Table of Contents

PART 1

PART 2

PART 3

PART 4

PART 5

PART 6

PART 7

PART 8

PART 9

PART 10

PART 11

PART 12

PART 13

PART 14

PART 15

PART 16

PART 17

PART 18

PART 19

1049 CLUB

BY

KIM PRITEKEL

Ebook by
PDAFiction.com

Disclaimers: Mine.

Sex: Yeppers.

Violence: Not so much violence as icky stuff. Be prepared. There’s going to be some fairly graphic stuff in here. I’ll try to be kind; if it makes my stomach roil, then I won’t put it in. Fair?

Note: Guys, this one gets pretty rough in places, so do be warned and prepared. As I said in the violence warning, I tried to keep it from being gratuitous, but it is necessary, and will be graphic. That said, it is relatively short-lived.

If you’d like to tell me what a wonderful writer I am or that I royally suck, feel free at:

XenaNut@hotmail.com

For more of my work, visit me at:

http://www.coloradobardsplace.com/

or see my published work at:

http://www.pdpublishing.com/

1049 CLUB

PART 1

DENNY COULDN’T HELP but glance up into First Class again. She could only see a bit of a bare leg, and a few wisps of blonde hair, but it was enough. When she had walked through to get to her own seat in 5C, the brunette had nearly chocked on the swig of Coke she’d drank, when she’d realized who she was passing. She had looked twice, almost thrown off by the baseball cap and dark glasses. Funnily enough, it had been the silver watch that had tipped Denny off. Every picture she’d ever seen of Rachel Holt, the young, beautiful author, had been wearing it; and there it was, on her left wrist, glinting slightly from the sunlight shining in through the oval window.

Hearing someone clear their throat from behind her, Denny moved on, finding her seat, unable to keep her eyes off the general area in First Class. It didn’t seem as if anyone else had made the connection yet. It had helped that the brunette had just been reading People magazine in the airport terminal while waiting for her flight to board. There had been a small blurb in the Passages section, mentioning it was the blonde’s twenty-seventh birthday coming up.

“Happy birthday, Rachel,” she murmured with a little chuckle, sighing as she buckled herself in. It would be a long flight, but she looked forward to it, heading to Italy for two weeks to visit her father’s family. She hadn’t seen them in about five years, and missed her cousins.

Denny rested her head back against the seat, listening to the sounds around her, people softly murmuring “Excuse me,” and “Sorry ‘bout that” as they, too got settled. Blue eyes opened as she heard a soft, “I need to get through.”

“Oh, sorry.” She sat up fully, tucking her long legs up so a young girl, maybe no older than sixteen, carefully passed to the other aisle seat in the middle section of the 767. Denny smiled over at her, then stated to relax again.

“Oop, one more.”

Once again looking to the aisle, the brunette saw an older version of the teenager. Once again folding up her legs, the woman, who she would learn was the girl’s mom, passed by and got settled in the middle seat. Mother and daughter spoke softly as Denny finally was able to get fully comfortable. She loved to fly, which was a good thing, because this was going to be one long flight.

They were about to pull out of Buffalo Niagara International, the belly of the plane being loaded with the luggage of a couple hundred excited passengers.

Denny glanced up toward First Class again, her mind roaming back to the young author seated not twenty feet from her. When Rachel Holt had bit the racks with her first novel, Conspiracy, three years ago, it had taken off like a rocket. The then twenty-two year old had been launched into the world’s spotlight, winning numerous awards and acclaim. She was young, beautiful, and painfully elusive- a bad mix for a knowledge hungry industry. She had been hunted ruthlessly, her green eyes gracing just about every magazine cover, whether Rachel was aware of it or not. She had only agreed to sit for one interview, and that was with the daily talk show hostess, Maureen Conifer. Regardless of just how private and shy the little blonde was, no one could seem to get enough of her books. Now, sitting pretty with four novels on the shelves, her place in current author stardom was set.

Denny grinned at these thoughts as she brought out the paperback she’d bought at Borders that very morning, on the way to the airport. It was Rachel Holt’s newest in trade paperback, Willing To Conquer. Typically not one for history, nor thrillers, the coffee shop owner was drawn, nonetheless. The books were extremely well written, and sucked the reader in from the turn of the first page. The emotion was deep and intense, and the detailed accounts of each time period were astounding. Heck, Denny had even started researching the Victorian era out of curiosity after finishing Coattails and Pomp.

Now, seeing the woman in person, even though it was from behind dark glasses and her short, blonde hair tucked under a baseball cap, Denny turned her novel over, opening the back cover to see the black and white of the young author. In it, Rachel Holt was looking off in the distance, the light shining in her green eyes, making them almost translucent. She was wearing a simple light-colored button-up, though it could only be seen from just under the collar up. It was casually open, probably unbuttoned two or three down, giving the author an air of casual ease. There was no information below the picture, other than: Rachel Holt lives in the northwestern United States.

“That’s a good one.”

Denny glanced to her right, seeing the woman sitting next to her glancing at the book in her hands.

“Finished it two days ago.”

“I hope so. Picked it up on my way in today,” Denny explained, turning the book back over and resting it in her lap.

“Did you read the others?”

“Sure did.” The brunette smiled, trying to decide for a moment if she should tell the obvious fan that the woman in question was sitting just on the other side of the First Class bathrooms. Deciding against it, she sighed deeply, content to be on her way as the plane slowly began to back away from the gate, ready to taxi.

Denny glanced up from time to time, half-heartedly listening to the instructions from the flight attendant in case of an emergency do this, don’t do that, if you don’t feel you can perform tasks at the emergency exits, so on so forth. She turned her attention back to the novel in hand, allowing herself to get lost in the life of a young slave during the time of Alexander the Great.

*  *  *

Mia Vinzetti sat next to her mother, Gloria. They were headed home, to Milan, where Gloria had grown up with her grandparents, Paolo and Lizbeth. Paolo had finally come down with lung cancer after smoking for fifty-six years. Things looked grim, and while Mia was out of school for the summer, Gloria wanted to go back to be with him.

The sixteen year old glanced over at her mother briefly, noting she was already neck deep in one of her romance novels. The girl was excited for the trip, never having been to her mother’s homeland before. They had been fighting so badly lately, and Mia hoped this trip could help to mend some of those bridges. She was going to be graduating high school the following summer, and didn’t want to go off to college in California, on the other side of the country from her mother, with them fighting. Mrs. Marcum, Mia’s counselor at school, had assured her that it was typical of the age group, but Mia knew she held a lot of resentment against her mother. Gloria had raised her alone, Mia’s father disappearing from her life before she’d even been born. Never marrying, Gloria had often worked two and sometimes three jobs, just to keep them alive in their small, Brooklyn apartment.

Mia admired her mother greatly, though she’d never told the older woman that. Gloria’s parents had been killed when she’d been a girl, and so she’d been swept off to Milan, where she’d had a wonderful childhood, then had been swept back to the United States by a Navy boy, Mia’s father.

It had been tough for the two Vinzetti women, but all in all, they’d done pretty darn good together, and Mia loved her mother deeply. She just wished Gloria had more time for her, yet at the same time, she wished her mother would just leave her the hell alone. The girl pushed long, dark hair back over her shoulder as she grinned internally at her own hypocrisy.

As the plane hit its altitude, according to the pilot, Mia sat back and closed her eyes. She hated to fly.

*  *  *

Dean Ratliff hate to fly. He hated to travel, he hated to do anything remotely new and different. His partner of thirteen years, Will Ash, basically told him that if they didn’t do something this summer, take some sort of a vacation, they were done. Will was sick and tired of sitting home every year, surrounded by every electronic gadget known to man, expensive French furniture and Dean’s beloved dogs, but seeing nothing, doing nothing, going nowhere.

Dean had reluctantly agreed to this madness, and then Will had to work! He was to meet his partner in Milan. The sandy-haired man sighed heavily, leaning his head against the cool window.

*  *  *

Michael Dupree held on tightly to the armrest on either side. He heard his wife chuckle yet again. Glancing down at her, he just barely saw her shaking her head in mirth as his actions.

“Y’all think this is funny, don’tcha?” he asked, halfway chuckling himself. Melissa Dupree looked up at him.

“Honestly? Why, yes. I do.”

Michael grinned, leaning down to quickly lay a kiss on the lips of his wife of twenty years.

“I love you, baby,” he said softly, so glad he was able to do this for her. They’d been married all those years, Thursday their anniversary. He knew Melissa had always wanted to see Italy and all its historical treasures. From their house in Beaumont, Texas, she’d only ever been able to see them via books from the library and the History Channel. When he’d come home from work, having picked up their airline tickets, and itinerary from his brother’s house, where he’d been hiding everything, he thought Melissa was going to break down and start crying right when he gave it all to her, along with a single red rose.

Michael was surprised when not only did his little woman start crying, but she almost nearly bowled over his 6’4”, 235 lb. frame. That night they’d made the sweetest love. Remembering that, he reluctantly let go of one of the armrests, putting his arm around her slight shoulders. Immediately Melissa lay her head against her husband’s linebacker-like shoulder.

“I love you, Mike. Thank you for this.”

Michael Dupree considered himself the luckiest man in the Lone Star state. He’d been a young buck of eighteen, lost and doing nothing but causing trouble and raising hell. He’d met a lovely young redhead who’d put him in his place, throwing an entire mug of beer in his face when he’d gotten out of hand. He’d never let her out of his sights since. Melissa had put up with a lot from him over the years- twenty years, three kids and a mortgage later, and the big mechanic couldn’t ask to be happier. He hoped he’d finally made the petit woman sitting beside him happy and proud, too.

Michael knew there was nothing he could do right now other than sit back and relax. They’d be on the plane for a long, long time.

*  *  *

“Man, she looked a bit worried, didn’t she?” Dr. Pam Sloan commented to her boyfriend, Austin. The veterinarian watched as the blonde flight attendant hurried through First Class, disappearing inside the cockpit, the narrow door closing after her with finality.

Behind the vet, a blonde author also noted the flight attendant’s harried behavior. She leaned slightly into the aisle to see if she could discern anything, but the flight attendant was gone. Taking a deep breath, she tried to return her attention back to her laptop, her fingers tapping away on the keys. Her attention was brought up once more when the cockpit door opened, and the flight attendant was on her way back down the aisle, her face too expressionless for Rachel’s liking. She followed the woman’s progress back into coach, briefly meeting bright blue eyes of another passenger before the blonde turned back to her writing.

Denny DiRisio caught Rachel Holt’s gaze for just a moment, feeling a slight thrill that a famous person knew she existed, if even just for a moment, then the blonde turned away. Denny’s euphoria was short-lived as she felt a tap on her arm. Turning to the woman sitting next to her, who’d introduced herself as Gloria Vinzetti.

“Do you think something’s wrong?” the woman asked, her short, dark hair falling into her eyes. The brunette shrugged and shook her head.

“I don’t know. But I doubt it.”

“Well, that flight attendant sure acted like she had a fire lit under her asino.”

Denny smiled, nodding. “I’m sure everything is fine.” The coffee shop owner turned back to her book, hearing mother and daughter speaking quietly to each other, then heard murmuring around her. Once again looking up from the book, Denny looked around at her fellow passengers to see if they knew something she didn’t. She caught the eye of fellow passengers, all doing the same.

“Miss?” an older man further back in the plane said, stopping the flight attendant as she made her way back up the left aisle, from where she’d been speaking with the gathered flight attendants. “Is there a problem, miss?”

The blonde woman smiled, patting the older man’s shoulder. “Everything’s fine, sir.” Quickly, she hurried on.

*  *  *

Michael Dupree snorted as he woke himself up, opening droopy eyes as something had stirred him. Melissa still was sound asleep, her head cradled on his shoulder. The big Texan looked around, trying to figure out what had woken him. Reaching to the window on his right, he pushed up the flimsy shade, seeing glittering blue beneath him. Glancing up into the sky, he was surprised to see the sky.

“Shouldn’t we be flying a bit higher?” the guy in front of him asked, looking at Michael from between the seat on the curved plane wall. The Texan shook his head, still looking outside.

“I don’t know. Ye’d think.”

*  *  *

Dean Ratliff tilted his head slightly as he unfolded the airline brochure. There he saw the small list of onboard alcohol that could be ordered for five bucks a pop.

“Perfect,” he muttered, stuffing the brochure back into the seat pocket in front of him. He craned his neck until he spotted a flight attendant talking to an older man, not seven rows behind his. “Excuse me,” he flagged her down as she headed back toward the front of the plane. “I’d like to order a drink. When are you going to be coming by with the refreshment cart? I mean, you guys still do that, right? Lord knows you’ve stopped enough of the other services.”

“We’ll be getting to that shortly, sir. We ask for your patience.” The blonde woman smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes.

“Hey! I want my drink, damn it!” Dean called out to her retreating back. He met the gaze of his seatmate. “I intend to write a letter to the airlines when I get home. She was rude.” Sighing unhappily, Dean crossed his arms over his chest, trying to look around to see another, helpful flight attendant. Maybe that little blonde cutie with the trimmed goatee he’d seen before take off.

*  *  *

“Alright, John. I’ve talked to everyone. What do you want us to do now?” Kendra asked, her hands wringing in front of her. She felt sick, and blew blonde bangs out of her eyes.

The pilot sighed heavily, feeling sweat gathering under his armpits.

“I’ve taken her as low as I dare,” he explained, everyone in the cockpit noting the waves visible now, in the ocean below. “We have no choice. Prepare the passengers. Don’t tell them what’s happened, just advise them in precautionary procedures.”

Kendra nodded stoically, but could feel the tears burning behind her eyes, and her heart was pounding in her chest. She left the cockpit, walking over to the First Class cubby, picking up the onboard phone.

*  *  *

Denny heard three soft dings, then noticed a redheaded flight attendant hurry to the area in front of their seats. Denny, Gloria and Mia were sitting in the emergency row, so before them was a wall with the flight attendant’s jump seat, where she sat during take off, as well as her phone.

The pretty young woman put the phone to her ear, turning away from the prying eyes of her passengers. She whispered into the mouthpiece, her body rigid.

Denny and Gloria shared a look. Denny had a very bad feeling grip her insides. Something was wrong. Images of 9/11 flashed through her mind, and she prayed it wasn’t anything like that, trying to console herself with the knowledge that they were over an ocean, no use to a terrorist.

The flight attendant hung up the phone, took a deep breath to gather herself, then turned to face questioning blue eyes. The redhead smiled, though it was extremely weak.

“Something’s wrong, isn’t it?” Denny asked, her voice quiet. The flight attendant mouthed the word yes, yet her voice cracked so no sound came out. Denny swallowed hard, nodding in understanding. The public address system crackled to life and suddenly a tinny voice was announcing emergency procedures, while the redhead helped those in need to successfully attach oxygen masks and inflatable life jackets.

Rachel’s fingers were shaking badly as she tried for the third time to get the rubber band around her head, the clear, plastic mask sliding into place. She noticed the woman across the aisle having trouble with hers, so reached across and helped as best she could, as far as the oxygen chord would allow.

As she sat back down, she met the gaze of the woman sitting in front of her, dark brows creased with terror, which Rachel had no doubt matched her own.

The plane lurched forward, everyone screaming in surprise and fear. Pam Sloan watched as a small, rubber ball rolled down the center aisle toward the cockpit.

“Thomas!” Mandy Ryan grabbed her son by the arm, her cry muffled behind her mask. Her son was crying, his ball flying from his hands, disappearing down the aisle.

Dean Ratliff rolled his eyes. Stupid kid. Sit down! He turned his attention from the young mother and the small boy, still crying about his stupid ball, and instead saw a large man sitting by the window, a small woman nearly sitting in his lap. He was trying to whisper words of comfort into her ear, but it came out as some sort of twisted, macabre murmuring behind the plastic of the mask.

All around him, Dean could hear sniffles and cries, panicked faces on all of his fellow passengers. As it was, he was grabbing onto the armrest with claw-like fingers, feeling his stomach lurch with every harsh movement of the plane. He glanced up as the public address system squawked to life once more.

Denny listened as the captain almost shouted a slew of instructions to his doomed passengers. He no longer cared about trying to keep his load calm, no more time left for that. Blue eyes landed on the two women sitting next to her, both mother and daughter crying, holding onto each other for dear life.

Denny closed her eyes; what she wouldn’t do to have Hannah there right then, holding her, telling her everything would be okay. Suddenly remembering something from Flight 93, she snatched her cell phone, powering it on. The cheery chirp as it came to life seemed like a sick mockery. One signal bar.

“Fuck,” she hissed, tearing the mask from her face as she dialed the number one then send. The phone’s ring was sporadic at best.

“Den... ney?... ought you were... air?”

“Hannah! Hannah, oh god, thank god,” Denny could feel her tears spring to life. “Honey, I love you! Something’s gone wrong!”

“...at? I can’t under... ou. Wha...?”

“I love you! Always know that.”

Dead. The connection went dead.

She didn’t have much time to think about it as her stomach fell about thirteen stories beneath her. She fought the urge to throw up as the plane lurched once more, everyone screaming as the plane tilted dangerously, a man screaming as he flew out of his seat, where he had unbuckled himself. His cries were cut short as he slammed into the wall mere feet in front of and above Denny’s head. She yelped in surprise, unable to take her eyes off the new red splotch left on the oatmeal colored plastic.

Rachel Holt heard an awful thud behind her, but didn’t dare to look. She was too busy trying not to cry as the seatbelt dug dangerously into her midsection. She reached out desperately to the seat in front of her. Damn First Class! The seat ahead of hers was too far away to gain any real purchase. Just when she was about to unbuckle the belt in order to try and take a breath, the plane lurched back, slamming everyone back into their seats. Somewhere in front of her, the unmistakable sounds of someone vomiting, followed by the equally unmistakable smell, made everyone grimace.

Gloria Vinzetti clutched her Rosary, eyes squeezed tightly shut as she said the Lord’s prayer over and over again, her mouth moving soundlessly. She could feel her daughter’s hold tighten on her arm as the plane righted itself. The hot, coppery smell of newly spilt blood rent the air from where the man had hit mere seconds ago.

Mia clung to her mother, knowing Gloria was praying enough for both of them. The girl couldn’t dare look around, too terrified of what she might see. She’d already heard frantic murmurings about fire erupting from one of the engines, black smoke following the plane’s descent into the ocean’s depths.

I don’t want to die like this! Mia’s mind screamed this over and over again, thinking of the things she’d never done, and would never do. Her tears were nearly outdone by the woman sitting with her husband several seats back.

“I’m so sorry, Mel, so sorry,” Michael Dupree whispered over and over again to his wife, both clinging to each other. “God, I’m so sorry.” If only he hadn’t planned this damn trip, they’d be at home watching their new dish television.

Denny wished so badly she could shut out the horrible screaming of the plane as it cut through the whipping air, the plane once more tilting nose-down. She could feel the plastic covering on the armrest beginning to give way from the iron grip she had on it. That didn’t matter; there was no way she was releasing it. The plane righted itself again, then the brunette was jostled like she never had been before, a loud bang as something hit them from underneath, the sound of screeching metal that seemed to last forever. When it stopped, there was a horrible rushing sound.

Oh, Jesus...

There was a second jolt with a louder bang, coming from much closer beneath them. Suddenly there was an amazing amount of light bleeding through the cabin, followed by a deafening scream, like the day itself was wailing it’s anger, pain and regret.

“They’re gone!” Someone close by yelled, then Denny realized she’d said it. Fingers of ice clenched at her lungs, stealing the very air from them.

The scream was replaced by a whistle that made Rachel Holt’s ears ring, her eyes squeezed tightly shut as she opened her mouth in a soundless scream, her voice stolen with her breath.

Somehow in the back of her mind, all the instructions she’d heard millions of times before during take off, came back to her. The blonde reached under her seat, pulling the tabs she felt there. She was nearly knocked out of her seat as the plane skipped across the water for a third pass, a bit more of the back section flying out into the water.

She was jerked to her left, smacking her head on something hard, her stomach flipping end over end, along with the world, light shining in bright and intense, along with the pain.

Under any other circumstances, Dean would have thought it amusing as he watched a pair of eyeglasses suspended in air, the lady’s hair across from him like it had a life of its own, standing on end. His own loose polo shirt ballooning up around his neck, just for that one perfect instant, everything weightless and at peace.

Pam Sloan screamed as she realized Austin’s seatbelt had given way, the man slamming up against the ceiling of the plane, then flying out of sight. The veterinarian never saw him get sucked out of the missing tail section.

Rachel Holt’s eyes turned to saucers as the cockpit door bulged, then broke free in one terrifying second, the heavy, metal door flying through the cabin, taking the head of an unsuspecting flight attendant with it. The blonde had no time to process this before a flood of water followed, instantly filling the airplane, the immense pressure pinning the author to her seat.

Denny felt around frantically for the seat release, her blue eyes squinting against the cold, salt water, trying desperately to not take a much needed breath, her natural instincts shutting everything down, her fingers working frantically.

The brunette could feel herself thrown forward as the plane began to sink headfirst into the blackening depths. Panic filled her anew as she realized what was happening. Her fingers went back to her seat, working relentlessly to pull the floating device of the cushion free. Damn it! Why the fuck didn’t I pay attention to those instructions?

Oh, god! Oh, Jesus! Hang on, baby! Hang on!

Michael Dupree thrashed wildly as he tried to get Melissa unbuckled, her lifeless body beginning to float up from the seat. The Texan could see where she’d been hit in the head with something as the two halves of the plane had separated.

He could feel his lungs burning as they screamed for air. Michael knew he had to get them out of there, and he had to get them out now. With the superhuman strength of the desperate, Michael kicked with everything in him, trying to get them to the surface. He ignored the immense pain in his right arm and shoulder, barely even feeling it. He did feel himself kicking something hard, but he didn’t care. Nothing mattered but getting Melissa to the surface.

*  *  *

Dean Ratliff blinked several times, blinded by the sudden sunlight, gasping and loving air like he never had before. It was in that single moment, pushing through the surface, that he thought that just maybe everything would be okay. Then reality struck him.

The attorney thrashed around in the water, nearly freaking out altogether when he came face to face with a woman who was very much dead, her big, brown eyes staring sightlessly at him. Shivering in disgust and fear, Dean turned away, only to be confronted by a bloody mass.

“Oh god,” he whimpered, blindly pushing through the water, trying to get away from that dead woman, her eyes boring into his very soul. Something else bumped him, but Dean couldn’t look to see what it was. He didn’t want to see that dead woman following him! Not even looking to see where he was swimming off to, Dean muttered to himself, a slight scream escaping his lips now and then as he saw something that traumatized him further. Before he knew it, he was all lone, no bodies, no plane parts, nothing..

Eyes huge, Dean swished around to look all around him- he was completely alone.

“Oh fuck.”

*  *  *

With a sputter, Michael Dupree emerged from the cold depths, clutching Melissa to his chest, doing his damndest to hold her head above water. Her head wound began to bleed anew, turning pink as it mixed with the water they bobbed in.

“Hold on, baby,” he gasped, looking around them, trying to get his bearings. “Gonna be okay, Mel. Gonna be okay.” Michael saw a piece of the wing bobbing not far away, the metal glinting in the harsh overhead sun. “Almost there, baby. Almost.”

The mechanic tried his best to not let the gore around him get to him. He had a singular mission, and that was to get himself and Melissa out of the water. Growing up in the Gulf, Michael knew all too well the dangers they faced, like sitting ducks in a world foreign to them.

“Okay,” he panted, the exertion and injuries he’d sustained sapping his energy. “Up ye go, babydoll.” With a grunt, Michael heaved Melissa’s body onto the makeshift raft, then tugged is own body weight to lie next to her, flopping down on his back, wincing as his arm and shoulder injury made itself known once more.

*  *  *

Blinking slowly, then squinting against the harsh glare, Mia groaned softly, her head pounding. As she opened her eyes, her stomach lurched, spewing her breakfast to splash in the water.

“Hold tight, honey. You took quite a hit to your head.”

The girl groaned again, her stomach finally starting to ease up. She began to get a feel for where she was, and realized she was on something that was squeaking gently under her. Yellow. Slippery.

“What happened?” she turned over onto her back, realizing she was bobbing in the middle of the ocean on a raft. Something occurred to her. She sucked in a frantic breath, looking around. “My mom. Where’s my mom?” She met concerned brown eyes.

“We’ll deal with that later. Let me see your head.” The woman pushed the girl’s long, wet hair out of her face, focusing on the long, deep gash above her left eyebrow. Dr. Pam Sloan looked around, nothing useful. She looked down at herself, then ripped a long piece of her shirt off waded it up. “Hold this to your head, honey. We need to get the bleeding stopped.”

Pam laid back, taking several breaths as she tried to come down from the intense adrenalin rush. She needed her wits to try and get her and the girl out of this. As it was, things didn’t look too promising. Bits and pieces of luggage and debris floated around them, along with the bodies of those who had drowned, or been thrown from the wreck. From every direction, all there was to be seen was water, as far as the eye could see.

“I think there’s someone over there,” the girl said, her voice soft.

The veterinarian followed where the girl was looking. There in the water, barely hanging on to a large, wooden suitcase, was a slumped figure, who seemed to be loosing her grip.

“I’ll be right back.” The doctor slid back into the water, quickly swimming over to the small blonde. “I got you,” she whispered, taking the woman into her arms. “Paddle,” she instructed, feeling the woman’s feeble attempts at helping. Finally reaching the raft, which was the inflated emergency ramp, inflating during impact, Mia helped both women out of the water.

Rachel coughed, her stomach hurting with each movement. Finally she was able to lay back in the raft and catch her breath. It took everything she had to pull in a full lungful of breath without crying out. She could feel her heart pounding, mind trying to reconcile with where she should be, and where she was. Finally green eyes opened, taking in her surroundings.

“Thank you,” she finally managed, pushing herself up so she was sitting against the hard edge of the raft. She looked at her fellow passengers, noting a terrified, and bleeding, young girl, and an older woman, maybe in her fifties, who was contemplating the cut on the girl’s head. That woman nodded, glancing briefly over at the small blonde, brushing wet hair out of her eyes.

“Crazy day, huh?”

“Yeah.” Rachel ran her hands over her hair, pushing it all out of her face and tucking it behind her ears. She just prayed her stomach held out; the thought of throwing up made her stomach hurt that much worse. She stared up at the sky, bright blue with a few floating bits of cotton. It was a beautiful day, and felt like they were being mocked because of it.

“Where do you think we are?” the older woman asked, her voice almost shrill in the stillness of the day, only the lapping waves broke the complete silence. Rachel shook her head, her voice shaky as she responded.

“I don’t have any clue.” Rachel could feel her shock slowly oozing to mortal fear. She curled up against the side of the raft, her arms wrapping around her folded legs, forehead resting on her knees. We’re dead.

*  *  *

A cheek twitched as a tiny sand crab scurried across the sand, through wet strands of black hair. Long fingers clawed into the hard-packed shore, then released.

PART 2

HANNAH DONNELLY KEPT the phone to her ear, even as she knew the signal had long gone dead.  Fear gripped her insides like nothing she’d ever experienced.  That had been the weirdest phone call she’d ever received, and didn’t fully understand it.  Hell, she could barely understand what Denny was saying.  The only thing she’d gotten out of it all was that Denny loved her.

The cordless phone slid off her ear, and was tossed to the couch next to her, her brain numb.  As though electricity jolted through her, the brunette was on her feet, scrambling for the remote control, hurriedly flipping through the channels to find some news.  She had the feeling something had gone terribly, terribly wrong.  When there was nothing to be found,  she grabbed the phone book, looking up airlines.

*  *  *

“Conrad!  Get back in here and finish your dinner.”  Meredith Adams sighed heavily.  This was going to be a long couple weeks with her precocious twelve year old grandson. “Conrad!  Get-“ she cut herself off when her husband of forty-two years plowed into the kitchen, frantically pulling open drawers in the kitchen desk. “Walter, what are you doing?  You’re making a mess.”

