Autumn

"It... it's strange, it matches you so closely. It's not what I'd have imagined, but... it's you. Even that battered piano in the corner screams you at the top of its voice."

He smiled. "As I said, I'm a simple man; my life story is a brightly coloured picture book rather than words."

"Whereas mine is more like a charcoal sketch or shadow box..."

I took a gulp of my wine. He leaned forward over the kitchen island, watching me closely as I set the glass down with a loud clink.

"Rachel? We don't have to do this tonight," he said. "Whatever it is, it can wait..."

"No," I interrupted. "No. We do. While I'm brave enough. And it can't wait. You deserve... you deserve to know. You'll be... you'll be the first person I ever tell this to. And... most likely the only person I'll ever tell it to. But I... I need to tell it to you."

"I'm here for you. I'm listening to you."

I stared up at him, then looked away, unable for a moment to bear the look in his eyes. I groped blindly for my wineglass and took another, larger gulp of wine.

"Rachel?"

"Caleb... I... I..."

"What is it? Tell me? Please... let me help you."

"... I was... a whore... a... prostitute. I sold myself. To... to anyone who'd... who'd pay..."

I heard the soft sound he let out, and clenched my teeth against the knife thrust that I knew was coming.

I had to get control for the trip home.

I had to be strong.

"When?" he asked, gently, after what felt like an eternity.

"After... after Michael... died. For two years. I... it was... so... so that I could... feed her..."

And, suddenly, all that I could feel was the burning ache in my throat and chest. I gasped, fought to take a breath as the world closed in... and then his strong arm was around me, and my face was tucked into his neck, and a strange, desperate, broken part of me finally felt safe enough to let the walls come crashing down. He held me, kept me safe, prevented me from falling as I cried and cried and cried the bitter, wordless sobs that took what little remaining strength I had left from me.

He didn't speak. I suppose he knew there was nothing he could say. He simply curled me in against him supported me against him until I was, eventually, done.

He helped me to a stool, made sure I could sit up by myself, and then quietly left the kitchen.

I sat, gulping and shivering, staring down at the white knuckles of my tightly-clenched hands as I tried to hang onto the sliver of self-control I had managed to claw back.

He'd kick me out now. He'd cut me off. It was done.

What a waste of time and energy and hope this had all been...

He reappeared with a thin blanket which he wrapped around me. He pulled out a second stool next to me and sat so that he was at my level.

His face was grave; I twined and knotted my fingers as I waited for the hammer-blow of rejection to fall.

"I can't even imagine the hell you must have been in," he slowly said. "I'm not even going to pretend to understand how bleak it must have been. I hate that it happened to you. I hate that you were so scared to tell me this. I'm... fuck, I'm so, so sorry."

"Sorry... why... why would you be sorry?" I stared at him. "How... in what... in what way..."

He silenced me with gentle finger to my lips.

"A lot of things make more sense now," he continued. "I knew about Michael, that you both got married young and I know that you were widowed young. I could see the shadows you tried so hard to hide. But not this. I never imagined this. I thought it was just the "normal" single parent struggle I've seen too many of my friends go through. But... this... Christ, I'm so sorry, Rachel."

"It's OK. It's OK. We... we survived, and Helen doesn't know. She can never know. Never. Please. Caleb, whatever else you do, whatever you think of me now, however much I disgust you now that..."

"Rachel," he said, softly interrupting me. "Nothing you say to me tonight leaves this house. You have my word. I swear it. It's not my place to tell this to anyone. It's not my story. It's yours and yours alone. It's nobody's business but yours. Trust is sacred. I'd never betray yours."

I took a painful breath. And then another.

"I was so scared of telling you this," I whispered

"But why?" he breathed, perplexed. "Why do you think I'd react like that to this?"

"I was... scared that you'd be furious that I'd... wasted your time. Because... because you're so decent and wonderful and upright and clean... and I'm... not..."

"Bollocks," he said. "Complete and utter nonsense. Complete, utter, nonsensical, pantomime-level rubbish."

I stared up at him.

"Rachel... you did what you had to do. You provided for your daughter at... at immense cost to yourself. It's clear from what you said and the various hints you've dropped that you felt you had no choice. How on Earth could I blame you for that? How on Earth could I judge you? What right would I even... God, you gave all you had. You did all you could with no thought of yourself. You should be proud, not ashamed. Good God, woman, you're far stronger than any other person I know."

