Disclaimer, datclaimer, don't need all doze stinkin' claimers!

"R" in the ABC Series. This is technically, actually, the very first TS story I ever wrote, so please be gentle. Many thanks to qwertyuiop for betaing this many moons ago and making it much better than it started out being.

This ended up just the tiniest bit angsty, I think. Didn't mean for it to be.

I'm waiting. I'm sure he'll come tonight. He'll creep up the stairs, and watch me. Sit on the floor by my bed, and watch me sleep. Just to be close. We need to be close, when we've had a bad one. And God knows today was a bad one. A drive-by that usually only happens in L.fucking A., not Cascade, Washington. One dead little girl and another wounded. A neighborhood devastated and a family destroyed. It's so fucking hard when it's a kid.

He'll wait till he's sure I'm asleep. It's hard to stay still, to be so quiet, to be so patient, waiting for him. But I've made up my mind. I'll be awake this time, when he comes.

I hear him making a cup of tea, the sound of the gas flame catching and flaring. Grabbing the kettle off the burner, before it shrieks to a boil. Adding a tea bag. It's jasmine, this time. He moves back to the living room, socks making scuffing sounds on the hard floor. He pulls the afghan from the back of the sofa and wraps himself up in it. I can hear his hair catching and pulling against the soft wool.

He sighs. He's waiting, too. Waiting to make sure I'm asleep before he comes up the stairs. Waiting till the traffic has thinned, and the neighbor's kids are in bed, long after bedtime stories are over. After phones have stopped ringing, and showers have stopped running, till the new lovers next door have stopped talking about bills and wedding plans and birth control and started talking about love and need and forever.

I hear him sigh again. Turn the pages of a book. I know he's not really reading it, it takes too long for the pages to turn. He reads fast, can finish a book in hours, not days. But tonight, it's slow. He's thinking, just holding the book because it comforts him. God, please let him come. And please let there be in his eyes what he'll see in mine. When he comes.

I'm ready this time.

^^^^

I'm thinking. I think he knows. I think he might be waiting. I think he caught me, the last time, maybe every time. When he went up to bed tonight, he stopped at the foot of the stairs, turned, and watched me for just a few seconds. Was it an invitation? Should I go?

I'm sure he's asleep by now, but I was sure all the other times, too. I just need to check on him, to see, to make sure. Make sure he's OK. He takes it so hard when it's kids.

He's quiet, sleeping? I'll wait another hour. Till all the neighbors are home and the elevator stops clanging in the hall and people quit dumping garbage down the chute. Till the news is over and computers are powered down. Till it's really, really quiet. I'll wait till the deep, dark hour of the night, when there's nothing left in our world but us. When no one else's lives are intruding on ours. When if he truly is waiting, like I think he is, he'll see the truth in my eyes and the love in my heart.

I hope the smell of the tea didn't wake him. I always catch the kettle before it boils. That screech would wake the dead, not to mention a Sentinel. Boiling water scorches tender herb tea, anyway. God, what am I thinking? Worried about scorching the tea when I'm about to do what I'm about to do....

It's later. I think I dozed. Or zoned. Ha! The tea is cold and the building is quiet, finally quiet. I go to the stairs and look up. I can't see anything from here, but I look and listen and wait. Then I go. Up.

I pause at the top. He's absolutely still. Sprawled across the bed, face turned toward the stairs, pale skin glowing softly in the dark, left hand reaching out towards me. Oh god, he's beautiful. I pad silently across the room to the side of his bed. I look down at him and he's looking back at me. Oh god, he's looking back at me. And I see in his eyes what I want him to see in mine. He smiles, pushes the sheet and blanket back, moves over toward the other side of the bed then holds one hand out to me. Inviting me in.

And we're ready. We're finally, finally, ready.

End Ready by Pink Dragon: pinkdragon456@aol.com

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