Walter, breathing hard, looked around the kitchen, praying what he was looking for would suddenly stand up and announce itself.  Running a hand through salt and pepper hair, he finally met his wife’s eyes, once angry, now slowly melting into mild fear.

”Where’s Melissa and Mike’s flight information?” he asked, his heart pounding.

“Why?”

“Damn it, woman, where is it?!”

The way her husband’s voice roared startled the plump woman into action.  She hurried over to the phone cubby, where she kept all her phone numbers, addresses and incoming bills.  Tugging out the folded computer print out, she handed it to him.  Walter took it, fingers trembling as he tried to unfold the paper.

“Walter!” Meredith rushed over to her fallen husband.

*  *  *

“What am I?”

Brad Schuester looked up at his boss, standing in his suite, arms straight up over his head, hands clasped, his body slowly lilting to the right.

“Uhhh, crazy?”

“No!  The leaning tower of Pisa!” the blonde man exclaimed, slapping Brad playfully on the shoulder.  His assistant shook his head with a slight chuckle.

“You’re wanting to rub this in more an more, aren’t you, Will?”

“Absolutely.”  The architect grinned big.  He clapped his hands, grabbing his suit jacket from where he’d tossed it onto a nearby chair.  “I’m out of his, Brad.  Have a good couple of weeks with Whitley, and I’ll bring you back something good.”

“You better!” Brad called after his boss, chuckling to himself at Will’s enthusiasm.

Will Ash whistled happily as he left the firm he worked for in downtown Manhattan.  He would head back to the home he shared with his partner, Dean, shower and change, then off he’d be.  He couldn’t wait to see Dean in Milan the following night.  The architect grinned, thinking of the new toy he’d picked up for them to use, hoping Dean would play along and not throw a fit as he usually did with something new.  He also hoped that the airport people wouldn’t think he had a snake packed in his bags.

Chuckling at his own thoughts, Will hailed a taxi, trying to juggle his briefcase while he grabbed the cell phone out of his inside jacket pocket, the vibration making his left nipple tingle.

“Hello?” he said into the tiny mouthpiece as he climbed into the backseat of the waiting yellow cab.

“Will?”

“Naomi?  Hey, sweetie.  How are you?  What’s the matter?”  Will sat back against the smelly bench seat, crossing one finely pressed leg over another.  He could hear something was terribly wrong in Dean’s sister’s voice.

“Will, have you been watching the television at all?”

“No.  I’m just leaving the office.  What’s wrong?”  He was beginning to feel the first trickle of worry, and couldn’t help but look up into the sky.  Just about every New Yorker did that at the first sign of trouble these days.  Expecting to see the worst, he was surprised to see a bright, sunny day above the steel monsters around him.

“It’s Dean.  Will, I think his plane is missing.”

“What?!” The architect sat up like a shot, the cabby glancing at him through the rearview mirror as he merged into traffic.  Will quickly prattled off the address to him, then returned to his call.  “What do you mean his flight is missing?  What’s the flight number?”

“Flight 1049.”

Will felt his blood go cold.

*  *  *

Matt Frazier looked up when he heard someone approaching his desk.  “Did you find her?”  The hope was evident in his voice.  As his friend, and fellow homicide detective nodded, Matt sighed, sitting back in his chair.  He loosened his tie as he waited for the details.

“She hopped a plane, headed to Milan, Italy.”

“Italy?” Matt was stunned, reading his partner’s eyes, seeing nothing but genuine sorrow.  “Shit.”

“What happened, Matt?”  Burt Langley watched the younger man closely, knowing there was something he wasn’t being told.

Matt sighed, running a hand through dark hair, making it stand on end.  It was time to come clean.  It might help to ease his conscience. “I got caught.”

Burt studied Matt, sausage fingers rubbing a rounded chin. “Doing what?”

Hazel eyes flicked to meet piercing blue.  “With Diana.”  Matt’s eyes dropped, unable to meet those of the man he always respected, and wanted respect from.

“Got caught with your fingers in the honey pot, huh kid?”  Burt chuckled.

“This isn’t funny, Burt!  My wife left the country.”

“Yeah, she did.  Might want to think about that.”  Burt groaned softly as he pushed up on his meaty thighs.  He tossed a pinwheel mint to Matt’s desk. “Have a mint, kid.  Be happy.”

Matt glared after the older man, nearly drowning in his own self pity.  “Shit.”

The detective pushed away from his desk, switching off the computer and shrugging into his jacket.  Gathering his keys in his hand, he grabbed the mint as an afterthought.

The house was quiet and dark, as it had been for the past four days.  Rachel’s absence was felt acutely, and the cop realized just how baldy he’d fucked up.  He unbuckled his arm holster, securing his weapon before stripping off his jacket and shirt, flinging the unknotted tie into a corner, where it landed with the tie he’d been wearing the night before.

Matt flipped through the mail that had fallen to the floor from the mail slot next to the door.  Nothing interesting, nothing from Rachel.  Why had she gone to Italy?  As far as he knew, she knew no one there, had no reason to go there.  Tapping his fingers on the arm of the chair he’d flopped into, Matt glanced at the DVD player’s green clock numbers.  It was seven-fifteen in Oregon, that meant it was after ten in New York.  He couldn’t help but wonder if Rachel’s editor, and best friend, Reenie would know anything.

“Hello?” said the smoky female voice on the other end of the line.

“Reenie, this is Matt.  Have you heard from Rachel?”  The detective wasn’t sure if he should put his cards on the table or not, whether he should tell the editor he knew exactly where his wife had ran to.

“As a matter of fact, I have.”

With nothing forthcoming, and from the cold tone in Reenie’s voice, Matt knew the Ace he thought he had up his sleeve was in fact his house of cards falling all around him.  He would find no allies here.  Deciding to play it straight, Matt sighed. “I fucked up, Reenie.  Okay?  I messed things up.  I need to talk to Rachel.”

Reenie fought against saying everything that was on her mind about just how badly Matthew had messed up.  It wasn’t her place, and it wasn’t her place to give up all of Rachel’s secrets.  “You can’t talk to her right now, Matt.  She’s not available.”

“I know she’s on her way to Italy.  What time did she leave?  What flight?”  Matt sat forward in his chair, ready to pop up and write down any information Reenie would give her.

“It shouldn’t surprised me that a cop could find out where his wife is at all times, but for some reason it does.  Look, Matt, give her some time away from you.  She’s hurt right now, and needs to go off on her own and lick her wounds.”

“In Italy?” Matt was incredulous.  “Who the hell does she know in Italy, for Christ’s sake?” he ran a hand through his hair, feeling his anger building, but knew he’d have to keep it down.

“She went to start research on her newest novel, Matt.  She was planning this trip anyway, just took it sooner than later.”  The editor plucked the reading glasses from her face, rubbing her eyes with one hand as she held the cell phone with the other.  She’d never been a fan of Matt Wingo, not since she’d met him two years ago.

“Please give me her information and itinerary, Reenie.  I’m her husband and have a right to know.”  Matt sounded tired and resigned.

“And Rachel has the right to do her own thing and she deserves her privacy.  I think you walked all over your rights the moment you fucked another woman in Rachel’s bed.”

Matt grimaced, knowing the editor was right, but wasn’t about to let this woman tell him what his rights were or weren’t in his own marriage!  “Who the hell do you think you are, Reenie?  Give me my wife’s information!”

“No.  If Rachel didn’t give it to you herself, then she obviously doesn’t want you to have it.”

“Bitch!” Matt slammed down the phone, the handset ringing in the quiet room.  “Fuck!”  The couple’s cat ran into the spare bedroom at the crash that followed.

*  *  *

“I do not understand.  My granddaughter and great granddaughter are to be on this flight, no?” Paolo Vinzetti tapped the piece of paper he’d presented the ticket clerk with Milan Malpensa Airport. “Where is the flight?”

“As I’ve said, sir, I can give you more information once we have it,” the clerk said, just about as tired of the old man as she could get.  The situation was stressful enough without this old geezer down her throat.  Without ceremony, she turned her back on the old man, disappearing around a corner.

Paolo, shoulders slumped, walked slowly over to join his wife, Lizbeth, who waited patiently for him, shaking his head. “Nothing.”  About to sit, the old man with the full mustache, turned to see a young man with short, well-styled dark hair hurrying over to him.  The man was dressed in a suit with the airline logo on the lapel.

“Signore, wait, please.”

Paolo looked at the man, Lizbeth joining him at his side.

“I am Franco Lilitaly, and work for US Airlines here in Milano.  Can we talk?”

Paolo nodded, just glad to be getting some information on the whereabouts of his Gloria and Mia.  They were led to a room with a big conference table surrounded by chairs.  Lizbeth felt her heart beginning to flutter.  What was all this about?

The door was securely closed before Franco Lilitaly spoke again.  Sitting opposite the elderly couple, he swallowed, fingers fidgeting as they laced together.  He knew he couldn’t put it off anymore.

“We have gotten some very bad news.  The flight your loved ones were on was lost.”

Paolo’s thick brows drew. “Lost?”  He couldn’t understand.  The man nodded.

“Yes.  Lost at sea.  They are searching now, however, it is most likely not a rescue search.”  He stared into both sets of eyes that stared openly at him.  His heart broke as he saw the woman crumble, grabbing onto her husband’s arm.  “I am so, so very sorry.”

*  *  *

A lone figure sat out on her front porch, staring up into the night sky.  As she watched the stars twinkle down at her, she had to wonder if one of those was her mother’s smile.

*  *  *

Something tickling.  Itching.  Stop!

Blue eyes opened, seeing a very up close and personal view of something pink and ugly.  Gasping, Denny flew to her knees, the small crowd of crabs scattering and burying themselves in the sand.

“Oh, fuck,” she moaned, hands coming to her head, which was pounding like a twenty piece marching band.  Even her neck got into the action, veins vibrating with the pain.  Taking several deep breaths, the brunette blinked open her eyes again.  Sand.  All around her, sand.  Behind her the pound of the surf added to the fury in her head.

“Where the hell am I?” she whispered, getting to very shaky legs.  She was drenched, her clothing sticking to her like a second skin, made even stickier by the salt water of… what body of water is this, anyway?  She did her best to tug her long hair out of her face, jumping with a small scream as another of those damn crabs fell to the sand at her feet, almost instantaneously disappearing into a hiding hole.   “Little bastards.”

Looking out to sea, Denny saw nothing but water, as far as the eye could see.  That is, other than the piece of something bobbing in a shallow pool.  She wondered if that was what she had sailed in on.  She remembered swimming, trying to pull herself out of the sinking plane, grabbing onto anything that would hold her weight.  Finally, out in the bright, sunny day, she’d found… what had it been?  Studying, having to squint as she’d lost her contacts in the ocean, the white piece of something over in the shallow pool, she realized was part of the wall or floor of the airplane.

Airplane.

“Jesus.”

Squinting further, Denny shielded her eyes, staring out into sea.  Where did the wreck go?  It was almost as if the brunette had been dumped onto the sand from the skies above.  She smirked, realizing that was basically exactly what had happened.  Turning, she decided to try and figure out where the hell she was.  She needed to find some civilization, and just prayed it was friendly.

*  *  *

“Kick, kick, kick, kick…”  Dean had been repeating the mantra for what seemed like hours.  Something in his head told him that if he followed the waves, he’d end up drifting to land.  Maybe he’d heard that on one of Will’s Discovery Channel shows or something.  Either way, he was following it, though was tiring quickly.  It was hot, and he was beyond thirsty.  The irony wasn’t lost on him that he was surrounded by endless gallons of water, and yet it was for nothing better than taking a piss in.

Dean had paddled back toward the wreckage, snagging himself a choice piece of floating debris.  The guy who had been buckled to it was dead, anyway.  He held on for dear life to the seat cushions, lying across them on his stomach, only his feet in the water, which he lifted from time to time when too many images of sharks popped into mind.  Damn Will for watching that damn Shark Week on Discovery.

The attorney tried to focus on the mental image of his partner, thinking of the thick hair on his chest that Dean always loved to run his fingers through.  He thought of his partner’s smile and wit.  Dean couldn’t help but smile at that.  The night they had met had been amazing, and totally unexpected.

Dean had been a second year law student, and was invited to a kegger, which ordinarily he wouldn’t have been caught dead at, but a gorgeous little piece of frat boy tail had changed his mind.  He’d spent all night following Ken around, when he’d seen the tall, dark drink of water standing in a corner, charming Maria Kasdan.  Will’s piercing eyes had caught Dean’s own over the girl’s head, and had scarcely been able to let go.

That night they had spent anointing every surface in Will’s tiny apartment with man juice, into the wee hours of the morning.  Dean had class two hours after he’d finally had his last orgasm, nearly having anther in Ethics as he thought of his lover the previous night.  Dean had no intentions of getting with Will again, already enjoying the chase and kill.  Intentions are good and all, until he ran into the young architect at a deli a week later.  They’d spent the entire rest of the day talking, and the night having more mind-blowing sex.  Thirteen years later, Will was the one bright spot in Dean’s life.  He loved him completely.

This last train of thought stabbed Dean in the heart, realization dawning that he’d likely never see his lover again.  His feet faltered in their paddling as he broke down, face crumbling as it was buried in his forearm.  I can’t die out here all alone.

*  *  *

Rachel didn’t want to seem like a bitch, but she was getting tired of hearing the girl cry.  Yes, she understood she’d lost her mother, but they’d all lost something, if not just a beloved person.

“Mia,” she finally said, her head pounding from the dehydration. “you’re going to make yourself sick, crying out all of your moisture.”  The blonde cracked open an eye to see the teenager sniffling and looking back at her.  Rachel tried to give her an understanding smile.  She hoped she was successful.

Rachel closed her eye again, her head resting against the padded sides of the raft/slide.  She couldn’t help but find the irony in the fact that she’d lost far more on dry land than she had in the middle of the ocean somewhere.  She didn’t even have any idea which ocean, though the mental map before her eyes pointed to the Caribbean.  The sun beat own on them, her skin already burning.  She wasn’t sure how long they’d been adrift, her watch having stilled at exactly 2:30.  She considered tossing the ruined timepiece into the ocean, but decided against it.  Maybe she’d be able to get it fixed when she returned to Oregon.

Dr. Pam Sloan was grateful the blonde had said something about Mia’s crying.  The girl lay in her arms, the older woman thinking of her own daughter back home, little more than ten years older than Mia.  What was Tracy doing right now?  Was she tending to the horses?  Sitting on her front porch, as she did every night?  Was Tracy star-gazing?  Daydreaming?

Pam’s smile was bitter-sweet, and she felt her own tears stinging behind closed lids, which she didn’t let fall.  She had to survive this and return to Tracy and Pam’s grandson, Luke.  She was so damn proud of him, only six and already able to ride, just like his mother.  Tracy had mounted a horse before a set of stairs on her own two legs.  She glanced at their silent companion, all curled up at the other end of their raft.  A young woman, in her twenties, no doubt.  Her short blonde hair was dry now, tough the salt water had acted as good mousse, the strands plastered to the woman’s head.  The vet couldn’t help but wonder if the woman had a mother out there somewhere, wondering where her daughter is.  Maybe she even had children of her own.

“Do you think they know we’re gone yet?” Dr. Sloan asked, her voice soft.  Green eyes met her gaze.

“I thought about that, too.”  Rachel shook her head. “I don’t know.  I imagine they do.  Looking up into the sky, it’s got to be late afternoon.”  All three looked into the heavens.  The sun was clearly on the other side of the sky from where it had been when everything had begun.

“I’m so thirsty,” Mia said, her voice a mere murmur.  The older women looked at her, both feeling their own throats parched.

*  *  *

The metal had become hot, Michael splashing water over the smooth surface of the wing part to try and cool it down.  The mechanic sprinkled water over his forehead again, wincing as the burnt skin stung with the salt.

Sighing heavily, he patted his wife’s leg.  “Hot day, honey.  Too hot.”  He glanced at her; she hadn’t moved in… he couldn’t remember how long.  She lay on her side, back to him.  “Mel?”  Carefully moving over to her, the wing bobbing, making him uneasy.  “Honey?”  He laid a hand on her shoulder, gently tugging her onto her back.  Melissa’s head fell to the side, eyes heavily hooded, sightless.  Michael gasped, noting the dried blood smeared on her head.  “Baby?”  He brought up a hand, holding it in front of her nose and mouth.  Nothing.  “Melissa?”

Michael felt the panic he’d been trying to subdue hit full force.  He touched Melissa’s face- cold.

“Oh, god!  No, no, baby, no.”  He gathered the woman up into his arms, noting she was becoming stiff.  He’d never cried in his life, the sting and wetness feeling foreign and strange, but unstoppable.  “Oh, Mel,” he cried, rocking her against his chest.   His thoughts roamed to their kids, staying with Melissa’s parents until they returned.  Oh, guys.  I’m so sorry.

*  *  *

Blue eyes squinted shut as Denny spit out the bit of water she’d taken in.  Salt water.  Damnit!  Getting to her feet, she looked around the small crops of trees and tropical flowers, just beyond the beach.  There was a natural pond no more than fifteen yards in from the ocean.  Denny had hoped that maybe it was fresh rain water.  No such luck.

Getting to her feet, the brunette glanced at the shoreline to get one last measure of her bearings, then headed into the foliage, which was thick and quite prickly.  Within five feet, Denny knew she’d be lost within five minutes.  Looking around dumbly, knowing damn well there was nothing useful anywhere in sight, the brunette fingered the edge of her tee shirt, which had almost dried, but was stiff from the salt water.  Chewing on her lip, she glanced back onto the beach, looking for anything, any source of water that she may have missed before.  Looking back over her shoulder into the deep, green shadows of the dense jungle, she knew she had no choice.  Dehydration was already upon her, her throat dry and scratchy, the skin of her face and arms burned badly from the exposure to the sun.  She needed to find water and some sort of shelter, and quick.

She grunted as she tried to tear the hem of the shirt, hunger and dehydration making her feel sluggish and weak.  She never ate before flying, and now it was biting her in the ass.  Finally the cotton ripped.  Denny carefully tied the first strip around a branch closest to the beach, then with a sigh of resignation, headed deeper into the jungle.  She hated tight spaces, so was doing everything she could to keep her mind on the problem at hand- staying alive.

*  *  *

Rachel groaned softly, trying to turn to her side, but the sting came again- pee, pee, pee.  Gotta pee!  Green eyes opened, the author looking around her.  She couldn’t tell where the sky ended and the sea began, the darkness was so complete.  Glancing up, Rachel wondered if it was heavy cloud cover that kept the stars away.  Funny how earlier in the day, floating aimlessly in a would-be slide, she’d thought about the stars, thinking that they’d probably be magnificent out here in the middle of nowhere.

She smiled at her own slight disappointment.  Rachel thought back to her childhood, her sisters, all three of them, would lay out on the grass in the backyard, gazing up at the stars.  They inevitably fell into their game- Veronica, the oldest, would pick an area of the sky.  Daisy would pick the grouping, and Danielle would say what she thought it looked like.  Three pairs of eyes would look to the youngest, waiting for Rachel to weave a tale of the stars, maybe make up some ancient god, or just some crazy explanation of why a giant rabbit made of stars was gracing their night sky.

Before she realized it, she had a full out grin on her face.  She could hear her closest sister in age and friendship, running inside.

“Momma!  Momma!  Rachel said a snake slithered up a tree and into the sky!  Is it true?”

A year and a half.  Maybe Daisy was watching the blonde from the very sky she studied.  Maybe she’d be joining her sister up there, looking down on the other two.  Rachel had learned the hard and very painful way just how short life can be.  One day she got a call from a very upset Daisy about the return test result from her gynecologist.  The next, Daisy lay dying in Rachel’s spare bedroom.

Tears glisten on pale cheeks as the moon peeks out, only a teasing look, from heavy clouds.  Rachel shivers as one rolls down into her ear; she doesn’t bother to wipe them away.  No one is awake to see them.  She wasn’t able to write a single word for the six months she’d cared for her sister, paying for all of her treatment.  Everyday, Rachel had sat with Daisy, talking with her, crying with her, holding her and praying like she’d never prayed before.  Danielle and Veronica had come as often as they could, their parents long gone.  The four Holt girls were all that was left, and they stuck together.

That last night, something had been terribly wrong, Rachel had felt it.  It was the one night Matt hadn’t argued with her for sleeping in Daisy’s room, and not in their own bed.  The blonde had tossed and turned on the day bed that had been brought in next to Daisy’s bed, finally waking up, the echo of a nightmare still fresh.  Sitting up, she had looked over at her sister, fear and dread gripping her heart.

“Daisy?”  No response.  Rachel had gotten out of bed, her bare feet sinking into the thick carpeting, just installed three months before Daisy’s arrival.  “Daisy?”  The author had carefully placed a knee on the mattress, crawling over to the stick-thin body that lay at the center of the big bed.  Daisy lay on her back, head rolled to the left side, facing away from Rachel.

Rachel could still feel that coldness, nothing like it in the world.  It was that feeling of fake, rubber skin, almost hard to the touch.  The tears came faster now, Rachel’s grief of losing her beloved sister suddenly turning into the very real possibility of her own imminent death.  Would it be weeks?  Days?  Hours?

Deciding that this vein of thought was going to help anything, Rachel pushed herself up into a sitting position, swiping at her eyes and sniffling quietly.  She could barely make out the shadowy forms of Pam and Mia huddled at the other end of the raft.  They were all so dehydrated and hungry, they’d tried to sleep away their hunger pangs and discomfort for the majority of the evening and into the night.  Rachel wondered what time it was, then remembered why she’d woken in the first place.

“Shit,” she muttered, trying to decide what to do.  She could jump over the side for a couple minutes, do her thing then climb back in.  What if she lost her grip and fell?  Neither Pam nor Mia would know.  She could hang her butt off the side of the raft and pee all over herself.  Scrap that idea.  She began to contemplate just peeing in her pants when something caught her eye.

The raft rocked gently as she moved, turning to face behind her.  The moon was playing peek-a-boo once more, and something caught her eye.  No matter how much she squinted, it was just out of her visual grasp.  Then, almost as if a beacon from above, lightening split the sky.

“Land!”  She nearly fell out of the boat in her excitement, turning to her boat-mates. “Pam!  Mia!  Wake up!  Land!”  The blonde turned back, making sure it wasn’t simply a mirage to an emotionally overwhelmed mind.  Nope, it was still there.  She could feel her tears anew as relief washed over her.

The raft rocked violently as an extremely excited vet crossed to kneel next to the blonde.

“Oh, sweet Jesus,” Pam whispered, her arm wrapping around Rachel’s shoulders.

*  *  *

Sandy-colored brows drew, then flinched along with a wrinkling nose.  Dean raised his head, crying out at the crack of his back, stuck from lying in the same position for hours on end.  When he realized what was different, the attorney nearly fell off his tiny life raft in order to turn over, his back cracking again.  No matter.

“Rain!”  He raised his face to the heavens, opening his mouth and squinting his eyes shut as the sweet water fell upon him.  He stuck his tongue out, desperately trapping every drop he could.  Realizing that wasn’t working all that well, he cupped his hands, lapping at the deluge that gathered as quickly as it fell.  He wanted to cry in relief, his throat finally opening, his chilled body responding to the stimulation.

Once Dean had had his fill, he looked around, wondering if by some miracle Florida had magically appeared.  No such luck.  His relief of water was short-lived as he realized just how hungry he was.  What he wouldn’t do for a giant platter of lobster.  He could feel his mouth watering at just the thought.

Lying down again, which allowed him to feel much steadier, Dean stared up into the sky, barely able to keep his eyes open as the drops fell.  He looked at them, lightening making the sky glow every few moments, and Dean felt like he was stuck on the Millennium Falcon in that Star Wars movie, moving at light speed, or warp speed, or whatever the sexy Han Solo called it.  It was like that with snow.  He remembered driving at night and turning the headlights on bright, watching as the snow pelted the lights and windshield, just like the rain, at warp speed.

As Dean listened to the lapping water around him, he had never felt so alone, yet was surrounded by God’s creations.  How could something be so beautiful as the ocean, yet so incredibly unforgiving?  How many ships had gone down in these very waters?  How many people had died where he lay?  Would he be one of them?  Would anyone back home, other than Will, care?  Would anyone from his firm come to mourn his passing?  Crying at an empty casket, as no doubt his body would never be found.

Dean felt anger course through him once more at the unfairness of it all.  He hadn’t even wanted this damn trip!  Why was he being punished?  What, was it the pilot’s time to go, or what?  How had he, one man, survived that awful crash?  And basically without a scratch.  Dean wasn’t bleeding anywhere, wasn’t hurting anywhere, other than his back and stomach from hunger pangs.  He’d released his bladder several hours ago.  Was he meant to survive this ordeal?  Turn into Tom Hanks and talk to a volleyball, too?

Maybe if he survived he could have a TV movie made about him or something.  How cool would that be?  Maybe Collin Ferrell could play him.  Dean grinned at that idea.

*  *  *

A life together- three kids, a nice spread and happiness.  Gone.  All gone in a blink of an eye.  Michael stared up at the falling rain, the cool wetness easing the sting of his sunburned flesh and ravishing thirst.  But even the rain couldn’t ease his torn soul or broken heart.  He could feel the solid form in his arms, the coolness of Melissa’s skin, could still smell the shampoo she’d used that morning.

Not sure what was rain and what was weeping, Michael held tighter to the only woman he’d ever loved.  He smiled, thinking of the bright-eyed woman his Mel was.  The way she wouldn’t let him get away with anything.  She’d give him that look that made him stop whatever he was doing, guilt immediately filling every fiber of his being.  Why had she stayed with him through the years?  She had put up with his drunk tirades, losing jobs and years of fighting.  Never did she falter in her love for him.  Finally one day he’d woken up and realized that all his searching, all his bastardly escapades were for naught; everything he could want or need had been by his side the whole time.  He’d left his beer untouched on the bar, dropped a few bills, and hurried home to make love to his wife.

Michael smiled, thinking of his three kids, two boys and a girl: Alan, Jenny and Conrad.  What a handful they all were, and yet every day Melissa handled them with grace and aplomb.  What were they going to do without a mother?

“I’m sorry, guys,” he told the rain.

*  *  *

“Pull it, come on!” Pam ordered with a groan, using her full body weight to try and tug the raft onto shore, flanked by Mia and Rachel.  Finally the three women managed to get the heavy inflatable slide out of the water, all three collapsing to the hard-packed sand.

Rachel had never been so glad to touch land in her life.  Grabbing fistfuls of sand, her head hung, hair falling into her eyes in wet strands.  Taking deep breaths, Rachel allowed herself to be helped to her feet, then nearly lost her footing again as she was pulled into a monster hug filled with Pam’s profound relief, Mia joining the excitement.

Mia ran her hands along her hair, pushing it out of her face, noting the blonde woman running off into the bushes.

“Help me, Mia,” Pam said, tugging on the raft again.  “We need to get this flipped.  We’re going to need shelter from the rain.”

“Shouldn’t we let it gather water?” the girl asked, glancing around the tiny beach they’d landed on.

“I think right now we need shelter more.”  The veterinarian glanced up as a streak of lightening split the sky, thunder growling through the heavy clouds. “We’ve got to get dry.”

Rachel had never been so relieved to pee in her life.  She shivered as the mass amount of hot liquid left her body.  Her skin was cold, body chilled, and beyond wet.  The author didn’t think she could be as wet if she were standing under a shower spray!

Hurrying back to the beach, she grabbed a side of the heavy raft as Mia and Pam tried to turn it over.  It finally flopped over, propped up on some thick foliage.

“Get underneath it!” Pam instructed, yelling to be heard over the thunder, the rain coming down in an even harder deluge.  The three woman huddled together, watching their new world from the relative dry safety of their fort.  Once again Mia was in Pam’s motherly embrace, the girl feeling numb, her body and mind in shock, unable to handle the fact that she’d just survived a devastating plane crash, lost her mother and was now stranded on some piece of rock with two strangers, and was most likely going to die.  Her brain somersaulted over these facts as she shivered violently, wishing she’d gone down with her mother.

