Peter brought Valerie back to the table—eventually—and introduced her to Mags; Valerie apologized for the scene she'd created, but Mags dismissed the notion with a casual wave and a warm smile.
"I understand why you reacted that way," she assured her. "We were getting along really well, and it probably looked a little strange."
"Well," Valerie hedged sheepishly. "I think I over-reacted. I should've asked first and hit later."
"Tell me about it," Peter chimed in, giving as exaggerated wince as he rubbed his cheek.
"Anyway," Mags continued, giving him a quelling look. "We were talking about how to get two of the most stubborn, hard-headed people walking the earth to admit they were wrong."
"You're not asking much, are you?" Valerie grinned, raising both eyebrows questioningly.
With her help, they continued fine-tuning their little conspiracy, and after the plan had been agreed upon and finalized, Peter flew Valerie home, then touched down neatly on the verandah of the pad. He slid open the door and walked inside—
And was immediately pounced on.
"What's going on?" Mike demanded sharply, dropping one hand on Peter's shoulder, his brows snapping together in a puzzled frown as he glared down at Peter.
"What do you mean what's going on?" Peter gasped, one hand flying to his chest, his heart pounding at the sudden shock.
"Peter," Mike began, steering him by the shoulder to sit on the windowseat; Peter could tell by Mike's firm, inexorable grip that he didn't have a choice in the matter, so he allowed himself to be led. "Peter, you've got your shields clamped down so tight." Mike shook his head. "I can't—I can't sense you anymore—here's some kind of wall."
"I know," Peter replied calmly. "It's up for a reason. I can't talk about it right now. It's...personal."
"Is something wrong?" he pressed. "Is there something goin on I should know about?"
"No," came the unruffled response. "It's something you shouldn't know about. That's why the shields are up."
Mike huffed a little in frustration, the answer obviously not pleasing him in the slightest. "Peter, we haven't had any secrets since we became linked! This—this isn't—this doesn't feel right—" Words failed him, and he resorted to something he'd seen Peter do a million times.
Mike looked directly at Peter and deliberately tried a blatant manipulation, making his eyes wide, soft and silently pleading.
Puppy dog eyes.
Peter grinned, but didn't relent one bit. "Nice try."
Mike's lips thinned in a displeased line, and the puppy dog eyes instantly became brown flint. "I don't like this," he growled. "After nearly a year of complete openness, this seems—unnatural. I feel like you're shuttin’ me out."
The smile spread, taking on a hint of mischief. "I know," he conceded gently. "It feels strange for me too. But this is something very personal, and I just need some time—"
"Is something goin on with Valerie? Are you two—?"
"Once I'm able to talk about it, believe me, the shields will go down," Peter assured him kindly.
And they'll stay down, he sent, dropping his shields just long enough to let Mike feel his sincerity before raising them again before Mike could take advantage of the situation and probe for information or before something accidentally leaked out.
Although Mike's expression was still shuttered and bordered on sullen, Peter felt a tiny thread of reluctant acceptance snake through his mind, and he smiled and nodded before standing up and gliding up the stairs to talk to Micky.
"No," Mags replied firmly, ignoring the soulful puppy dog eyes Isabel was turning on her. "I told you it's nothing to worry about, and I meant it. I'll tell you about it when I'm ready."
"But Mags," Isabel started in again, dropping the wounded act and letting her irritation show again. "I don't get this. You've never tried to shield from me before. What's going on now that you feel like you've got to hide?"
"Something personal," she replied, taking refuge in vagueness. She didn't want to say anything that might rouse Isabel's suspicions any more than they already were. "I'm just not ready to talk about it yet. I need to sort through it by myself first. But you'll be the first to know," she added, which, she thought with a burst of silent glee, was nothing more than the simple truth.
The tell-tale stubborn line formed between Isabel's brows, but Mags could see a flicker of hurt lingering deep in her friend's eyes.
"This doesn't feel right," Isabel said softly. "You've always been the one person I never had to hide anything from, and I thought you didn't feel like you had to hide from me."
"I don't," Mags insisted. "At least," she amended, "not forever. It's like I said, I just need some time to think before I share it with anyone else. Even you."
"Okay."
