Disclaimer: \par Space: Above and Beyond and its characters copyright Fox Television, characters not used \par by permission. Hopefully neither they, nor the incomparable Morgan and Wong will take \par exception. Thanks guys, for creating characters so memorable they have minds of their own.




Part Three of Three

McQueen woke up, smelling the warm, rich scent of sex. He realized after half a second that the soft form in his arms, curled with her back against his front so they were nestled together like two spoons was definitely real. He tensed and started to pull away so he could slide out of bed and slip away, but just as suddenly he remembered where he was, and who she was, and he relaxed, gradually.

After a moment he found himself ironically amused by the fact that his first instinct on waking to find himself in bed with a woman wasn't to yawn, or stretch, or even see if she might be interested in continuing the previous night's activities, but to get the hell out of Dodge before she woke up and remembered he was a Tank.

Not that he often got to wake up with a woman. Usually they expected him to leave as soon as they finished. Which was one of the reasons why he rarely indulged any more, even when they came on to him. They didn't give him anything he couldn't give himself with a lot less humiliation.

No worries about that here. McQueen tipped his head down and kissed the navel on the back of Ceese's neck, without which he would probably be leaving right that moment. Instead he got to enjoy the lazy gratification of slowly waking up with a lover. That hadn't happened in a very long time. Feeling mischievous, he moved his hand to her breast, and gently teased the nipple erect. Ceese suddenly tensed with a little gasp.

"Morning," he said softly. "This is your wake-up call."

As soon as she heard his voice, she relaxed. "Ty?"

"Present and accounted for."

"Thank God. For a minute there I was worried."

Funny, she didn't sound very anxious. "You make a habit of going to bed with strange men?" McQueen asked, amused.

Ceese smacked his arm, which was about the only place she could reach. "No, that's why I was worried."

He chuckled. "Well, you're safe."

"Hardly," she said drily. "Not with you in my bed." She squirmed until he reluctantly let her go, She immediately turned over and put her head against his chest, slid her arms around him, then relaxed with a contented-sounding sigh. He felt like echoing it.

"You have no idea how good this feels," he breathed, stroking her hair.

She laughed against his shoulder. "Oh, I think maybe I do."

He nodded, acknowledging that, and clarified. "I meant to wake up with someone."

He felt her go still against him. When she spoke, the laughter gone from her voice. "I understand that, too, Ty. I just try not to think about it too much."

His hand stilled against her hair. "Sounds familiar."

She sighed. "Do you think it's this way for all of us, or are we just strange?"

He thought about that for a few moments before replying, carefully. "I think it's this way for most of us, though maybe not all. I think it has a lot to do with low expectations."

"Ours, or society's?"

"Both. Society teaches us not to expect much, and we internalize the lesson all too well." Uncomfortable with the topic, he decided it was time to change it. He looked over toward the kitchenette. "Speaking of internal, is there anything to eat around here?"

Ceese laughed uproariously. "I haven't changed that much, Ty! There was a reason why Web never let me near the kitchen. Sorry, but I haven't got a thing in there."

"Nothing?" McQueen was surprised. "Why have a kitchen then?"

"It's standard employee quarters. I use the coffee maker, that's about it."

"What do you do for food, then?"

"Eat out. I know every restaurant and snack bar on the ship. So, what do you want? You name it, I'll find it."

He considered thoughtfully. "Food's good."

She grinned. "I gather you're not particular?"

He shot her an amused look. "I'm a Marine, Ceese."

"Meaning Marine chow isn't what you'd call haute cuisine?"

"I think you get the picture."

"So we're talking quantity over quality?"

He nodded. "Sounds good."

She laughed again, softer this time. "Well, it'll be tough since you're so picky, but I think I can find something that meets that criteria. Come on, up." She sat up, tugging at his hand, and he let her pull him upright. "Shower time." She gave him a measuring look. "It's a pretty small shower, but I think we can both fit."

He smiled slowly. "In this case, I think I won't mind sharing a shower."


After Ty ducked out to retrieve his things from the locker where he'd stored them, they returned briefly to Ceese's quarters so he could change into casual clothing, then she took him down to the Bacchus' employee commissary. The food was basic and plentiful, she figured it was pretty much what he was used to. It was also a good place to go because the Bacchus employed a lot of Tanks so she knew they wouldn't draw attention there, and she understood that was important to him. Over his protests, she put his meal on her chit, pointing out that since he wasn't an employee he technically shouldn't be there at all, though no one seemed to care. They found a table that was relatively private, and sat down.

Ceese watched Ty eat with a feeling of awe, wondering where, exactly, he was putting it all. Considering there wasn't more than an ounce of spare flesh on his frame, it was a minor mystery. She wondered if that was another of those military things. It dawned on her then how little she really knew about him. Hell, she still hadn't even asked his rank. All she knew was that he must be an officer of some type.

"Ty?"

He looked at her over the edge of his coffee cup, eyebrows lifted.

"What are you?" She realized how stupid that sounded and amended it quickly. "I mean, your rank. You never said yesterday."

He swallowed his coffee. "Lieutenant Colonel."

"So that's better than a lieutenant but not as good as a colonel?"

He chuckled. "Something like that."

"And the 'kids' you were with, what are they?"

"Mostly lieutenants, but Vansen just made Captain."

"So, colonel is better than captain?"

"Depends on the colonel," Ty said drily. "But if you're talking rank, not skill, yes." His eyes warmed with humor. "I, of course, have both."

She grinned. "I would expect no less of you, Ty."

He smiled back, but it didn't quite reach his eyes, and they moved away from hers quickly as he reached for his fork again. She watched him, thoughtfully, realizing he was sensitive about something there. What? His words from the previous day came back to her. "I ought to be higher by now." She'd be willing to bet that was what tightened his jaw when he talked about his rank.

"So, tell me about it."

He finished his bite. "About what?"

"Life in the military. You said it suits you, what is it you like about it?"

He shrugged. "I like structure."

"And?" she prompted.

"And what?" he asked blandly.

Ceese glared at him, irritated. "You're not a shallow man, Ty, don't give me shallow answers."

He put his fork down, looking apologetic. "Sorry, Ceese. You didn't deserve that."

"You're right. I don't," she said evenly. "We talked about honesty last night, I thought we agreed it was a good thing."

"We did." He sighed. "I'm just not used to talking to people like this."

"If you don't want to talk about something, Ty, just tell me. I'm a big girl."

He looked at her, his eyes suddenly bright with amusement. "Well, you're definitely an adult, anyway."

She gave him her best Evil Eye. "You looking to wear that food?"