Pam noted the trembling of the young girl, and studied her with drawn brows.  She was worried about young Mia, knowing that all this was a lot for a teenager to handle, considering everything else a teenager had to handle during that time in their life.  She was afraid the girl was in shock, and knew she had to keep a careful eye on her.  She looked over at the blonde, meeting her eyes for a moment, shaking her head to signify her worry.

Rachel’s gaze left Pam’s and moved to Mia.  She knew the girl was devastated, and could relate, knowing exactly how she felt.  Reaching out a cold, trembling hand, Rachel took Mia’s in her own, meeting the girl’s brief gaze.  The blonde smiled when she felt a slight squeeze of Mia’s hand.

As the women watched, to their astonishment, as quickly as the rain had started, it stopped, trickling to a few drops before stopping altogether, only the sounds of water dripping from plant life filled the night.  Until they heard it.

“What is that?” Rachel said, straining her ears.  “A beat.  Like a,” she listened further, “drum.”

“Oh god,” Pam muttered, eyes wide as she tried to take in all with her hearing alone.  In her overwhelmed state of mind, it almost sounded tribal. “Have we landed on Easter Island, or something?”

Rachel said nothing, only tried to listen. “Maybe someone is here.”

“Maybe they have food,” Mia said quietly, peeking out from the overturned slide.

“Maybe we’d be the food,” Rachel supplied, her overactive imagination already whirling.  Part of her wanted to go explore, and part of her was terrified at what she’d find.

*  *  *

“Damn it, bastard.”  Denny growled, turning the cocoanut around, again, trying to see if she had made any progress.  Another growl deep in her throat, she turned back to the rock and continued to pound the stubborn shell against the sharp edge.  Suddenly after another half dozen poundings, she squealed in delight as liquid burst from the small crack.  “Yes!”

The brunette raised the cocoanut to her mouth, swallowing down the cloudy water-like milk, almost moaning in pleasure.  The rain water had been wonderful, but her stomach was revolting, craving sustenance.  The milk drained, Denny began to tear the shell apart, piece by stubborn piece, until she was able to scoop the pure white cocoanut from the inside, greedily sucking it from her fingertips.

As she ate, Denny looked out from her shelter in the thick foliage, managing to stay dry during the deluge, which was trickling down to nothing more than a simple rainstorm.  For the first time since she first knew there was trouble on the flight, Denny felt halfway good.  She was relieved to be safe and out of the water, and relieved to have found some sort of food, even if minimal.  Tomorrow, in the light of day, she’d explore the island and see what else she could find.  If she were really lucky, there would actually be civilization, but she had serious doubts about that.  For tonight, she’d stay in the little niche she’d found and try to get some sleep.

*  *  *

Dean was awoken abruptly as a huge wave rushed under the tiny raft he lay on, toppling him into the ocean.  Bubbles and a smothered cry erupt to the surface, Dean sinking further down until his ruined Gucci shoes come into contact with something hard.  Instinctively, he pushed off the surface, and shot back to the surface, gasping and clawing blindly for the seat cushions.  They were gone.

Bobbing in the water as the sun began to break the horizon, Dean tried to gather his wits about him, and figure out he was going to do.  The flimsy life preserver from the airplane was already deflating, and he couldn’t tread water forever.  Then something occurred to him.  Ducking his head back under water, he realized he did in fact see something solid.  Shooting back down, his feet hit the surface maybe seven feet down.  Breaking through the water again, Dean looked around him, swishing in the water.  He couldn’t believe what he was seeing!

With a cry of triumph, Dean began to frantically swim toward land, maybe one hundred yards away.  I can do this!  I have to do this.  He was exhausted, hungry and in desperate need of dry clothing, but it didn’t matter.  Land!  The muscles in his arms and legs were burning as badly as his lungs, but the attorney pushed it all to the back of his brain, doing his best to not think about it.  Once he hit solid ground, other than just a reef, he could collapse and let his body rest.

Dean was breathing dangerously heavy as he crawled up onto shore, his legs finally giving out and he fell to his knees and finally to all fours.  Shoulders heaving with his sobs of relief, Dean leaned down, pressing his face into the wet, cold sand, then looking up into the sky, just beginning to paint color across the horizon.

“Thank you,” he whispered, not a religious man, but this seemed like a blessing if he’d ever seen one.  “Oh, thank you, God.”

“Amazing, isn’t it?”

Dean screamed, shocked to hear the voice of another person.  He sprang to his feet, stumbling back as a wave crashed onto shore, taking him with it.  He splashed in the receding water, spitting out a mouthful of salt water.  The woman walked over to him, a smirk gracing her lips.  Holding out a hand to him, he eyed her, stunned and even more relieved, as he took the help, gaining his feet.

“Are you okay?” Denny asked, amused by just how big around the man’s eyes were.  He nodded dumbly.  “Were you on the plane?”  Again he nodded.  “Me, too.  Welcome to paradise.”  She opened her arms, indicating the island, still shielded in the blue light of pre-dawn.

Dean was suddenly overwhelmed yet again, so relieved to not only find land, but another living person.  He grabbed the woman with long, dark hair and crushed her to him, feeling her stiffen in surprise, then wrap her own arms around his back.  The attorney couldn’t control his tears, feeling like a fool crying in this strange woman’s arms, but to her credit, she said nothing, just held him and let him cry it all out.

Denny wasn’t entirely surprised by the man’s reaction.  Her own emotions had gotten the better of her more than once since she’d found herself lying on the beach.  In truth, she was beyond glad to have him there.  Two heads were better than one, and maybe they could combine their skills and knowledge to figure out a way to get home.

“I’m sorry,” he said at length, stepping back from the brunette. “I was just overcome.”

“It’s okay.  I understand.”  Denny kept a hand on his shoulder, adding just a bit more silent understanding as he wiped his face clean of tears, though left smears of wet sand.  The coffee shop owner smile, bringing a hand up to gently swipe at the sticky grains.  The man smiled in gratitude. “I’m Denny.”

“Dean.”  The attorney was able to make out some of the woman’s features, but only just.  He could tell her hair was dark and her eyes light.  Judging by the splotchy light and dark on the woman’s face, her skin was no doubt as sunburned as his own. “How long have you been here?” he asked, noting that she was dry, her hair and clothing.

“I’m not sure.  I think I woke up some time late afternoon, over on the beach,” she pointed to the spot where she’d awoke.  Dean glanced over his shoulder, seeing she pointed further down the beach.  “Come on, Dean.”  Turning, Denny led the way back to her shelter.  She’d heard something, which had woken her, and she’d run to the beach, her hopes of finding a search boat or plane dashed.  Instead she’d found Dean, trying to make his way to land.  The level of disappointment had nearly brought her to tears, but she was glad to be able to help a fellow survivor.

Dean followed, gasping as a branch of some sort of plant smacked him in the face as it slipped from his grasp.  Glaring at the offending foliage, he shoved it aside, trying to keep up with his guide as she led him deeper into the jungle.  He noted bits of material tied to branches, which looked like torn shreds from something.

“Are you hungry, Dean?” Denny asked, folding her body to her bed of leaves.  She could no longer see his face, but heard an eager yes.  “It’s not much, but it’s something.”  She handed him one of the precious baby bananas she’d managed to find when she realized the cocoanut wasn’t going to be near enough.  The fruit was tiny, but it was better than nothing.

Dean snatched the banana from the woman’s hand, almost growling like a rabid dog as he tore into the skin.  Humming in delight at the slightly bitter taste, he chewed thoroughly in between bites, nearly turning it completely to mush first, wanting to prolong every bit of the tiny banana.

Denny listened, understanding all too well.  She handed the man a leaf, cupped in her hands and filled with rain water.  Muttering his gratitude around the last bite of banana, Dean took the leaf, careful to keep it cupped as he drained the fresh, clean liquid inside.  Still hungry, but feeling immensely better, Dean leaned back against a thick cushion of foliage, the first smile of the day gracing his lips.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

*  *  *

Rachel groaned softly as she turned over, something in her back pinching, waking her up with a start and soft cry.  Green eyes opened and she looked around, seeing light of a new day slowly creep in under the edge of the overturned raft.  Pam and Mia were sound asleep.  The author decided it was time to get up, stretch, and explore.  She couldn’t help but think about this time yesterday, early morning sometime.  She had still been at Reenie’s tiny apartment, lying on her couch and trying to decide what to do.  Torn between staying for another few nights or going home, Rachel had decided to do neither.

Crawling out from under their shelter, the blonde looked up into the sky, still dark blue, but the edges of the world were on fire, the light leaping up into the clouds to paint them orange and pink.  It was truly beautiful.  Rachel stood at the water’s edge, committing the sight to memory so she could reproduce it in a novel somewhere.

The blonde looked around, amazed at how much the scenery had changed over night.  They had landed on a tiny beach, shrouded by rocky cliffs on either side, which waves were crashing against, white foam flying up into the air, and backed by lush, thick greenery, which looked like it would take a hatchet to make any headway.  No matter, Rachel knew it had to be done.  If they were going to survive and get home, she’d have to see what they were up against, or what resources they had to draw from.

Taking a deep breath, Rachel shoved her hands into the back pockets of her jeans, wishing she hadn’t lost her baseball cap in the ocean.  It would be nice not having to worry about things crawling in her hair.  She climbed up the small hill that led to the jungle, slowly picking her way through the first layer of growth, eyes looking every which way, unsure of what type of wildlife would be roaming in these trees and vining plants.  She was also trying to stay mindful of dangerous spiders, bugs or snakes.

Taking it slow, Rachel couldn’t help but marvel at her surroundings.  She’d lived in Oregon her whole life, and had been surrounded by the wooded beauty of it.  She’d traveled all around the world in the past five years, researching her novels and exploring all there was to see in every place- France, Israel, Rome and Greece, and even Japan.  In each place she was awed all over again, and this place, regardless of the circumstances, was no different.  The colors that jumped out at her were startling and inspiring.  What she wouldn’t do to sit up against a tree with her laptop and write.

Rachel found it amusing, and slightly disturbing, that even though she was in a dire situation, which could possibly prove to be mortally damaging, she couldn’t help but think with her pen instead of her head.

Chuckling at that analogy, Rachel didn’t see the figure until she’d nearly run her over.  Gasping in shock, a hand going to her beating heart, she looked up, meeting equally startled blue eyes.

PART 3

"FRAZIER HERE," THE detective said, holding a bullet casing up to his eye with latex-clad fingers.

"Matt, Captain Washington needs you back at precinct ASAP," Regina Mason, front desk clerk, said.

Matt lost interest in the casing for a moment, brows drawing. "Did she say why?"

"Nope. Just told me to give you the message."

"Okay. I can be there in about half an hour."

"Okey doke. I'll let her know."

"Thanks, Reggie." Matt snapped his phone closed and slipped it into the holster clipped to his belt. "Hey, Burt," he called out to his partner, who was talking to a member of the coroner's office. "I need to head back to the office right quick. I'll be back as soon as I can."

Matt trotted across the street to his car, buckling himself in before merging the sedan into traffic. In a way he was grateful for the reprieve, no matter how brief, as his mind was not on his job at the moment, and the victim lying dead on the sidewalk didn't deserve that. He hadn't heard from his wife in five days, and though he wasn't worried about her as he knew she'd be fine, he was worried about his marriage. She hadn't called him, even if for nothing more than to yell and scream at him. Oh, how he wished she'd do that, but knew better. Rachel was an introvert, and lived inside her own head and emotions. So often he'd wish she'd let him in, and she never would. Though he wasn't about to blame his infidelity on her, sometimes he wondered if maybe the distance she insisted on keeping from the rest of the world, even her own husband, hadn't helped things, either.

Matt popped a stick of gum into his mouth, hating the taste of stale cigarettes, as he pushed through the front doors of the police department. He waved and called out a greeting to the ladies working in the office then headed back into the maze of the inner workings of Madison PD, Madison, Oregon.

"Come in," Captain Peggy Washington called out, phone receiver in her hand with fingers poised over the keypad to punch in her home number. She needed to make sure her son had picked up his little sister from soccer practice. She glanced up as her office door was pushed open, Detective Matt Frazier popping his head around the corner. "Oh, Matt. Come in." Peggy set the receiver back in its cradle. Her son could wait.

"What's up, Cap?" Matt asked, plopping down in one of the two chairs set in front of the metal desk of his superior. He flung an ankle over his knee, jiggling his dangling foot, a nervous habit he'd always had. Drove Rachel crazy.

Peggy sighed heavily, leaning forward with her elbows on her desk blotter. She looked the detective in the eye. She'd known Matt Frazier since his first day at the academy, where she'd taught a self-defense class. He was a good guy, and she hated being the one to tell him the news, but the Chief had insisted, knowing Frazier liked and respected her.

"I've got some bad news for you, Matt," she began softly, the mother of four in her coming out.

"Okay." Matt could feel his heart beginning to pound, and his brain whirred, trying to mentally go over everything he'd done in the last six months, confused.

"You had Burt Langley find some information on your wife, about her whereabouts-"

"Oh, Peggy, I didn't think-"

Captain Washington held up a hand to silence him. "Matt, the plane your wife was on went down somewhere in the Caribbean."

Matt stared at the woman with short, curly red hair, blinking several times as the words slowly penetrated his brain. He swallowed, feeling a coldness rush through him, making him shiver.

"What?"

"I'm so sorry, Matt." Peggy met his gaze and held it, trying to make sure he was okay. Matt nodded, but his jaw muscles were working overtime. "I think it's best you take some time off."

"No. Uh," Matt pushed up from the chair. "I need to get back-"

"Detective, I am ordering you to go home, at least until Monday. Okay?"

"Alright." Matt left the office, his stomach roiling suddenly. He headed for the bathroom, almost not making it before he lost the meatball sandwich he and Burt had for lunch.

The house had seemed dark and empty before, but now, now it just felt… dead. Matt ran a hand through his hair, his eyes burning with unshed emotion. He still felt sick, chewing three pieces of gum on the way home alone, to get the taste of regurgitated meatball sandwich out of his mouth.

Tossing his keys and wallet to the breakfast bar, the detective walked on shaky legs to the living room, noting that the answering machine blinked with eight messages. He didn't have the heart to listen to them, not wanting to talk to anyone. Besides, he knew none of them would be from Rachel.

Matt fell to the Lazy-Boy chair in front of the TV, head in his hands, shoulders finally heaving as his grief and deep regret hit him between the eyes. She can't be dead. She can't! Somewhere through his grief, he heard the phone ring, the answering machine picking up on the third ring.

"Hi, you've reached Rachel and Matt. Please leave a message. Bye." Rachel's voice pierced his heart once more.

"Matt, this is Reenie again. It's imperative that you call me right away." Matt could hear the emotion, the editor's voice thick and nasal. She'd obviously been crying. "Please call me today."

The dead air was heavy and filled with expectation. Matt didn't want to talk to her right now. Why hadn't she told her Rachel's flight number, damn it!? How could she have withheld that from him? Matt's tears returned. He knew he was being unfair; none of this was Reenie's fault, it was all him. Raising his face to the ceiling, he squeezed his eyes shut, crying out his grief to the night beyond.

*  *  *

Naomi rested her cheek against the top of Will's head, where it rested just under her chin. The architect had his arm slung over her stomach, her fingers running through his hair. Together they watched the newscast of the crash, now on every channel. It was amazing, and unheard of. The plane had crashed in the middle of the Caribbean, yet three people had been rescued, one half dead, the other two badly wounded, but alive.

"That's amazing," Naomi whispered, eyes riveted to the footage. She felt her brother-in-law nod, though it was followed by a sniffle. None of the three people were Dean. The camera showed the three arriving in New York, a crowd mobbing them, then flickered to individual reunions. An older couple enveloped a woman with short, black hair, the trio crying. The older man was then on camera speaking in Italian, his words translated closed caption-style at the bottom of the screen:

I'm so grateful to get my granddaughter back. I'm just greatly saddened by the loss of our great-granddaughter.

Another woman was being wheeled in a wheelchair by a man, who was smiles from ear to ear. Two young children flanked the wheelchair.

"It's a miracle!" the man said, voice cracking. "I couldn't believe it when the phone rang, and it was Candice on the other end."

An official was flashed on screen. "The investigation has already been started, the rescue mission sadly turning to a recovery mission. Divers are now trying to locate the black box."

Naomi and Will shut the TV off as the newscaster began to explain what the black box was, and how it worked. Will stared off into space, fantasizing, not for the first time, that one of the survivors had in fact been Dean, and he had been on the other end of that phone call.

"Want to hear something strange?" he said at length, voice soft, wistful.

"Hmm?" Naomi brushed hair away from Will's boyish features. If you had been straight…

"Somehow I feel like I'd know if Dean were dead. I know that sounds crazy, and extremely full of fantasy, but…"

"You don't feel that he is?"

Dean was quiet for a moment, contemplating that, mulling it over and over in his head. Finally he shook his head. "No. No doubt it's just simple wishful thinking, but somehow I don't feel it."

"Well, you guys do have an amazing connection, Will." Naomi thought about her brother and the man she'd been holding for two days now. The architect was beyond distraught, and no doubt felt Dean's loss more acutely than anyone. Since the first day Dean had brought Will home to meet everyone, Naomi had seen the specialness of the men's relationship and bond. It truly was something to behold. Though Naomi had no doubt Dean was gone, she also had no doubt Will could still feel him. Hell, maybe her brother was around them right now, and that was why Will's feeling was so strong.

*  *  *

The reunion was an emotional one- not a reunion of friends, but a gathering of strangers, reuniting with humanity, though Denny was almost beside herself to see Mia step out from under the overturned slide. She hugged the girl tight, not having to ask about the teenager's mother. Mia's tears told her all she needed to know.

"I can't believe there are so many of us," Dean said, eyeing everyone, his methodical mind already forming thoughts and impressions of each woman before him. "Where were you guys all sitting?" He looked from one to another, finally settling back on Denny.

"Up in 5C. Mia and I were right behind First Class," the brunette explained softly. Rachel was listening, arms crossed over her chest. Looking at Denny, she realized that she had remembered seeing her on the plane, though briefly. She also felt like she'd noticed her in the terminal.

"I was in First Class," Pam said, leaning against a rock face.

"Me, too," the blonde said softly.

"Well, I was back about halfway, not quite to the wing."

"Good thing," Denny said, pushing some wind blown strands behind her ear. "Any further back and you would have been gone."

Dean nodded sagely. "I know. We were all lucky."

Pam looked away, remembering her boyfriend sitting next to her one minute, then gone the next, sucked out, as no doubt many of the passengers were. The air was heavy with bad memories and grief. Mia began to sob softly.

"So!" Dean said, needing to change the subject and mood. He clapped his hands together. "Where is everyone from?"

"Buffalo," Pam said, munching on the bananas Denny had provided.

The brunette nodded. "Me, too."

"Brooklyn," Mia near whispered.

"My partner and I have a loft in Manhattan," Dean supplied.

Rachel smirked. "Guess I'm the only non-New Yorker here." All eyes were on her. She felt shy under the full attention. "Oregon."

"You were far from home," Dean said, brow raised. The blonde looked away, nodding. Me thinks there's a story there.

"So how is everyone holding up? Injuries?" Pam looked around, noting various bumps and bruises on everyone except Dean. She'd also noted the way the beautiful brunette seemed to hold her right arm to her body. The veterinarian walked over to her. "Let me get a look at your arm, Denny."

"Oh, we have our very own mother hen on the island," Dean grinned, gesturing wildly. Rachel glanced at him, then turned to watch Pam and Denny, Pam murmuring various questions, Denny's responses soft. She wondered if Pam had some sort of medical knowledge; she seemed to know what she was doing. Next thing she knew, the older woman led the brunette around behind a wall of foliage.

Denny sucked in a breath at the white hot pain that shot through her arm as she tried to pull her sleeve off around it. With Pam's help, she was finally able to, standing before the older woman in her bra. Pam studied the arm and shoulder, grazing gentle fingers over the discolored flesh.

"Denny, I think this is dislocated," Pam said, glancing up into the brunette's glacier eyes. "I really need to set it."

Denny swallowed loudly, but nodded. It couldn't hurt anymore than it already did.

"Okay, honey, here we go." Pam stepped up close to Denny's side, one hand wrapping around Denny's forearm, the other steadying the coffee shop owner on her shoulder.

Birds squawked and flew out of the trees as a cry echoed over the island, startling both animal and human occupants. Three sets of eyes stared into the thick foliage. They glanced at each other, then back to the direction the cry came from. Rachel shivered, feeling the pain that cry carried. Though one good thing, she realized, there were birds on the island. She just hoped they came back!

Denny tried to catch her breath, a soft hand rubbing circles on her upper back, Pam whispering words of apology. She took a shaky breath, then got herself together. She barely understood as the older woman explained she was going to try and make something to use as a sling for her arm. She left the brunette leaning safely against a thick grouping of undergrowth as she sought out to find some vines.

Denny felt the pain slowly washing over her in lapping waves, much like those on the beach. She closed her eyes, taking in lungfulls of the freshest air she'd ever had, strongly scented with the salt and wildlife of the sea. She felt queasy, though couldn't afford to lose any of the food she'd already taken in, so instead she just stayed put, holding her arm in the exact same position Pam had put it, keeping it close to her side, her left hand holding tight to her elbow.

"Is she okay?" Mia asked as Pam emerged from the foliage, eyes already scanning the beach.

"Yeah. Had to reset her shoulder," the vet explained absently. "Does anyone have a knife?" she called out, glancing over to where Rachel and Dean stood, both just looking at her. Of course they would have to get stranded in a post 9/11 world, where nothing sharper than a comb's tooth was allowed on board.

"In my checked luggage," Dean said helpfully. Pam glared, then stopped, staring at him. "What? It was a joke." He watched as the woman approached him, noting the look in her eye, and wanting to take a step back from her.

"Give me that," she said, pointing. The man looked down, confused. Pam reached for his thick, Armani belt, unbuckling it. Her hands were covered with his, trying to push her away.

"Hey!" He hadn't had a woman try and undress him since Mary Taylor when they were seventeen. Oh, what a disaster that had been. "Did you hit your head, or something?"

"I need your belt!"

"What?! This is a two hundred dollar Armani belt!" Dean was even more pissed, slapping at Pam's hands, stumbling back in his haste to get away from her.

"Yeah, well now it's a two hundred dollar sling."

"I don't think so!" He looked at her, incredulous. She expected him to give up his belt for a frigging sling? No way! "Keep your damn hands off me, woman."

Thoroughly angry at the little pipsqueak's selfishness, Pam stalked over to him, taking his shirt in her fist. "List to me, and listen good, Dean," she said within inches of his face, eyes hard. "We're stuck here, all of us, and we have got to cooperate with each other. Do you understand me?"

"Guys!" They both looked to see Denny standing a few feet away, still holding her arm. "This isn't worth fighting over. Pam, we can find something else, vines or my shirt or something. Don't beat the guy up over it."

Rachel stared at the brunette, noting she stood there in her jeans and a bra. Her shoulder looked ugly- bruised and badly swollen. Dried blood was caked to a bad gouge on her upper arm, near her shoulder. Looking down at her own attire, she felt guilt sweep over her.

"Here." Walking over to Pam, the blonde held out her hand, her own brown leather belt dangling from her hand. The older woman looked down at it, then smiled up into amused green eyes.

"Thank you, Rachel." Glaring over her shoulder at Dean, she took the offering, then walked over to Denny.

"Thank you," Denny said through nearly gritted teeth as the woman tethered her arm to her body. The blonde nodded. Denny still couldn't believe the author was one of the survivors, and was taken aback by the color of her eyes. The magazine pictures hadn't done her any justice at all. She watched as the blonde turned away, looking out over the ocean before sitting on a small grouping of boulders.

Dean glared at the older woman, his gaze traveling over the winkled, ruined shirt she wore, which clung to her slightly over-weight frame. He took in the rough, calloused hands that made sure the belt was tight around the brunette, snorting derisively. "Bitch," he muttered, walking in the opposite direction Rachel had, arms crossed over his chest.

Oh boy. Denny watched the scene unfolding before her, and had no desire to be the cause for problems already. They'd all been together for a whopping fifteen minutes, and already clashes were arising. This wouldn't do. Glancing up at Pam, she met her gaze.

"You know, we're all pretty messed up here, Pam," she began softly. "I think we all need to have some patience with each other."

The veterinarian met the striking blue eyes of the woman she was just about finished making a splint for, then blew out a breath, returning her gaze to the duty at hand. "He needs to learn that we all need to work together to get through this," she said softly, yet her voice was firm. Denny said nothing more; all she felt needed to be conveyed, she'd said. Why beat a dead horse?

"How does that feel?" Pam asked, looking at her handy work. The arm and shoulder had been stabilized against the brunette's own body.

"It hurts like a bitch, to be quite honest, but it'll have to do." Denny took several deep breaths, trying to get her head out of the cotton it was in. She almost wondered if she would have been better off just to leave her arm as it had been. At least she'd gotten used to the pain.

"Where are we going to sleep tonight?" Mia asked from behind Pam. Both the doctor and Denny looked at her. "It was so cold last night." Dark eyes looked between one to the other.

"Good question, kid," Denny muttered. She'd only been able to get sporadic sleep the night before, shivering as the island cooled down immensely from the hot, humid heat of the day. "That breeze off the ocean can be brutal."

"Everybody gather round!" Pam called out, clapping her hands. Mia glanced at Denny, who shrugged her one good shoulder, then winced at the movement. Pam waited until she had everyone's attention. Meeting everyone's eyes, even the still-angry Dean, she began to bark out orders. "Dean, gather wood so we can make a fire. Rachel, start gathering food and Denny, help her by making some sort of container to keep it all in. Mia, you and I are going to start gathering materials to make some sort of shelter." Again the vet clapped her hands, everyone just staring at her. "Let's go!"

Rachel looked at the older woman, disbelieving. Does she think she's talking to a group of five year olds? Dean voiced the blonde's thoughts.

"Excuse me, but I'm not your kid, and you'd do well to remember that." Who the hell does she think she is?

Denny watched like she was watching a tennis match, a feeling that she needed to intervene creeping up on her. Voices were beginning to raise, disturbing yet more birds.

"Alright!" she cried, stepping between the veterinarian and attorney, who had stepped closer to each other. "Let's stop this before you two scare away our dinner." She looked from one to the other. "Dean, would you please gather some wood? We're all going to freeze tonight if we can't make a fire. I'd do it myself but," the brunette glanced down at her injured arm. The attorney glared one last time at Pam, then turned kinder eyes to Denny. He nodded. "Thanks, man. I really appreciate it." The brunette looked into Dean's eyes, thinking she may very well recognize a kindred spirit. Dean seemed to feel it, too, giving her a small smile, then turned and disappeared into the foliage. "And be careful!" Denny called after him.

Rachel watched, her anger turning to amused surprise. She watched Dean melt right before her eyes, hurrying off to do the brunette's bidding. Green eyes flicked to Pam to see that she, too had softened her stance, but only just a little. The older woman, so obviously used to being in charge, was no doubt seething as that control was whipped right out from underneath her. Rachel watched as Pam headed off, taking Mia with her, leaving Denny and the author alone on the beach.

"That was pretty slick," the blonde said, a smile in her voice. Denny smiled, almost shyly, as she made her way over to the author.

"Yeah, well it won't do us any good if everyone's fighting and angry. This isn't an episode of Survivor."

Rachel nodded. "You did good."

"Thanks." Denny felt her stomach knotting, feeling strange to be standing on there talking with a New York Times best-selling author. "Listen, um, I didn't want to say anything in front of the others, but," she shifted her shoe in the sand. "I think you're an amazing talent." Shy blue eyes rose to meet twinkling green.

