The Fourth Life: Chapter 1 (adult)

Upstairs in the bedroom, Todd and Blair stepped into the tub for the first time since their return from Ireland. His wounds, now healing well, took kindly to the warm water, that Blair assured was not overly hot.  She had added special salts that would help the healing progress. She wanted to lavish him with everything he could want, and just make him happy.  This was her new goal, since somehow, he'd been taken from the doorstep of death and given back to her and to her babies. Assuring him she would not expect anything he could not give, she had placed his favorite Scotch and an ice bucket and highball glass along side the jacuzzi.

They both floated in calming warmth for a while, silently, him holding her hand and gently rubbing over her bruised knuckle. She had explained that it had been injured during the moment when she feared his death in he Rialto Cinemas, when she threw herself against the wall, collapsing on the floor. He listened, massaging her hand, as she explained the events in the main auditorium the day Patrick Thornhart had rescued him. In going over the story of almost losing him, she would become emotional but continue, simply because he asked to have all of the details that it was impossible for him to remember.

Back in Dublin, at Beaumont Hospital, they had been working on piecing everything together as he recovered from his physical wounds. An unbroken duo, sharing both sides of the tale to help the other understand, both knew willing separation would never come for them again. For Blair, Todd's request for full disclosure about the events in Ireland, was easier; she might cry or feel pangs of fear, relating the adventures of she and Sister Rebecca Katherine. For Todd, it was an arduous task that often required him to stop. Although it pained him, he pushed forward, determined to know and face all. Blair, not wanting to push him too hard, would move cautiously through the stories, and when he talked, she would listen, intently, never prodding for more.

And now, it was their first night at home, in their penthouse, and she'd promised herself that everything would be perfect for him, and that he would guide the agenda for the night. Still rubbing her fingers, he closed his eyes and tipped his head back, resting it on the edge of the tub. She turned up the water temperature a small amount, and raised the pressure of the jets. He moaned a little, and said, "This feels great. I'm still so sore."

"I think those salts I got, from the health food store, might help heal you faster." She touched his arm, where the largest of the wounds, aside from his stabbing, was forcibly evident to her. It was scabbing over now, ugly and speaking volumes, but his taut musculature below it seemed unscathed. Fixated on it for a moment, she gently traced it's edge with her fingers. He didn't flinch. Instead, he said, "Feels better now, it doesn't hurt when you touch it anymore."

She pulled her hand back, "Oh, I'm sorry, Todd." She was embarrassed.

He took her hand and brought it back to the wound, "Don't be sorry. It's part of me. Every part of me can be touched by you."

She rested her hand on it for a moment, and then gently moved it away, to his forehead, where she brushed his hair back. "You forgot to tie it up." He shrugged, as she made a faux braid out of it and tucked it up on the edge of the tub. He closed his eyes again and sighed. He's relaxed. He's going to be okay.

Quiet for a long duration, his breathing became similar to sleep, but his hand was still holding hers. She reached over him to get the glass and pour him some Scotch, and he jumped, grabbing her arm. He looked at her, as if not seeing her, and said, "What are you doing?"

She let him hold her arm, though it was hurting, and said, "Todd, what's wrong? Don't you know where you are?"

He let go of her arm and pulled her to him. He was shaking, and she heard him say, "I'm sorry, I was confused."

She pulled back and looked into his face. "I know you were. It's all right."

He took her arm, and rubbed where he had grabbed her, and lifted it, kissing it all up and down where his hands had been. "I'm sorry if I hurt you, or scared you. I scared myself."

"You were dreaming."

"Sort of, I think I was falling asleep and remembering. Does that make sense?"

"Yes, it makes sense." She moved a stray strand of hair out of his face. "It's going to be all right. You've only been home about twelve hours, how can we expect more. Now relax, it's okay, and just let go a little."

He put his head back again, "I don't like that I scared you just now.  It's going to take me . . . some time."

"I know, I'm not afraid of you, Todd.  Just startled, is all."