He chuckled. "Nope." He got thoughtful then, and when finally began to speak his gaze was rather distant. "I guess in a way, I joined to prove to myself, if to no one else, that not all In-Vitros are lazy, honorless cowards." He took a sip of his coffee, and she let the silence draw out, feeling he had more to say. After a few moments he continued. "I think it's also because even to me, there are things, and people, worth defending."

Ceese nodded, thoughtfully. He did have a lot of Web in him if those things were important to him. Still, she suspected his reasons for staying were probably not all the same as the ones he had for joining. She decided to ask. "And you stay because?"

He looked thoughtful. "Honestly, for a lot of reasons. The lifestyle works for me."

"The lifestyle? As in danger, few attachments, lots of travel, shared bathrooms?"

He chuckled. "Well, some of those I could do without, but I was serious before, I like structure. And despite the problems, I get more respect in the Corps than I probably would anywhere else."

"That's all? What about friends?"

His face took on a shuttered look. "Friends? I'm a Tank." He said it as if that somehow precluded him from having relationships.

"Don't do that, Ty," Ceese said quietly.

He played with his coffee cup for a moment, then looked up. "Commodore Ross is a friend."

Just one? Ceese wondered. That young woman who'd threatened her with a squadron's worth of mayhem last night if she hurt Ty might disagree with that assessment. She kept that thought to herself. "Commodore? Is that above or below?"

Ty shook his head. "You gotta learn this stuff, Ceese."

"I'm trying! Answer the question."

"Well, technically above, but he's Navy. The Marine equivalent would be Brigadier General."

"Is that what you should be?"

He met her gaze, unflinching. "At least."

"You'll get there," she said with all the utter certainty she felt.

He lifted an eyebrow at her. "I'm not holding my breath."

She smiled. "I didn't say soon."

He snorted. "Good thing. So, your turn. How long have you been singing?"

"All my life."

He sighed, shaking his head. "I meant getting paid for it. Damn, you're as bad as I am!"

She smiled. "Turnabout and all that. I've been singing professionally for about eight years now. For all it's kind of strange, this is probably my best gig so far. Out here a lot fewer people seem to care that I'm a Tank. That's not to say it's all hearts and flowers, but it's definitely better. I can live with that."

"Very true. And before that?"

She shrugged. "This and that. Mostly mechanics. That's where I got 'discovered'. I always liked music, but on Omicron Draconis, we mostly listened to Wish's classical stuff. That was gorgeous but it doesn't exactly suit my voice. After I got back to Earth I discovered the old jazz and blues standards, which are much more me. One day I was working on this guy's filtration system, and singing along with a disk. He came in to check on the work and heard me. Turned out he's an agent. The rest, as they say, is history."

Ty nodded, then his gaze grew serious. "How'd the Dragon get Web?"

His question was so unexpected that her stomach clenched in response. When he'd asked about Web before, she'd pretty much been expecting it; since it was a logical question for him as soon as he saw her. This time, especially after her thoughts last night, it was more difficult. She looked past him, trying to get a handle on her emotions, and he reached across to put his hand over hers.

"I'm sorry, that was callous. Let's go back to your quarters where we can talk privately."

She shook her head. She didn't want to talk about Web there. She didn't want to take the past in there again. "No, not there."

"The observation lounge?" Ty suggested.

"It's never empty." She sighed. "I guess, this will be all right, I just didn't expect to be talking about it this morning."

"Come on, I have an idea" He stood up decisively, then looked down at her, waiting.

She balked. "Where?"

"I have one of the screening theaters reserved. We can use that."

Ceese knew the places he was talking about. They were generally used for adult films. She eyed him, surprised. She wouldn't have thought he'd be into those, but then, what did she really know about him? Still, it was a private place. She acquiesced and stood up. As they walked out of the commissary Ty took her hand and put it on his arm, which surprised her considering his sensitivity to being seen the night before. He was full of contradictions. They walked in a silence she wasn't sure was comfortable, but neither of them broke it. They had just stepped off the lift on the main entertainment level when someone spoke his name.

"Ty?"

They turned, Ty looked surprised. "Commodore Ross, Sir?"

Ross looked amused. "We're on leave, remember?"

Ty smiled, a hint of mischief in his eyes. "Yes, Sir." Ross shot Ty a look at that, and he chuckled. "Good to see you," he paused for just a fraction of a second, before finishing. "Glen."

As Ross nodded minutely in acknowledgment of Ty's lessened formality, Ceese studied the only man Ty had mentioned as a friend. He was maybe an inch shorter than Ty, a hint more slightly built, and a shade or two darker than herself. His face had an oddly elfin quality for a military man, probably enhanced by his widows-peak hairline. He had a friendly, open face and wide, mobile mouth, which at the moment was curved in a brilliant smile. His dark eyes flickered back and forth between herself, and Ty, clearly curious. Ty took the hint.

"Commodore Glen Ross, this is an old friend of mine, Ceese Peyroux-- or is it Baker these days?"

She realized she hadn't explained that to him. There was so much they hadn't talked about. "That's just my stage name. I'm still 'Peyroux' to anyone who matters." She held out her hand to Ross. "I'm pleased to meet you, Commodore Ross. Any friend of Ty's is a friend of mine."

He took her hand, and kissed it elegantly. "Very pleased to meet you, Ms. Peyroux. Please, call me Glen."

Since Ty was plainly comfortable with the man, she let herself enjoy the gesture. It was a nice one, he was clearly well-practiced. "Glen," she acknowledged easily. Glancing at Ty, she saw him lift an eyebrow at Ross, and had to smother a grin.

Ross ignored Ty's look. "You've been holding out on me, Ty. You never mentioned that you were meeting someone."

Ty shook his head. "I wasn't. I didn't know she was here, myself, until yesterday. We'd lost track of each other over the years."

Ross looked at Ceese curiously. "So how long have you known Ty, Ms. Peyroux?"

Ceese looked at Ty, wondering if it was all right to say. He nodded slightly, and she went ahead.

"Well, that's a difficult question to answer. I could say I've known him for twenty-one years, but that would be a little misleading since we met in '43 but the last time I saw him was in '47."

She watched Ross do the math, and an odd look spread over his face. He shot a look at Ty, who nodded.

"Ceese and I were on Omicron Draconis together. She and her husband were my friends. They took care of me when I first landed. Taught me the ropes. Kept me out of trouble."

Ceese snorted. "Out of trouble? Ha! You and Web got in more trouble than I ever managed to keep you out of!"

Ross laughed. "Now that sounds like Ty. Trouble ought to be his middle name."