"Thank you, Denny. I appreciate that." Rachel's smile was soft. She looked with concern at the brunette's arm. "Are you going to be able to do this? If you need to just sit down…"

"No. I'll be okay. I've got another one." Denny wiggled the fingers of her left hand and flapped her arm like a bird. The blonde chuckled, making her smile. "Come on. Let's get dinner and make an island-style fridge."

*  *  *

Michael grunted, then instinctively reached out, trying to keep his hold. His eyes opened, burning from the lids being so badly sunburned. Again he gripped the edge of his raft with a death grip. Looking around, he realized they'd managed to catch a nasty bunch of waves. Hearing a sliding sound, the Texan glanced to his right.

"Mel!" Michael flung himself over to where his wife's body was sliding down the slope of the metal, quickly disappearing beneath the surface of the unforgiving sea. "No!" The mechanic reached down, desperate to try and catch his wife's hand, part of her shirt, something. She was gone. Slamming a large fist into the metal, Michael cried out like a wounded animal, yet again. As he stared down into the inky depths, he thought of following after Melissa, after all, what did he have without her?

"Daddy!" the squeal split the day in two, short legs galloping across the front lawn, the roar of the little boy's father following close behind.

"I'll get you!"

The boy squealed again, his grin a mile wide. The boy screamed like his big sister as large hands caught him under the arms, and whipped him up into the sky before the boy landed on his father's shoulders, seeing the world from a whole new height.

"Daddy? Can you help me?"

Large fingers did their level best to help a fifteen year old girl braid her hair, both father and daughter laughing at his fumbled attempts.

"Hey, dad, check out the way this motor revs! Listen to that…" grinning like a fool, the young man of twenty-one pushes the gas of his newly rebuilt Trans Am.

Michael blinked at his own reflection, seeing the faces of his three children instead of his own heart-broken one. He knew at that moment that he had to live, had to go on. He was all they had left.

*  *  *

Rachel looked up into the extremely tall tree, thinking of her extremely not tall stature. Licking dry lips, she heaved herself up, trying to find anything to hold onto, her heart pounding as she tried to shove down her fear of heights. She couldn't allow herself to look down and see the progress she'd already made; she'd lose her courage completely then.

"You okay up there?" was called from far below. Again, the blonde stopped herself from looking down.

"Yep!" she called back. "Just peachy," she muttered, heart rising to her throat as she slipped slightly, grabbing onto a vine that had wrapped itself around the thin trunk of the palm. She held on for dear life, eyes closed as she tried to get her bearings and courage back. "Look out below!" she called, opening her eyes and reaching with the stick tucked into her pants, shoving at a clump of cocoanuts, grunting slightly as she tried to hit them harder. Finally three of them came loose, falling into the foliage below.

Denny stepped out of the way of the falling bombs. She didn't think it would do to survive a plane crash in the middle of the ocean only to die from getting smacked in the head with cocoanuts. They had a small pile already, cocoanuts they'd gathered from the ground, where Denny had found them the night before. She was using her shirt as a makeshift sack for them.

Rachel growled slightly at the last cocoanut, which was being far too stubborn for an inanimate object. Nearly falling from the tree herself, the author grabbed onto the trusty vine, breathing heavily. Blinking sweat out of her eyes, she glanced out over the trees around her, the ocean beyond. Blinking again, she tried to focus in on something out there in the water, something… shiny?

"Oh my god," she whispered, heart beginning to pound again. She narrowed her eyes, squinting against the distance to try and make out what it was. It glinted off the sunlight. A boat? Could it be a boat?

"What's wrong?" Denny asked, watching the blonde.

"I see something," Rachel called down, raising an arm and pointing.

"What?"

"I don't know. Can't tell. It's, it looks like metal."

Denny felt her own heart beat began to race, the faintest bit of hope tickling her insides. She caught the final cocoanut the fell, though Rachel hadn't touched it. Her amusement was cut short as the blonde scurried down the tree. Landing with a soft grunt, she turned to Denny briefly before running back through the trees, calling out over her shoulder for Denny to follow.

Both out of breath as they broke to the beach, heading to the water, where Rachel stood, hand raised to shield her eyes from the fierce sun. The coffee shop owner stood next to the blonde, trying to focus in on whatever she had seen.

"Does that look like a boat to you?" Rachel whispered, almost afraid to breathe the possibility.

"I don't know." Denny would have done anything for binoculars at that point. Something in her gut told her that disappointment was coming their way.

"What's going on?" Dean asked, running up to the two women, face scrunching up as he looked into the bright sun-lit water. He saw the blonde extend an arm, pointing. Following her finger, her saw something glinting, seeming to bob in the water. "What is that?"

"We don't know," Rachel said.

*  *  *

A new-found reason to try and survive all this, Michael looked around, trying to figure out exactly how he was going to survive this. As if something had answered his prayers, the mechanic saw… something.

He rose to his hand and knees, squinting. No way. "Oh my god," he whispered. Realizing that what he thought he saw wasn't a trick of the mind, Michael began to try and paddle, making little progress, other then starting to drift to the left. "Shit."

*  *  *

Dean felt his heart fall, realizing that it wasn't a savior, just a bit of what looked to be debris, more likely than not, from the wreckage. Angrily waving it off, he turned and stormed back across the beach where he had begun piling wood.

Denny and Rachel stayed put, both feeling the crash of their own disappointment. Rachel could feel the sting of unshed emotion, which she quickly swallowed down. About to turn away, she stopped, stepping forward, the water barely teasing the toes of her shoes.

"Wait," she muttered absently. "There's someone out there."

"What? Are you sure?" Denny had lost her contacts in the crash, so her distance vision was for the birds. And apparently Rachel Holt.

"Yeah. There's someone on that thing!"

*  *  *

Michael slid his body around until his lower half was in the water up to mid-thigh. Holding on as best he could, he used what little energy the adrenaline was providing him, and began to kick. The wing finally was on its way toward the land that lay before him, taunting him. Lowering his head, Michael put all he had into it, pounding into the water, feeling the refreshing spray rain down on him. Soon he was panting heavily, but it didn't matter; he had to make it.

*  *  *

"Look! They're coming this way!" Rachel exclaimed, racing down the beach toward the area where the drifter was heading. Denny followed closely behind, the blonde's cries having garnered Pam and Mia's attention. Even Dean was interested again. The five survivors waited on the shore, watching.

*  *  *

Michael, breathing hard and feeling his legs cramping and body giving out, looked up, nearly falling into tears when he spotted a figure on the beach, arms waving high above their head. A new wave of energy filling him, the mechanic kicked on.

*  *  *

Rachel could now see clearly that it was a man, pounding of water behind him indicative of his kicking to power his raft toward them. The kicking stopped intermittently, the man collapsing on his metal ‘boat', then he'd start again. Remembering how shallow the water from the shore, due to the reef, Rachel hurried out into the water, feeling the cool saltiness splashing her skin and tasting it on her lips. She could hear others following.

*  *  *

"I can't do this," Michael panted, his body no longer able to continue. No matter how great his desire to touch land, how great is need for food and water, he just couldn't make himself go on. Hearing something, the Texan looked up, and did cry at the sight of five people hurrying toward him, water up to their waist, then shoulders, and finally they were swimming.

"We've got you," a woman's voice said, Michael's vision blurry and unable to make out her features, only that she had light colored hair. He felt hands on his legs, then movement as his craft was pushed ashore. Helped to his feet, sturdy hands under his arms and around his waist, Michael wobbled to solid ground, his legs giving out when he was in knee-deep water. He collapsed, crying in relief and frustration. His angels wouldn't allow him to give up.

"Come on, man, almost there," another woman said. Gathering the last remnants of humanity, Michael made it to shaky legs, half walking, half dragged, to the sandy shore, where he collapsed once more, panting heavily.

"Drink this."

Something was put before him, cupped leaves maybe? Whatever it was, it was filled with water. Michael nearly dumped it in his haste to drink, gulping down the cool sweetness, feeling it slide down his parches throat, brining the dying flesh back to life.

"Here."

Michael looked up and saw a man extending what looked to be a tiny banana at him. Once realization dawned no what it was, he grabbed it, frantically trying to peel it, almost sobbing as his fingers wouldn't work.

"Hey, hey, slow down."

Looking to his right, he saw a woman with long, dark hair squatting next to him. She took the banana from him, peeling it and handing him the stubby fruit. She smiled, which was like the sunlight through the clouds to Michael's broken heart and body. He couldn't even manage a ‘thank you' as he took the food from her, eating it in two large bites.

"More?" he managed.

Denny nodded. "Yeah, but wait big, fella. Take it slow."

"Are you an angel?" he asked, staring into the bluest eyes he'd ever seen. They twinkled with the owner's smile.

"No. Just a survivor like you. All of us are." Denny indicated those who stood around the large Texan. He looked up, really seeing everyone for the first time since he'd landed. He realized he actually recognized a couple.

"How long have you all been here? How long has it been?" He turned back to the woman who still knelt next to him.

"I've been here since the day it happened, two days ago. Have you been drifting all this time?"

Michael nodded. "Yeah. Me and my wife."

Denny watched him carefully, seeing the way his face fell at the mention of his wife. She obviously wasn't with him now, so … where was she? The Texan answered her unasked question, eyes dropping.

"She uh, she didn't make it." Michael was tired of crying like some girl, so he swallowed it down. Now he was safe, had a bit of water and a tiny bit of food. He needed to fully concentrate on getting back home to his kids- the rest could wait.

"I'm really sorry."

Rachel stood with her arms crossed over her chest, watching the interaction between Denny and their newest member of the club. She listened to the easy way the brunette talked to him, and the way her responded to her. It looked like the man was close to tears, and certainly exhausted. Rachel couldn't help but smile as she saw Denny take the man in a tight hug, then released him, a hand still on his back as she talked quietly to him, their words barely discernable.

"It's going to be okay," the brunette murmured, smiling at Michael. "We're all going to get home."

Michael nodded, absorbing the warmth and compassion like a mother's embrace.

"In face, when Rachel over there spotted you, we were all trying to get organized. Come on, let me introduce you to the clan." Denny stood, holding down a hand for Michael. Once on his feet, the mechanic leaned on the brunette until he got his balance, then turned to face the others. "What is your name?"

"Michael Dupree," the Texan said, shaking Denny's offered hand.

"I'm Denny, that's Rachel over there, Pam, Dean, and Mia."

Michael nodded. "Good to know ya'll. I can't thank you enough for your kindness." He looked at each and every face, mentally tallying who he was with, trying to figure them out with their stance, facial expressions or just the way they looked. The blonde looked to be a quiet sort, her body language closing her off from everyone else, her eyes watchful, taking everything in. The brunette with the blue eyes, her eyes were open, accepting and extremely expressive. He sensed a genuine presence there. The older woman Denny had called Pam studied him with open candor, sizing him up, looking him over. Her face was hard with lines bourn of a hard life and hard work. She didn't trust easily. The young girl, standing not to far from Pam, looked like a deer caught in very big headlights. The girl didn't look as though she knew where she was, or why she was there. Then there was the guy, standing over by Rachel. His clothes and stance said more than his words could. Though ruined, it was obvious his duds were fine and expensive. His chin was raised ever so slightly, giving him an air of superiority, whether imagined or real. One arm was crossed over his stomach, the elbow of his other arm resting upon it, a finger absently rubbing against his lips.

"Well, why don't you relax here, Michael Dupree, and the rest of us are going to get back to trying to get some food and shelter, okay?" Denny slapped the man on the back lightly, then walked back over toward Rachel, both heading back into the foliage.

*  *  *

The light came in through the fluttering curtains, white lace. Dark eyes blink several times, trying valiantly to hold back a new onslaught of tears. She hadn't been successful yet, but maybe this time. A soft knock sounded at the closed bedroom door.

"Entrato, Nonna."

The door slowly opened, squeaking slightly, then closed just as softly. "How are you, my child?" Lizbeth Vinzetti asked, setting down the tray of tea with lemon she'd brought. She sat on the edge of the narrow bed, placing a worn, but soft hand on a cotton-clad shoulder. She looked at her granddaughter's back, shoulders hunched and head tucked slightly. The light shining in through the window made the black hair lying against the pillow, shine.

"I feel dead inside," Gloria said, feeling the tickle of a tear running down the side of her nose and slipping down across her lips.

"My dear, dear quello piccolo."

Gloria's eyes slid closed as her grandmother's fingers ran through the short hair at the back of her head, more tears squeezing out. Lizbeth could see Gloria was falling apart, and leaned over, hugging the younger woman's slender shoulders to a plump bosom. She whispered comforting words to her distraught granddaughter, her own pain pushed aside to ease that of Gloria. She and Paolo had flown to New York when they'd gotten the word of the amazing rescue of the three survivors from flight 1049. It was unheard of, and the rescue had made news all over the world. They had been with their granddaughter at her Brooklyn apartment for three days, watching as doctors came and went, as well as well-wishers and mourners. Gloria refused to see any of them, except the doctors, though that had been a fight. The tiny apartment was littered with flowers and cards, the fridge filled to capacity with mainly uneaten offerings of condolences and support.

"Why did this happen, Nonna? Have I not lost enough in my life?" Gloria's words were whispered and shaky. "I have to lose my parents, now my own daughter? Papa is sick, and will soon leave me, too." Fresh sobs wracked the woman's body, her grandmother holding on tighter, knowing there was nothing she could say, no explanation, that would make any more sense than the insanity and unfairness of the situation. Gloria just needed to know that she was loved, for as long as that love lasted, it was there.

"You have to trust that she's in a good place, my Gloria. She is now with my Carmina," Lizbeth whispered, thinking back to her own daughter, knowing full well the depth of Gloria's pain. "We will get through this. Maybe you come back to Milano, yes?"

Gloria sighed. She had no idea about anything anymore. She didn't know if she could leave the apartment, all of Mia's things still tucked neatly into her bedroom across the hall, the bedroom where Gloria's own grandparents were staying.

"I don't know, Nonna. I just don't know."

*  *  *

It was dark. And cold. Mia stared out over the ocean, the moonlight glittering across its waves. It would be beautiful under different circumstances. She stared out over the water, knowing that her mother was under the surface somewhere, not even a grave marker, nor a grave, for the teenager to visit. But then, as long as she were on the island, she'd be able to visit every day.

The sixteen year old brought her legs up, wrapping her arms around them, resting her chin on her knees. Glancing up into the pitch black sky, Mia was amazed. Living in the busy, bustling city, she never got to see such an incredible night sky, so completely velvet, colors true and in amazing contrast- black sky, silvery, twinkling stars. Someday she'd like to put tat sky on her bedroom ceiling, able to look up into the purity of it every night.

It was amusing, six people, and none of them could figure out how to get a fire started. The rain hadn't helped things, either. Any wood gathered by Dean was still too wet, and all of their efforts, mainly Pam and the new guy, Michael, had resulted in nothing but a lot of foul-smelling smoke. So, ultimately they'd all gathered under the shelter Pam and Mia had managed to make, crude at best, and more of a lean-to than great shelter, trying to stay warm. The shared body heat had helped for sure, but everyone was still squeamish with each other, all virtual strangers, and tried to keep polite distance. It was amusing to the girl, though sad. Even in a dire situation, propriety won out over necessity. She wondered how long that would last.

Everyone seemed nice, and that was good. Mia hoped they all could get along until they managed to somehow get off the island. That inevitable brought her thoughts to her new life without her mother. Where would she go? She had no family in America, and figured she could go with her great-grandparents, but she had no desire to leave New York, and besides, her great-grandfather was terminally ill, and no doubt her great-grandmother would follow soon after. Then what?

"You okay?"

Mia glanced over her shoulder to see Rachel standing just behind her, her blonde hair turned silver in the moonlight. The teenager turned back to the water, nodding. Suddenly she realized she didn't want to be alone, and patted the sand next to her. She felt more than heard, the author sit.

"Beautiful," Rachel commented softly. Yet another scene to commit to memory. She glanced at the girl to her right. The look in the dark eyes said it all, but Rachel thought it might help Mia to talk about it. "Want to talk about it?"

Mia shrugged. "I'm just so sad. I know it may sound naïve, but I never thought I'd have to live without my mom. I guess maybe I thought she'd be around forever. Stupid, I know."

"It's not stupid, Mia," Rachel said gently. The warm gaze of the teenager met her own. She thought that some day, when Mia found out who she really was, she would be stunning. Her dark eyes were almond-shaped and gave her the appearance of the exotic. Her long, dark hair was long and healthy, looking thick and soft to the touch. "I lost my sister and best friend a year and a half ago. To this day I still think of ways I could have let her know how much I loved her. Things we should have done, if only I'd know we had such little time."

"Yeah! Exactly. I shouldn't have fought with her so bad." Mia looked back out to sea. "Maybe this is my pun-"

"Don't!" Rachel felt anger flare to life for this sweet, young girl who would dare take this tragedy on as her own doing. "Don't say that, don't even think that." She turned so she was fully facing the teen, her knees almost touching the girl's side. "Mia," she said, her tone gentle, a hand resting on Mia's shoulder. "what happened was a terrible, terrible accident that we may never fully know why it happened. But it was just that- an accident. Your mom's, well, what happened to your mom was just part of that accident. I don't mean to deny you your pain, because I know first-hand just how real it is, but Michael lost his wife, and Pam lost her boyfriend. Those people died because of something larger than all of us, and beyond any of our understanding and comprehension."

Mia turned to look into intense green eyes, turned gray in the darkness. "Do you really think so?"

"I know so, sweetie." The blonde smiled, squeezing the shoulder she still cupped.

Mia smiled slightly, looking down at her hands, which now fidgeted atop her knees. Rachel was so nice and beautiful. Her and Denny both. Mia felt shy and uncertain around them, both just enough older than her to make her feel really young. The feeling quickly faded as another admission escaped her lips.

"I feel like I should have died with her, Rachel. Maybe I still should."

Rachel wasn't surprised by Mia's words, knowing that she felt the same way after Daisy was diagnosed, then died. She kept her voice even yet firm. "Do you think your mom would want that for you?"

Mia shook her head, not even having to think. She could almost hear her mom's voice encouraging her to continue on. She knew in her heart that Gloria would want nothing more than for Mia to make the best of her situation until she could make it better. After all, that's what her mom always said she was doing back home in Brooklyn.

"Make your mom proud, Mia. Do justice to the lovely young woman she's raised." When Rachel saw she had the shy gaze of the teen, she smiled. "Okay?" Gently playing with a strand of the dark hair, the author waited for a response. Finally Mia nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. Without warning, Rachel found herself with a bundle of teen hugging her enthusiastically.

"Thanks, Rachel," Mia whispered into the blonde's shoulder.

PART 4

LIKE A GODDAMN tennis match!  Blue eyes followed back and forth, back and forth.  Finally Byron Timmons had enough.  “What else can I do for you, Mr. Ash?”

“What do you mean, what else?  You haven’t done a damn thing for me yet.”

“Mr. Ash-“

“Do something!”  Will planted his hands on the police sergeant’s desk, leaning on his arms as he stared the officer down.  “What are you going to do?”

“Mr. Ash, we’ve done everything that we can.  It’s not in our hands.  You need to speak with the coast guard, the airline-“

“I’ve done those things!”  Will pushed off the desk, running his hands through his hair, frustration making him nearly burst out of his skin and throttle the officer before him.

Timmons sighed heavily.  “Look, Mr. Ash, I feel for you, I really do-“

“Do you?”  Will turned on him, noting the gold band on the officer’s left ring finger.  He turned back to the desk the sergeant sat behind. “If your wife went down in a plane crash, Sergeant Timmons, and you were left behind, would you not want to do everything you possibly could to find her?”

Byron sighed, understanding fully what the distraught man was saying.  “Look, Will, I understand what you’re going through-“

“No you don’t!  How dare you say you have the first damn clue what I’m going through?  My partner is out there somewhere, all alone.”

Sergeant just didn’t know what to say anymore, other than Will Ash needed to realize that his partner was dead, lying at the bottom of the ocean somewhere, and no matter how badly he wanted it, the man wasn’t coming back.

Will felt like screaming in his frustration, knowing there wasn’t a damn thing the cop behind the desk was going to do for him.  Snatching his suit jacket from where he’d laid it in the second chair in front of the desk, he turned to leave.

“Mr. Ash,”

Will turned, seeing Byron Timmons scribbling something on a piece of paper.  He stood, extending his hand to the architect.  Eyes narrowed in suspicious curiosity, Will snatched the paper from Byron’s hand, glancing down at a name and phone number.  He looked at the officer with a raised brow.

“We grew up together.  She’ll give you a deal.”  Byron looked the tall man in the eye, giving him the best smile he could under the circumstances.  The officer was truly touched by the level of grief and desperation he saw in Will’s eyes.  Byron never thought about fags before, or gave them a whole lot of credit, but seeing this man before him try to keep it together, he had to admit he was touched, and really hoped the guy found what he was looking for.

“Thank you,” Will said, unsure what this Garrison person did, exactly.  As if his mind was read, Timmons explained.

“Garrison owns Davies’ Hangar.  She flies mostly cargo trips, but can help you out.  Tell her I sent you.”

“I’m very grateful.  Thank you, Sergeant.”  Will extended a hand, the cop taking it in his warm one.  They shared a brief bonded moment in time, one human being trying to help another, then it was gone.  Will gathered his jacket and tucked the paper into his pocket, walking out of the police station with as much dignity as he could muster.

It had been two weeks since the crash, two weeks since he’d spoken with Dean, two weeks since he’d seen or kissed him, or told him he loved him.  At least to his face.  Every morning and every night before sleep, Will hugged Dean’s pillow against his chest, the Egyptian cotton, 400 count, still smelling slightly like the smaller man- his shampoo, scent of his skin and cologne.

Will’s boss had tried to make him take time off, but he couldn’t do it.  He needed to work, needed to keep busy.  Naomi was helping him to put together a memorial for Dean, something for their friends and scattered bits of family.  Naomi didn’t share Will’s insistence that Dean was alive, but she supported him nonetheless.  She had been wonderful, and more than a rock for him, which was amazing considering she’d lost her only brother.  Hell, he was her only sibling.  The service would be Saturday afternoon, followed by a small get-together at Will and Dean’s loft, catered.

Stepping out into the hot day, Will takes in the sounds and smells of the city his man loved so much.  Dean would step out onto their balcony, hands crossed at the wrist as they dangled from the wrought iron rail, looking down over the streets and people.  The softest smile would grace his full lips as he watched.

Will was filled with a lot of guilt, knowing that he had put Dean on that plane, a trip the attorney never would have taken of his own volition.  If Will hadn’t been so damned pushy about getting out of the city for awhile, and seeing something new, something different.

Taking a deep breath, the architect hailed a taxi and pushed those thoughts from his mind.  He knew they’d do him no good, and would only serve to hurt him.  He hurt enough and didn’t need any more.

He was glad, however, that Jane and Peter Ratliff were actually involving themselves somewhat in the goings on of cleaning up Dean’s life.  The attorney’s parents had been to the loft the previous weekend, helping Will go through Dean’s things.  Jane had insisted on having something of her little boy’s, and Will had agreed, allowing her to take any one things she wanted.  It had nearly broken his heart when she’d chosen Dean’s college class ring.  Dean had been very old fashioned when they were dating, and had given that large, chunky ring to the young architect to wear, a symbol of how serious he was about their relationship.  It wasn’t until the two men had exchanged rings four years ago that Will had stopped wearing it.  There was no way he could deny Dean’s mother that.

*  *  *

“Has he said anything yet?”

Jenny Dupree shook her head, strawberry blonde bangs falling into her eyes and tickling her freckled nose.  She still sat on the folding metal chair, knees together, skirt covering her legs just so, just like her Mamma taught her.  Meredith Adams sighed heavily, glancing over at her youngest grandchild, who stood by the tree, away from everyone else.  His suit-clad shoulders were slumped, light-colored brows drawn.  She’d always fancied that Conrad Dupree looked kind of like Prince Harry of England, just much less rich.

“We’ve got to do something,” Meredith said absently, turning her attention back to the two matching white coffins before her, empty of course, though the kids had all picked one thing each to put inside to symbolize their parents.  The grandmother had no idea what had been chosen, and it wasn’t her business to know; that was private between children and their mother and father.

Meredith worried about the children.  She knew how angry Conrad was, though at twelve years old, he had no idea where to put that anger, just knew that he felt it, and that it was because his Mamma and Daddy were dead.  They were all angry, angry at the good Lord, at the pilot, and the grass at their feet.  None of it made any more sense than the other, but was there all the same.  Walter almost hadn’t made it through the ordeal of the past two and a half weeks.  Meredith shivered at the memory of that night, when Walter had fallen down nearly dead on their kitchen floor, his heart unable to take the grief that had stricken him in the moment he realized his little girl was dead.  Trying to keep the family together was the only thing that was keeping Meredith sane.  What Walter and the kids didn’t know was during her nightly baths, the grandmother of six, cried herself nearly silly, the tears splashing in the hot water.  If she didn’t have to run after those kids all day, school being out for summer and all, she would have fallen apart long ago.  A mother shouldn’t have to arrange her own daughter’s funeral.  It just wasn’t right.

The preacher began to speak, Jenny resting her head against her grandmother’s shoulder.  Meredith could hear her oldest grandson, Alan, crying softly from behind her, Walter sitting next to the boy, the two men holding each other up.  Meredith wouldn’t allow the tears- she had to remain the glue, if only for a few hours more, until she could go take her nightly bath.

*  *  *

Reenie felt her eyes begin to well up as one of the most dearest friends she’d ever had, other than Rachel, walked over to her, bright, beautiful blue eyes so kind and filled with compassion.

“Hey,” Beth said softly, taking the smaller woman in her warm embrace.  “I’m so sorry, Reenie.  So terribly sorry.”  She held the editor for a long time, letting her cry.  Though the stage actress didn’t know Rachel Holt personally, only meeting her briefly a couple years ago.  She’d heard Reenie talk about her time and time again, about her doomed marriage, about Rachel’s immense talent, and how the editor had been after the blonde author to move to New York for years.  Beth was in town for a stint on Broadway, and made Reenie’s place her first stop once she’d hit the city.

“I just can’t believe she’s gone,” Reenie said, her tears finally slowing.  She truly had no idea she could produce so many.  It seemed that’s all she’d done for the thirteen days since she’d heard about Rachel’s plane going down.  Pulling slightly away from Beth, the editor led them over to the couch, where Beth sat close to her, their knees touching.  Blue eyes gave her their full attention as the dusky-skinned woman spoke of her friend.  “She had such an amazing future, Beth.”  Reenie shook her head in wonder. “I’ve never seen someone with so much inside of them, just waiting to get out and make the world a better place.”

“You really cared a lot about her,” Beth said softly, seeing her friend nod.

“Yes.  She was my best friend.”  A new watershed began, Beth easily taking her friend in her arms.

“Loss is not easy, Reenie,” she whispered, “no matter what form it takes.  But I promise it gets easier.  Soon you’ll be thinking about all the good times you had together, smiling to yourself as you drive down the street, thinking about something crazy Rachel said or did.”  Reenie didn’t see the faraway look, or gentle smile in Beth’s eyes.  “Your heart will mend, my friend.  I promise.  Even so, Rachel will always occupy a special place inside you.”

“It’s such a waste, Beth.  God, such a waste.”  Reenie’s tears dried up once more, for now, her head resting against Beth’s strong shoulder. “I never saw this coming.”

“We never do.  People don’t realize that in the blink of an eye,” Beth snapped her fingers, “it can all be gone.  Rachel knew how much you cared for her, Reen.  She stayed here before she left, right?”  Beth felt the editor nod. “No doubt you two had the time of your lives.”

Reenie chuckled, remembering the craziness that was Rachel and her the night before the blonde’s flight.  They’d decided to buy a few bottles of wine, getting completely snockered as they bashed every man they’d ever known.  More than once Reenie had wondered what if.  What if things had been different?  What if she could have turned her deep affection towards Rachel into something physical?  Maybe then the author wouldn’t of had to jump on a plane to run from her husband.