I shuddered as he gently touched my shoulder.

"Anyone who judges you for that is not worth your time," he added. "And I never will."

I scrubbed at my eyes.

"So... I have to ask..." he said.

"Yes?" I managed, dreading the question that I felt sure was coming.

"Is that everything you want to tell me?"

"... everything?" I repeated, confused, staring up at him, unsure what he meant.

"Are there any more skellingtons in the closets?" he said, mouth curling upwards in an unbearably gentle smile.

"No," I whispered. "Just this. Just two years of... this... before I somehow through... sheer dumb luck dug... our way out..."

"Okay then."

"How... how is this so simple for you? How?"

He smiled sadly.

"Because life happens, Rachel. And if there's one thing I've learned it's to take notice of what's important. You're important. You're extremely important to me. I hate that this happened to you. It... it fills me with anger, but it angers me because I can see the scars it's left on you. I just hope..."

"You just hope... what?"

He sighed. "I hope... that I'll get a chance to help... make this less of a burden for you. Not help you forget, but... move on from it?"

I shuddered, sniffing hard. I reached out, found his hand, clenched it hard in mine as I scrubbed at my eyes with my arm. "I'm a mess. Christ, I'm a disaster. Sorry. Sorry for... unloading like this. I'm so sorry."

"That, Rachel Fielding, is one thing you will never, ever have to ask me to forgive."

"Caleb," I managed, as my throat closed up.

"Yes?"

"... can you hold me again?"

So he did.

.:.

I sat, red eyed and raw-nosed, watching him as he cleaned up after our impromptu scavenger-hunt supper. And I pondered the utter strangeness of the evening; pondered how my terrible burden of shame had barely made him blink - how he'd labelled it as part of me and brushed it aside and not even tried to pry into the whos and wheres and whats and how oftens...

God, he was a special breed...

As if he could read my mind he glanced over his shoulder, and I tried to hide my face behind my second glass of wine.

"I can tell when you're dwelling on things, you know. You've got a clear tell."

"Do I?"

"Yes. You tap your feet."

I crossed my ankles self-consciously.

"Sorry," he added.

"No... it's OK. I... I'm just feeling really... unsteady right now. Like I'm walking on quicksand. Completely dream state. Nothing feels real."

"I can imagine. Catharsis can be that way."

I set my wine aside and slumped down on his counter top, resting my chin on my crossed arms. "It's... so strangely and wonderfully comfortable to just sit here, watching you and being with you. Thank you for being so... calm about all this."

"Stop thanking me," he growled, "or I'm going to start invoking forfeits."

"Uh huh."

"I'm serious. I like you, Rachel. A lot. More than a lot. And... we've both seen enough of life to grow... a bit more accepting, I imagine. So stop thanking me for the weathering that experience and time have done to me. It's not my doing. It's just what I am."

"You're not weathered. You're lovely and sweet and wonderful."

He grinned down at me. "Put that in writing for when I put my foot in it at some point in the future."

"Oh it will take a lot to get you in trouble with me right now," I countered softly. "You've given me my first sliver of peace in more years than I can bear to think about."

"Hopefully I can continue that winning streak then," he said.

"I suspect you'll be just fine," I breathed. Then I caught myself yawning, and flushed at his soft chuckle.

"Sorry," I whispered. "Catharsis is exhausting, and clearly I needed a good cry tonight."

"Move to the couch if you like," he said. "I'll finish up here."

"Will you come and join me when you're done?"

"Yes," he smiled.

"I'll hold you to that, you know."

I levered myself off the stool and stumbled my way slowly to his living room, where I slumped down onto the battered but extraordinarily comfortable sofa. I kicked off my sneakers and tucked my feet up under the thin blanket, then leaned into the corner.

I stared at the riot of clutter around me, then snuggled down further into the fabric and pulled the blanket up under my chin as I listened to him clattering around his kitchen.

Soon enough he joined me, carrying refilled glasses for both of us. "Wasn't sure you wanted more, but the bottle was open anyway," he said.

"If I have any more I'll start making unwise decisions," I said. "So best you give it to me so I can get started on that."

He snorted and handed me my glass, then took up station in the opposite corner of the couch. I eyed him, then extended my legs and rested them across his lap. I watched him through slitted eyes, and took a slow sip of my wine as he almost idly reached out to touch my foot.

