DUM SPIRO, SPERO
Part 13
 

"Now as he spoke the sun set, dusk drew on,
and they retired, this pair, to the inner cave
to revel and rest softly, side by side."

"The Odyssey," Fitzgerald Translation. Book 5, Lines 234-236.
Used without permission.
 

ALLY:

I'm so glad to be the hell out of Alexandria.

I normally have nothing against the town I live in-I rather even like it. But after this week, I need to get away from anything resembling 'normal life.' Or what we consider that to be.

If this week was normal life-and I pray that it wasn't-I'm going to have to give up on my vow to control my drinking.

I've been trying. I pushed my starting time to when Langly gets home instead of 3 p.m.

It's been hell. Around 5, I start climbing the walls.

Why did I choose this week to do this? I had my admission rescinded from Catholic University. I'm not going to grad school. At least not there, and not now.

Good thing I didn't decide to quit smoking.

Langly has a new Boss from Hell. I thought the last one sounded like a prick, but apparently he was small time compared to this one.

Convincing Langly that a trip to the Bay would do us all some good did not require much arm twisting.

He'd come home even more sullen and snarling than he'd done in the previous evenings, which did not bode well for a pleasant weekend. I mentioned that it might be nice to head up to the Bay and go camping for the weekend, which prompted him to grab some sleeping bags, the tent, the kids, and a cooler full of beer. I took that as a yes.

The ride up started out as it normally does-Miranda and Shelby hassling each other in a friendly fashion ('Mom! She's touching me in a sexual way!' 'Al'son! She's a lesbian!' 'Did you give her her medication? ' and at the sight of every ugly guy we passed, finger pointing and a shrieked, 'he your man!'). Then Patrick joining in and hassling both of them and squirming in the fashion common to traveling four-year-olds...Langly is normally tolerant of this stuff, and will usually even add his own commentary, but tonight, his addition to the high-volume back seat dialogue was to tell them to cut the crap and shut up. They went from shocked to pissed to resigned.

It was a quiet trip most of the way. I don't think any of them spoke until we reached the desired camping spot. I did see Miranda flip Langly off as she disembarked from the back seat of the Corolla. I don't think he saw it, or he might have really gotten into it with her.

The ocean has a calming effect on all of us, though, and a few hours of water play, a picnic from El Pollo Loco, the usual customary evening snuggle from Patrick, and some kid karaoke, and things seem to be regaining equilibrium. And the beers Langly and I consumed probably didn't hurt, either.

Patrick had played strenuously with Langly, and he fell asleep in his arms. The girls trolled the beach looking for land sharks for a time, followed by some prolonged giggling, but they had since succumbed to tiredness. Finally, peace and quiet.

Langly and I had put out a fluffy Sherpa blanket on the sand (the ratty one from California is in my car), and were lying on it, watching a fantastically starlit night, a pale crescent moon rising, and hearing the lulling symphony of the waves slapping the sand. The breeze was light, and the temperature had to be 10 degrees cooler than inland. It was actually cool enough that I shivered lightly.

"You cold?" He gave me a look that even in the dark I could tell was mystified.

"A little."

He laughed gently. "Ally, you're such a wuss."

"So you've told me."

"But it's gotta be like 75 degrees out here!"

"I'm chilly. I need a sweatshirt."

"No, you don't." He reached over to me, first time tonight, and pulled me into him, wrapping those long arms all around me-I swear he can wrap them around twice. I lost myself in warm skin, the faint tang of salt and sweat, and a slow, steady heartbeat. This is the Langly I love and adore and feel so at ease with. He's like this whole production of sight, scent and  sound, and I relish every aspect of it when we can just cuddle like this.

This has not been a week of intense cuddling. It's been one of work and aggravation and trashed plans and disagreements topped off with more work. So goes the rhythm of our lives.

Will I ever get used to this?

Not a chance.

Do I miss being a hobbit?

Nah. Not when you're rewarded with moments like this. I bury my face in his shoulder. It's a strong shoulder with plenty of real estate for a small girl like me to lean on.

And I've noticed that even when things are at their most nervewracking, I never long for my old life. Not anymore. I just put one foot in front of the other and slog to the other side.

We don't speak for a while. The silence soothes. There are times when his silence screams louder and more viciously than all the noise in the world, but this isn't one of them. This is binding silence. A chance to be one again.

I rub my hands along his lower back under the hem of his T-shirt. He murmurs the soft sounds that come with contentment.

"Wanna just stay here for good? Kelly can feed the kitties," I smile at him, and he kisses me lightly on the nose.

"Hmm. That's a thought. But not gonna work, I'm afraid."