“Yeah.  We always have so much fun together.  Had.”  Reenie’s face crumbled again, Beth holding her tighter, rocking her and cooing softly.

*  *  *

Beth glanced up from where she was curled up on Reenie’s couch, flipping through the channels of late night television.  Due to her late nights on stage, Beth had become quiet the night owl.  The editor had finally fallen asleep three hours ago.

The tall brunette uncurled her body as the knocking sounded again.  Walking across the dimly lit loft, she peeked through the fisheye, noting the warped version of a man standing in the hallway.

“Who is it?” she called out, having no intentions of letting some strange man into her friend’s apartment at one-thirty in the morning.

“Matt Frazier,” he said, running a hand through his hair, strands wet from the pouring rain outside.  He clarified, as he didn’t recognize the voice on the other side of the door. “Rachel’s husband.”

Beth quickly unlocked the multitude of locks on Reenie’s door, finally pulling it open to reveal the man before her.  His brown hair was plastered to his head, hanging in his eyes.  The suit he wore was wrinkled, and he looked like he’d slept in it for two days.

Matt looked at the gorgeous woman before him, stunned into silence for a moment before remembering why he was there.  “Uh, hi.  I don’t think we’ve met.”  He extended his hand, feeling the tall woman take it in her warm one.

“Hi, Matt.  I’m Beth Sayers, a friend of Reenie’s.”

Matt nodded, looking over the brunette’s shoulder. “Is she here?”

“Yes, though she’s asleep.  She’s had a rough night.”  From the dark circles under Matt Frazier’s eyes and day’s beard growth, Beth surmised Matt hadn’t had a red letter day, either.

“She knew I was coming, right?  We talked on the phone.”

“She didn’t mention it, but come on in.  Get dry and war up.  Want some coffee?” the actress asked as she walked further into the apartment, flicking the light on in the kitchen as she entered.  She heard Matt’s affirmative response behind her, and set about to get the coffee maker perking to life.  Refolding the bag of fresh coffee, Beth placed it into the cabinet, turning to lean back against the counter.  “I’m so sorry about Rachel, Matt.  I only met her once, but I know how much she meant to Reenie.  I can’t imagine how hard this must be for you.”

The detective smiled, though it was very sad.  “Thank you.  I appreciate that.  I have to say,” he said, running a hand once again through his already disheveled hair. “This has been the most difficult thing I’ve ever had to deal with.  Reenie and I are going to be meeting with Rachel’s publisher tomorrow to finalize a few things.”

Beth nodded in understanding. “You’re not from the city, are you?”

“No.  We live in Oregon.”  Matt cringed inside, knowing he had to stop saying ‘we’.  There was no longer a ‘we’, only a very sad, lonely cop who hated himself every time he had to face his own reflection.  Guilt ate at him anew each and every morning, his new constant companion.

“Beautiful state.  I lived there for a year or so in my early twenties.”  Beth crossed her arms over her chest, head slightly tilted as she studied her welcome company.

“Do you live in New York, then?”  Matt peeled his wet jacket from his shoulders, folding it lightly over the back of a kitchen chair.

“Nope.  Right now I’m in Arizona.  Reenie lets me stay here when I have a show in the city,” the brunette explained, reaching behind her to grab two coffee mugs, setting them lightly on the counter.

“A show?”

“Broadway or off-Broadway, depending.  Sometimes I do summer stock.”  Beth shrugged, easy going. “Just depends on what I feel like doing.”

“Wow.  An actress, or singer, or dancer…?” Matt questioned with a raised brow.  Beth chuckled.

“I’m certainly not a singer, though don’t exactly have two left feet.  I’m an actress.”

Matt nodded approvingly.  “That’s great.  How do you know Reenie?  Are you a writer, too?”

“Oh, god no!  I can barely write a decent letter let alone a masterpiece like I hear Rachel can write.”  Beth tried to keep her smile, seeing Matt’s eyes darken with pain.  “During the days when Reenie was a talent scout for a local agency, she and I met.  Been good friends ever since.”

“Matt.”

They both turned to see Reenie enter through the dining room.  Without a word, Rachel’s husband walked over to the shorter woman, taking her in a warm embrace, Reenie losing herself in the breadth of his chest and arms, feeling warm and safe.  Though there was a part of her that was still angry with him for what he’d done to Rachel, he was her last link to the blonde, and felt somehow comforted by him.

Beth felt like she was encroaching upon a very private moment and decided it was her cue to leave stage left.

*  *  *

Dark blonde brows drew, green eyes studying the ring before her.  She smelled smoke, but saw nothing.  Leaning down, Rachel tucked a stand of hair behind her ears, squinting at the small stack of twigs she’d carefully arranged.  Come on, you bastard.  It was her eighth try, trying every configuration she could think of.  Never in her life had she felt so stupid or inept.

“Shit,” she muttered, wracking her brain for the ninth try when she saw something fluttering.  “Fire!  I have fire!”  Hopping up to her knees, the blonde leaned over, moving a stick aside to see the tiny flame trying to lick its way over another twig.  “Yesssss!”  The author sat up, watching in utter fascination.  It was almost like she’d never seen flame before, so exciting it was.

“What happened?” Dean asked, out of breath as he ran from the jungle, where he’d been gathering food, at Rachel’s cry.

“I got it started.”  She grinned at him, turning her full attention back to the budding flame.  The attorney fell to his knees beside her.

”If only I could add a little of my flame to give it a boost,” he joked.  The blonde chuckled beside him.  “I never thought I’d be so thrilled to hear someone yell fire before.”

“Yeah, me, either.”  Together they watched in silence as the flame grew, chewing up the kindling it was given, Rachel slowly adding more as the flame’s hunger grew.

“It’s beautiful, Rachel.”

“Thanks.”

“Here- have some nuts for your troubles.”

The blonde accepted the small handful, freshly picked, chewing contentedly.  Dean leaned back on his elbows, stretching long legs out in front of him and crossing his ankles.  He looked up into the seamless blue sky, eyes closing at the radiant light that shone down on him.

“I wonder what Will is doing right now,” he said, voice soft.  Rachel glanced over at him, tossing another nut into her mouth.

“Who’s Will?”

“My partner.”  Dean sighed, though it was heavy and sad.  “It kills me, thinking what he must be going through right now, thinking I’m dead.”

“I’m really sorry, Dean.  I bet you miss him.”

“Like my own breath.”

Rachel studied Dean’s profile, the growth on his chin and upper lip giving him a more rugged, handsome look to the baby-faced man who had crawled up onto shore.  “How long have you been together?”  As the blonde listened to Dean’s story of him and Will, she felt herself grow wistful.  She couldn’t imagine being with someone for more than ten years and yet still talk so highly about that person.  Hell, she and Matt had only been together for four years all told, and she had little to no respect left for the detective.  What was that kind of love like?

“What does he do?”

Dean smiled up at the sky, eyes still closed. “He’s the best damn architect in Manhattan.”

Rachel also smiled, then she snorted.  “I hope you don’t mind the questions.  I love to ask them.”

Dean cracked an eye open, glancing over at his beach-mate.  He looked at her profile, the delicate features, soft, full lips.  Rachel truly was a beautiful woman.  No, not quite.  Yes, she was beautiful, but it was more than that.  She was… cute?  Dean wasn’t sure that was the word, either.  She had a gentleness about her, yet was aloof.  He hadn’t quite been able to get a handle on her over the past week they’d been on the island.  Usually he was good at reading people, nailing down what made them tick.  Not this one; the petit blonde was an enigma.  It was easy to see the intelligence behind her green eyes, and her mind was always turning, but she never revealed what she was thinking about.  She’d be a great poker player.

“Are you a reporter or a shrink?” he asked warily.  The blonde chuckled, shaking her head.

“Neither.  Just a curious person.”

“Okay.  But turn about….” He raised a brow, Rachel nodding in acknowledgement.

As they sat in companionable silence, Rachel thought about the man sitting next to her- opinionated, selfish and somewhat childish at times, as well as flamboyant.  She knew Pam wasn’t fond of him, and Mia just didn’t quite know what to make of him.  Michael, who was finally recovering from his ordeal as well as the loss of his wife, Melissa, avoided him.  No doubt Michael sensed something different in the gay man, considering the tall Texan was a man’s man, deep voice, gruff and crude, everything Dean wasn’t.  Even so, the author had noticed Dean checking out Michael’s ass, in his tight Wranglers, on more than one occasion.  If Michael ever caught him, no doubt there’d be hell for Dean to pay.  They were a motley crew, everyone trying to find their place among the dysfunctional family, including the blonde.

Rachel, a natural loner, was finding it difficult to find the inner peace she so craved.  Every hour of the day something that lent to their survival, had to be accomplished.  The blonde author certainly had a new appreciation for her life back home.  She was hungry, she opened the fridge or kitchen cabinets.  Nothing there, fine, she jumped into her car and headed to the nearest Burger King.  She had to go to the bathroom, great, tug her pants down, do her thing and clean up.  Simple one, two, three.  She was tired or cold, she simply curled up in her soft bed, covered by an even softer comforter.

Last night Rachel had lain on the hard ground, a layer of palm fronds her mattress, the cold air coming off the ocean to caress and chill flesh.  She had curled up onto her side, bringing her knees as close to her chest as she could, feeling like she was about to be born again.  The other sleeping bodies around her had all been so temping, their body heat a beacon to the blonde, who just couldn’t bring herself to give in to her desire for warmth.  By nature Rachel wasn’t a touchy, feely kind of girl.  She accepted hugs from friends, and in fact loved physical affection, but something inside her- irrational fear of rejection perhaps- wouldn’t allow her to initiate physical contact, unless the other person was under duress, or the person had managed to enter into Rachel’s tiny inner circle of trust.  It was childish and crazy, both of which she knew, but true all the same.  So, instead she had tried to curl up even tighter and sleep.

Rachel felt herself becoming suffused with guilt.  Over the past week, she’d watched her fellow islanders go through a myriad of emotions: anger, grief, profound sadness and frustration, just to name a few.  She’d watched them fight with each other and go off by themselves, crying when they thought no one was looking.

The blonde found herself looking forward to each day, wondering what new adventures and circumstances it would bring.  She was actively filing away every sight, every sound and scent, which would later be taken out and dusted off for future story fodder and reference.  Did that make her a horrible person?  She didn’t regret their situation, other than those who had lost their lives, and those were being torn apart back home.  This brought her meandering thoughts to her husband.  What was Matt thinking of all this?  Was he relieved?  Now he could have his mistress, a woman Rachel had no idea of the identity.  All she knew was that the woman had rather large breasts, and apparently thought a lightning bolt shaved into her pubic hair was fun for the whole family.  Was Matt sad?  Rachel couldn’t even allow herself to think about Reenie, who she knew would be devastated.  The dark-haired editor was the one person in the world, next to Daisy, who the blonde trusted with her every emotion.

Sighing, the author looked into the growing flames.

*  *  *

Whipping her head back, Denny felt the long, wet strands slap against her mostly naked back.  After that first day, her shirt had been ruined and torn as they’d used it for a food container.  She wasn’t keen on walking around in her jeans and bra, but it did keep her cooler, in all truth.  She just pretended that the slight belly she had didn’t exist.

Reaching behind her, the brunette grabbed the thick rope of her wet hair, squeezing out the excess water, gasping as the cold stream slid down her back and into the waistband of her panties.  Looking around, she realized she was still alone, and slid the panties down her legs and allowing them to dry on a rock next to the small, fresh water pond set at the back of the island, surrounded by high rock walls and moss covered ledges.  An incredible waterfall served nicely for a shower, even if they had no soap.  They’d had another drenching rain the night before, so the waterfall was running strong.  As the day continued on, it was peeter out until the next rain.

Denny had spent the past couple days exploring as much of the island as she could.  She figured it was anywhere from three to five miles across, most dense foliage, three separate beaches, though two were smaller, one, where Rachel, Mia and Pam had landed, very rocky.  She had found her bathing spot the day before- secluded, beautiful and the only fresh water waterfall on the island.  It wasn’t long before guilt made her show Pam and Mia, who had been taking their own tour of the island.

The water was cold, reaching to just below Denny’s naked breasts, which had become one giant roadmap of goosebumps ending in painfully erect nipples.  A shiver passed through her body as she dunked her entire body, spitting water out as she rubbed it out of her eyes.  She used some torn material from her shirt, trying her best to wash off the sweat from her pits, under her breasts and between her legs.  Denny had a huge phobia of being responsible for body odor, so this was all a great big test in patience and tolerance for her.  She was doing her best, washing the best she could daily, in the pond, and in the ocean before that, but she still felt sticky and gross.  Denny wasn’t a particularly vein person physically, but she was vein about her hair- thick and glorious- and clean!  It was near killing her to not be able to wash or brush it.  It was almost an obsession for her.  Hannah always teased her about it.

Hannah.

Denny continued the mindless work of rinsing off, her chilled skin quickly getting used to the chill.  Though she was in almost perfect shade from the surrounding trees, the air was still hot.  Her mind veered to her partner and the woman who had been haunting her dreams.  If she closed her eyes for even a moment, Hannah’s dark eyes came back to her, twinkling mischievously as they did, even if the brunette were being good as gold.  That had been one of the things that had made Denny fall in love with her in the first place.

At twenty-five, Denny had been the manager of Mile, a popular coffee hot spot in downtown Buffalo, learning the tricks of the trade from her boss and friend, as well as Mile owner, Joni Sanchez.  Joni was twenty years older than Denny, but she was feisty and knew every trick there was to run a successful business, and she taught them all to her protégé.  Joni instinctively knew that someday Denny would have her own place.  Lo and behold, she was right.

On Denny’s twenty-sixth birthday, she went to the bank and began talks about taking out a business loan.  She’d always had a good head for business, yet had no experience and no formal education.  Nor did she have any collateral.  This made things tough, and near impossible.  Eventually she’d managed to get someone to believe in her dream, and financing began.  She got hold of a local realtor that specialized in commercial properties, and suddenly she was in business.

The old shoe store began to take shape, it’s bare, brick walls cleaned and twenty-foot ceilings painted.  Used equipment was bought and put into place, and a mixed bag of tables and chairs arranged.  She had already started hiring, the would-be baristas mopping, cleaning, lifting, grunting and sweating along with their boss to get DiRisio’s ready on time.

It was the day before opening, and Denny had done all of her hiring, but had forgotten to take down the Help Wanted sign.  The bells above the door jingled as a woman stepped through, looking around.

”We open tomorrow,” Denny said, glancing up from where she was trying to fix the bean grinder.

“I want to apply,” the woman said, stepping up to the counter and leaning over it slightly so she could watch the brunette.  Denny looked at her briefly before realizing her hand was stuck in the motor.

“Shit,” she whispered, trying to be cool as she yanked her hand.  “I’m fully staffed,” she grunted, cursing once more.

“Do you need help?” the woman asked, slightly amused.

“Nope.  Got everything perfectly under control.”

“So I see,” the woman snickered.  Denny glared at her over her shoulder.

“You must not want a job very bad, laughing at who would be your boss.”  Though Denny was joking with the attractive woman with the dark hair and teasing eyes, the look of remorse on the woman’s face was just too good to resist teasing her.

“Look, I just got out of a really bad marriage, and I need a job desperately.  I’m available for any shift, any day, doing whatever you want done.  Just please give me a chance.  Okay?”

Denny stopped what she was doing, standing up straight, hand still caught in the machine, and looked into the woman’s dark eyes, seeing the desperation there, mixed with her natural fire.

“What’s your name?”

“Hannah.”

“You help me get unstuck and I’ll think about it.”

Older than the rest of the crew at twenty-eight, Hannah was a wonderful employee, helpful and smart.  She and Denny hit it off immediately, and began to spend a lot of time together.  Hannah was one of the only full-time people at DiRisio’s because she wasn’t in school, and was available for any shift.  Denny began to count on her, and eventually promoted her to manager.  It only took six months before Denny realized she’d fallen in love with her employee, and had no clue that Hannah was in love with her.  One night as they were cleaning up after a busy night, a local band playing in the corner, things had broken wide open, the backroom seeing more flesh than it ever imagined.  The next day Hannah told Denny she wanted more, but couldn’t date the boss, and was giving her two weeks notice.

Denny, who had climbed onto a rock in a rare sunny spot in the canopy of trees, allowed herself to dry and warm as she starred up into the cloudless sky.  What was Hannah doing?  Was she okay?  Was her Aunt Moira there for her?

The brunette brought her hand up, wiping at her eye, which she rubbed as it was tickled by an escaping tear.  The amusing thing was, Hannah would love the island.  The dark-eyed woman loved the ocean, and relished any time in the sun and surf.  They’d vacationed on the island of Kauai in Hawaii on their sixth anniversary, and Denny nearly had to drag Hannah to the airport, dark eyes filled with tears at leaving paradise.  And now, ironically, the coffee shop owner was stranded in paradise.  Fate sure had a sick sense of humor.

Denny heard something, and quickly grabbed her jeans, holding them to her naked body when blonde hair emerged from the dense foliage.

“Oh!  Sorry.”  Rachel was about to scurry away when she heard her name softly called.

“It’s okay.  Come on in- the water’s great.”  Denny grinned, lying back down, though she kept herself covered.  The blonde entered the small area.

“Are you sure?  I can come back later,”

“Not mine to horde.  Help yourself.”  Denny closed her eyes as she rested her head back onto her arm, trying to give the author her privacy.  “Do you want me to go?” she added.

“No.  I’m not going to run you out, Denny.  You were here first.”

The brunette grinned, unable to help it.  “That reminds me of my older brother and me when we were kids.  I called it first!”  Denny heard Rachel chuckle, as well as the tell tale rustling of clothing being removed.  “Man, we used to fight over the front seat.”

“I call shotgun!” they both exclaimed in unison, Denny’s eyes opening to see the blonde grinning at her from the pool.

“Exactly!”  Denny sat up, drawing her legs up to cover her breasts, but making sure her jeans were placed just so over other parts further south.  “Do you have any siblings?”

Rachel nodded, dipping her head and smoothing her hair back out of her face. “Sisters.  I grew up the youngest of four.”

“All girls?”  Denny rolled her eyes at the blonde’s nod. “Oh man.  Your poor parents.”

“Nah.  We weren’t all that bad.  Hell, I was like every parent’s wet dream.”  Rachel chuckled, an evil twinkle in her green eyes. “I did nothing wrong- no smoking, no drinking, no sex, in fact I was a complete prude.  It was pretty sad.”

“Really?  Quite the good girl, huh?”

“Yeah.  Too good.  I was extremely self-righteous.”  Rachel laughed, lowering herself until the water was to her shoulders, enjoying the coolness on her skin. “It was pretty bad.”

Denny smiled, lying back on her rock.  “I was evil.  My father has a head full of gray hair, and I think I gave him every one.  Finally I got a clue in my early twenties.  Or most likely, I was of age and on my own, so it wasn’t as fun anymore.”  They both laughed at that, then a companionable silence took over.  Denny put voice to a question that had been rolling around in her head for over a week. “What do you think happened?”

Rachel didn’t have to ask the brunette to clarify.  She thought about her response as she climbed out of the cool water, allowing it to fall from her flesh in sprinkled waves.  Tugging on her underwear and bra, the blonde climbed onto a rock similar to Denny’s.  Finally she answered. “I’ve wondered that, too.  I think it must have been engine failure or something.  But then again, we should have been over the northern Atlantic, and this obviously isn’t the northern Atlantic.”

“I’ve thought about that, too.  Were they off course?  That badly?”  She glanced over at the author, trying not to notice the woman’s beautiful body, basically naked as her underwear was all but completely see-through.

“I don’t know.”  Rachel shook her head slightly, staring up into the sky, imaging a huge commercial liner flying overhead, and imagining herself on it.  Then images of the crash came before her mind’s eye, snippets, mostly the emotions that went along with the events.  She didn’t want to think of those things, hearing the screams and feeling the bile in her own throat.  Rachel’s nights had been dotted with nightmares and memories.  She’d wake up, chest heaving, heart feeling like it would pound out of her body, and that the others could hear it.  As if reading her mind, Denny spoke.

“I hate the nightmares I have now.  It’s like they chase me, you know?”  She glanced over to meet Rachel’s gaze, and saw the blonde’s nod.

“Yeah.”  Rachel’s voice was soft, filled with compassionate understanding.  She looked into Denny’s eyes, thinking the brunette would make a wonderful character.

“So does anyone else realize who you are yet?”  Denny’s cracked a grin, which the blonde returned, though it was incredibly shy.  She looked back to the sky, presenting her profile to the brunette.

“I don’t think so.  I haven’t said anything, and don’t intend to.”  She glanced quickly at Denny, conveying all she needed to with a flash of her green eyes.  Denny chuckled again, nodding her understanding.  “Oh, by the way,” the blonde said absently, closing her eyes as she soaked in the day. “I got a fire started finally.”

*  *  *

Goddamn, what I wouldn’t do for my Stetson…  Michael stood on the rock, feet wide spread as he studied the shallow pool of sea water below.  He clenched his hands, feeling the slight edge of his fingernails biting into the rough palms of his large hands, then his fingers were stretched again.  The sun beat down on his head, his scalp burning, and the rays almost blinding on the glittering water he had been staring into for the past hour.  He let out a war cry as he pounced on a long, silver fish that swam into the pool as the tide came back in, filling the small water pit.

“Shit!” he exclaimed as the squirming fish got away from him.  Again.  With a heavy sigh, he took his place again, stance wide and ready.

“Do you realize just how much easier that would be if you had a spear?” Dean asked from where he lounged on the beach.

“When you can do better you let me know,” the Texan said between clenched teeth, never taking his eyes off the pool as he waited for the tide to come in again.

“Jesus, Michael!” Dean exclaimed.  “You’ve been at this for an hour, like some sort of brute Neanderthal or something.  You’re never going to catch anything that way.”

Michael had heard just enough out the little faggot’s mouth.  He whirled on the man, hands clenched into fists.  He was pissed enough, not being able to catch anything, and the little fruit sitting on his flaming ass doing absolutely nothing!

“Listen here, you little queer, keep your fuckin’ mouth shut or I’ll shut it for ya!”

“What did you call me?” Dean got to his feet, trying to not shake in the shadow of the big man that he knew could lay him out flat with one well-placed fist.  Hell, even a crappily placed fist, the attorney would be out for the count.

“I ain’t got no use for fairies, so stay clear, boy.”  Michael’s growl made his intent clear.  He out-sized Dean by a good four inches, and used that advantage as much as possible, squaring his wide shoulders.  The pasty pale little man was nothing compared to the line-backer sized mechanic.

“Give it your best shot, Bobby Joe.”

“You little bastard!”

“Hey!  Stop it!”  Pam ran down the beach, throwing herself in between the two men, a hand on either of their chests.  Michael fought the urge to throw the doctor aside and go after his target.  The veterinarian looked from one to the other. “What the hell is the matter with you guys?  Jesus!  The redneck and the queer.”  She laughed at her own joke. “It sounds like a bad sitcom.”

Michael took a step back, Pam’s hand dropping away from him.  He took several deep breaths, muscles in his jaw bulging with the effort of restraint.  Dean brushed himself off, also taking a slight step back from the older woman, eyes never leaving the Texan.

“Now, either you boys kiss and make up or stay on opposite sides of the island.  I’m sick of pulling you two apart.”  Once again she looked from one to the other, noting Michael’s glare at her words. “It’s a form of speech, Michael!  For crying out loud!”

He said nothing, just turned and walked back to his fishing hole, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, muttering about fairies and fruit flies.  Dean held his chin higher, his pride in tatters around his feet, but he wasn’t to let that son of a bitch know that.

“Thank you, Pam,” he said softly, then turned and disappeared into the foliage, too many memories of locker room encounters and beatings flowing through his mind.

*  *  *

Hannah Donnelly sighed as she opened the strong box that had been hidden on the top shelf of the master bedroom closet.  With shaking hands, she inserted the key into the tiny lock, turning it with a small pop.  The lid was heavy as she lifted it, squeaking slightly on its hinges.  Inside she saw some bank papers, the velvet box Hannah kept her grandmother’s ring in, and the very edge of some bills.  Slowly pushing the bank papers aside, Hannah saw the money coming into view.  Her hand went to her mouth as she remembered so well what it was for.

“Here, we’ll put the big bills in here,” Denny had explained, taking the four hundred dollar bills from Hannah and tossing them inside the strong box.  She grinned at her partner. “That way we won’t be tempted, and can save.”

Hannah slowly lowered herself to the bed, eyes never leaving the money.  She reached inside the strong box, taking the bills out and tucking them into her palm.  They had just counted those three weeks ago- $750.

“See?  There’s our souvenir money!”

Hannah remembered how the baby blues had twinkled at Denny’s declaration.  Their annual trip to Disney World, a place they were both addicted to.  They had both started taking at least fifty dollars from each paycheck so they wouldn’t have to pay for the trip on their credit card, as they had just about gotten them paid off.

Crumpling the money in her fist, Hannah brought her fists to her face, the tears coming once more.  She had been looking for Denny’s insurance papers, and instead found yet another piece of her partner, something else to remind her of just what she’d lost.  She was haunted by the all too brief phone call, grateful for it, yet hearing Denny’s panicked voice in her head again and again.

“Han..a!  …annah, …d, thank god.  Hon…y, … ove ou!  Something… wrong.”

“What?  I can’t understand you.”  Hannah felt her stomach twist as it was gripped in fear.  “What?”

Then strangely, clear as day, “I love you!  Always know that.”

The line went dead.

Sniffling and wiping her eyes with her sleeve, Hannah set the money aside and turned back to the strong box, looking for what she’d started.  Grabbing a handful of papers, she thumbed through them, having to read the forms sometimes two or three times as her concentration was shot.  Finally finding what she was after, Hannah tugged the folded forms out of their envelope and shook them open, smoothing out the creases.  As she read the legal talk and terms, Hannah felt her stomach roil.  No amount of money meant anything.  All she wanted was Denny back.

“Damn you, Denny,” she cried, throwing the forms off the bed with a vicious cry, then sending the strong box to follow in their fate.  Anger filled her, creating a rage within that she felt radiating in every cell, making her tremble.  She was angry at Denny, angry at her cousins in Milan who asked her to visit, angry at the pilot and angry at God.

PART 5

MIA GRUNTED LIGHTLY as she stretched her body out as much as possible, trying, trying, trying... "Gotcha!" She reeled her prize in, nearly losing her balance and falling ass over appetite off the rock ledge she was perched so precariously on. Dragging herself and the heavy suitcase back to safe ground, Mia panted at the exertion. She set the large, heavy Samsonite with another bag that had drifted to shore, making sure there were no more.

Licking her lips, the teen plopped down on her butt and crossed her legs under herself. Grabbing the first bag, which looked to be most likely a carry-on, was the type with a roller board, though three of the four wheels were missing, the fourth plastic wheel cracked and chunks missing. The handle was broken off and jagged. The girl lugged it toward her, grunting, as it was water logged and heavy. Looking it over, she looked for any sort of identification, not that it mattered, but she wanted to be able to send up a thanks in her prayers that night.

The zipper was present, but its teeth were jammed. Mia tugged at it, the slippery metal slipping out from between her fingers more often than not, but she managed to get it open a small space, but no further. Leaning down, dark eyes peered into the shadowy depths of the bag, seeing nothing. She looked around her, spotting a low twig on a nearby tree. Hurrying over to it, she plucked it off and sat back down in front of the bag, jamming the stick into the small opening and using it for leverage.

It took nearly ten minutes for Mia to get the bag unzipped, but finally the zipper teeth gave, and the she flipped the top open, curious as to what she'd find. Inside she found layers off soggy clothing. It had been two weeks, and all of them were shedding clothing day by day, or cutting up what they had. The heat made pants impractical, and shirts and undergarments were getting unbearable, even after soaking and rinsing them. The clothing in this suitcase, that of a stranger, would mean the world to those on the island.