Long-forgotten thoughts were shifting in my mind. I was acutely aware of him, of how handsome he was, how gentle, and of how good it felt to be touched again - how nice it was to be caressed with no expressed expectations or overt intent.

"I could grow to like being like this with you," I said softly, after some time.

He smiled. "Funny. I was thinking something very similar. You're a wonderfully easy woman to be quiet with; I like that."

"I guess we both have busy internal monologues."

"Mine's pantomime, mostly," he said wryly.

He shifted slightly as I arched my foot and pressed down on his thigh; I smiled behind my wineglass, enjoying the way his fingers tightened slightly on my leg, conscious of the warmth of his hand on me and enjoying the almost-forgotten slow heat of desire building deep in my belly.

I approved of the way he'd carelessly rolled his sleeves back over his forearms, and the way his shirt collar gaped open against his shadowy stubble. I leaned back more, eased more of myself onto him, and watched, amused, as he refused the temptation to put his hand anywhere but where it already was.

"Caleb," I said, softly.

"Yes?"

"What are you thinking?"

"Of how nice this is."

"Of how nice what is?"

"Just sitting, feeling you against me."

"Yes," I agreed. "It is nice."

"It's been a long time since a woman was this close to me," he said.

"Really?" I said, intrigued. "A good looking man like you?"

He flushed, and I laughed, delighted by his reaction. I raised my knee slightly, put the sole of a foot to his thigh, and enjoyed the little shudder he gave as I pressed gently against him.

"Rachel... are you toying with me?" he said.

"Maybe just a little bit. It's... been a long time for me, too. I'm feeling things that... that I'd forgotten I could feel. It's... nice to feel them again."

He met my gaze levelly, and grinned. "By all means, then, continue."

I laughed, and set my wine on a side table. I lifted my legs free of him and turned around on the couch, moving in close to him. I stared up at him, wondering if I was brave enough to kiss him yet, before deciding I wasn't and simply curling up against him. He put his arm gently around me and pulled me against his chest, and I tucked my face into his neck with a soft sigh.

"Can you be... patient? With me?" I breathed.

"Do you really need to ask me that?" he answered.

"Yes."

"Then, yes, I can. However long you need, and even if you decide you don't want... this."

"Want... what?"

"Me," he said simply.

I wrapped my arm around his neck, pulled myself in closer. "You've given me peace and acceptance," I whispered. "You're delicious. And hot. And gentle. I want you. Really, I do. I'm just..."

"Terrified?" he guessed.

I nodded against his neck. "Yes. I haven't been with anyone since... since I stopped... and I don't know how I'll react to... to it... and..."

He tightened his arm around me. "When you've decided, I'll be here."

"This is a scarily adult conversation," I said, through the looming threat of tears. I pulled away and wiped my eyes once more.

"Good things come to those who wait," he intoned, and I snorted and buried my face against him again, content to just be there, content to just feel him breathing.

"Caleb?" I asked, some time later.

"Yes?"

"Can I..."

"What?"

"Can I spend the night? I... I don't want to be alone tonight. Not now. I know it's a lot to ask but... but can... can I... fall asleep next to you? I promise to behave."

His gentle smile was all the answer I needed.

.:.

"Rachel?" he said, through the door.

"Uh huh?"

"I've got a tee-shirt for you to sleep in if you like."

I made sure the towel was preserving my modesty and opened the bathroom door. I smiled gratefully up at him. "You're so sweet. Thank you."

"It's partly self-preservation," he said, wryly. "It's one of Grant's so it will fit you better than mine would, but it's long enough that it will hide what it needs to hide."

"Self-preservation, hmm?"

"Alas, yes," he sighed. Then he gave me a lecherous grin. "I am a dirty old man, after all."

"Two of those titles fit you, but old certainly doesn't. You're definitely a man, though," I said, dropping my eyes downwards with a knowing grin.

"Sorry," he muttered, flushing red. "As I said..."

"It's been a while," I agreed.

"I'll let you finish up," he said, clearly embarrassed.

"Caleb?"

"Mm?"

I stepped forward to him, rose up on my toes, and kissed his lips gently. Then I leaned in against him and let out a shuddering breath.

"Don't be awkward around me," I stammered through my sudden nerves. "And don't think for even a second that I don't appreciate it. It's nice to be... to be wanted by someone for... for more than..."

"Shh," he whispered. "Don't. I know."

"No, I need to say this. This can't be something we don't talk about, ever. OK?"