Ty crossed his arms and lifted an eyebrow. "And here all this time I thought it was yours. Or have you forgotten Carter Ridge?"

Ross chuckled. "No need to bore the lady with our old stories, Ty."

Ceese looked at him admiringly. "You know, that was just about the smoothest attempt to head off an embarrassing reminiscence that I've ever heard."

Both Ty and Ross laughed at that. Encouraged, Ceese decided to satisfy her own curiosity. "So, Glen, how long have you known Ty?"

The two men exchanged a glance, and Ross shook his head. "Longer than we like to admit."

Ceese got some odd undertones there, and looked at Ty curiously.

He nodded. "Longer than we're allowed to admit. Just say it's been awhile."

Ceese looked from one to the other, and finally figured it must be a military thing. They must have met during a classified mission or something like that. Damn. She'd hoped to pry some information about Ty out of Ross.

Ross suddenly looked at her sharply. "Did you say 'Baker' was your stage name?"

She nodded. "I think it's a little silly, but my agent thought it would be a good idea . . . harking back to other famous Bakers."

"Josephine, and Anita, perhaps?" Ross asked.

Ceese looked at him, surprised. "Yes, exactly. You've heard of them?"

"I certainly have. You wouldn't happen to perform under the name Cecelia Baker, would you?"

She nodded, and his grin reappeared. He looked at Ty, shaking his head. "You have no idea who you have here, do you Ty?" Ty looked puzzled, but before he could speak, Ross went on. "Bertie Brown mentioned your name to me in a letter not long ago, Ms. Baker, or rather, Peyroux. Said you sing like an angel."

Ceese didn't know whether she was more surprised or pleased. "Bertie said that? I'm honored!"

"So am I, my dear. Are you performing aboard the Bacchus? If so, I would like to hear you. Then I can write her back and brag."

Ceese still couldn't get over it. "You're a friend of Bertie's and a friend of Ty's too? I think I just died and went to heaven. Where do you know Bertie from?"

"Bertie and I go way back. She taught me some of the first blues licks I ever learned."

"You play guitar?" This was depth she hadn't expected.

Ross started to demur, but Ty looked amused. "Maybe you should ask if he does anything else. We have a hard time prying Roslyn out of his hands when he's on the bridge. Sings, too. At Christmas he even serenaded my lost sheep over a link beamed right into the heart of Chig territory. We like to think they enjoyed it."

Ross looked embarrassed. "It was good for morale."

Ty smiled a little more gently, no longer teasing. "Yes, it was."

Ceese decided it was time to step in. "I have a show at the Apollo Lounge at ship's time 2100 hours, if you'd like to come." She checked her watch. "That's about four hours from now."

Ross nodded. "I wouldn't miss it." He frowned suddenly. "But if it's 1700 at the moment, I am about to be late for an appointment on C-deck. If you will excuse me?"

Ceese nodded, and Ty followed suit. Within seconds they were alone again.

Ceese looked up at Ty, smiling. "I like your friend."

Ty grinned. "Good, so do I."

"I can't believe he knows Bertie," she said as Ty guided her down the corridor toward the screening rooms.

"Who's Bertie?" he asked.

"A seventy-year-old blues guitarist named Alberta Brown. Michael, my agent, introduced us. I don't play guitar, but she makes me want to. I hope I'm half the woman she is, at her age."

"I don't think you need to worry," he said warmly, his hand on her arm as he checked the key-card in his hand, and nodded toward the door they were standing in front of. "This is the one I've reserved."

As he unlocked the small theater and escorted her in, she found herself suddenly uncomfortable, and not just because she knew she was going to have to talk about a painful subject. She decided maybe she ought to just get it out in the open.

"I have to say, I was surprised when you told me you rented one of these."

Ty looked at her and seemed puzzled for a moment, then a warm glow of humor lit his gaze and he chuckled. Picking up an envelope off the first seat in the theater, he held it out to her. "Here."

She took the envelope and looked from him to it, puzzled. "What is it?"

"The projector disks. Take a look."

She felt herself blushing. "I don't need to--" she began, but he cut her off.

"Go on, I insist."

She slowly opened the envelope and withdrew three disks, glancing at the titles briefly. She frowned. They sounded vaguely familiar. Why would adult vids sound familiar to her? He reached over, took one from her, and slid it into the projector. It started, and she glanced at the screen to see black and white images fill the screen as honky-tonk piano started to play. Suddenly it hit her. "The Little Tramp" didn't refer to some petite hussy, but to a very famous comedian. She blushed harder, and looked at Ty.

"Ty, I'm sorry! I thought . . ."

He held up a hand. "I know what you thought; same thing most people think. It's all right. I'm not offended."

She shook her head. "You should be. I'm ashamed that I thought something 'most people' would think. I should have known better."

Ty shook his head. "We haven't seen each other in seventeen years, Ceese, who knows how much we've both changed? It's natural for us to feel uncertain of each other. " He turned off the projector so that the room was quiet, and looked at her steadily. "I'd still like to know about Web, if you can talk about it."

Ceese's stomach did flip-flops again. She turned away, hugging herself. "Funny, it was so much easier to tell you he was gone than it is to talk about the details." She paused, trying to figure out how much she could say without telling him everything.

"Bad?" He asked quietly.

She sighed. "Bad enough. Remember that area of section 72 that was always hard to stabilize?"

She looked sideways at him to see him nod, before continuing. "We were working down there about a month after you left, and we had a little temblor. It wasn't even a big one, but one of the support shorings gave. It hit another one, and the whole thing came down like a row of dominoes."

"We?" Ty asked, looking at her narrowly.

She sighed. Of course he had to pick up on that. "Yeah, we. I was there too. There were seven of us working that section." She ticked them off on her fingers. "Web, me, Dawson, Okone, DelCaro, Robinson and Yeung. When things started shaking, Web grabbed the first people he could find, tossed them into the ore carrier and hit the lift button, then came back for the rest of us. DelCaro, Dawson, and Okone and made it out. Yeung and Robinson were killed instantly."

She took a deep breath. This was where it got hard. Her throat closed up, and her eyes burned as she groped for words. "Web wasn't so lucky. I don't know for certain how long he lasted. I spent most of the time fading in and out. I know I was hallucinating part of the time. After I was conscious and rational again, they told me he'd been gone for at least a day when they pulled me out . . ." She closed her eyes, feeling the fiery track of tears down her face. "But, Ty, I swear I could still hear him talking to me when they broke through. His voice was the only thing I had to hold on to in that damn hole. He kept me alive." She finished in a whisper, her own voice stolen by pain.