Mia removed the first layer, unwadding it and stretching it out before curious eyes. A tee shirt. A very large tee shirt. Setting it aside, the girl brought out the next treasure- a pair of large men's briefs, followed by what would have been socks, but were now soaked, stretched blobs of material. At the bottom of the bag was lined with wet magazines, no longer recognizable, the pages sticking together, images and writing one big black smudge. She set those aside, unsure if they could be used for anything for not. Perhaps kindling once they dried. She moved aside a few more articles of clothing, and some items that were no longer discernable, and then her eyes went wide. Tucked in an inside pocket was a cache of chocolate, still wrapped, and for some reason, had been put into Ziploc baggies, so had been kept safe and dry.

"Eureka," she whispered, holding the chocolate up for her eyes to inspect. They'd been eating what they could, cocoanuts and the tiny bananas, and fish when Michael could catch one. Mia had already begun to drop weight, and could see it in her companions' faces, too. The girl realized she held food in her hands, and frantically tore into the baggie, ripping it in her haste. The smell of chocolate immediately met her nose, and dark eyes closed as a soft moan escaped her lips.

Mia found it ironic, since she'd never been one for chocolate or sweets, but never in her life had anything tasted so good. She stuffed a square into her mouth, eyes squeezing shut as it melted against her tongue, taste exploding in her mouth. She eyed the rest of the big bar, but knew she couldn't eat it all. A place with no toilet paper wasn't one where she wanted to get sick.

Reluctantly setting the chocolate aside, Mia turned back to the bag. Checking the other zippered pockets, she was astonished to find a razor and... Dark brown eyes turned into saucers as Mia realized she was looking at another Ziploc baggie, and inside was the greatest treasure of all:

"Soap!" Mia tore down the beach, waving something in her hands. Dean and Denny looked over at the girl from where they worked on their giant S.O.S. bonfire stack.

"What the hell is she yelling about?" Dean asked, seeing the brunette shake her head as she stood from where she'd been kneeling, rearranging the wood.

"Look!" Mia was waving something enthusiastically over her head, and nearly fell over Dean in her excitement. He steadied her, now curious as all get out. "Look!" she said again, showing them the baggie.

"Oh," Dean sighed, falling to his knees. It was almost as if someone had just shown him the most beautiful of pieces of art, his hands flying to his mouth, eyes unable to leave the precious object the girl held in her palm. He leaned in, closing his eyes as he inhaled the scent of Irish Spring, a soap which he didn't even like, but at that moment it was the greatest thing in the world.

Denny, for her part, had visions of clean hair dancing in her head. She shook the thoughts out to get a clear head. "Where did you find this?" she asked Mia, stepping closer to the girl, eyes never leaving the bar of soap.

"Some luggage drifted to shore, over there," she pointed toward the smallest, and rockiest, of the three beaches.

"You're shitting me!" Mia shook her head at the brunette's exclamation. "Show me."

"While you're gone," Dean snatched the soap from Mia's hand, greed written all over his handsome face.

"I'll hold onto that," Denny growled, snatching the soap back. She knew full well they'd never see the soap again if Dean got hold of it. He followed grudgingly behind as Mia led the small parade up the rock face and to her spot, where the two pieces of luggage still sat, awaiting discovery.

Denny fell to her knees, looking through the pile of clothing Mia had already removed from the smaller bag. She was mentally tallying what could be done with the material, no longer seeing it as clothing. Where they were, clothing wasn't much of a necessity, other than the proverbial fig leaf. In the past week the rest of the crew had started to follow her lead, losing various articles of clothing, walking around only the bare essentials, the men bare chested, and the women in their bras or undershirts. Only Rachel kept her pants. Denny hated wearing only her underwear, so figured the large shirt would make a great sarong.

"Hey, look!" Dean exclaimed from his place at the larger of the two bags. He held up a very realistic cyberskin dildo, waving it proudly over his head.

Denny nearly fell over backwards at her surprise, then was overtaken by belly laughter, which did make her fall over when she saw the look on Mia's face. The girl's innocent and naïve nature made itself known as she first looked confused, then perplexed, then curious, then turned an amazing shade of red as realization dawned on her. Dean joined in the laughter as the girl hurried down the rocks, deeply embarrassed. After all, she was raised a good Catholic girl.

*  *  *

Rachel's eyes were narrowed in concentration, a slight wrinkle forming between her brows. Cursing softly, she glanced over at Pam, watching her fingers for a moment before turning back to her own project.

"How are you getting the weave so tight?" she finally asked, tired of redoing it. The veterinarian reached over, taking the author's piece from her.

"Watch."

Rachel paid close attention, again, as Pam used nimble fingers to weave the long, strong blades of wild grass together, the hold tight in neat little green squares. Okay, I can do this. She took the bit back from the doctor, studying the intricate weave, and giving it another try.

"No. Rachel, it won't keep anything out if it's not tight enough." Pam Sloan was nearly getting exasperated with the blonde. Why wasn't she getting it? It wasn't that hard.

"Damn. I can't get this!" Rachel's own patience were running beyond thin. "I'm not stupid," she muttered, "I got an A in home economics."

Pam chuckled, feeling some of her own tension flow out with Rachel's rising frustration. She looked up to see Denny heading their way, a finger held to her lips. The coffee shop owner snuck up behind Rachel, a piece of chocolate held between her fingers. She leaned down, over the sitting blonde, bringing the treat close to the blonde's nose, but out of her sight.

Rachel's brows furrowed further at the smell, and she looked over at Pam, seeing a snicker on the older woman's face. Looking back over her own shoulder, Rachel saw Denny standing behind her with a grin on her face, the chocolate square extended toward the blonde. Rachel flew to her knees, facing the brunette and snatching the chocolate away.

"Where did this come from?" she asked, popping it into her mouth, eyes closing in pleasure.

"Mia found luggage. Come on, ladies. We've got a nice little treasure trove."

Rachel was on her feet in an instant- anything to get away from weaving the roof together! She followed Denny to the beach, where Dean and Mia were waiting, looking over what looked to be a garage sale.

"Does anyone know where Michael is?"

"Who cares," Dean muttered, fingering a pair of shorts he had his eye on.

"I'll find him," Pam offered, heading out into the wild.

Rachel plopped down into the sand, leaning back on her hands, legs crossed at the ankles. She studied those around her, noting their varied reactions to Mia's tremendous find. The blonde had wondered if anything would wash up, and was surprised it had taken so long. She glanced over at Denny, the brunette pulling her long hair back away from her neck and back. She looked hot, her cheeks flushed.

As green eyes scanned back over the items laid out before them, something caught her eye. Rachel slowly sat up, then got to her knees, crawling over to one of the bags. The burst of laughter was so quick, it startled Denny, who had been lost in her own world.

Using a sock, Rachel grabbed the dildo, holding it up to study it further. She eyed the attorney, and her green eyes began to twinkle.

"Dean, you really should put your toy away. After all, we do have minors here."

The red flushed on Dean's face was priceless, as well as Denny's bark of laughter. The attorney bounced back.

"I don't know, blondie, it looks more your size than mine."

Denny was astounded, a perma-grin on her face as her eyes went from one to the other.

"Hmm, I dunno," Rachel flicked the end of the dong, amused as it bounced back, setting off a new round of laughter. Mia had never had such a red face in all her life.

"What's going on?" Pam asked, stepping out of the jungle with Michael in tow. Rachel, feeling rather feisty for some reason, held up the toy.

"Dean has been enthralling us with tales of the sword."

Dean gasped, flying across the pile of stuff between he and Rachel, snatching the dildo out of the blonde's hands. "I have not!"

"Fuckin' queers," Michael muttered, walking over to stand between Mia and Rachel. He turned when someone cleared their throat, and he found himself toe to toe with Denny.

"Excuse me?"

He looked into her angry gaze, surprised and confused. His mouth opened then closed, then opened again. The brunette cut him off before he could say anything.

"I don't appreciate that, Michael."

"What? I was talking about Dean-"

"Yeah, well I'm a queer, too, so keep your mouth shut. Okay?" She stared up at him, unflinching, waiting for his response. His eyes widened, surprise and shame filling them. "We all have to live here together, so what say you we quit with the name calling?"

The Texan's head fell, dully chastised. No, he didn't like fairies, but he did like Denny, and respected her. He wasn't going to apologize for his views, so instead he gave the brunette submissive nod and turned and walked away, sitting off by himself.

Rachel had watched the entire thing, since it was less than three feet from her. She had been shocked at Michael's behavior, as well as Denny's revelation. Everyone was quiet, the air tense as no one was entirely sure what to do. The mirth from earlier was certainly gone. Dean merely sat silent, watching, waiting, almost holding his breath. He met Denny's gaze, a small smile of camaraderie curving his lips. She didn't return it, but nodded in acknowledgement.

"Okay," Pam said, clapping her hands together to try and clear the air. "What have we here?" She began to pick through the items found in the suitcase.

Denny sat back, watching as everyone talked over what to do with the most important items- soap, razor, brush found in the larger suitcase, as well as three toothbrushes and a single tube of Crest. The way everyone's eyes lit up at these items, the brunette knew it could be bad. Desperate situations were cause for desperate acts, and though everyone seemed to get along for the most part, those items were gold on the island, and would disappear.

Pam seemed to be reading Denny's mind. "Who gets to be in charge of all this stuff?" She looked from one person to the next, everyone else meeting her gaze then that of their neighbor.

"I suggest a vote," Rachel said softly, once again leaning casually back on her hands.

"Agreed," Pam nodded. "Rachel, who's your vote?"

The blonde chewed on her bottom lip for a moment, thinking about her choice. She had a name echoing in the back of her head, but looked at each individual person first, to make sure she didn't want to change her mind. Finally her gaze settled on the coffee shop owner. "I vote for Denny. She's proven trustworthy and she gets along with everyone here."

"I second that," Mia quietly chimed in.

"I think it should be me," Dean said. "I think the women would use it up, since they have longer hair. They have the motive to hold onto it."

"Thanks, Dean," Rachel tossed the dildo at the attorney, nearly hitting him in the head with it.

"Michael?" Pam asked, turning to the Texan, who was playing with the sand at his feet. He glanced up, meeting her gaze. "I'm fine with it being Denny. I don't want ya'll barkin' at my door for soap."

Denny looked around, shocked, and not sure if she wanted the responsibility, either.

"Okay. Denny it is."

Too late. All eyes on her, the brunette nodded reluctantly. "Okay."

Later, Denny sat up on one of the many rock ledges, looking over the ocean as she dried. She'd taken a bath with soap for the first time in two weeks, and had brushed teeth. She was a happy camper. For the most part. She knew it was silly to let Michael's comments get to her, but couldn't help it. She'd heard about his and Dean's near fight the week before, but just let it go. This time she'd heard Michael say it, and had seen the disdain in his eyes as he did so. She liked the Texan, even respected him, yet he obviously didn't feel the same.

"Tube of toothpaste for your thoughts," Rachel said softly, moving to sit beside the brunette. Denny glanced over at her, smiling before looking back out to sea.

"My thoughts aren't worth an entire tube. Maybe a squeeze."

"Are you okay?" the author asked, deciding to get to the core of the issue. She could tell Denny was bothered by something, and wondered if she might know what it was.

"It's pretty stupid, really. Not sure it's worth talking about."

"If it's worth making you upset over, then it's worth talking about." Rachel studied the taller woman's profile, noting the way the falling sun painted her features with the golden hues of sunset.

"What Michael said."

"Bothered you?" Denny nodded. "I'm sorry. I had no idea you were gay. I think everyone knew about Dean, but..."

"What, didn't realize I was a big, bad butch?" Denny smiled at Rachel's shy grin. The blonde shook her head and turned away. "Yeah, I don't exactly telegraph it, do I. Not now, anyway. You should have seen me when I was younger- spiked hair, torn clothes, the whole thing. Boots." She chuckled at the girl she used to be, the true rebel without a clue.

"Do you hear that kind of stuff a lot? Disparaging remarks and names?"

"Not to me personally anymore. But I hear them, and it hurts when I do." Denny was silent for a moment, deciding if she wanted to go any further. Rachel's quiet acceptance won her over, and she decided to talk it out fully. "When I was in my late teens, I was dating a guy I went to school with, and as I was going out with him, kissing him, whatever, I had my best friend in mind. I'd see her face, pretend it was her I was kissing, all that. Hell, sometimes I think it was the only thing that got me through the make-out sessions. I used to keep a diary, and wrote about her all the time." Denny's voice fell to almost a whisper. "I was so in love with her."

Rachel listened, glancing at the brunette from time to time, taking it all in.

"Then one day my brother was snooping, and read what I'd written in my diary. And I quote, 'I really, really, REALLY want to have sex with Casey'. He told my parents, and my dad beat me with the belt and kicked me out."

"Oh, Denny," Rachel breathed.

"I was in my room trying to recover from the beating when he walked in, a roll of trash bags in his hand. He slammed them down on my dresser top and simply said, get out." Denny could feel her eyes fill at the memory, even though it had been so long ago. Her heart had never healed from it. She blinked several times, trying to make the physical manifestation of her hurt go away. Rachel said nothing, but placed her warm palm against the warmer skin of Denny's back, rubbing soft circles. "He used to call me queer all the time."

"What about your mother?"

"She let him do it. All of it. After he said that to me, I marched into the kitchen where they were, him at the breakfast bar, her at the counter, starting to make coffee. Her back was to me, and I just ignored him. I told her that if she let him do this, she'd never hear from or see me again. She said nothing." Denny reached up, wiping gently at a tear that had fallen. "Not a damn word. I turned around, headed right back to my room and started packing."

"Where did you go?"

"I escaped to a friend's house for the weekend, then moved in with my grandmother until graduation. After that, I got my own place, and moved on." The smile Denny graced Rachel with was big and bright, and full of shit. The blonde could see right through it, and felt an overwhelming need to comfort her, and let her know that she was accepted.

"Come here."

Denny allowed herself to be taken in a warm hug, the feel of Rachel's skin against her own a balm against her sad, lonely soul. The situation was getting to her. At first it had almost been like an adventure, a vacation from reality. Now, as time was going by, it was dawning on her that it was no vacation that she could just check out of, and fly home. She was truly stuck, stranded. She couldn't return to her life, return to Hannah, her shop, nothing.

Rachel rested her head against Denny's shoulder, surprised she'd taken such initiative. Even so, she had to admit that though the hug was intended to comfort the brunette, she, herself found it comforting as well. Rachel felt lost in so many ways. Her life back home was in a state of upheaval; even if she returned to Oregon tomorrow, what would she return to? She couldn't return to her marriage and pretend that everything was okay. But then Rachel had the feeling that no matter what she went back to, no matter what state her personal life was in, after this experience, she'd never be the same. She was a changed woman on so many levels.

They sat like that for a long time, watching the sun go down and absorbing the simple pleasure of human comfort, affection, and mutual understanding.

*  *  *

Will glanced down at the directions again, looking for the exit that would take him to Warwick, Massachusetts. He found it, flicking the turn signal on the rented car, and making his way through the sleepy, coastal town. He checked out the small, quaint houses and easy life of a Saturday afternoon.

Davies' Hangar should be just up ahead, and as Will took a left on Carlton Place, he saw a sign for it, as well as saw a low-flying airplane buzz by over head. He followed it as it crossed the general area, then took a sharp right into the hangar land. Pulling up beside an old pick up truck, Will breaked, then turned off the engine.

"Good morning," A redheaded woman with stylish glasses said cheerfully as Will stepped into the cool, air conditioned front office of the hangar. "Can I help you?"

"Will Ash. I have an appointment with Garrison Davies this morning."

"Ash, Ash," the woman muttered, clicking a few times on her computer mouse, absently pushing her glasses further up onto her nose.

"Hey, Penny, is my ten o'clock here, yet?" a woman's voice asked, heading over to the coffee machine near the redhead's desk. The blonde woman, dressed casually in old, worn jeans and a tee shirt, poured herself a cup, nearly burning her mouth on it when she noticed the good looking man talking to the secretary.

"Yeah, that's him," said the feisty redhead, smirking at the rolled green eyes of her employer and long-time friend. She decided to keep her usual flirting to a minimum with the suit standing in front of her.

"Will Ash," he said, taking the few steps to the pilot, hand held out.

"Garrison Davies. Care for some coffee, Mr. Ash?"

"Uh, no, thank you."

"Okey doke. Follow me."

Will followed the petit woman down a long, narrow hall, solid wall to the right, large windows looking out into an all-cement hangar to the right. A couple small planes were in the large space, as well as a few men hurrying around and barking orders and laughter at each other.

"After you." Garrison smiled sweetly at her guest, waiting for him to enter the small office she had shared with her father, Frank, before he died ten years earlier. Will straightened his tie and jacket before sitting stiffly in the metal and vinyl chair, avocado green, crossing one ankle over his other knee. "So," Garrison said, flopping down in the squeaky chair behind the desk, her focus on the man across from her. "What can I do for you?"

"Well, as I explained on the phone, my partner, Dean, was on flight 1049, that went down a month ago. Officials won't give me much to work with, other than it went down somewhere in the Caribbean, woefully off course from its route to western Europe."

Garrison nodded, sitting back in her chair and rocking slightly. She had remembered hearing the story about the plane that had taken off from BUF. She had used the airport several times over the years in her cargo business, and knew it well.

"The coast guard and every other agency has done their part, but I want more."

"What kind of 'more'?"

"There were three survivors, Miss Davies-"

"Garrison."

"- and I believe there were others."

"Why do you believe that?" The pilot sipped from her coffee, brushing a few strands of golden hair out of her eyes.

"Well-"

"Garrison?"

Both looked at the door and the cute teenaged girl that stood in the doorway. Her blonde, curly hair fell into her eyes, big, blue eyes looking from one to the other.

"Oh, I'm sorry!"

"It's okay. What's up, Parker?"

"Can I go? Did you talk to Keller?"

"We did talk about it, and you can, but you will be home by ten!" Garrison held up a single finger to emphasize her statement. The girl, no older than fifteen, squealed, launching herself at the seated pilot for a tight squeeze, then with an apologetic smile to Will, bounded back out of the room. "Sorry. My daughter." Will raised a brow, as Garrison didn't look old enough to have a daughter that age. "Long story." The pilot grinned, waving it off. "Continue."

Will swallowed, now wishing he had taken the pilot up on her offer of coffee, his throat suddenly dry. He knew what he was about to tell the pilot was crazy, and didn't always understand it himself, but he refused to let his nerves show. Sounding confident and believing every word he said, the architect met the pilot's frank gaze. "My gut tells me Dean is still alive. I can't explain it, but I won't accept the lame answers I've been given."

Garrison Davies studied the man for some time, gauging his sincerity, and making sure this wasn't just the desperate effort of a man who couldn't get over his grief. All she saw in his eyes was an intelligent man who knew what he was doing and asking. She thought about it for a moment, thinking what if it were Keller out there, lost at sea? And with their business, that could happen. Would she ever give up looking for her? For Parker? Not on your life.

"Alright, Will. I'll help you."

For the first time, Will Ash's composure slipped, and his hands came up to rub his face, deep breaths hidden behind them. Finally his hands landed in his lap, and he smiled. "Thank you, Garrison. Thank you."

*  *  *

"Here."

Reenie took the cup of coffee from Beth, able to smell the touch of bourbon the actress had put in there. The tall woman sat next to the editor, immediately curling her legs up under her. She sipped from her own mug, wincing as the hot liquid burned her tongue. Cursing under her breath, Beth set her mug aside, turning to face the editor.

"How did it go?"

Reenie sighed, blowing over the black surface of her drink. "It went okay. Rachel's lawyer wants to see Matt and I next week. Time Warner is going to continue to publish her work, per the contractual agreement." Reenie sighed again, running a hand through her short hair, leaving it sticking up in random places. Beth snickered, reaching over to pat some of it back into place.

"Is her lawyer here?"

Reenie shook her head, swallowing what she'd just drank. "No. I'll be heading to Oregon." She was silent for a moment, then looked over at her friend, who was studying the toe of her colorful sock. "Beth?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm sorry I missed your opening night the other day. I read the reviews, and saw Pippa kicked some serious ass on that stage." She smiled at Beth's shy acceptance of Reenie's congratulations.

"It's a fun role, and don't worry about it. I know you've got a lot going on right now." She met the dark gaze of the woman sitting next to her. "Don't sweat it, 'kay?"

Reenie smiled. "Okay." Taking a deep breath, the editor pushed herself up from the couch. "I'm going to head to bed." She leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on Beth's cheek, then brushed her fingers across it with a soft smile. "Night."

"Good night, Reen. Sleep well." Beth's gaze followed her friend until the editor had disappeared behind the closed door of her bedroom.

Setting her coffee mug on the dresser, Reenie stepped out of her clothes, leaving them where they lay on the floor, before grabbing the mug again and climbing into the huge bed. She reached over to shut out the bedside lamp, but thought better of it. She knew that her mind was far too awake still to be able to sleep, even with the bourbon that warmed her belly. Her mind was racing, events and thoughts from the past weeks swirling.

Matt had headed home two days ago, and Reenie couldn't help but want to cry at the memory of his face, the look in his eyes. That first night he'd shown up, they'd talked late into the night, the detective admitting his weakness, as well as his confusion where Rachel was concerned. He didn't understand why she had shut him out so badly, never allowing him truly inside. He shyly admitted that even when they'd made love, the blonde seemed miles away.

"I have no excuse for what I did, Reenie, but I've given it a lot of thought, and as crazy and pathetic as it sounds, I think I really just needed attention."

At first Reenie had wanted to scoff at his words, throw accusations and vocal daggers at him. However, the logical side of her mind knew he was right. Reenie knew Rachel well, and tough she loved the blonde very much, she didn't always understand her. Hell, sometimes the brunette felt Rachel shut her out. Though she would never justify what Matt had done, Reenie and Rachel's husband had come to an understanding that night, something they hadn't been able to do in the four years they'd known each other.

Her thoughts settled back onto Rachel. Tears had dried up over the weeks, but she still felt the loss acutely. The blonde didn't get to New York to see her as often as they both would have liked, and Lord knew Reenie's schedule was beyond ridiculous, so chances of her getting to Oregon were slim to none. Even still, they swapped daily emails and called each other, if even talking for two minutes, every couple days.

Reenie had to stop herself more than once from picking up the phone and dialing the numbers that were more familiar to her than her own. One time she actually had picked up the phone, dissolving in a puddle of tears when she realized her folly. In that moment she wanted to hate Matt and blame him for Rachel's death, but then she'd taken a deep breath and grudgingly admitted to herself that Rachel had been planning the trip to Milan, anyway. The situation with Matt had just sped up the process.

"Damn you, Rachel."

*  *  *

The hut, if it can be called that, was tiny, barely large enough for the four women to stretch out in. They'd managed to weave together enough fronds to create a sturdy skin wrapped around the trunks of six trees that were placed in a near-perfect octagon, thus creating the walls. Rachel and Pam weaved the thatched ceiling together, both proudly examining their creation every chance they got. The ceiling plus overhead foliage helped to keep things dry, yet it still got cold at night. The boys each had their own tiny hut, both radically different in style and practicality.

Denny was alone, and finally able to unbury her stolen prize. As the keeper of the soap, the brunette had abused her position and horded something, though it was for a good cause. She just hoped she'd done the right thing.

Glancing quickly out the tent-like flap, she saw that she was still alone, and crawled to the corner of the hut, quickly digging like a dog, dirt flying between her spread legs. She caught the stiff edge, and carefully tugged until it was completely free of its grave-like hiding place. The smaller object followed. Denny looked at it, turning it in her fingers then licking the tip and rubbing it across her palm.

"Yes!" she whispered as it made a mark. She gathered her goodies up and crawled out of the flap into the humid evening. She knew where she'd find her.

Rachel lay on the rock ledge, her favorite spot, which overlooked the ocean. It wasn't far from the waterfall, and she liked to dry on the ledge after bathing. Bathing. That was an exercise in patience. The bar of soap from the baggage Mia had found nearly a month ago, was gone. Everyone was trying to not throw tantrums when they had to go back to just rinsing off. The other day she swore she had smelled a rather minty Dean, and wondered if he'd decided to use his allotted toothpaste ration for deodorant instead.

Smiling at the visual that brought, green eyes closed, absorbing the smells and humidity around her. Up on that ledge, by herself, she found peace, which amazingly enough, was difficult to find in paradise. She mostly just felt lost. Everyday was a struggle. Most an emotional one. Everyone felt the weight of time running out. It was a small island, and they were limited in what they had. They had no medical supplies, and even Pam's years as a vet couldn't bring about magical cures. What if one of them were to become seriously ill? Or hurt?

Rachel tried to stave off these thoughts, as they added a heavier weight to her heart and brain, and she had no outlet to vent it. That, for her, was the most difficult thing to face. Back home, she was able to deal with any and everything because she had her writing. She'd vent her frustrations or joys in her work. Now, her creative mind was stunted. She created constantly in her mind, always weaving ideas and visuals together, but now they were just crowding together, causing a huge idea jam. Sometimes she wanted to cry. At one time she saw her incredibly fertile imagination as a blessing and a gift, but now it was becoming a curse. Characters and circumstances-to-be-written woke her up in the middle of the night, each vying for attention and their place in her conscious mind.

The frustration was causing the author to become withdrawn and angry. It was almost like constipation of the imagination- a swarm of ideas, but absolutely no way to get them out. She was even getting desperate enough to turn into a sort of bard, muttering to herself as she walked through the jungle, whacking at the foliage with the hatchet they'd made from the random golf club in a piece of luggage that had washed up to shore. Sometimes she was tempted to tell her tales around the quiet time the six spent together, almost every night: a fire made in their permanent fire ring at the center of the beach, not far from the pyramid of emergency beacon logs. Somehow, the blonde couldn't allow herself to do that, to open that part of herself up to them. Sure, millions of readers had read her thoughts, ideas and imaginings, but they were the nameless, faceless millions.

Rachel Holt may put off an air of cool aloofness to those in her industry, but it was all a façade to hide a very shy, vulnerable woman. She bled easily, and hid behind the closed doors of anonymity when the tongues rolled out.

The blonde was shaken from her thoughts when she heard movement in the foliage below, and the crumbling of pebbles sliding down the side of the rock ledge. Pushing up to an elbow, Rachel looked over the side, seeing the top of a dark head as Denny climbed up to meet her.

Rachel smiled, scooting to make room. She liked the friendly coffee shop owner. Denny always had an easy smile for anyone, and made the blonde feel comfortable. Not many people could do that.

"Hi," Danny said, sitting next to the blonde.

"Hey. Beautiful, huh?" Rachel said, nodding out toward the setting sun.

"Yeah. It really is." Getting fully settled, the brunette took out the surprise that she was almost giddy to give the blonde. It was a gut instinct, and something she took from a page of her own life. One of her employees, Amy Tella, was an artist, and always carried a sketchpad around with her, more than once busted in the back room of DiRisio's drawing. The girl once told her boss that if she couldn't create, she couldn't breathe. Denny took a wager that Rachel was the same way.

"What's everyone up to?" the blonde asked, glancing over at her companion.

"Uh, lemme see," Denny sighed. "Dean and Mia were eating seconds of the fish Michael finally caught." They both sniggered at that. "And Pam, not sure. Michael was out swimming last I saw." She glanced at the blonde's profile. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Fine. Just needed some me time."

"Oh, shit. Want me to-"

"No." Rachel met her gaze, then looked away. "No. You're fine."

"Well, good, cause I brought you something." Denny grinned at the surprised look on the author's face. She was almost giddy to give her offerings to Rachel. "Don't tell anyone, but I've been taking advantage of the powers given me." She chuckled at Rachel's look of utter confusion. Without another word, she produced the two pens she'd found in one of the suitcases, and the pages of the ruined magazine, which she'd left to bleach in the sun for a week. Now, pages stiff and a yellowish-white, they were crude, but would work.