"If I do that again, I'm going to leave until I'm better."

"Oh no you won't, Mr. Manning. You're not going anywhere."  He didn't respond. She asked, "Do you want some Scotch?"

"No," he said, still leaning back, "I want my head clear. That's another thing, no more drinking for me. Jack sees it, and he's struggling as it is."

"That's a good idea."

"Just keep it up here, in the safe, but for now, I need to be aware, Blair. I feel like I have to know it all. No more keeping in the dark and hiding from truths. I want to know them, but sometimes, I just want time away from them. Like I want the past behind me, and it's always there. I want to know, but I also need peace."

"You're facing everything. I know it's hard, but I like your attitude."

He put his head up, staring straight at her. "You know what I like?"

"I think so," she smiled, "but tell me anyway."

"I like when you say you love me."

"All right. I love you."

"I like when you say you love me, but you're closer to me when you say it."

She moved closer. "Okay, I love you, and I'm closer."

"But I really like when you say I love you, and you're sitting right about here." He pointed down to his waist, and she floated over, straddling him.

She looked directly into his hazel eyes from above and said, "I love you."

He moved her lips toward his, with his hand at the nape of her neck, and kissed her, deeply, exploring all of her mouth and tongue with his. Halting, he whispered, "I missed you so much, babe. I missed us, and this."

The kiss lingered and lead to more, as she put her legs on either side of him, and felt his fingers finding her. She threw her head back, as he touched her in the way he knew would make her want him more. Having been apart for what seemed so long, both of them could not hold back. She looked into his eyes, to be certain of what he wanted her to do next, and she did not have to wait much longer for a sign. He lifted her, and while pushing his thumb in circles, and on and off her, to excite her more, and as she came, he lowered her onto him. Her cries impelled him on, and he, more wildly than usual, pushed up and into her, with need evident on his face, and reinforced through the presence of his scars and wounds.

"You make me forget, just for a while," he said in hushed tones into her ear, kissing and licking her neck, chin, collarbone and breasts with urgency. She couldn't remember him being as verbal during lovemaking before; and this night, he seemed compelled to speak to her, tell her everything he felt as all of him loved her. She found herself close to tears, hearing him, his voice so husky and breathless, his desperation for her so clear. With his mouth on her skin, fixed at her neck, the rhythm changed and both knew it was a matter of seconds for them. He looked up, leaving a dark, reddish mark just under her right jaw. Drawing her eyes to his, he spoke to her, and closed his eyes, audibly sighing as he finished inside her. She couldn't fight tears, pulling his head to her chest, and resting her head on top of his. He felt her sobbing, and gently smoothed her hair and back.

After a few moments, he pulled back, to see her face. "No tears," he said, brushing them off, "No crying, not for me anymore."

"I can't help it. You were almost..."

"I know, but I'm not. I'm here," he slipped out of her and grabbed for the glass. "Maybe I'll have that Scotch after all," he smiled.

She laughed, turning to the glass and bottle, and making his drink the way he liked it. She handed it to him, "You deserve this."

He laughed, "Maybe, yeah." He sipped. "But I don't deserve you. I never did."

She fixed her face in seriousness, "Yes, you do. You're the only one who does because you love me so much."

"I do. More than anything else. You and my kids." He sipped more, then stood up, in his gorgeous form, and held out his hand to her. "Care for another round, in the other room?"

She took his hand, and standing, kicked the drain with her foot. "Whatever you want, my tighearna."

"Okay, now what does that mean?" He said, sipping his drink in one hand, and holding her hand in the other.

"My Lord. I learned it when I was in Ireland."

"I kind of like that, but never say 'my Lord' in English? It makes me think of Viki's family."

She playfully slapped him. "My Tighearna," she whispered, sitting and then lying on their bed.

He put the Scotch down on the side table, and kissed down her belly, moving his mouth lower, as she put her hands into his beautiful locks.

"My one true babe," he said, "I love you," and continued moving down her.

They were home.

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