Ty turned her toward him and put his arms around her, not speaking, just holding her. She held onto him, willing the hurt away. It seemed to go easier than usual. He stroked her back gently,

"What can I do?" he asked after a moment.

She shook her head. "Just be here."

He nodded, and took a step back, bringing her with him. Using one hand he pushed two of the armrests up so he could sit crossways across the seats with her. She relaxed against him, silent, just absorbing the feel of his nearness. It had been such a long time since anyone had been close like this. She wiped her eyes, sniffled, and sighed.

"God, it would have been nice to have you around, then. I missed you so much, but at least I knew you were alive. Or probably were, anyway. I just couldn't have you. I was so alone, there in the infirmary with just Wish to talk to all those weeks. He was always kind, but I needed more."

She felt him look down at her. "Weeks?" His voice was sharp. "How badly were you hurt?"

She stiffened. She shouldn't have said anything, if she got into details she might slip. She shook her head. "I don't want to get into it now, Ty. It's old pain, leave it in the past where it belongs."

He nodded, accepting that, and she felt a wave of relief. That had been a near thing. Someday she would probably tell him, but not until she was surer of his emotional state. And her own. He seemed oddly quiet and tense as they sat together, and it came to her suddenly that though she'd had nearly two decades to come to terms with Web's death, for Ty it was fresh, and raw. She looked up at him, and found his eyes trained on some distant spot, burning, angry.

"Ty? You okay, hon?"

He refocused on her, and some of the anger faded. "I'm fine."

She held his gaze with hers. "Remember, Ty, I always knew when you were lying to me."

He stared at her for a moment, and then a rueful smile curved the hard line of his mouth. "Yes, you did. Now I can do that with all my kids, and it drives them nuts just like it did me. And you're right. I'm not fine, but there's not a hell of a lot I can do about it."

"You can talk to me."

He shook his head. "No. I can't."

Ceese felt like he'd slapped her. She started to withdraw, hurt, then got mad instead. "Why not?"

Ty closed his eyes, a muscle flexing along his jaw. "Because you don't deserve it."

"Excuse me? I don't deserve what?"

He shifted, moving her aside so he could stand up and pace. "To bear the brunt of what I feel."

She stared at him, trying to decide if he was serious. He was. She shook her head. "Ty, that's what friends are for. I like to think maybe we're a little more than friends, especially where Web's concerned. You just 'bore the brunt' of my feelings, why wouldn't I do the same for you? It's not a problem."

He scowled. "If I could deal with it the way you do, it wouldn't be a problem, but that's not how I am. I get--" he paused, and shook his head. "I get angry."

She could tell that much. "That's okay, Ty," she said gently, trying to draw him out. "Sometimes it makes me angry, too. I understand."

He turned swiftly, and leaned down into her space, his gaze practically phosphorescent with rage. "No you do not understand," he snapped, each word bitten-off, precise, a vicious stab. "You cannot possibly understand."

Ceese found herself shrinking away from the incandescent intensity of Ty's anger, confused, hurt, and almost frightened of him for the first time in her life. She was surprised by the suddenness and depth of his reaction. Where had this come from? Why would Web's death make him so volatile?

She started to speak, only to have him cut her off with a look.

"Don't, Ceese. Don't even try. Believe me, you have no idea."

She took a shaky breath and tried again. "Then tell me, make me understand."

He shook his head and started pacing again, back and forth, like an animal in a too-small cage. She began to wonder if even he understood what was driving him, what made him so angry. She didn't. Or... did she? Not on a personal, but on an intellectual level.

"Ty, I know you're a soldier. I'm not, but I do realize that a soldier must have to be able to push grief aside and keep going even when his comrades lie dead around him. But Web wasn't one of them, it's all right to grieve for him now."

"You just do not give up, do you?" Ty snarled.

Ceese flinched, but held her ground. "No. Not when it's this important."

He turned away, standing with his back to her, every muscle taut. She didn't understand. It didn't make sense for Ty to be reacting like this now. Web's death was a 'safe' one, not related to the war. Not related to war. Suddenly she caught her breath. Of course. That was it. That was why. For Ty, Web's death must have taken on the symbolic burden of all those other deaths. For once he was able to express his grief openly, but after so long a time pretending he didn't feel it at all, he had no idea how to go about doing it.

As she began to understand a little better, it hurt so bad to imagine what he felt that she thought for a moment her heart would actually break. He must have shoved almost two decades worth of grief down somewhere deep inside and gone on with the business of 'living,' as well as he could, pretending it wasn't there eating at him. His way of dealing with loss was to get angry, and he didn't even realize that by doing so he didn't deal with it at all. He just left it to fester. He wouldn't be able to deal with Web's death until he got through this. Perhaps that was why he'd needed the details. Maybe subconsciously he knew this had to come out, and it was the only way he could trigger it.

She was still afraid, but more for him than for herself. What awful damage was he wreaking on himself with this pent-up grief and fury? Though she couldn't quite control the fear, the resurgent hurt she'd felt began to fade again with the realization that he wasn't angry with her, he was angry with death. With damned good reason.

"Ty, I . . . " Ceese tried desperately to think of something to say, but every idea sounded trite and stupid. She wanted to reach out to him, but in this state she was half-afraid he would reject a physical overture as violently as he'd pushed away her emotional offer. She was trapped, immobilized by her own confusion. She wanted to comfort him, but had no idea how to go about doing so.

Suddenly he seemed to come back into himself. His gaze moved over her face, taking in her expression, and he seemed to shutter some part of himself, the fiery lash of his anger blinking out like a light turned off at the switch. He straightened and moved back a step, his jaw tight.

"And that is precisely why I did not want to get into this." He stared past her, not meeting her eyes. "Sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you."

He was shutting her out. Just exactly the way he used to back on the Dragon. Exactly the way she thought she and Web had cured him of twenty years ago. She surged to her feet, fists clenched.

"Damn it Ty, don't you do this to me! Don't you dare shut me out! I am not afraid of you!"

He looked at her, his gaze coolly amused and ironic. "I know fear when I see it, Ceese. Believe me, I'm pretty damned experienced with that one."

She hurt for him again, at the thought of all that statement said. He knew fear inside and out, he knew it in himself, he saw it in others, he caused it in others. God, that had to be a terrible thing to know about yourself. She moved closer, ignoring the instincts that told her this was a dangerous beast and she ought to leave it alone. She couldn't exactly get in his face with him nearly a foot taller than she was, but she tried anyway, poking a finger into his chest.

"I mean it. I am not afraid of you, Ty," she said with deadly seriousness. "Yeah, I'm afraid, but I'm afraid for you, not of you."

He frowned. "What does that mean?"