"Why not?"

"We'd run out of beer. Cooler only holds twelve bottles."

I giggle. It's not the phrase so much as the way it's phrased.

"And my commute would really suck."

"Your commute sucks already."

"It'd suck worse. Ally." He pulls himself gently back a bit, and I notice that the light smile on the lips and the sparkles dancing across the pale eyes are suddenly gone.

"What?" Why do I get the feeling I'm about to get bad news here?

"I'm being moved."

That gets my attention. "Moved where?" Oh Christ. I only moved here not quite three years ago, moved into our new home two years ago, and trust me, I'm not eager to repeat the experience.

"Langley."

"Yes, babe, I know your name."

"No. Langley, Virginia."

Now he's really got my attention. The light sleepy buzz I was enjoying snuggling up to him has all but popped like a soap bubble on the wind.

"You want another beer?" I ask him, suddenly feeling the need for lubrication.

"Yeah. Think we got two left."

We do, but only two. I pop both tops and hand him one.

"We killed all the limes."

"Doesn't matter."

Well, I consider drinking a Corona without a lime a somewhat less than complete religious experience, but I can make do.

"When'd this happen?" I ask him, lighting up a Marlboro Light and setting the beer in the sand.

"Today."

"Does this explain why you were in such a lovely frame of mind when you arrived home?"

"I'd say it contributed heavily."

"Langley is home of the CIA," I comment.

"None other."

"So you're moving out of military intelligence...and into..."

"Hey, Ally, keep it down, okay? I'm not even supposed to tell you where I'm working."

I chortle a bit, almost choking on the beer. "Excuse me? I'm your wife, and you're not supposed to tell me where you're working?"

"So they told me."

"But you're telling me."

"You're my wife. Nice if you knew where you could find me once in a while."

"Uh, yeah. So what kind of work will you be doing?"

He shakes his head. "No idea. And the whole thing, it's weirding me out, Ally. Big time."

"I could understand that."

"Good, if you can, let me know, 'cause I'm damn sure I don't. I mean, why? I'm not exactly Zupan-prick's golden boy, if you know what I mean."

"Langly honey, I think the only person whose golden boy you are is mine." I grin at him. "And even you stretch it sometimes."

He smiles a little, shrugs, and turns serious again. "They're breaking us up, Ally. Bryce and Rich and Goldie and me. We're not gonna be together anymore."

"What's happening with them?"

"They're being reassigned...I got no idea where. Or to what." He lowers his chin to his knees. "This really sucks. I mean, sometimes they act like jerks, but I mean, let's face it, so do I-" truer words never spoken-"and we can all work together real good. We get the job done. Makes it pretty decent when you can all hang together and somebody gets bent out of shape, nobody takes it that hard. Everyone just gets over it, goes on, does their work. Now, I got no idea who I'll be with, where I'll be working-"

"You said at the CIA."

"Yeah, but where? Place is huge, Ally."

"I've never seen it."

"They like it like that, too. I'm just like, why'm I going? What'll I be doing? And what happens if it's something...well, I mean, there're just things I don't do, Ally. You know that."

I do. There are certainly plenty of them he will, and I'm certain a few them stretch moral, legal and ethical boundaries to the limit, but he does have certain standards.

"I don't suppose refusing is an option," I say, recalling our last dialogue about quitting.

"You suppose right." Another sip of beer for each of us, I take a drag on my smoke, he brushes my fingers as he takes it from me and has a drag for himself. "Besides, who's gonna take care of you guys if I don't?"

I could say something here, but I save my bitchiness for times that really deserve it. This isn't one of those times. And I really try not to assault male pride too often. They tend to remember it.

"And I mean, it's like, one of the things about Nathanson, prick that he was, he didn't have you doing overtime and shit like that. I knew when I was coming home at night, and I could deal with his bullshit during the day. Here, I dunno. And you know what the worst part of it is?"

"You mean besides everything else?"

"I'm working for Zupancic there. God, I must've really done something terrible to deserve this."

"He's worse than the last one, you say."

Langly takes a long slug of beer. He should go easy. We're on the last ones. "You know how Nathanson used to hassle me about my feet and my hair and all that? This guy does it, too, but raise it to a power of 10. Nathanson always bitched about my hair, but this guy came after me with a pair of scissors, I'm not kidding."

"I don't think he can complain about it now." Miranda showed him how to pin it up so that it simply looks as if he has shorter hair. Anyone looking for a good investment, I have two words: bobby pins. He's been through a whole card of them in just a few days.