The word was a soft concession, and despite the lingering obstinacy in her expression, Isabel was clearly accepting Mags' explanation.
For the moment, anyway, and Mags was exceedingly grateful that they'd arranged their little plan for that very night; if they'd tried to drag the scheme out much longer, she had no idea if she'd be able to hide the truth under her friend's persistent scrutiny!
Isabel glanced up from her typewriter and scowled at the sound of insistent knocking on the apartment door; she looked over at Mags' bedroom door, which remained obstinately closed, and she released a beleaguered sigh, determined to be ungracious to whomever was interrupting her.
"May I help you?" She assessed the tall blonde stranger standing in the doorway with a critical eye; she didn't know him, and if it weren't for the garish hippie clothes he was wearing, she would have pegged him for a door-to-door salesman.
He smiled at her then, twin dimples cutting deep grooves in both his cheeks, and were it not for the fact that she was still preoccupied with that idiot Mike Nesmith, she might have been charmed. His blue eyes twinkled as he answered, "That depends. Are you Isabel Evans?"
Suspicious, she sent out a delicate probe, trying to read his intentions, only to be stopped by a very thick shield. That was very odd—normal humans didn't possess shields at all, and now she'd met two young men with unusually strong mental barriers.
"That depends," she retorted, deliberately echoing his words as she folded her arms across her chest. "Who's asking?"
"My name's Peter Tork. I'm Mike's roommate."
"Oh, really?" Her eyes narrowed to dangerous slits, and she had the nearly overwhelming urge to slam the door shut in his face. But he wasn't Mike, and he wasn't the man she was furious with.
"Look," he said quickly. "Mike is completely and utterly miserable. He needs you in his life. He knows that now, and—"
"Well, he should have thought about that before he broke up with me!" she snapped.
But deep down, part of her grabbed his words and clutched them tight, thrilled at the thought that Mike might miss her as much as she missed him.
Peter extended a hand to her. "Can we take a drive?" he asked, his expression abruptly turning somber. "I'd like to talk to you about that."
Isabel hesitated, waging an inner battle; on one hand, she was still angry and hurt over being unceremoniously dumped without just cause, but on the other hand, she knew if Mike made any move toward reconciliation—no matter how slight—she'd probably jump at the chance. Provided he gave her a really good explanation for his behavior first!
"Mags! I'm going for a walk!"
Mags' door finally opened, and she poked her head out, fastening her auburn curls at the base of her neck. "All right," she said, smiling and waving cheerfully. "Have a good time!" But as soon as Isabel's back was turned, her sunny grin became conspiratorial, and she gave Peter a thumbs-up.
He winked at her over Isabel's head in return as he placed his hand on the small of Isabel's back, guiding her out the door and shutting it behind them. They walked in silence to the car, and Isabel remained quiet even after they were on the road, waiting for Peter to broach whatever topic he wanted to discuss. But he kept driving, still not saying anything, and eventually, she gave a mental shrug and turned her attention out the window, leaning her chin on her hand and watching the rows of houses as they sped by. Finally he made a left turn onto Beechwood, and she sat up straight, frowning a little.
Wasn't that the street Mike said he lived on...?
It wasn't long before Peter turned into the driveway of a ramshackle ocean-front house, got out and skirted around the car to open her door for her; she gave him a puzzled look as she got out of the car, but he merely smiled and still said nothing, simply leading her around the house towards the beach.
"The beach?" she asked, bewildered by this strange turn of events. "Why are you taking me to—?"
"You'll see," Peter replied enigmatically. "Please—trust me. You'll like this, I promise."
Mike shot one harmless laser after another into the sky, trying to hit the swooping, diving figure above him. Finally he gave up and sprawled on the sand, leaning back on his hands and stretching his legs out in front of him, disgusted by his own poor performance.
Micky touched down and knelt in the sand beside him. "Man, you're really off today. Usually your aim's about eighty or ninety percent accurate. It's like your mind's a million miles away!"
"Not a million," Mike replied softly. "Just a few." He shot Micky an annoyed look. "Why'd you want to have war-games in the middle of the afternoon anyhow? What if we'd gotten caught?"
Micky grinned cheerfully in response. "Then I'd have made us invisible, and they would have doubted their sanity," he retorted blithely.