She softened her stance, placing her hands on his chest. "You're not dealing with your grief, Ty, you're not dealing with death."

He caught her hands and moved them away, then stepped back a little, physically distancing himself.

"I deal with it just fine."

She grabbed his hands in hers, not letting him withdraw. "No, you're not. You're getting mad at it, that's not dealing with it. As a matter of fact, that's the exact opposite of dealing with it. By being angry, you're holding onto it, keeping it close, instead of letting it go. You have to let it go."

His face got hard and cynical. "What do you want me to do Ceese? Weep and wail? Afraid that's not my style."

She ground her teeth, frustrated. "I don't care how you deal with it. Just don't treat it like it's some kind of prize! It's not worth keeping! Let. It. Go."

He pulled his hands from hers. "They are worth keeping. Every one of them." He stared into her eyes, the anger seething below the surface again. "Every damned one of them!" he repeated. "I live with death every day, on an intimate, personal level. I have killed, and will kill, as a way of life. I have to send men and women out there, and then I have to stand by and let them die, because to do otherwise might let the enemy win. They deserve to be remembered, but I guess I wouldn't expect you to understand. It's not in you to understand if you haven't been through it."

There it was. The heart of it.

"No, Ty. I do understand," she said gently. "I know you think I don't, but I do. I'm not telling you to forget them any more than I would expect you to forget Web. Memory is how we keep them alive in our hearts even after they're gone. It's their immortality. But you don't have to hold their deaths to hold their memories."

He looked stricken, and his gaze dropped. He stared at the floor for a long, long moment, and she found herself holding her breath until he finally spoke.

"I don't know that I can separate them. I don't know how."

She sighed. "And I don't know how to teach you. It's one of those things I had to learn, myself, but I couldn't begin to tell someone else. It makes me mad, sometimes. They put us out in the world, they teach us how to work, how to obey, but not how to love, or grieve, or heal. Just know there's a difference between remembering, and letting go." She reached up and took his face between her hands, forcing his gaze to meet hers. "It's not supposed to hurt forever, Ty."

Reading the acknowledgment of her words in his eyes, she went up on her toes to kiss him, expecting him to resist, but only a little surprised when he didn't. His mouth was urgent on hers and his arms went around her, lifting her, taking her weight against him. She loved that strength, but was glad he controlled it so well; otherwise he definitely would be fearsome.

There was need in him still, not as raw as last night, but strong and definite. How long had it been for him, she wondered. As long as it had for her? Probably not. She remembered Ty saying 'not any more' when she'd asked if he'd been married, so there had been at least one someone for him. There was a subject they hadn't gotten to. Later, though. Not now.

His desire, as always, sparked her own. She brought her body closer to his, touching along every inch she could manage. He responded instantly, turning their kiss hot and harsh, and she stretched, straining to move against him. Feeling the rush of liquid fire in herself, Ceese slid a hand over his chest, then down to shape her palm over the hard ridge of his erection beneath his slacks. He shuddered at her touch, and his hands moved down to her backside, cupping her, pulling her hips against him. She kept up the kiss until her calves started to ache from pushing herself against him.

Frustrated by her lack of stature for the first time in her life, she reluctantly let herself sink back onto her heels, which forced her to take her mouth from his. Damn, if only she were taller! They eyed each other, breathing heavily, and she shot a look at the seats they'd been using a few moments earlier.

"Shall we use those for what they probably get used for more often than sitting?" she asked, feeling wicked.

Ty glanced over, then back at her, and shook his head slowly. Ceese was about to protest his lack of adventurousness when he leaned down and caught her mouth with his again. She forgot about protesting as he kissed her again; long, slow, hot, his tongue sliding intimately over hers. She put her arms around him and was about to go up on her toes again when he stopped, leaving her gasping.

As if they were dancing, he put his hands on her shoulders and slowly turned until they had reversed positions, then he took a step forward, forcing her to move. Another step, a third, a fourth . . . she felt the wall at her back and looked up at him questioningly. He cupped her head in his hands, and looked at her hungrily, finding her lips once more for a brief, fierce kiss, then he finally let her go as he sank to his knees in front of her.

She looked down at him, mind and pulse racing. God, there were a lot of possibilities here. He slid his hands slowly up her legs, starting at her ankles, moving up over her calves. She watched his strong fingers disappear beneath her skirt and almost whimpered. His hands left trails of sparks along the outsides of her thighs, burning their way inward as his hands moved higher. Instinctively she shifted her feet wider for balance, letting the wall brace her as her knees started to go. His expression was intent as his fingers found the upper edge of her panties and slowly tugged them down.

She felt cool air on her skin as the fabric slid free and tensed in anticipation, but he only slid his hands back down her legs, pushing her panties off as he did. He urged her to step out of them, lifting first one foot, then the other. Once they were off he casually put the damned things in his pocket, then looked back up at her.

His eyes were as hot and brilliant as the heart of a flame before he looked down, hiding that from her. She shivered, waiting, as he started to slowly push her skirt up her legs. Once he had it at the tops of her thighs, he found her hands and guided them to the bunched fabric. Ceese curled her fingers around it, and assuming what he wanted, started to raise it higher. Ty stopped her, holding it there, where it hid her, barely. She stopped trying to lift it and waited, her breath shallow and fast.

He leaned in and kissed the inside of her left leg, just above the knee. She did whimper that time. He made a soft sound, hushing her, and moved higher, his mouth warm and silky against her skin. He continued to kiss his way up her inner thigh until he got to the edge of her skirt, then he stopped. She moaned, frustrated, aching, empty.

He hushed her again, and started over on her other thigh. She closed her eyes and tipped back against the wall, hoping she could stay on her feet long enough for him to get to the top; praying he'd get to her before she actually started to drip. He got about two-thirds of the way up her thigh, to the slight, convex curve there, and put his hand against her leg, shifting her open wider. She caught her breath, waiting.

Ty paused, and for a moment she thought he was just doing it to tease her, then suddenly he was on his feet, catching her, lifting her. For just a moment she was shocked, and struggled, suspended in midair. Then he started to slide her down along his body, and as she felt skin against skin she realized what he'd been doing, and what he was doing. Catching his shoulders in her hands she wrapped her thighs around his hips, shifted forward just a little, and felt him slide home within her.

His hands shifted to cup her behind, supporting her, then he pushed her up against the wall, driving deep, pausing, shifting his hold a little to stabilize their position, then starting again. He slid out, then in, a smooth, hard stroke, repeated it, again, until it became a rhythm. Ceese gasped and held on, kissing his throat, his ear, the side of his face, anything she could reach.