"He still bitches about it, but once I got rid of the braids and started pinning it up, he at least didn't come after me with the scissors."

"Babe, that's assault and battery!" Enough years in juvenile court taught me that much.

"Yeah, and what am I gonna do?" He sighs, wrapping his arms around his legs. He looks so young and vulnerable like this-you just want to pick him up and tell him everything will be all right. Unfortunately, he easily outweighs me by about 60 pounds.

"For what it's worth, babe, I like your hair better without the braids." I smile at him.

He groans. "Yeah, but man, it was so easy to take care of it! Shake it out and go, nothing to it. Now it's like, blow dry it, comb it a certain way, take this section and that section and pin it this way and that way...I have to get up half an hour earlier just to do my hair!"

Well, he could cut it, but I'll be damned if I'm going to suggest that. I love his hair, and it's his one vanity.

"Now you know what women have gone through for years." I giggle a little. "Least they haven't made you do nylons yet."

This strikes him as funny, and I actually get him to laugh. "Hmm. I wonder what Zupan-prick would say if I borrowed your tights and wore them?"

"He'd say, get a larger size. Mine are way too short for you!"

"Probably. I like that idea. Show up Monday in drag."

This idea sends me into a gale of giggles. This guy, who is, to me, so decidedly male...in a dress?

"Hey, didn't 'Randa ever show you what she did to me on her Cosmo Makeover?" It's a CD-ROM program where you can scan in a photo and make over the person any way you want...

Langly let her do this?!

"Hey, you'd be amazed, a little lip gloss, some mascara-she gave me great eyelashes, by the way, some blush on the cheeks-"

I'm going to have to check this out.

"You can't go to work in drag Monday."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because you don't have any fuck-me-quickly pumps." And I doubt they're available in his size...

"Well!" He does a mock-swish voice. "I never!"

"Okay, now that you've considered the possibilities of dressing as a woman, get over here and show me what a guy you are." I motion him in closer.

"With the kids fifty feet away?"

"They're sleeping."

"Hmm. Well, okay, if you insist..."
 

I'm glad I insisted. I always am. Not that I had to do a lot of heavy persuading.

He's a lot heavier than me, but I love the pressure of him on me. Both of us are awash in arousal in no time flat. And swimsuits are marvelous for this sort of activity-they come off easily, and there's nothing but skin underneath.

We pull the blanket on top of us-one of the kids may actually wake up at some point, and I'd like to leave a little bit to their imaginations. Actually, a lot...Patrick probably wouldn't get it (though this being Patrick, he might-God only knows how much Miranda has told him), and the girls would be like, eeuw, gross. Apparently if they do these things, it's a holy moment, but let parental types hit the sand...

Tough. The parental types are hitting the sand with a vengeance.

Kisses everywhere, soft nibbles on necks and arms and shoulders, probing each other's tongues...

"Want you," I murmur to him. "Want you now."

The shock of entry hits me with a blur of energy and force-he's not insubstantial, I'll have you know-but it's a warm, wonderful force, and I rock him gently inside, listening to his small soft noises, which take me to where I'm soaked between my thighs. I try to keep my cries low, but I can't help but say his name, over and over again, as I feel myself coming...and
again...and then I feel him forcing himself in deeper, his breathing getting rougher, I think I hear my name whispered...and a sharp intake of breath, a strong buck of the hips, and even more warmth and wetness flooding me, not all of it my own...bliss. I stroke the blonde ponytail that's beginning to reach down his back again as we lie, drowsy and spent, trying to regain normal breathing and heartbeats. He murmurs as I do this, then shifts himself to my side, laying a sweet blonde head on my breast.

"Love you," he says, very softly.

"Love you." Oh God, do I love him. Everything about him, the way he's such a feast for the heart and soul and senses.

I've never left this banquet hungry.

"Know something?" he mumbles; I think he's drifting down to sleep.

"Mmm?"

"Frohike's gonna have my ass for bailing out this weekend."

"Fuck Frohike," I whisper conspiratorially.

I hear a murmur, then a groan. "Now that was not an image I needed."

"Babe, he's crabby when you're there, he's crabby when you're not, what the hell difference does it make?" My tone is thinner than the words suggest; sex with Langly will take your breath away. Literally. Kids, don't try this one at home.

"This is true." His words are getting less coherent, his breathing slower, his hearbeat softer. I can hear the small soft sleeping noises begin to rise out of him.

"It'll be Monday soon enough," I whisper to him, stroking his hair as he drifts down.

"Mmm."

He's asleep.

And soon, I follow him there.

I'm glad we came. Nothing bad can happen this weekend.

Can it?

END OF PART 13