Rachel's eyes fell to Denny's hands, seeing what lay within. Green eyes grew huge when she realized what it all was. "Denny!" she breathed, a hand going to her mouth. Her gaze flickered to a very pleased blue one. "You hid this from the others?" she said half in awe, half in suspicion.

"What are they going to do with it? Write letters to stick in bottles? Come on, Rachel. We don't have any bottles." She winked, then was nearly bowled off the rock ledge by an enthusiastic little blonde. She hugged her back, glad that her gift had been taken so well.

Rachel finally pulled away, trying to smile through her tears. She was so completely touched. "I think this is the most wonderful gift anyone has ever given me." She looked down at the pens, one black, one red, and the stiff, parchment-like paper in her other hand.

"I assumed, I mean, I know you're a writer, and haven't been able to write, and..." Denny's voice trailed off, suddenly feeling stupid and shy.

"That wasn't a bad assumption, Denny. Ironically enough, before you climbed up here, I was thinking about just how antsy I was getting. Hell, I was about ready to start writing in the sand."

The brunette chuckled at the image. "Well, forget the S.O.S., you just write us a novel on the beach, and an overhead plane will spot it."

"Yeah, then our luck, they'll get so into trying to figure out what it says, they'd crash, too." They both sobered at the thought, then smiled guiltily. "That was bad." It was only then that she was able to get her emotions a bit more under control. "You know, it's funny- since we've been here, my emotions are all over the map. Either I'm hugely moody and just this side of tears, or I feel numb."

"I know what you mean," Denny nodded, pulling her legs up and wrapping her arms around them. "At first I thought it was because I was so close to my period." She grinned at Rachel's shocked expression. "What? Have you noticed that you can always tell which one of us is on the rag?"

"Because she hides out in the jungle for at least three days, and suddenly the larger leaves disappear in droves?" the blonde grinned, her eyes twinkling.

"That would be why. I will never, ever complain about a tampon again."

"Amen to that."

They were quiet for a moment before the brunette spoke up again. "Rachel?"

"Mm?"

"Do you think we'll ever get back?" She looked to the blonde, who met her gaze. Rachel saw the troubled expression in Denny's beautiful blue eyes, and wished to soothe it away. She shook her head slowly.

"I don't know, Denny. I just don't know."

They were silent for a long time, each lost in her own thoughts. At one point, Rachel thought Denny had fallen asleep, but her smooth, low voice cut the silence. "What will you write about? Do you have a story idea?"

"Always." The blonde grinned. "Seriously," she defended to the brunette's look of doubt. "Even when I'm working on a novel, I'm fighting with myself to keep other ideas tamped down and out of the way."

"Do you write those ideas down? Like to use at some other time?"

"Nah." The author tapped her head. "It's all in here. My emotions drive me, and my emotions and moods, which are seriously entwined, change from moment to moment. Drives my husband crazy."

"No doubt. How long you been married?"

"Three years."

Denny noticed the change in the blonde's voice, but said nothing about it. "I once saw a picture of you two in a magazine. Handsome guy."

"Yeah, he is."

Denny was surprised at the almost dead tone of Rachel's voice. If they were talking about Hannah right now, she'd be lit up like a Christmas tree. She waited for Rachel to continue, but she said nothing more for a few moments.

"What about you, Denny? Are you married? Or at least the equivalent?" Rachel uncurled her legs and laid back on the ledge, one knee bent, the other leg straight. She rested the paper and pen beside her and her hands under her head.

"Yeah." Christmas time! Denny's grin was huge, nearly splitting her face, but it quickly turned sad. "Hannah. We've been together eight years last April."

"That's a long time. You still really love her." A statement.

Denny mirrored the author's position and nodded, the softest smile on her face. "Yes, I do. She's amazing. I love her very much, and miss her terribly."

Denny's wistful voice made Rachel wistful. "What do you think she's doing right now?" The blonde stared up at the emerging stars.

"Well, depends on what time it is back home. I'd guess it's somewhere around, let's see, end of summer, so here it's probably pushing nine-thirty. Back home, let's say it were the same time, Hannah has just fed Rascal, and is now curling up on the couch to watch the news." Denny smiled, able to see her very predictable partner in her mind's eye.

"I miss the news. Used to watch religiously. And I miss hamburgers."

"Hamburgers?"

"Yeah. Kind of random, huh? I had their taste in my mouth the other day, and couldn't shake it. The meat," Rachel's eyes slid shut in imagined pleasure, "would be a nice, juicy patty, loaded with the works- lettuce, tomato, onions, pickles, globs of ketchup and mayonnaise." She smacked her lips to the amusement of her companion.

"You're not a nice person, Rachel," Denny chuckled. "You know what I miss most?"

"What?"

"Applesauce."

The blonde was incredulous. "Applesauce?! Of all the wonderful things out there to eat, you miss applesauce?"

Denny nodded, grinning. "With cinnamon, mm, mm, mmmm. I eat it with everything. Steak, gotta have my applesauce. Cereal, gotta have my applesauce."

"You'd make a great character in one of my books," Rachel laughed. "Nice and quirky."

"Thanks. I think."

*  *  *

"How does..." Michael, with brows drawn, turned the thing this way and that, raising it above his head to look under it, seeing the flat, wide bottom. Bringing it down once more, he turned it over, pinky raised as he tried to touch it with just his fingertips. Grabbing hold of the base with the other hand, he wiggled it, amused at it bounced all over the place, the density heavy even though it was awfully flexible. He couldn't help but glance down at his own denim-clad crotch, comparisons on the brain.

"Want lessons on how to use that?" Pam laughed out loud as the big Texan yelped, nearly throwing the dildo over his shoulder in his haste to hide it.

"Well, I was just curious, wonderin'... Ah hell." He slammed it down on the ground, next to the fire ring and cooking area. They had been using it when cleaning fix, beating the poor, dead sea creature with it to get as many scales off as possible, as well as pummeling leaves and berries to a pulp.

"Great night, isn't it?" the veterinarian asked, letting the poor guy off the hook. As a doctor, she knew that color of red wasn't healthy for anyone.

"Yeah. Real nice. Gonna cool down good, though," he said absently, staring up into the night sky, the roar of the ocean close. "When we was kids, we used to go swimmin' all the time down home, in the Gulf."

"So you grew up in Texas?" Pam asked, making herself comfortable on the sand, leaning back on her elbows.

"Yes, ma'am." Michael grinned big at the thought of his beloved state.

"I was down in Austin once, and I have to say, I've never seen state pride like Texans. I even saw a bag of chips shaped like the damn state!"

Michael chuckled, whistling between his teeth. "Don't I know it. You're either born in Texas, or you're born somewheres else."

Ram chuckled, shaking her head. "Pretty damn sad."

"Oh come on, now. I hear you Yankees are the same way about your New York." Michael glanced at the older woman, a slight grin on his grizzled face. He couldn't help but think of the irony that Melissa always liked a man with facial hair. Why hadn't he just grown a beard for her?

"This is true," Pam nodded in conceit. They sat in companionable silence, Michael staring at the ocean, thinking of his wife, while Pam stared up into the night sky, thinking about another woman. "I wonder what my daughter is doing right now," she said absently, her voice unusually soft for the usually loud, brash New Yorker. "I sure as hell hope she's okay."

"How old is she?"

"Grown. Has her own place, her own life."

Michael nodded in understanding. "My oldest boy, Alan, will be twenty-two this year. Can't believe it."

"Goes fast."

"It sure does." Michael sighed heavily, swallowing his emotion. "Can't believe my kids think they lost both their mom and dad."

Pam could feel the profound sadness rolling of the Texan in waves. She reached over, covering his large hand with her own, giving him an understanding smile. "You'll get back to them, Michael. You have to believe that."

"I'm trying."

PART 6

MATT FELT HIS stomach lurch as the plane hit yet more turbulence, eyes closing as he white knuckled the armrest of his seat. It was the second time he'd flown to New York since Rachel's death, and now he hated to fly. The weather in Portland had started to turn bad as the plane was taxiing out, making them stop to de-ice the wings. Again. All the detective could do was swallow and try and keep his breakfast down.

New York. He snorted. It made him think of Reenie, which made him think of the betrayal he felt, though somewhere inside he knew he should be angry and hurt with Rachel, but just couldn't. She was gone, and he couldn't help but feel anything more than grief and guilt over that. The editor had flown into Oregon nearly three months ago, where they'd driven together to Eugene to see Rachel's lawyer.

Did she really hate me that much? And that was before I started seeing Diane. Matt stared out the window, watching the white nothingness of clouds. After the blonde's sister had died, it had scared her so badly that she had made a living will, and everything had been left to Reenie and her other sisters, other than the house, which Rachel had bought outright two years ago. When they'd visited Rachel's publisher a few months before that, the publisher signed royalties over to the detective. Rachel hadn't made future arrangements for those.

The detective was so much hurt that Rachel's money, name and assets had been willed to others, he didn't want her money. He did want to understand, and he wanted his wife back. He wanted to be able to talk with her, try and understand her, and prayed that she would let him in, let him understand her mind. The only thing he could figure from her actions was that the author didn't picture them still together when she died, who knows how many years down the road.. Life can sure be ironic.

Matt Frazier started as the captain's voice as he let the passengers know they were getting ready to land. Thank god. Matt closed his eyes again as his stomach reacted to the slight change in pressure as the plane banked toward the right.

A month ago, the detective had gotten a call from a man named Stanley Wells, who was in charge of a mass memorial for all who had perished on flight 1049. Matt hadn't wanted to go, unsure if he could emotionally handle it. But, alas, Reenie had talked him into it, telling him that maybe he would feel better if he could talk to some of the other family members of those who died with Rachel. Reluctantly, he'd agreed.

"Hi, Matt." Reenie took the disheveled man into her quick, but firm embrace, offering to help carry the large carry-on he'd brought with him. She glanced over at him a few times, listening to the clipped responses he gave her when she asked about his trip.

She knew Matt was angry with her, but had no way to stop that. She understood his hurt, and had spent the past weeks trying to figure out just why Rachel had done that she did. She knew the author could be headstrong, but this turn of events was completely unlike her. As far as the editor know, at the time of Daisy's death, nearly two years ago now, Rachel was still committed to her marriage and trying to make it work, though there were problems. In truth, hearing the amount of money she was to receive once the paperwork was settled, she felt sick; she had no desire to have Rachel's money, and decided to make other plans for it.

"So are you ready for this?" she asked, slamming the trunk of her car closed, after Matt tossed his bag inside. She glanced at him over the top of the car before they both climbed inside.

"I suppose." Matt sighed, running a hand through his hair, making it even messier than it had been before. Reenie was surprised by his appearance. Usually Matt Frazier, a good looking guy, was well groomed and well kempt, clothes neat and clean, face shaved and body showered.

"What's happened to you, Matt?" she finally asked as she stopped at a red traffic light, dark eyes traveling over his stained, wrinkled shirt. His tormented tired hazel eyes to meet her gaze, fingers absently pushing a random dark strand of sweaty hair out of them.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, nearly barking the words out.

"It means you look like shit," Reenie said, once again getting the car moving.

"Thank you. I needed that." The detective looked out the window, mildly amused as he watched people walking along the sidewalk, trying to fight the fierce autumn wind and cold, jackets bundled tightly around them. Halloween was a week away, and traditionally that's when the bad weather really set in.

"Well Jesus, Christ, Matt! You look like you slept in your clothes for three days, and haven't taken a shower in as long." She eyed him again. "What the hell? Why are you letting yourself go? It's not doing Rachel any-"

"Don't you dare fucking talk to me about Rachel, or what she wants, wanted, thought, liked or didn't like. You don't fucking know!"

Reenie started, shocked at the cop's outburst. She'd never heard him raise his voice before, and his booming voice filling the confines of the car startled the editor. She could feel his pain, hear it in his voice. She was struck dumb for the rest of the drive to her place, where she parked in the underground garage, and led the way to her door.

Matt stepped inside, unable to feel remorse for his outburst. He had been stewing over the slap in the face for months, unable to vent to the woman he most wanted to.

"Look, Matt," Reenie said, laying her coat over the arm of a chair, "if this is about the money-"

"I don't give a flying fuck about the money, Reenie!" He threw his bag to the floor, turning on the brunette. "She didn't believe in me, in us, enough to think we'd be together when she died. So if you think this is about money-"

"Believe in you? Believe in you?!" Reenie fired, feeling her own pent up feelings rising to the surface. "Was she supposed to believe in you while you were out fucking another woman? Is that the trust and faith you're talking about?"

The detective's guilt boiled over into irrepressible anger. "What the hell do you know about that?" he roared, taking a menacing step over to the editor. "You don't know anything! Maybe if Rachel hadn't been so goddamn cold and distanced herself-"

"Maybe she has her reasons to be cold toward you, ever think of that? Maybe if you had more understanding and tried to get to the bottom of it. Maybe if you had taken the time-"

"Stop it! Both of you!"

Reenie and Matt froze, turning toward the roar behind them. Beth stood in the doorway of the guest bedroom, blue eyes flashing between the two. Seeing she had both their attention, the actress stepped further into the room, her gaze hard and accusing.

"Do you think this is going to bring her back? Is this going to change what's happened? No! You both need to deal with the fact that Rachel is gone, and nothing she did while alive matters, not the money, the will, fights, none of it," she sliced the air with her hand for emphasis. Softening her face and voice, she walked over to Matt. "Look, I don't really know you all that well," she placed a gentle hand on his arm, seeing the anger visibly start to leave his body. "You will never know why Rachel did what she did, what was behind her decisions, but ultimately they were her decisions. I know it hurts you, and you are entitled to that hurt, but attacking Reenie on things past isn't the way to go about it."

"But-"

"Shh." Beth placed a finger just an inch away from his lips, then turned to the editor. "What are you doing, Reenie? Your anger at Matt for whatever reason won't help you feel any better." She looked from one to the other. "You guys are placing your anger at fate on each other, and it's not right and it's not fair. Neither of you deserve this." She looked from hazel to dark brown, finally Matt looked away, mumbling something about taking a shower.

Reenie sat hard on the couch, running a hand over short, dark hair. "That went well," she muttered, glancing toward the hall Matt had disappeared down. Beth sat next to her, still a bit shaky from her outburst. She hated being angry, having dealt with anger far too much in her younger years. Back in those days, the theater had been the only thing to tame her, and… well, she wasn't going to go there. The past didn't matter anymore, nor the people who filled it.

"You guys have got to stop fighting and blaming each other, Reenie. It only makes things worse," she said at length, the other woman nodding dumbly.

"I know. I just can't help it. I'm so goddamn angry with her, you know?" She met achingly blue eyes. "Why does it still hurt so bad?"

"Because life is marching on, the year is moving by quickly, almost into the holiday season. After Halloween, Thanksgiving then Christmas." Beth looked down at her fidgeting hands for a moment, then met Reenie's searching gaze again. "I remember when my dad left the family. Granted, he didn't die, but it sure felt like a death to a twelve year old. It was summer time, and I felt so lost and alone, left with just my mother, who I couldn't stand. I felt so abandoned, and can't even tell you the anger I felt. Still do, I guess." She smiled, though it was thin and sad.

"How long has it been? Do you see him much now?"

"He walked out of my life fourteen years ago, and no, I don't see him all that much. He has a new family, with kids who are teenagers. I see him maybe once a year."

"And your mom?"

Beth shook her head. "No. She's still back in Colorado, no doubt drinking herself to death."

"At least you can see him still, Beth. Even if it is once a year."

"But you have the luxury of knowing that Rachel didn't leave you on purpose, Reen. I'm not comparing apples and oranges here, cause your pain and Matt's pain is as real to you two as mine is to me. Know that your friend loved you, and would still be here if she could, eager to talk to you every day, or whatever. And as for Matt," the actress glanced over her shoulder toward the bathroom, making sure he wasn't making an appearance. "He's letting his guilt over cheating eat him alive. I think he feels he pushed her toward getting on that plane, and therefore by proxy, it's somehow his fault."

"It is-"

"Rachel was a grown woman, Reenie. She boarded that plane of her own free will."

The editor sighed, knowing full well Beth was right, but was having a hard time admitting it to her heart. She needed something, someone to blame for Rachel's death, and Matt was the perfect target. She sighed heavily.

*  *  *

"Pull! Come on, damnit, pull!" Pam yelled with a grunt, eyes squeezing shut as she dug her heels in, hands burning with the exertion.

"Almost there, ack!" Michael growled, putting his shoulder and arm muscles into it, feeing the strain under the sweat and sun-drench skin. He could feel Dean behind him, the attorney's hand vying for a better position, which nearly made him lose the leverage he'd already gained.

Denny locked her jaw in deep concentration, brows narrowed, ignoring the tearing of the skin on her middle finger from the rough vine. She nearly went ass over appetite as the boys gave a mighty yank. She tried not to cry out as the action put even more strain on her right shoulder, which still ached when it got cold.

"No, no! Come on, girls!" Pam howled, nearly screaming in her angst.

"Come on, ladies!" Mia clapped wildly from the sidelines, watching Michael and Dean strain against the trio of Denny, Rachel and Pam. "You're almost there! Almost got it!"

Pam felt relieved as she felt some give, glancing across the large, dug out chasm filled with water to meet Michael's gaze, both sets of eyes filled with a fire to win. The Texan gritted his teeth, head rearing back as he put everything he had into it, every muscle in his body flexed with the strain.

Rachel almost wanted to giggle at the absurdity of what they were doing- five grown adults, tugging and pulling on a rope made of thick vine, trying to yank the other team into the pit of water they'd created. Her thoughts flew from her head as she felt some serious give, and could feel their teams anchor, Denny, behind her, hearing her grunt. Elation filled the blonde as she felt the need to actually walk backward or get trampled by Pam, as they pulled the boys over onto their side, Michael falling into the water, a domino effect getting them all.

Denny yelled out as she fell over backwards, Rachel falling on top of her, followed by Pam. "Oomph!" she exclaimed, feeling the softness of the blonde's body. She could hear Rachel laughing hysterically, and couldn't help but follow suit, as much as she could, barely able to breathe, let alone laugh.

Rachel felt arms encircle her waist, and the softness of Denny beneath her. Pam crawled off the author, then Rachel tried to crawl off Denny, but was laughing too hard. She fell down again, hearing the brunette's grunt beneath her. Finally able to get herself turned around, she looked down into twinkling blue eyes, which stood out even more from the red flush of Denny's cheeks.

Denny felt her heart begin to flutter, stomach clench at the feel of the warm body, Rachel's breasts barely grazing against her own before the author pulled herself to her knees, then Pam helped her to her feet. The brunette lay stunned, body suffused with heat and sudden need, which instantly brought images of Hannah to her mind, feeling guilty for something she hadn't done. Finally she took the hand that Rachel extended down to her, allowing herself to be pulled to her own feet, though she was unsteady.

"You okay, there?" Rachel chuckled, a hand on the brunette's waist to steady her. At Denny's nod, she gave her a quick squeeze with her hand, then headed off to celebrate with the other two girls, and throwing barbs at the losers.

Denny stood there, gripped in a strange feeling for a moment, trying to shake it off. Granted, she had been without Hannah's touch for, she mentally thought about her markings on the tree that she started the day she woke up on the island, nearly one hundred and twenty three days. Four months without a woman's touch, no, without Hannah's touch. She ran shaking hands through her hair, then joined the revelers.

"… easy when it's three against one!" Dean was saying, though he was grinning from ear to ear, despite the fact he still had sand plastered to the side of his sweat-slicked face.

"Oh, quit your whining," Pam laughed, slapping him on the shoulder. "You guys lost fair and square."

Michael grumbled, but nodded in defeat.

"So, what do we get for dinner?" Rachel asked, eyes bright with victory. When Michael and Dean began to grumble, the blonde cut them off. "Hey, hey, hey! That was the deal, boys. Whoever won had to catch dinner." She pointed to the inflated slide they used as a raft to go into deeper waters to fish. "Out!"

Denny stood off by herself, her mind reeling from the heat that still traveled through her body. When she glanced at the blonde, the heat level raised, her body clenching from months of neglect. Turning away, she headed into the thick jungle, Dean's knowing look lost to her back.

The brunette took several deep breaths, trying to still her quickly beating heart. She gathered her long hair into her hand, trying to take the heavy load off the back of her neck to cool down. Guilt was her constant companion as she made her way toward the waterfall, slipping behind it to the small alcove she'd discovered, and quickly became her hiding place when she needed to be alone.

Sitting heavily on the cool, stone floor, she leaned her head back against the wall, looking into the spray of water that cascaded down, not ten feet in front of her, the world beyond distorted and dulled. She blew out a long breath, trying to clear her mind of feelings and sensations, instead trying to bring Hannah's face before her eyes, her body, her voice, the smell of her dark hair, anything. It worked, and she began to calm, convincing herself there was no reason to feel guilty. Rachel was a beautiful woman, no one could deny that, and the only one around that would interest Denny if they were back home, let alone stranded with two other women, one sixteen, the other a mother hen to them all.

"It's only natural," she explained to herself softly, nodding to try and convince herself. "You did nothing wrong, only had a visceral reaction." She blew out a breath, feeling like her body was finally under control, and she could return to the group.

*  *  *

"Anybody seen the food masher?" Pam called out as the men grunted, pushing the slide out to sea, then climbing aboard. Michael didn't like the idea of spending time alone with the little fairy in the middle of the ocean, but bit his tongue, knowing he had to honor his commitment to the gals who counted on them back ashore.

The men remained quiet, neither wanting to be on a fishing expedition, but knowing they had no choice, so to make it as pleasant as possible, they kept their mouths shut. Dean glanced at the mechanic, noting Michael's vacant stare out into the expanse of water as they silently rowed the raft further into open sea, but careful not to get too far.

"This should do," Michael said suddenly, bringing up his oar, made from heavy tree branches with vine wrapped round the end to create a large mass for paddling. Dean also brought up his oar, situating them to the side of the raft, and removing his shoes. He knew he looked like a dork with jeans, ripped off to the mid-thigh, no shirt and Gucci loafers on. Modesty and fashion sense had long ago hit the road. All the same, he wasn't going to ruin his loafers any more than they already were.

"You going or am I?" he asked, meeting the Texan's gaze. Michael leaned over the side of the boat, staring into the depths, imaging all the fish swimming just under the surface. "I'll go." He met the other man's gaze once more. "Think you can pull me back in?"

"Eye, eye, captain." With a salute and small smile, Dean watched the mechanic slide over the side of the boat, and quickly disappear in the ocean, nothing but waves and bubbles where he had just been.

Michael waited for his eyes to adjust to the salt water, blinking rapidly, but then everything began to clear. It was so peaceful down there, quiet and dark, yet a whole world began to come into view, a world filled with alien plant life and creatures. It was like floating on another planet. Darting to his left, a huge, colorful fish came into his world, and Michael turned away, knowing from his youth that it was a bad fish, not for eating. As a kid, they used to call them cyanide fish, cause it could knock out a grown man with just a bit of the poison stashed in its body.

He kicked powerful legs and arms, moving deeper into the depths to see what his options were before he needed to surface for air. Just before he headed up, he saw a huge school of fish, nice, big fat ones.

Dean saw the glittery outline of Michael as he rose toward the surface, breaking through with a gasp. The Texan hung on to the edge of the raft with one hand while brushing his hair out of his eyes with the other.

"Found 'em." He panted for a moment as he got his bearings again and filled his lungs. "Huge groupin' down there. Be ready."

"Okay." Dean watched the big man take an even bigger breath, then he was gone again. Dean sat back in the raft, looking up into the sky, clouds gathering.

*  *  *

Gloria Vinzetti looked at herself in the mirror above her dresser. It was oval and shadowed with age, having belonged to her grandmother when she was a girl. Waste not, want not. She couldn't see it being thrown out. Adjusting the collar of her black dress, she sighed heavily at the familiar color. She hadn't allowed herself to wear anything else in the past months. The bags under her eyes made a better accessory than her pearls.

As ready as she would ever be, Gloria slipped into her jacket and grabbed her keys and purse. Never in her life had she dreaded something so badly. Well, that wasn't true- Mia's funeral had been the hardest day of her life, but this was a close second. She didn't want to be reminded of this anymore. She was tired of it. As it was, her beloved Rachel Holt's name and face was still plastered over the TV screen and magazine and newspaper covers. Damn, if only the short woman had known her favorite author had been on the same flight with her. She had been astonished and devastated to find that out. At every bookstore in Brooklyn, Rachel's books were flying off the shelves, everyone trying to cash in on Rachel's death.

Traffic was bad, as usual, but that was okay. The delay was delaying the inevitable, and Gloria just didn't know if her stomach could handle it. Her Nonna and Papa had flown home more than a month ago, Paolo Vinzetti needing to get home to see his doctors. Gloria had been so tempted to go with them, leave everything in America, as she felt she had nothing left to stay for, but Lizbeth had talked her out of it. Her life was in Brooklyn, the place she'd raised her daughter, seen her grow from an adorable little girl to a bright, beautiful young woman. If truth be told, Gloria couldn't leave. She felt her daughter still with her in the apartment, and just couldn't let that go. She had a feeling that Mia's spirit wouldn't be with her still in Milan.

The convention center was packed, filled with the families of the two hundred and sixty-three people who had died on flight 1049, banners hanging up welcoming and directing guests. People were already roaming about the huge ball room, drinks in hand, voices soft murmurs at the Meet and Greet. Cheerful paper and balloons were strung over just about anything that would stand still, hoping to lighten the mood of such an event. As Gloria made her way through the crowds, she almost felt like she was at her high school reunion again. She caught snippets of conversations as she made her way toward the refreshment table:

"… son's babysitter, so sad…"

"… married for thirty-three years. She loved to…"

"… Davies will fly the search missions. I believe there are other survivors to be found."

The Italian woman stopped at this, turning to see who was saying this, for a moment, feeling a glimmer of hope. She just hoped the finely dressed man was talking about what she thought he was talking about. "Excuse me, my name is Gloria Vinzetti."

One of the women standing in the little group of four's eyes got huge, her hand going to her open mouth. "Aren't you one of the Lucky Three?" she whispered, referring to the title the press had dubbed the three rescued as. Gloria nodded. The woman fell to pieces, taking Gloria in a monster hug, nearly taking the smaller woman off her feet. "I'm so glad you three were able to survive such a horrendous tragedy."

Gloria smiled shyly, not sure what to say. She had been hounded by the media for the first month or so after the rescue, but it had all died down as they turned their attention to other breaking stories. The new attention was somewhat disconcerting, especially as the entire group turned toward her. She eyed the handsome man with the sandy-colored hair, which was her initial target.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but I overheard you talking as I walked by. Were you talking about sending out search planes for 1049?"

Will smiled charmingly at the woman, who's face he'd seen a dozen times on the news. He also knew she'd lost a daughter. "Yes, ma'am. I'm Will Ash," he extended a well-manicured hand, enveloping the smaller hand in his. "I'm so sorry for your loss, Miss Vinzetti, and think it's wonderful you were able to be saved."

"Thank you, Mr. Ash," Gloria said shyly, charmed by him.

"Call me Will."

Gloria swallowed, shaking off the charisma so she could think straight and get her focus back. "What is your interest in this, Will? What makes you think you'll find anything?'

"My partner, Dean Ratliff, was on that flight, Miss Vinzetti. My heart tells me he's still alive, and I intend to either prove it right, or," he swallowed, "prove it wrong."

"The coast guard won't help you any further?" one of the men in the group asked, sipping from his drink. Will turned to him, shaking his head.

"I've tried every angle, and it was suggested to me that I go private. Thus where Miss Davies comes in. We've already taken one pass in the general area, but intend to go back out in another month. I heard the author, uh, what was her name," he snapped his fingers as he tried to remember her name.

"Rachel Holt," Gloria provided.

"Right! Rachel Holt's husband is supposed to be here today, and I'd like to talk to him. Perhaps with such a high profile victim, we can bring some public interest into this story, get some financial support for rescue efforts."