"Hey, guys!" A new voice brought them both to full alert, and they glanced up to see a familiar figure scaling the dunes, a smaller, clearly female figure in tow.
"Hi, Peter!" Micky called, smiling cheerfully as he stood up and dusted off his pants.
"There's my other room-mate," Peter addressed the stranger accompanying him, waving as they came around the high bend. "Hi, Micky!"
"Who's your friend?"
Mike rolled his eyes and looked away; he was not in the mood to meet one of Peter's weird hippie friends.
"Mike, I think you need to at least say hello to this one," Micky said in a low voice meant for his ears alone.
At Peter's nod—their pre-arranged signal—Micky reached down and grabbed Mike's hands, hauling him upright. Mike was too surprised by the unexpected action to balk, and he didn't resist as Micky draped one arm across his shoulders and turned him around to face the newcomers.
Two jaws slammed to the ground, two pairs of eyes widened.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Mike and Isabel demanded in unison, glaring daggers at each other.
Peter lowered his shields to normal levels, and Mike snapped his head around, fixing him with the full force of a patented Nesmith Wrathful Glare. "You were behind this!"
"Mags was too. I'd bet money on it," Isabel ground out, her hands clenched into tiny fists at her sides. "Wait'll I get my hands on her..."
Still concentrating all his mental energy on letting Peter know just how little he appreciated this stunt, Mike scowled fiercely. "Join the club, take a number, get in line..."
"You two have to talk," Peter said, his tone no-nonsense as he folded his arms across his chest and matched Mike frown for frown. "And we're not gonna take no for an answer."
"Tough!" Isabel announced.
Pivoting smartly on her heel, she prepared to march away in a spectacular, dignified Grand Exit—which was abruptly ruined when she ran smack-dab into something that felt like a wall, nearly breaking her own nose and knocking her backwards in the process. She reached out hesitantly, feeling something warm and definitely solid—but there was nothing there! She whirled to face the group of young men again, suddenly noticing the one called Micky—the intense concentration on his open face, the widening of his almond-shaped eyes. She sensed something about him...Strange...
"Mick!" Mike hissed a warning through clenched teeth, but Micky simply shrugged and smiled.
"Like Peter said," he replied calmly. "You need to talk. And no is not an option."
Realizing he'd had been out-maneuvered by his so-called "friends," Mike grimaced, then grudgingly turned to Isabel, regarding her with a guarded expression. "Looks like we're gonna talk."
Her expression as she looked up at him was equally guarded, and Peter and Micky exchanged aggrieved looks, both of them in complete rapport at the moment, unified in their mutual annoyance at this pair of stiff-necked, hard-headed mules.
"This could take a while," Micky muttered, rolling his eyes.
"You keep them in place while I get the camping equipment," Peter replied, and Micky quickly covered his mouth to stifle the giggle that rose to his lips.
"So talk," Isabel said, folding her arms across her chest and adopting a deliberately belligerent pose. She was careful to keep at least five feet of space between them; she didn't trust herself at close range, feeling certain that the slightest touch could easily shatter her resolve where he was concerned.
A flash of irritation crossed his face as he glared down at her. "You're not makin this very easy," he retorted sharply, and she simply gave him a calm, even stare in response.
"I don't really think I'm obligated to, all things considered," she said, her dark eyes never leaving his; a faint tinge of pink colored his cheeks, and he dropped his gaze to the sand at his feet.
"Okay, yeah," he conceded, shoving his hands in his back pockets as he studied his boots with more attention than they warranted. "I had that comin."
"All right, so now we've established who's at fault here, what have you got to say?" she prompted, hoping he'd be able to drop his pride long enough to give them a second chance.
"Who said I had anything to say? This wasn't even my idea!" he countered, his mouth set in an obstinate line that Peter and Micky immediately recognized, and as one they groaned and dropped their heads in their hands.
"Go get the tents and sleeping bags," Micky whispered.
"Well, if you don't have something you want to tell me, then why did Peter come to my apartment and tell me you were a miserable wreck and you regretted breaking up with me?" she demanded, a sudden flare of temper making her eyes snap angrily at him.