I pulled back, looked up at him. "If you can't be open with me about this then it won't work. I need to be able to... to talk about these things to you. I need to have you to talk to about them."

"OK", he said. "I won't ever do that again. I'm sorry."

"Please. I... I don't want to be hardcore. I just... I just need you to know how... how scared I am and how much I need your help with this. With... getting past this. So I can... so I can be who you deserve."

"I don't deserve anything, Rachel. But who I want is you. All of you. Exactly as you are."

I stared up at him, studying his face, looking for any sign that he was toying with me.

There was none.

I swallowed, stepped back, stared up at him as I undid the towel; I heard the soft sound he made as I let it fall open so that he could see me.

"God, you're beautiful," he said in a half-strangled voice, as he struggled hard not to let his eyes drop downwards.

"I don't think you'll ever know just how much I needed to hear you say that. You can look, Caleb. I want you to. You have... free reign while I dry myself. I... I like that you're looking at me. I... it feels good to know that you want me. So, please, look," I said.

And I flushed hot as he leaned back against the wall and did just that.

The little groan he let out as I dried between my legs really was quite sweet, as was the sad, theatrical sigh he let out when I hid myself under the blue cotton tee-shirt he had brought for me.

The bulge of his crotch was very, very hard to ignore as I embraced him.

.:.

We lay side by side, staring awkwardly upwards at the barely-visible ceiling. I was intensely conscious of his gentle breathing beside me, as well as of the both pleasant and uncomfortable dampness between my legs. He'd also elected to sleep in a tee-shirt and boxers, something he'd confessed was totally alien to his normal bachelor nudity.

And that mental image had not helped me at all.

He shifted beside me; I felt his hand moving under the covers. I moved my own, took his in mine, and was comforted by the gentle squeeze he gave me.

"Well, this is nice," I said, and he laughed softly.

I rolled over onto my side to face him, staring at the patch of darker shadow that was him. Then I let his hand go and moved mine to his chest, where I curled my fingers gently over and into the thin fabric of his shirt.

He shifted again; I felt his arm against me, and I lifted myself on an elbow so he could get his arm under my neck. I settled down, head pillowed on him, enjoying the way he pulled me closer.

"Trouble sleeping?" he whispered.

"A bit. You?"

"Oh, you know. There appears to be a smoking hot woman in bed next to me and I'm not quite sure how that happened. So my body's going a bit mental. Brain doesn't know what to do with itself either."

"What smoking hot woman?"

"Don't be silly, Rachel. You know what I mean."

I grinned, eased closer. "God, you're so nice and warm," I whispered. I pushed my thigh against him, enjoying the slight catch in his breath. "Sorry. I know I'm being terrible. I'll stop."

"No. Please don't. I'm... I'm actually enjoying this."

"Being tortured?"

"Teased, I think, is the word."

"Mm. If I wanted to tease you I'd tell you things."

"What things?"

"Things like... how wet and aroused I am right now."

"Oh, you minx," he groaned. "Right, well, there goes any hope of sleep now."

I nuzzled in closer.

"Being around you is relaxing me in all sorts of ways. It's waking me up in all sorts of ways. I'm thinking about things that I haven't in... well, in years, really."

"What kind of things?" he whispered.

"Like... how I should have just told you to sleep nude. If you want to, you should, you know. I don't mind. I might just..."

"Just... what..."

"Struggle," I whimpered.

"Do you... want me to?"

"Yes... no... I don't know... perhaps. I feel... like even if I don't, it's your bed and your house and..."

"You get the casting vote," he said. "I'd feel quite a bit more comfortable but..."

"Then do it. If... if I get uncomfortable I'll tell you, OK?"

"OK."

I felt him shift and squirm his legs; I felt his underwear sliding down his thighs and let out a breathy moan as I felt him kick it free. His skin was warm against my thigh.

"OK?" he breathed.

"Uh huh. Sort of..."

"Can I have my arm quickly?"

I lifted myself, and tried not to squirm as he struggled out of his shirt and cast it aside.

The heat of his skin was intense; my shirt had shifted up and a significant stretch of him was hot against my belly. I couldn't help myself, I lifted my leg and moved it over onto him, lifting it until I could feel the hard bar of his rigid penis against my inner thigh.

I moaned softly, and he grunted as he pulled me hard against him.

"Sorry," I panted. "Sorry. Trying so hard to be good. Trying so hard. But you're so delicious and you feel so good against me..."