeon who worked on him,” Ben says, his voice filled with the strain of a long shift.

“Well, that’s good.  Robert may be an ass, but he’s good with parents.  Okay, thanks for the heads up, Benny.  I’ll see you on Tuesday, then.”  I take a sip of my tea and make a face.  Ben hangs up and I shudder.  “Yuck.  Cold, unsweetened tea, that was a real brain trust moment, Legaspi.”

“Do you always talk to yourself like that?” Kerry asks and I realize I must have spoken aloud.

 

“No,” I shake my head too quickly.  “Of course not.”  Kerry gives me this one eyed look that I think means, “quit pulling that leg, Legaspi”.  “Okay, so maybe I babble a bit… it’s harmless, I swear.”

“You talk to yourself, you have a menagerie, and you live in the biggest damned loft I have ever seen… any more surprises Dr. Legaspi?” Kerry takes my cup from me and hands me hers.  I take a sip.  It’s still warm, and better yet, there’s a tiny hint of lemon and sugar that chases the bitterness away.

“I don’t think so, but then, I’m pretty familiar with myself.  What I consider normal might be earth shattering to you, Dr. Weaver,” I reply, setting the phone on the coffee table and handing her back her cup.  “Thanks.  Wake-up mouth is something not to be endured.”

She smiles shyly.  “That’s open to interpretation.”

“What is?  Wake-up mouth?  How do you mean?” I ask, raising one eyebrow challengingly.

“Ask me tomorrow morning,” she replies saucily, pulling herself up.  She reaches a hand out to me.  “Come to bed?” she invites in an uncertain voice, her eyes darkening to a shade of emerald green I have only rarely seen.

“How can I refuse such a wonderful offer?” I reply, allowing her to help me up.  She steadies herself on the arm of the couch, wrapping her free arm around my waist. 

“I was hoping you wouldn’t,” she says, burying her face in my chest.  I gather her close, laying my cheek against her hair.  “What was the phone call about?” she asks when we part.

“Night shift calling to let me know about the death of one of my patients,” I say somberly as we head over to the lift.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Kerry says, resting her hand on my arm.  I smile sadly and shake my head.

“It’s okay.  I learned a long time ago not to let them under my skin.”  But her hand feels good as it slides down my arm to entwine with my fingers.   Her hand is warm; mine is like ice.  I always get this way when I lose one.  It’s a defense mechanism, and I know it, but sometimes it’s good to have them.

She nods and says softly, “I usually end up knocking back a tumbler or two of Jamison’s finest when I do.”

I tilt my head and give Kerry a wry grin.  “Why Dr. Weaver, I never would have pegged you as fond of the drink.”

She shrugs and her cheeks color.  “Usually, I’m not.  But some days… some days it’s best to have a little cheap forgetfulness.”

“I’ll remember that,” I say, drawing close to her as the elevator stops.

Tonight is not like last night.  There is no hesitation as we walk down the hall to my bedroom.  There is no shyness as we slowly undress each other, leaving a kiss or feather-light caress to take the place of the lost cloth.  We tumble into bed, too sleepy to do more than kiss each other lazily. 

Kerry nibbles on my throat softly and I sigh contentedly. 

“Are you as tired as I am?” she asks, yawning.

“Probably,” I reply, drawing the covers up over us.  She snuggles close and kisses me again.

“I… thank you, Kim, for today,” she says, as I turn out the light.

I brush my lips over her forehead and whisper, “No problem.  Thank you back, for today.” 

“Mm, it was so nice to have this one day,” she mumbles sleepily.

Soon, tiny snores are bubbling against my chest.  I watch the clock.  11:59 and counting.   I struggle to stay awake and hold this one day, complete and whole, in my heart forever.  12:01 and my eyes drift closed, ending the day.

fin

2/18/01 

Musically speaking…  again, I have to say that Mr. Jason Mraz’s fine work is partially responsible for this story.  Please go and enjoy his music at http://www.jasonmraz.com !  (Check out the song “O% Interest!  It’s fab!)

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The characters, backstory, and setting of ER are copyright to Warner Bros., ConstantC Productions, and Amblin Television. I'm sure there's someone else in there, and none of them are me.