"He said that, did he?" Mike was practically breathing fire as he turned to Peter again, who spread his hands, shrugged and tried to look innocent.
"Mags said Isabel was an emotional basket case because she missed you so much," Peter added helpfully.
"What?!" Isabel released an outraged squeak, more determined than ever to murder her room-mate in the most violent, disgusting manner possible.
"Oh, really?" It was Mike's turn to look smug, and he took full advantage of it while Isabel blushed, her features taking on a sullen aspect.
"Oh, for crying out loud!" Micky exclaimed, waving his hands in sheer frustration. "You wereboth miserable without each other! Just admit it and move on!"
The two petulant combatants squared off again, fixing each other with matching stubborn looks as if each were determined not to be the first to back down, and it appeared as if neither were prepared to relent a bit. Then—quite unexpectedly—Mike smiled wryly and shook his head, raising both hands as if in surrender.
"Looks like we've had our own feelings used against us," he said, his tone betraying his amusement.
"Indeed." She nodded, giving Peter a disapproving look before turning back to Mike.
"So..." He extended one hand palm up. "Want to try this again?"
She hesitated for a moment—but only for a moment—then she stepped close and took his hand, lacing her fingers with his, feeling the warm, solid strength there—and that odd tingle that warned her she probably needed to exert better control over her shields.
"I take it this is a yes," he teased, giving her fingers a slight squeeze, and she smiled shyly up at him and nodded.
Of course, she still had to tell him the truth about herself and her powers...
Micky gave a satisfied nod and dissolved his shields, and Peter smiled, pleased with the results of their little conspiracy. It may have been sneaky and under-handed, but it worked!
All better? he sent, unable to keep a smug smile from curving his lips.
There was no visible reaction on Mike's face, but a wave of contentment washed through Peter's mind, an undercurrent of worry beneath it, and Peter knew what Mike was thinking: this meant he'd have to tell her the truth now.
But their tranquility was not to last. Without warning, the idyllic scene was shattered by the unmistakable report of a gunshot, and they all instinctively leaped backwards as the sand between them burst upward, sprayed everywhere by the near-miss.
They glanced wildly around, trying to pinpoint the source of the shot -- a man, naked from the waist up who was even now reloading a pistol and grinning maniacally.
"Are those wings?" Isabel breathed, her eyes wide and round as saucers as she pointed at their attacker. Those couldn't be real! Surely they were not, and yet he was stripped to the waist, and there was no visible harness.
"Farnsworth!" Mike hissed between clenched teeth, dropping her hand as he took a menacing step forward, ready to retaliate.
Isabel whirled to face him. "You know him?"
Without a word, he grabbed her arm and hauled her over to the boardwalk, positioning her safely out of the line of fire behind a thick support post.
"Stay here," he ordered, ignoring her protests and questions. "And whatever you do, do not freak out! I'll explain everything later. I promise." He gave her a regretful look before bending to kiss her quickly. "I didn't want you to find out like this."
Find out WHAT? Isabel wondered as she peered around the splintery wood post, watching him dash back to his friends, who were arguing with the birdman. Even Peter, who seemed so calm and kind, looked furious, and she couldn't begin to imagine what kind of explanation would cover this!
The birdman suddenly raised his gun—Isabel gasped, her hands flying to her mouth in horror as he aimed right at Peter—
And then everything fell into place.
"Farnsworth!" Mike yelled, distracting him long enough to send a pulsing red beam shooting from his hand, striking the gun and knocking it from the birdman's grasp.
He's like me! she thought, her mind reeling with this unexpected shock. THIS was what he was hiding! He's got powers too! She'd never imagined, never dreamed that she'd ever find someone else like her in the world; she had always thought she was the only person born different in this way, but no! She wasn't alone after all!
It all made sense now; he thought she was normal, and he was probably afraid she'd reject him out of fear when she found out about his powers.
But now wasn't the time to think on it, she admonished herself sternly. Not when there was a fight going on!
The birdman keened with fury and roared toward Peter, whose eyes glowed a shade of blue lighter than his natural colour as he flashed into the air, dodging the attack. Micky also soared into the air and out of danger—
And Mike scrambled, obviously the only one of them land-bound as Farnsworth hit the beach and scooped up the gun, aiming for Mike—the nearest target—this time.