She heard herself whispering assent with each strong, life-affirming thrust of his body into hers. He continued in silence, focused and powerful until she cried out softly as the waves of pleasure shook her. Ty drove hard into her one last time, and shuddered his own release with a sigh.

He held there, using the wall to keep himself upright, until she realized he was trembling.

"Put me down, Ty," she whispered.

He bent his knees and they slid down the wall together until they hit the floor; him kneeling, her on his lap. She sighed, and put her head against his shoulder, content for the moment just to hold him, and be held.

After a while her mind started working again. With that catharsis, they were safely past the rough-spot for the moment, but it was a temporary respite at best for him. She couldn't teach him a better way to deal with his grief, they didn't have time, and she didn't really know how anyway. Ty needed a professional. Did the military have such things as counselors? If they did, would he consent to see one? That might be the solution for him. Unfortunately, there probably weren't a lot of counselors who specialized in the psyches of Tanks. Still, even a Natural Born one ought to have a few good ideas.

Ceese thought about Ty's friend, Glen Ross, and wondered if he would be open to a quiet suggestion regarding Ty. He'd seemed to genuinely care, and also had appeared to be honest, and open-minded. Their playful, almost boyish interaction had been wonderful to watch after seeing how serious and isolated Ty had become over the years. It struck her suddenly, who Ross reminded her of, and her breath caught.

"Something wrong?" Ty asked instantly, leaning back so he could see her face.

"No, I just thought of something that surprised me, that's all."

"That being?"

"Your friend. I just realized who it is he reminds me of."

Ty, bless him, didn't ask why she was thinking about Glen Ross in the afterglow of lovemaking. He just lifted his eyebrows and waited for her to speak.

"Web. He reminds me of Web." At his perplexed look, she tried to explain. "Not the way he looks, but the way he acted, and also in the way you two act around each other." She ran a finger gently along his cheekbone, then over his lips. "I think I'm jealous."

That startled him. His eyes narrowed. "What?"

"You're different, with him. I like the way you're different." She tilted her head, studying him thoughtfully. "Are you lovers?"

Ceese felt the shock of that go through him, and had her answer even before he spoke.

"No!" He paused a moment, clearly surprised by his own vehemence, and she could almost see him thinking about why he'd reacted like that. After a moment he shook his head again. "No," he said, much more calmly. "No, that's not who we are. Just friends."

She wondered what had been going on inside his head just then but had sense enough not to ask. She nodded, acknowledging his words.

Ty shifted a little beneath her. "I think we should move."

She sighed. "I know," reluctantly she braced a hand against the wall and eased away from him, her skirt falling back into place as she stood. Good thing it didn't wrinkle easily. She felt only half-dressed though. "Can I have my panties back?"

He grinned. "No."

She bit her lip to keep from smiling, and tried to keep her gaze serious. "I don't think they'll fit you."

He chuckled. "Probably not."

"Then what are you gonna do with them?"

He lifted an eyebrow at her, his eyes gleaming wickedly. "Sometimes the nights get long on the Saratoga."

Thinking about that, Ceese shivered. That he would want something of hers, something that she'd worn and that held her scent . . . even though she knew he was just teasing her, the image was unexpectedly erotic. She looked at him smokily and held out her hand.

"Come on back to my place, I'll give you a few more pair."

He put his hand in hers and she braced him as he got to his feet.

"I'd rather take you," he said casually, reaching down to refasten his pants. "But if I did, I'd be over my personal-belongings weight allowance."

Ceese stared at him as he finished dressing, trying not to wonder if there had been a touch of seriousness in that comment.

"I don't suppose they've got much call for lounge singers in the Marines?"

Ty chuckled. "Unfortunately not." Then his gaze lifted to hers, and it was serious. "And even if they did I wouldn't want you there. I want to know you're someplace safe."

Warmth bloomed through her at the thought that he wanted her to be safe. That felt good. Really good. But it wasn't exactly possible. "Ty, there is no place safe."

He nodded seriously. "True, but some places are less safe than others."

She had to get away from this subject. It reminded her how not-safe he was, and that was too intense, too painful, too fearful. It had been easier all these years, thinking he was probably dead. Knowing he was alive, now she would fear for him. She looked around the room, and deliberately took the conversation a new direction.

"Definitely. Take this place, for instance. I never realized how terribly dangerous it was, especially to my lingerie."

He laughed, the mood broken. "All right, all right," he dug in his pocket and brought out her panties, offering them to her on his extended palm. "Here."

She looked at him for a long moment, then reached out and curled his fingers closed around them. "No, you keep them."

There was a moment of silence between them, their gazes locked, then he nodded, and without comment he returned them to his pocket. She leaned forward and kissed him, softly, without passion, but with its promise clear.

"You come back to me," she said softly, intensely, against his mouth.

He kissed her, communicating his assent, then drew back. "If I can."

It was all she could expect. She nodded. "If you can."


Glen Ross was feeling a little guilty as he waited for Ty to show up at the Apollo Lounge. He rarely abused his position, but this time his curiosity had just been too much. He wanted to know who Cecelia Peyroux was to Ty. In all their years of friendship, Ty had rarely spoken of his life before the Marines, and he'd never mentioned anything about Omicron Draconis. Ross had always assumed that meant it was so bad he didn't want to talk about it, but maybe that wasn't it at all. Maybe, it had been so much better than what came after, that Ty couldn't bear the contrast. That was a sobering and painful thought.

He toyed with his rum, and thought about what he'd learned. An In-Vitro's records were considered public up until the point where they ended their official indenture. After that, they had the same privacy rights as anyone else. What he'd found by using his rank to access Ty and Cecelia's records told him little of substance, but hinted at much. He'd been surprised to discover that Ty had been less than a month out of the 'Tank' when he'd been shipped to Draconis. He'd always assumed they had more education time than that. He'd also learned that Cecelia was almost five years older than Ty. That had surprised him too. She looked younger. Life hadn't gone easy on Ty.

The first entry after Ty's arrival on Draconis was from the mine's chief physician. That had told Ross things he wasn't sure he'd really wanted to know. Thinking about it, he tossed back half his drink, wincing as it seared its way down his esophagus. The second entry was a note listing McQueen's quarters. It wasn't until he'd looked at Ceese's records that that note had taken on significance. Same quarters. From his very first day on Draconis.

Yet, there had been a third person listed there as well, Ceese's common-law husband, Webster Davis. After Damphousse's comment about them 'not paying attention to the view' Ross had wondered when Ty had mentioned something about Cecelia's husband. Learning that Davis had died a long time ago had explained a lot, even as it also opened new questions. According to the records, the three of them had shared the same quarters for the entire four years Ty was on Draconis. Since as crew-chiefs, neither Davis or Peyroux were required to share quarters, it had clearly been a voluntary arrangement.