"Micky! I could use a shield here!"
Farnsworth fired—and the bullet bounced off of something surrounding Mike!
"Thanks, man!" Mike yelled, firing another laser at Farnsworth, who dodged but still relentlessly pursued his new prey.
"No problem!" Micky shouted, touching down on the beach as he turned to focus his shields on Peter.
However, distracted by the excitement of the battle and trying to protect Mike, he forgot to shield himself. Farnsworth lunged suddenly, cracking the gun against the side of Micky's head, and he fell to the sand limp and unconscious.
Meanwhile, Mike had turned his back on Farnsworth, sprinting towards the boardwalk again, and Isabel shook her head, realizing he was intent on getting her out of danger, but trying to get him focused on the battle at hand again.
Peter was baiting Farnsworth, taunting and teasing him with both his words and his power, but Farnsworth all but ignored him, intent on getting revenge on the one who had ruined his plan of attack; he brought the gun up again—
Mike grabbed for his right shoulder and went down, gasping in pain.
"No!" Isabel screamed. The danger to herself, the insane mutate with the gun—all disappeared. All she could see was Mike lying on the ground, his blood staining the sand. She darted out from her hiding place and threw herself on the sand beside Mike; he hauled himself into a sitting position, pushing her away with his left hand.
"Get outta here," he commanded, but she shook her head obstinately.
"Not yet," she retorted.
Ignoring his increasingly angry demands that she get right back to safety where she belonged, she placed her hand over the bullet wound, closing her eyes. A aura of pure white light radiated around her wrist and hand, and energy poured from her fingers into Mike.
Blood vessels knit themselves together under her touch; his shattered nerve endings hushed their screaming as her gentle ministrations staunched the pain as well as the flow of blood from the injury. The bullet was pushed out as the wound healed from the inside out until it fell and rolled harmlessly onto the sand.
Mike stared at her, his eyes glazed with shock. "You—you too?"
She nodded, smiling slightly. "Me too."
A rush of air overhead alerted her that Farnsworth had not given up—he was coming back to try again, taking to the air to do it this time; she glanced up to see him hovering just above them, his face contorted with rage and lunacy as he took aim once more—directly at Mike's heart.
Without even thinking, she threw herself across him, knocking him to the ground in the process; Mike grabbed her—tried to push her away—somewhere nearby Micky screamed a warning—and the last bullet from Farnsworth's gun slammed into Isabel's back.
A fleeting look of surprise and pain crossed her face as her body jerked forward from the impact, and then she crumpled in Mike's arms.
"...no..." he whispered, cradling her close as if he could keep the life in her that way, but he was terrified that it was leaking from her along with the thin trail of blood that ran from the corner of her mouth.
Farnsworth...
He did this to her...
Settling her gently on the soft sand, he scrambled to his feet, screaming a challenge: "No! You son of a bitch!" And he fired two laser beams at Farnsworth.
Purplish-red.
Full strength.
Micky opened his eyes and groaned slightly. He raised his head, peering through bleary eyes—which instantly grew wide with alarm when he saw the colour of the beam Mike was firing. A quick glance around showed him Isabel's prone form on the sand, and put two and two together.
Concentrating intently, he made Farnsworth invisible just as Peter telekinetically shoved Farnsworth out of the beams' paths; then Peter shot toward Mike, who was bellowing incoherently, firing beam after beam at where Farnsworth had been.
Mike! Peter sent, trying desperately to calm his friend down before he succeeded in doing something rash. Mike this won't help Isabel!
For a moment, Peter was afraid anger had taken control so firmly in Mike's mind that nothing else was getting through, but then Mike lowered his hands, turning to look at Peter; his expression was unreadable, but his eyes were filled with pain.
"I just got a second chance. Why did that bastard take it away?"
"He...he didn't..."
Both Mike and Peter whirled around to see Isabel, still lying on the sand, but alive, and Mike was unable to hold back the joyful cry that sprang to his lips.
"'M...healin'... myself..." she gasped out. "I'll be...fine." She grimaced, the wound still fresh enough to be excruciating. "Eventually," she added.
"What do you need?" Mike asked as he knelt beside her, his features suffused with relief. "What can I do?"
"Take me home..." she instructed. "No...no hospital. Wouldn't understand. I need..." She sucked in a deep breath, flinching as she felt a broken rib creaking back together again. "Need time and rest."
"You got it."
With that, he gathered her in his arms as carefully as he could and carried her back to the car.
Micky and Peter got the gun away from Farnsworth and, holding him in an invisible straightjacket, they glided him to prison, Peter with the gun tucked in his belt.
The next day, Mike called to check on Isabel first thing in the morning, and Mags told him that she had slept soundly ever since he'd brought her home the day before, and she still wasn't awake yet.
"Isabel said that was to be expected," Mags assured him. "She said she'd be in something like a healing trance until she was well enough to be up and around again. I'll let you know as soon as she's awake, all right?"
But as it turned out, Isabel called herself around four o'clock that afternoon, sounding a little groggy, but he was happy to be hearing her voice at all after what had happened with Farnsworth.
"You can come over if you like," she said without him having to drop a single hint. He didn't want to risk overtaxing her, so he wasn't going to push, but since she'd invited him... "Mags volunteered to disappear for a while," she added, a note of amusement in her voice.
Ten minutes later, he was at her door; Mags answered his knock, and as he entered, she exited, winking at him in passing; Isabel was curled up on the couch, still looking pale, and there were dark rings under her eyes, but she smiled warmly when she glanced up and saw him walk in.
"Are you sure you're up for company? You look terrible," he said bluntly.
"Thanks, lovely to see you too," she replied dryly. "Don't worry, it's just after-effects from the healing, not the wound itself. It took a lot of energy, so I just need to take it easy for a day or two till I get back to full strength."
Apparently satisfied by her explanation, Mike settled on the couch, holding out one arm in a clear invitation, and Isabel quickly accepted, nestling close by his side as he draped his arm across her shoulders.
"So it seems you have your second chance after all," she said softly.
"So it seems."
He reached out and captured her chin, tilting her face up; their eyes met and locked, a world of emotion expressed through silent communion. Bending his head slightly, he touched his lips to hers, lightly at first, nothing deeper than the almost chaste good-night kisses they'd previously shared.
But things had changed—they had changed—transformed and deepened not only by their mutual longing to be together, but also by the understanding of one another that their shared abilities had given them. Facing danger together had also bonded them, strengthening their trust; they both knew they could count on the other for support and protection. Now they also knew their relationship was not destined to be a mere casual fling; once agreed upon, it would be serious. Perhaps lasting. Now was the moment for them to turn back if they meant to.
Neither did.
Isabel wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing close against him as he deepened the kiss, taking it beyond the innocent level they had known before. He coaxed her lips apart with his tongue, exploring her mouth, tasting its sweetness at his leisure, and she imitated his actions, wanting to be an equal participant, wanting to please him as much as he was pleasing her.
Slowly he lowered her to the couch, stretching his body along the length of her own, and without even thinking twice about it, she wrapped her legs around his hips, imprisoning him against her; he moved from her lips to her neck, leaving a trail of fiery kisses along the way, searching for the sensitive patches along her throat, letting her breathy gasps guide him, pausing to nibble and taste each vulnerable spot as he found it. Impulsively, she lowered her shields, enveloping him in a blanket of emotion—her emotion—showing him without words exactly the effect he was having on her.
She felt him jump as if he were startled, and he raised his head; she opened her eyes to meet his, which were fixed on her, clearly questioning. Instead of answering aloud, she simply nodded and dismissed her shields entirely, projecting the growing affection that she was as yet afraid to call love, the bittersweet longing she'd felt while they were separated that lingered with her still, and the pure, keen passion that was now setting her blood on fire. She allowed him unlimited access to all that, and she was rewarded with a flood of emotion from him in return.
His affection was equally as strong, his desire for her equally as intense—and she knew what it meant that he was willing to share any of this with her. He guarded his secrets as closely as she guarded her own, but despite the fact that she might later regret it, she wanted to share something of herself with him now, to show him the depths of her trust.