Davis and Peyroux had both served over half of their original indentures on Earth as factory workers. They'd been sent to Draconis after being convicted of 'subversive activities.' A little digging had turned up that they'd been agitating for In-Vitro Rights, well before the Supreme Court had ruled that they had the right to do so. Ross felt his respect for Cecelia Peyroux rise. It was clear that her influence during Ty's early years had probably contributed a lot to how Ty had turned out. Without her, Ross might not even be alive today, because Ty would never have become the kind of man who would have saved Ross's life.

Four years into his indenture, like many young In-Vitros Ty had been drafted and shipped off to fight in the AI wars. Davis had died a little over a month later, in a mine accident. The chief physician's notes in Cecelia's records clearly showed that she had barely survived the same accident. While she was recuperating the Supreme Court had made their famous ruling about In-Vitro rights, and her "subversion" sentence had been commuted. With the sentence commuted, they applied the time toward her original indenture and she had been freed and shipped back to Earth. That was it. There wasn't much more than that in the records. Ross could only speculate about the relationship the three In-Vitros had forged during those four years together.

Whatever it had been, there was enough of it still there to bring Ty and Ceese together after seventeen years. Ross would probably have assumed that Ty saw Cecelia in a parental light if he hadn't seen them together, and if Damphousse hadn't told him what she'd seen. Clearly, their relationship wasn't one he understood. He probably couldn't understand it, because his experiences were simply too different. He took a small sip of his drink, wondering if Ty's relationship with the late Webster Davis had been as complicated as the one he seemed to have with Cecelia. That speculation made him a little uncomfortable and he looked around the bar to distract himself.

There were several familiar faces here, he realized. He hadn't realized so many people from the Saratoga shared his taste in music. He wondered idly if any of them were there simply because he was. He wouldn't put it past some of them to be brown-nosing. He took another sip, and his gaze moved on, then stopped suddenly. He started to grin as his gaze took in the faces arranged around a table in the darkest corner of the room. West, Vansen, Hawkes, Wang, and Damphousse. All of them looking shiny-scrubbed and decked out for Sunday School. Ty would be livid. Ross thought it was kind of sweet. The kids really did care about him. Besides, it gave Ross something to tease him about.

As he thought that, Ty appeared in the doorway, looking rather Sunday-best himself. Ross couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Ty that dressed up, but not in uniform. Of course, part of it was the place. It was a nice one. He wondered why he'd never visited it before. Ty looked around the room, and Ross motioned him over. Ty nodded and came to join him at the table. He sat down, his gaze going to the stage briefly before moving back to Ross.

"I'm looking forward to this," Ross said. "Praise from Bertie Brown is a rare thing, so I figure your Ms. Baker must be pretty damned good. Have you heard her?"

"She's not mine," Ty said, almost automatically, then he nodded. "But I heard her last night and yes, she is good. Better than good." He looked amused. "Funny, how you can know someone and not know them. I never knew she could sing until she walked on stage and let loose."

"I take it you knew her under different circumstances?" Ross prompted lightly. He would never let on to Ty that he'd snooped. Ty was far too proud to take that with equanimity, and Ross respected that. He still felt guilty. He shouldn't have done it in the first place.

Ty nodded, and looked around, signaling a waiter. He came over and Ty ordered before turning his attention back to Ross. "Like I said, we were on Omicron Draconis together."

He left it at that, and Ross controlled the urge to throttle the man. Ty shot a quick look at him, and his lips twitched. Ross realized suddenly that Ty was fully aware that he was dying of curiosity, and was playing it. Maybe he didn't feel quite so guilty about snooping. He settled back in his chair and sipped his drink, pretending disinterest. Deliberately he looked over toward where the 58th was trying to be unobtrusive, and then back at Ty.

"Funny, there are a lot of familiar faces in here," he remarked casually.

Ty nodded, glancing around. "I noticed that the other night. I guess word gets . . ." he broke off, and Ross hid a grin as he saw where Ty's narrowed gaze was directed. He looked back at Ross.

"Your doing?" he asked with deceptive calm.

Ross spread his hands, disavowing it. "No, Ty, it is not."

Ty looked back at the 58th, frowning. "Then how . . ."

Ross took pity on the squad. There was no reason for them to bear the brunt of this. "As I recall, Captain Vansen likes this kind of music, it's probably just a coincidence."

Ty stared at him for a long moment, and Ross wondered, if those eyes could really see right into his brain like it sometimes felt like they could. He concentrated on thinking innocuous thoughts, just in case. Finally Ty sighed and shook his head.

"You're probably right. I remember thinking last night that Vansen would like her. But they did see her yesterday . . ." He thought about that for a moment, scowling, then shook his head. "It doesn't matter."

Ross nodded toward the stage. "Looks like they're getting ready."

Ty's attention shifted to the stage instantly, and he nodded. "She'll be out in a minute." He frowned a little. "And she'd better be wearing something else."

"Excuse me?" Ross said, not sure he'd understood that last bit.

Ty's gaze switched back to him instantly. "Nothing, Sir."

Judging from that quick, formal reaction, and the faint darkening of his skin, Ross realized suddenly that whatever it meant, Ty had not intended to say that out loud. Interesting.

"Good evening, gentlemen, and ladies."

Ross sat forward, eyes on the stage as the lights came up. Ceese was there, in a wine-colored gown that hugged her body like a lover. Her voice was softly sultry, far less matter-of-fact than in their earlier meeting. It tugged at places in a man's anatomy. She smiled, her gaze ranging out across the audience; and she lifted her hand to the stem of the standing microphone as she leaned toward it.

"One thing I've learned out here is that there is no midnight, not really. It's always midnight for someone, somewhere. This song is for all you people who know that feeling."

Before the guitarist had finished a full bar, Ross knew what she was going to sing, and he smiled in anticipation. This one was an old favorite. Vansen would appreciate it, too.

"I go out walkin', after midnight,
out in the moonlight, just like we used to do;
I'm always walkin' after midnight, searching for you.
I walk for miles, along the highway,
well that's just my way, of sayin' I love you;
I'm always walkin' after midnight, searching for you."**

Bertie was right. She was good. Ty was right, too. She was better than good. He'd love to play for a voice like that. Ross glanced at Ty, and found him intently focused on Cecelia. No surprise there. Looking over at the 58th, he found Vansen watching Cecelia with the strangest expression on her face. If he had to interpret it, he'd have to say it was a combination of jealousy and admiration. Very odd. He let his attention return to the singer and settled in for the show.