She felt a sudden burst of passion explode from him, and then he kissed her again, but this time with none of the leisureliness of before; no, this time was raw and fierce, and she matched his eagerness with a fervor she hadn't realized she was capable of. And she deliberately left the channel between them open. He could feel the delight she took in his touch as he slipped his hands beneath her blouse and caressed her bare skin, and he allowed himself to remain open to her as well, letting her know through his reactions—physical and emotional—how the feel of her fingers sifting through his hair sent delicious shivers down his spine, how the sound of her soft moans and the feel of her body moving against his stoked his desire to a fever pitch.
On and on it went until she was barely aware of where her feelings stopped and his began; they were cocooned in an endless cycle of give and take, urging each other on to greater, more intense heights...
"So the police said he'd be taken to the ment—"
Peter stopped mid-word, his fork clattering on the plate as his blue eyes widened. The rush of desire had hit him like a bolt of lightning, and now he felt an all-too-familiar burning in his veins; passion clouded his head until he could barely think straight as he fought to suppress the moans rising in his throat at the exquisite sensations flooding him.
"Peter?" Davy asked, his eyes wide with alarm. "Are you all right?"
Wordlessly, he shook his head and with an uncharacteristic lack of grace, he stumbled to his feet, then took to the air, gliding up the stairs, slamming and locking the door behind him.
He felt invisible fingers sifting through his hair, and though they weren't Valerie's and it wasn't happening to him, his knees almost buckled as he touched down shakily. He collapsed on the bed, closing his eyes as the sensitive skin of his throat began to burn as if scorched by fiery kisses. Longing and desire were coming in waves now, each stronger than the last, threatening to engulf him.
The gentle, tantalizing fingers didn't stop, and Peter reached up, smoothing his open palm over his hair reflexively, unable to hold back a low groan—and instantly stopped, awash with guilt for it. This wasn't his pleasure, and these weren't feelings meant for him at all.
Stop it! he cried mentally. For goodness' sakes, put your shields up—or stop long enough for me to pull MINE down!
????
There was unmistakable annoyance in that wordless question, quickly followed by a ripple of amusement.
I'm glad YOU think it's funny, Peter grumbled, his heart still pounding in his chest. Where was Valerie when he needed her...? Really needed her...?
There came a tiny—very tiny—thread of apology that was still liberally twined with laughter, and then Peter received a vivid image of a door slamming shut, complete with a "do not disturb" sign swinging from the knob.
Don't worry! he replied caustically. I WON'T be dropping in on you any time soon!
Another ribbon of mental laughter, and then Peter felt the familiar empty space in his mind that meant Mike had shielded himself tightly, cutting off any chance of a leak.
Smiling slightly, he threw his own shields into place—and then reached for the phone, dialing with fingers that still trembled.
Valerie opened the door of the Pad, using her key. She glanced around as she walked in. Where is everybody—? she wondered. It wasn't normal for this place to be silent; as long as one of the guys was home, the place was usually jumping with activity of one kind or another.
Suddenly she felt a familiar pull on her body, and she gasped as she was lifted from her feet and telekinetically pulled up the stairs—right into Peter's waiting arms. Immediately he hauled her into the bedroom and slammed the door shut behind them.
"Peter!" she exclaimed. "What's going o—MMMMMmmmmmmm...."
He pulled her into a kiss filled with a fierceness that startled her so much she couldn't immediately react—especially when he flicked his tongue over her closed lips, demanding entrance.
She clamped her lips together and, raising her hands to his chest, pushed at him, trying to put some space between them, but he wouldn't allow it, and his unusual persistence confused her. He'd never acted so aggressive before! He dipped his head, nibbling at her neck as his hands roamed hungrily over her waist and sides.
"Peter," she murmured, "we agreed to wait... It's only three more weeks till the wedding..."
He didn't react verbally, but he whimpered and crushed her closer to him. His lips traveled down the front of her neck as his fingers slid under her miniskirt to caress her thighs.
"Peter!" Valerie shoved him away with a strength she didn't know she possessed. "What has gotten into you?" She looked at him, studying him closely—
And she saw the chocolate brown flecks in his blue eyes.
She smiled, understanding. "You're having trouble disengaging, aren't you?" she asked. "Mike's making out with his girlfriend, and it's bleeding into you."
He nodded mutely, desire raging in his eyes, longing on his face, and she sighed regretfully. At least that explained the strange intensity; she knew she'd never felt that from him before! She hated turning him down—especially when she was feeling her own responses rather strongly!—but this wasn't right for many reasons, and she knew it.
She cupped his chin in her hands and spoke slowly and deliberately. "This. Isn't. You. This desire you feel isn't yours. When it is, call me again." She kissed him lightly, then moved to the door. When her hand was on the knob, she paused and turned. "It's only 21 days, Peter. We can make it."
And she was gone.
Peter keeled over on the bed, shuddering from the feelings surging through his body. It was so strong—so strong—
He got up and staggered toward the bathroom. Once there, he telekinetically turned on the cold water as he undressed...
As annoying as it was, Peter's interruption was probably a good thing, Mike conceded silently. He and Isabel were getting entirely too caught up in their little make-out session, and it would have been too easy to let their emotions carry them farther than she was ready to go. He bent his head to give her one last, lingering kiss, then began untangling himself from her, retreating to one end of the couch just to be on the safe side. He ran a shaky hand through his hair and smiled ruefully. If this was what having an empathic girlfriend was going to be like, he saw a lot of cold showers in his future...
"Well." Isabel curled up on the opposite end of the couch, her eyes round and slightly glazed. "That was...intense."
"How about for the sake of my sanity and water bill you don't drop your shields every time?" he suggested calmly.
"Good idea. Very good idea." She watched him from beneath lowered lashes, her heart still pounding against the walls of her chest. If it's like that between us now, she thought, when we hardly did anything more than kiss, what will it be like when our emotions are stronger? If we ever make love? And the mere idea sent a delicious shiver down her spine.
Just then Mags provided a much needed diversion, rattling her key in the lock and coughing loudly as a "subtle" warning that she was about to walk in.
"Am I interrupting?" she teased, a broad grin wreathing her face as she gazed expectantly at them.
"No, of course not," Isabel replied, summoning up an indignant tone as she stared haughtily at her room-mate. "We're hardly a couple of hormone-crazed teenagers."
"Uh-huh." Mags raised a skeptical eyebrow and crossed her arms. "If that's true, then why are you blushing ten shades of red, and why has he got at least two more shirt buttons unfastened than he did when I left?"
Laughing as Isabel scrambled to come up with a suitable retort to that, Mags flipped through the mail she'd brought in with her, her amusement abruptly fading as she pulled out one particular envelope and discarded the rest on the nearest table. Tearing open one end, she removed the letter inside, her features growing darker and darker with every passing second.
"Mags...? What is it?" Isabel asked, regarding her with concern. Seeing anything that vaguely resembled anger on that face was rare enough that she knew something terribly serious had to be involved.
"We're being evicted!" she exploded, tossing the letter to Isabel so she could read it for herself.
"What?" She snatched the letter and scanned it, her face draining of all color. "They can't do this!"
"Do what?" Mike demanded, and Isabel handed him the letter to read as well.
"The apartment building's been sold, and the new owners are going to tear it down. We've all got two weeks to get out," Mags explained tersely.
"Two weeks..." Isabel shook her head. "How can they expect us to find a new place and get moved out in that amount of time? Places are hard enough to find as it is, and in our price range--well, it's going to be nearly impossible!"
Mike perused the letter, and when he looked back up at them again, his expression was thoughtful.
"I've got a suggestion," he said slowly. "If you're interested."
"At this point, I'm interested in anything that doesn't involve me living in a cardboard box!" Mags declared. "What is it?"
"Well, you might like the box better," he chuckled softly. "The same guy who used to own our place owns the house next door, and it's up for rent. He's not much of a landlord, but the rent's cheap."
Mags and Isabel exchanged looks.
"How cheap?" they asked in unison.
Mike named a price, and Mags whistled, her eyebrows climbing into her hairline.
"That's not bad considering we'll be splitting it, and for a real house instead of an apartment? Beach-side, no less? Conveniently located next door to your new guy?" she teased her friend, who shot her a warning glare. "I say we take it."
Isabel turned to Mike, a light of mischief in her eyes.
"Well, I think it's decided," she said, an undercurrent of laughter in her voice. "Roll out the welcome wagon--neighbor!"
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