Ceese took advantage of an instrumental piece to look around. She saw Ty and Ross sitting together, comfortable, relaxed, obviously enjoying themselves. That felt good. Further back, she recognized Vanessa Damphousse and figured the others at her table were the rest of Ty's 'kids'. Cute. He was probably annoyed as hell that they were here. He was such a private person, almost a prude. She smiled to herself at that thought. Only a prude in public. Certainly not behind closed doors. She wondered if he still had her panties in his pocket, or if he'd put them with the rest of his things when he'd changed.

Hearing a hiss from stage left she looked over to find the club manager there waving a small square of paper and motioning her over. She moved over to where he stood and took the note from him. She knew what it would be. This wasn't the first time. It wouldn't be the last. It was the price they paid for being off the main loudspeaker alert-system so the music didn't get interrupted.

She unfolded the note and read it quickly, then reread it. No mistake. She sighed. So much for forty-eight. She'd known it wouldn't last long, but she'd hoped for longer than this. As the band finished their piece, she stepped to the microphone again.

"I'm sorry to have to do this," she said, trying to convey her regret, not just to Ty, but to anyone else there from the Saratoga. "I'm afraid some of you are going to have to go home a little early. Senior officers from the Saratoga have been recalled, to ship off in twenty minutes. Other Saratoga personnel should be ready to go in forty minutes. I'll have a last piece for those of you who can stay for it."

She heard a collective groan modulate across her audience, and several people stood up to leave, among them Ross and Ty. She saw Ross turn to Ty and say something. Ty shook his head. Ross got more vehement. It never got loud enough to be a real argument but she could tell that was the spirit of it. Finally Ty nodded, and sat back down, looking vaguely mutinous while Ross headed for the exit alone. She smiled as she realized that the Commodore had just pulled rank on the Lieutenant Colonel, who didn't much appreciate it. She did, though. It would give her time to say goodbye, in a way.

She thought for a moment, and turned to whisper her decision to David, the guitarist. It was a song they sometimes did together in practice, but never in public. It didn't fit her image. He looked surprised, but nodded and turned away to relay her choice to the rest of the band. As they began to put down their instruments she turned back to the microphone and looked out into the room, directly at Ty, though he was the only one who would know that for sure.

"This one's not my usual style, but it reminds me of a friend who's here tonight. You know who you are. Good luck, and be safe out there."

She took a deep breath, and nodded to David. He began the song in a gentle, melodic fingering style that was strangely at odds with the harsh lyrics of the song. She listened through the two bars of the intro, then started.

"Sunset is an angel weeping, holding out a bloody sword
No matter how I squint I cannot make out what it's pointing toward
Sometimes you feel like you've lived too long, Days drip slowly on the page
You catch yourself, pacing the cage

I've proven who I am so many times, the magnetic strip's worn thin
And each time I was someone else, and everyone was taken in
Powers chatter in high places, stir up eddies in the dust of rage
Set me to pacing the cage

I never knew what you all wanted, so I gave you everything
All that I could pillage, all the spells that I could sing
It's as if the thing were written in the constitution of the age
Sooner or later you'll wind up, pacing the cage

Sometimes the best map will not guide you, you can't see what's 'round the bend
Sometimes the road leads through dark places, sometimes the darkness is your friend.
Today these eyes scan bleached-out land, for the coming of the outbound stage
Pacing the cage,     pacing the cage."***

As the last note faded away there was silence from the audience. She knew she'd taken a chance with that song, but she'd done it for Ty. It didn't matter if no one else understood. Then, someone started to applaud, and others took it up, some even coming to their feet. The response surprised her. She hadn't expected them to like it, but clearly more people than she'd expected had found resonance in that selection.

Ceese dared a glance at Ty and found his gaze on her, fiery and intense. Tears stung in her eyes and she knew she had to get offstage before she lost it. She turned and hurried through the curtained doorway, not even daring to take time for a bow. She hid there in the dark alcove that separated the stage from the dressing rooms, leaning against the wall trying to breathe her way past the urge to weep. She could still hear applause, and figured the band was taking their bow. They deserved it. Finally the sound began to die off, and she heard the room beginning to empty out. Then she heard David's voice.

"I'm sorry, you can't go back there."

"You really think you're going to stop me?" The reply sounded amused but somehow belligerent.

She turned and grabbed the curtain, opening it to see David trying to block the doorway to a determined-looking Ty.

"It's all right, David. He's a friend."

David looked at her in concern. "You sure?"

She nodded. "Oh yes, I'm sure. It's all right."

He studied her for a long moment, then she saw understanding come into his gaze. He knew this was who she'd chosen that song for. He stepped out of the way. Ty moved forward and the curtain fell, leaving them alone together in the dim, closet-sized space.

"Are you all right?" Ty asked quietly.

"I will be. It's just hard."

He nodded, and touched her face. She knew it was wet under his fingers.

"I know. Harder than I thought," he said, brushing away the tears that remained on her face.

"Isn't everything?" she asked. "Thank you, for coming back."

"I didn't want to leave things so unsettled."

She sighed. "Is there any other way to leave them?"

He thought about that for a moment, and finally shook his head. "No, I don't suppose there is."

She put her hands against his chest and leaned up to kiss him. His mouth was tight under hers, and she realized this was as difficult for him as it was for her. She drew back, reluctantly. "Goodbye, Ty. Be safe."

His hand touched her hair softly, then her cheek. "You too, Ceese.."

She forced a smile. "You'd better go before they mark you off for being tardy, or whatever it is they do."

He chuckled. "Absent without leave, but yeah, I do have to go. I'll see . . ." He paused, then started over. "I'll see you again sometime, if I can."

"I know you will. And Ty, I want you to know how proud I am of you. We may not see eye to eye on everything, but you're a damned fine man. Web would be proud, too."

He smiled. "I think I can say the same about you, Ceese." He stepped back. "Take care."

She nodded. "Always."

He turned, and brushed back through the curtain leaving her alone. The urge to cry welled up in her throat again, and she ruthlessly pushed it away. No tears. Not now. She'd save them for when they were really needed. Squaring her shoulders, she headed for the dressing room. She had another show in a few hours and there were lots of things she needed to do between now and then. Life went on. She had her own cage pacing to do.

The End


*"What's New" Burke/Haggart c. ?
**"Walkin' After Midnight," Hecht/Bloch, c. ?
***"Pacing the Cage" by Bruce Cockburn, c. 1995,
from his CD: "The Charity of Night", c. 1996



Previous : Part Two


Kellie Matthews-Simmons © 1998