Matt and Reenie walked in together, but quickly separated, Matt heading toward the cash bar, Reenie taking in everything around her, astounded by the number of people the tragedy had touched. How many lives in the room had been ruined by what happened? The newspapers were announcing new findings from the black box that was finally found, along with wreckage at the bottom of the ocean. Instrument failure, they said. The 767 had been so drastically off course, and the pilots had never known it until it was too late. Then to add insult to injury, engine two had given out, causing the plane to make its fiery descent to a watery grave.

There was talk of lawsuits, and no doubt the airline was about ready to shit a brick. The editor couldn't help but smile at that, as she felt they should be scared. Her best friend and favorite client had died because of their negligence.

She accepted a flute of something amber and bubbly from a passing waiter's tray, nodding her gratitude as she sipped. She was mildly intrigued by the mixture of souls present, and their mixture in life status. Some walked around in Armani and Prada, while others walked around in the K-Mart blue light special. But through all the poverty and pomp, there was one thread that wove everyone together- loss.

Total stillness, harsh in its completeness. Visions before her, people walking, gesticulating, expressions and emoting bodies. Tracy Sloan took it all in, eyes wide with curiosity and slight fear, as she always had when entering into an unknown world that she wasn't given time to explore and learn. She felt better at the constant touch on her arm, knowing it was Colleen, her interpreter and constant companion since she was seven. Nineteen years later, the older woman was her family. Colleen had been the one to break the news to the young woman about her mother's death. Next to Dr. Pam Slaon, Tracy trusted Colleen like no other.

The twenty-six year old felt a slight tap on her arm, and turned to see Colleen signing to her with swift, graceful fluidity. Tracy nodded in understanding and signed her response. Together they joined the crowd as it headed toward the double doors that lined the great ball room.

Matt stood nervously next to Reenie, as it would be their turn to shine after the speaker finished, before the memorial actually started. Reverend Mark Stantz and Rabbi Chaim Halevi were standing by to deliver to their respective sermons.

The detective looked down at his fidgeting hands, clasped in front of his suited self. He had to admit, he looked good tonight: freshly showered and shaved, the new tailored suit Reenie had insisted on buying for him. His hair was trimmed and slicked back in an appealing style. He stood next to a stunning Reenie, hair styled with "product", and tucked behind her ears to allow her dangling earrings to shine. Her cocktail dress was black, yet stylish and conservative. Her figure was well displayed without being over done.

The dark-eyed editor could feel Matt's nervousness as he stood next to, and slightly behind, her. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, clearing his throat more than was necessary. Reenie tried to ignore it and listen to the announcer, and promoter of the night's event, Brian Manley, a big wig for the airline behind the disaster.

The auditorium was filled to standing room only with hundreds of family and friends of those lost, the lights dimmed, and a giant screen behind Brian slowly showcasing one face after another, candid shots taken of those who died, along with their name, age and where they were from. Sniffles could be heard in the darkened room, random flashes like lightning strikes.

"The lives of these two hundred and sixty-three people are forever linked together, and live on in our hearts and memories." The last picture to show on the large screen was Rachel Holt, which was Reenie and Matt's segue. "I'd like to introduce to you tonight Reenie Bazilton, Rachel Holt's editor and dear friend, and Matt Frazier, Rachel's husband." Brian Manley stepped aside to thunderous applause as Reenie and Matt stepped into the spotlight.

The detective stared out into the darkness, trying not to think about the hundreds of pairs of eyes on him at that very moment, but instead focusing on why they were there. He happily granted Reenie the stage.

"Thank you for coming tonight, ladies and gentlemen. You have no idea how difficult it is for me to stand up here before you," Reenie paused, staring out into the sea of unseen faces, only able to make out the red and green lights of cameras and a few faces up close. "Then again, maybe you do. Rachel Holt was the closest friend I've ever had, and the most talented person I've ever had the pleasure of meeting and working with. She bared her heart in every novel she wrote, and every word was lovingly applied to the page. Rachel loved her fans, and though this room isn't filled with them now, I know she'd support one hundred percent what I've done." Reenie stepped aside, looking at the screen behind her, which showed the homepage for the website she'd been working steadily on. "I've created 1049 Club in Rachel's name. It's a fund bourn to help the children and needy families of those who died in the tragedy. Donations have already totaled more than a quarter of a million dollars from public donors, as well as the two million the fund was started with."

Matt had heard all of this before, but he still couldn't keep the smile from his face, knowing just how pleased Rachel would be that her money had been put to such good use. He felt pride fill his chest, and different eyes fell upon Reenie. She wasn't the greedy, scheming bitch he'd taken her for after all.

Reenie glanced back to the audience when she heard the collections of gasps go up, as well as more sniffles, though this time of gratitude. "Every passenger is listed on the website," again the editor turned back to the screen, which changed to the page in question. "I've gathered information from the authorities, and will be opening special page for all of you to write in about your loved one, and leave a special message for others to read." The screen changed again. "Here you can write to talk to Matt and I personally, telling us of the financial problems you face from the loss of a spouse, parent, guardian, et cetera."

Gloria watched, the tears glistening in her dark eyes as she listened to what the dark haired woman was saying, stunned at her generosity and kindness of spirit. As the editor wrapped it up, once again a larger than life picture of the blonde author was put up on the screen. Gloria had never seen that picture: Rachel was smiling, her eyes twinkling, the most beautiful color of green. All her pictures on her books were in black and white. The Italian woman studied her for long moments, feeling more tears spring to her eyes. What a complete waste.

*  *  *

His face hurt. His hand hurt. Hell, even his hair hurt. Conrad Dupree sat in the hard chair outside the principal's office, waiting. He wanted to rest his chin on his fist, but even that hurt, so he rested his head back against the wall, instead. His grandma was inside talking to Mrs. Caster, no doubt about what a bad boy he was, and how he needed to change, and watch his temper. Whatever.

The boy with blonde hair jumped as the office door was opened, his principal stepping only halfway out, just far enough to get his attention, beckoning him inside with her finger. Conrad sighed heavily as he flopped down in the chair next to Meredith Adams, though he tried his best not to wince, cause even that hurt.

"Conrad, do you have anything to say for yourself?" Mrs. Denise Caster asked, leaning slightly forward on her desk, gray eyes focused on the slumped form before her. The boy said nothing, didn't even meet her eyes, as he shook his head.

"Conrad, this is the third time this semester," Meredith reminded, her brows knit as she studied her grandson, nearly at a wit's end with him. She winced again when she saw the bruise on his jaw and eye beginning to darken. He'd look like he'd been through war come the light of day. Walter was going to hang the boy out to dry! "What happened?" she asked, deciding to try another tactic. She softened her voice, reaching over to brush a few blonde strands out of his eyes. The boy jerked away, breaking her heart.

"You need to tell us what happened, Conrad," Mrs. Caster said. "Nick isn't telling us anything, so you'll have to."

"Nick's a jerk," Conrad finally muttered, almost into his chest, his head had fallen so low.

"Why is he a jerk, honey?" Meredith asked.

Conrad could see it again, plain as day. He'd been walking down the hall, trying to get to his math class, when suddenly Nick Stavros had stepped away from the lockers in the sixth grader hall, arms spread out wide like bird wings, making airplane sounds, then running into the locker with a verbal explosion. Conrad Dupree felt tears immediately sting behind his eyes, but couldn't allow them to see it. Instead he'd jumped the kid, nearly beating him to a pulp before the gym teacher, Mr. Martinez separated them.

Conrad sniffled as quietly as he could, but the principal didn't miss it. Her gaze met that of the boy's grandmother to see if she'd heard it, too. The look of profound sadness in Meredith's eyes told her all she needed to know.

"I'm going to suspend you for one day, Conrad, so you can think about what you did, okay?" The administrator felt horrible for having to dole out such punishment, but just because of the contentious circumstances, she couldn't treat the beating of another student nothing. Even so, she'd given the Dupree boy a much lighter punishment than the Stavros boy would get. "You're dismissed, Conrad."

Denise watched the two leave, sighing heavily as she sat behind her desk once more. She studied her hands for a moment, questioning herself, but then nodded. She had no choice. The boy had to be punished.

Meredith turned to her grandson, who sat slouched in his seat, arms crossed defiantly over his chest.

"Jenny and I are going to go visit your mom and dad. Want to go?" the grandmother asked, eyes flicking back to the road before turning back to Conrad.

"No."

*  *  *

"Damn little fairy," Pam muttered, almost falling head-first into the bush she was dragging the food masher from. Holding it by the base between thumb and forefinger, the veterinarian studied it, shaking it slightly to rid the flesh colored devise of the leaves that stuck to it.

"No luck, Pam," Mia panted, running up the beach toward the older woman, who turned to face the teen, the food masher held up. "Oh." Mia stifled a giggle at the look of utter disgust on Pam's face.

"Little bastard better have cleaned it." She marched toward the fire ring, Mia in tow. Denny and Rachel, who were twisting vine into rope, glanced up, both snickering. "You think this is funny?" the vet asked, one dark brow raised. Both women tried to sober. "Fine. You two get to do the mashin'." Pam threw the masher down and marched back into the dense foliage. Mia stood uncertain, chewing on her lower lip, then hastily followed the older woman.

"Me thinks someone's going off in search of the big leaves," Denny whispered, a sable brow raised. Rachel chuckled, nodding.

"Me thinks you're right." They finished the rest of the vine in companionable silence before moving over to the fire ring and berries Pam and Mia had gathered. Denny glanced over at her friend, having shaken off the morning's uneasy feelings, deciding it wasn't worth upsetting herself over. It was a natural reaction.

"So what were you muttering about the other day?" she asked, trying not to grimace as she picked up the food masher, surreptitiously smelling it to make sure it didn't need to be washed.

"Muttering about?" Rachel's brows drew in confusion, her fingers removing stems from the berries, throwing them in the cold ash in the center of the rocks.

"Yeah. The other day, you were roaming around, muttering about something. I could only catch a word or two now and then, carried on the breeze. At first I thought you were singing, but I don't think so."

"Oh," the blonde said, blushing slightly. Sometimes she hated how small the island could be sometimes, never seeming to get true privacy. Much of the island's three mile radius was too dense for habitation. "I was working on a story, talking it out." She glanced shyly at the brunette, then turned back to her task.

"Talking it out?"

Rachel nodded. "You should see when I'm at home." She grinned. "I used to love doing the dishes, cause it's mindless work, you know? You stand there at the sink, nice, soothing hot water, and nothing to do but think. I'd talk out dialogue, story plots, figure out my character's psychological profiles. Good times."

Denny laughed, taking the berries from Rachel and mashing the hell out of them, scraping off the remnants onto the leaves Pam would use to wrap the fish with.

"You're always asking about me, and trust me, my writing rituals aren't that interesting. What about you?" Rachel glanced over at the brunette, who's attention was fully on mashing a stubborn berry that insisted on rolling instead of becoming purple mush. "Why a coffee shop?"

"Why not?" Denny raised a challenging brow. The glare she got made her chuckle. The brunette wasn't fond of talking about herself, always far more curious about other people, but knew she had a captive audience, and wasn't getting away with her typical pat answers. She cleared her throat as she got serious. "My folks and I didn't get along that well. They're devout Catholics, and I'm… not. Even before they knew I was gay, I was a disgrace to them."

Rachel listened, noting the usually upbeat woman refused to meet her gaze. She felt the uncharacteristic need to reach out and touch the coffee shop owner, a comforting hand on her arm or hand, but decided against it. It was almost as though Denny had closed herself and her personal space off with yellow tape: Do Not Cross.

"I used to love to dance. Me and my friends used to go out all the time, fake I.D.s and all." She chuckled at the memories. "Needless to say, dancing led to drinking, which led to smoking, which led to me breaking a whole laundry list of sins. Bad daughter, sinner, must exercise the demons." Denny sighed, staring out into the darkening day. Absently she eyed the pregnant clouds above. "Anyway, so I was out and had to get my own life. I got a job at a local hang out called Mile, and my boss, Joni saw potential, I guess. Either that or I was the only one who showed up for my shifts on time." Denny grinned at the blonde. "Anyway, I found that I was good at it, enjoyed it, so decided to get a place of my own."

"Do you see your parents now?"

Denny shook her head. "Nope," she slammed the food masher down until it suctioned itself to the rock, the body doinging back and forth, making both women snicker. "Sometimes when your own family fucks you over, you go out and make your own."

"Hannah?"

"Hannah." The brunette couldn't keep the smile from her face, so soft and gentle. "And what about you? Do you miss your husband, Rachel?"

The blonde was about to open her mouth, coming up with some sort of lame, surface explanation when they heard a loud whoop. Relieved, the blonde turned toward the shore, getting to her feet to meet the boys coming in, holding up a bag full of fish.

"Victory at sea!" Michael yelled, pumping his fish-laden fist in the air. Dean was grinning from ear to ear next to him, the men grunting as they pulled the raft ashore.

"We're eating good tonight, ladies!" Dean said, nearly falling back on his butt as the raft got stuck on a small chasm in the sand. Gaining his footing again, he regained his grin.

"Oh, that was charming," Mia laughed at the robust belch Michael just released. The group chuckled, sitting around the healthy fire, the only light in the deep, dark night. Distant rumbling could be heard, everyone surprised the sky hadn't split open yet to drench them. It had been threatening to all day, the sky heavy and foreboding.

"You know, if we ever make it home, I will never touch fish again," Pam joked, licking her fingers of the juices of the wonderful dinner the boys had caught.

"Amen!" Denny echoed, grabbing her second helping. They hadn't eaten this well in weeks. They all chuckled, knowing full well they would be eating fish the following day, and the day after that, and the day after that.

"Look at me, though," Dean said, rising to his feet and striking a pose. He gave them all a profile, showing off his newly flattened stomach and shapely legs. "Now I look like some twink in New York."

Denny burst into laughter, though everyone else looked on with confusion. "I know. Check this out." She jumped to her own feet, showing everyone her own lack of body fat. She'd never been in such great shape in her life. It was just sad that it took being stranded with barely anything to eat for her to lose the fifteen or twenty pounds she'd been wanting to drop. She raised her arms, flexing and growling as she changed poses. Someone threw up a high-pitched whistle, Dean cheered.

"You go, you big ol' dyke!"

Rachel sat back, licking her chops, and grinning like a fool as she watched Dean and Denny. Her gaze scanned over the brunette's body, having already noticed that the coffee shop owner's belly had disappeared. Her skin was smooth and painted gold and shadow in the firelight.

"Hey, now," Pam said, smacking her own belly, the skin jiggling slightly. "I'm finally finding the six pack under my two liter." This set everyone off again.

"Well, us Texans are just born gorgeous," Michael said with a wink, heading off into the darkness to relieve his bladder.

Denny sat back down, catching green eyes as she did. She grinned at Rachel, getting a raised half a cocoanut shell cup in salute.

*  *  *

The wind was howling, shaking the very fibers of the structure that housed the women. The whistling that managed to seep between the woven leaves was unnerving, and cold.

Denny pulled her legs up closer into her chest, almost into the fetal position. Even the woven grass mats they each had to sleep on, but were now using as coverings, weren't doing the trick. She felt a shiver rush through her, listening as the rain began to finally fall, the drops not yet falling through the trees above to their sanctuary, but she could hear the sand being pelted. She shivered again, about to pull her face down toward her chest, under the mat, but stopped when she noticed Rachel was awake, an arm raised to hold her own mat up in invitation. The blonde was also curled in on herself. Denny looked at her, a slight feeling of panic settling over her as she thought back to how she'd reacted after their tug-of-war game. She remembered how her body had reacted, and the sense of loneliness that had been her constant companion since leaving Buffalo.

The brunette's thoughts halted when she saw Rachel's arm falter, her eyes confused hurt. Realizing she was being ridiculous, Denny scooted to couple feet over to the author, turning her back toward her.

"It's getting colder at night," Rachel whispered against her ear, causing Denny to have to fight a shiver. She nodded mutely, feeling the blonde curl up against her back. Soon, with body heat combined, the two women drifted off into contented sleep.

Rachel felt warmth, completely enveloped in it, causing her to smile and wiggle back into it. She felt protected. Safe. Warm. Held. Held!? Green eyes popped open, the author disoriented and suddenly struck with fear as the roar of the world around her entered her reality. She was lying on her left side, Denny nearly wrapped around her from behind, a long arm across the blonde's stomach, holding her close against the warm body behind her. She only had a moment to soak that in when cries outside rent the air, as well as the deafening roar that had first woken her.

"Fuck! Help me, Michael!" Dean screamed at the top of his lungs, trying desperately to gather as much gear into his arms as the driving force of the wind and rain would allow. The Texan barely heard him over the sound of the storm, the waves swelling and breaking on the beach, almost knocking him off his feet. Sputtering, he tried to shake the rain out of his eyes, only able to see the struggling man when another crack of lightning split the sky in two.

"What's happening?" Pam yelled as she shot out of the girl's hut, looking desperately around.

"We got washed out!" Michael explained, grabbing for Dean, who had slipped, losing half of the things he'd managed to hang on to. Their nail clippers, knife and three shirts were instantly washed away as another set of waves crashed ashore, nearly pulling all three of them with it as it receded back to the angry ocean.

"Jesus Christ!" Pam yelled, holding on for dear life to a tree. She felt a hand on her back and turned to see a wind and rain-swept Denny, spitting water out of her mouth.

"We've got to get to higher ground!" the brunette yelled, her words swallowed by the loudest crack of thunder any of them had ever heard. When the noise had returned to just ridiculous, she repeated herself. The veterinarian nodded, then turned back to Michael, who no longer stood next to her. She was barley able to make out the outline of the two men who were screaming into the wind, down by the shore.

"Grab it! Fucking grab it!" the mechanic yelled, teeth bared as he tried to get a hold of the edge of the raft, which was quickly being pulled out to sea. "We can't lose this!"

"Michael, I can't hold on!" Dean yelled, quickly losing his grip. He grasped desperately for some sort of purchase, but the rain-slicked rubber and forceful winds and waves were making it near impossible. "I can't-"

"No! Hold on, goddamn it! We can't lose this, God damn you!" Michael felt frantic, as though their only hope of ever leaving the island was literally slipping through his fingers. He felt like crying as he knew he was losing his grip. "No!"

"Michael!" Dean felt his heart sink when a strong wave crashed over them, taking the raft and Michael back out to sea with it. Without a second thought, the attorney threw himself at the larger man, managing to grab his legs, and not dare letting go. "Hold on, Michael! I've got you!"

Michael spit out a mouthful of salt water, feeling it burn his eyes and the insides of his nose and throat. Another wave crashed down over him, making him panic as the feeling of not being able to breathe or move washed through him. He felt something tight around his legs, almost painfully so. Over the roar of the surf he could make out a word now and then- got you… swim… help m!

Dean pulled with all his might, finally able to gain his feet during a very short reprieve, though he could see the waves building once more.

"We've got to help him!" Pam cried, about to run out to the beach, but she was stopped by a hand to her shoulder, then another grabbing a handful of her pant leg.

"No!" Mia said, staring the older woman down as the vet turned to see who had dared to stop her. She was face to face with fierce, dark eyes. "We need to save ourselves! What good is it if we all die? We have to survive!"

The older woman was so stunned, all she could do was nod dumbly. Snapping back into action, she could just barely see Denny and Rachel disappear into the jungle, a wet, slimy trail of mud and leaves turned to mush in their wake. One last glance over her shoulder, she could see that Dean had managed to pull Michael into waist-deep water.

"I'm not going to let you die, damn it!" the attorney screamed into the wind, using every ounce of muscle and energy he had to pull the Texan to shore before the next wave got to them first. Using near super-human strength, he threw the larger man back to shallow depths, quickly splashing after him, grabbing a kneeling Michael around the waist, and lifting him to his shoulders, like a fireman, running out onto shore, ignoring the fire in his back and legs, and the whipping of rain and wind at his face.

Finally making it out of the surf, and into the jungle, the attorney set the mechanic onto his butt under an under hang, then collapsed down next to him.

PART 7

DENNY CRAWLED FORWARD from the small nook the other three were still huddled in.  The water cascaded down over the rocks in a torrent, the usual calm, almost soothing, waterfall seeming to be angry and violent.  She tried to peek around it, searching desperately for any sign of Michael and Dean.  She knew yelling out their names would be useless; the roar of the storm and the waterfall were deafening.  Nothing.  Nothing but roaring blackness.

“Shit.”  She headed back behind the water, unable to make out the expectant gazes aimed at her.  She figured the girls would want to know, so shook her head, but then realized chances were good they couldn’t see it. “Nothing.”

Mia sighed, clutching tighter to Pam, who rested her cheek on the girl’s head.  Rachel met the brunette halfway across the nook, reaching out blindly to make sure that black spot on slightly less black backdrop, was Denny.  “You okay?” she asked.

“Yeah.  I’m just hoping with everything I’ve got that they made it.  I should have stayed.  Helped.”  Denny’s head fell, the long, wet strands of her hair falling to form a black curtain.

“Hey,” the blonde said softly, feeling her way up to Denny’s shoulder and squeezing lightly. “There’s nothing any of us could have done, Denny.  Nothing.”  The brunette said nothing, but Rachel could feel the shoulder she grasped shaking.  Confused, it took her a moment to realize Denny was crying.  “Come here.”

Denny went willingly into the blonde’s arms, resting her head on her shoulder, feeling the chilled skin against her cheek.  Deceptively strong arms wrapped around her, holding her close.  The brunette had no idea why she was crying, except that all her emotions seemed to fire at her all at once; grief, fear, anger and loneliness.

“It’s okay,” Rachel whispered in her ear, reaching a hand up to hold Denny’s head steady against her shoulder.  After a few moments, the coffee shop owner calmed and took a deep breath.  Stepping away from the blonde, she felt ridiculous, laughing at herself to ease her nerves.

“Sorry,” she murmured, wiping at her eyes and taking a shaky breath.

“Don’t apologize.  I think we’ve all lost it at least once here.”  Rachel smiled, her eyes adjusting to the near complete darkness just enough to be able to make out the pale shape that was Denny’s face.  “Come on.  Let’s go sit down.”  She took the brunette’s hand and led her back toward Pam and Mia, tugging until Denny sat down with her.

“We’re going to need to rebuild.  No doubt everything’s been washed away,” Pam said, her voice void of emotion as she stared out into the night.  It sounded as if the rain might be lightening up a bit.  No one said anything, not much use.  It wasn’t like it could be easily heard, anyway.

Rachel watch the vicious beauty of Mother Nature as her mind wandered back to their rude awakening, which seemed like hours ago, but in reality was no more than half an hour ago.  Voices, then the rain, itself, as it finally broke through the thick foliage above their shelter, and eventually was too much for the weaved leaves, and they were all drenched.  Then her mind wandered further to how she’d woken up, Denny wrapped around her, and the blonde relishing the protective warmth.  She could remember times when Matt had tried to get her to let him hold her, and she would refuse.  More often than not, they’d end up with his head on her shoulder, or the detective rolling over, angry and hurt.

It was silly, she knew, and completely psychological, but Rachel felt vulnerable and weak when she allowed herself to be held.  Her life had always been about ensuring she had complete control over herself, her mind, her emotions and her craft.  Growing up with an amazingly controlling father, and a mother that was too weak to stand up to him, the Holt girls had taken any amount of control they could, which meant mainly in their own minds.  This lack of control had sent Rachel into her own head at a young age, creating an entire world inside that she, alone could create, build or destroy.

So why had she allowed Denny to hold her?  Yes, she had been asleep, and good sleep was hard to get on the hard, cold ground, but their shared body heat seemed to send them both off into a deep sleep.  Rachel didn’t think the brunette would have done that, otherwise.  Glancing at her now, she didn’t think Denny even knew what she’d done, as when the coffee shop owner was awoken, Rachel was already running out of the shelter.

She realized it all boiled down to being very tired, warm and content for the first time in months, and the easy, trustworthy persona that was Denny.  Green eyes closed as Rachel rested her head back against the wall

*  *  *

Cold.  So very cold.  Dean tried to pull his legs even tighter against his body, his knees nearly pushing through his ribs as it was.  He was wet, covered in mud and tired.  Does the blasted rain ever end?!  He ducked his head out of the tiny hiding place he and Michael had crawled to, looking up into the sky, which was beginning to lighten, the rain still falling, but now at a much more reasonable rate.  It was more like a pleasant afternoon drizzle.

“If I don’t see rain again, be fine by me,” Michael grumbled, eyes closed as his head rested back against the trunk of a tree.

“Amen to that.”  The attorney sighed heavily.

Michael’s eyes slid open and he glanced over at the man sitting no more than a foot away.  He was amazed to find none of the contempt for the smaller man that he’d felt the same time the day before.  Now, looking at the miserable attorney, he felt a sense of pride and camaraderie with the little guy.  Feeling eyes on him, Dean met the Texan’s gaze with his own questioning one.  He was surprised to see the smile grace Michael’s rugged features.

“We ain’t so different, are we?” Michael asked, his deep voice filled with pleasant surprise.  Dean smiled, shaking his head.

“Nope.  Guess not.”

“Thanks, man.”  Michael held out a large hand, which was quickly taken.  With one, firm handshake, an understanding of sorts was forged and all assumptions left behind.

“Anytime.”  Dean couldn’t help but fill his chest feel and a sense of a job well done.  He released the mechanic’s hand, and tucked it with the other one, under his armpits.  “What a mess,” he said absently at length, looking out over the destruction.

“Ain’t that the truth.  Reckon that was a hurricane, or at least a pretty damn ugly tropical storm,”  Michael said, remembering the storms from his childhood.  Hell, Katrina still woke him with nightmares.  He knew that everything was gone, and they’d have to start over.

“Wonder what happened to the girls,” Dean sighed, worried they hadn’t fared as well.  The thought of being stuck on the island with Michael, with no buffer, made him cringe.  No matter what kind of understanding they’d reached, he still didn’t think it was wise.  Michael was  real good looking guy, with a real cute butt.  Dean knew he’d be murdered with the mechanic’s bare hands were he to even think about that.  That said, he tossed the thoughts out of his head.

“Don’t know.  Did you see them?”  Michael saw Dean shake his head.  Sighing heavily, the Texan drug himself to his feet, his body screaming at him.  He was cold, hungry, tired and beyond sore from battling the elements.   “Come on, Dean.  Let’s get this over with, and see the damage.”

Dean groaned as he, too stood, surprised by the steadying hand on his arm.  Smiling his thanks, he followed the Texan out to the beach.  Sure enough, and to the horror of both men, the beach was I ruins.  Deep ruts marred the normally flawless sand, which was wet and filled with small oceans of its own.  Tree and plant parts littered the sands, where their shelters had once stood was now the new home to a toppled palm.

Michael whistled through his teeth, shaking his head as he tucked his hands into the back pockets of his jeans, which he couldn’t wait to peel off his body.  The wet, muddy denim felt like a cast iron vise around his lower half.

Dean wanted to cry.  It reminded him of the destruction of Ground Zero in the months after the terrorist attacks, which took place not far from Will’s office.  “This is unreal,” he said, his voce soft as he reached up, pushing wet, dirty hair out of his eyes.  Michael only nodded.

“Let’s explore, see if we can’t find the girls and anything that can be salvaged.”

Dean followed the large man, but then noticed something out of the corner of his eye.  His laughter was so sudden, so completely unexpected, it started Michael.  The Texan’s gaze shot to where Dean was trotting off to, his own amusement bubbling up until his laughter met the attorney’s.

*  *  *

Green eyes slowly slid open, though for the second time in five hours, she wasn’t sure why.  Warmth engulfed her on either side, combating the cold behind and beneath her.  She was sitting against the back wall of the waterfall nook, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles.  Okay, that explains the coldness under my ass.  Glancing to her right, she found herself face to face with very dark hair.  An inspection of her left side revealed the same.  It seemed Mia and Denny had found her shoulders as comfy pillows.  Smiling to herself, the author was loath to disturb either of them, but then what had woken her made itself very clear once more.

“Shit,” she muttered, her bladder once again speaking its mind.  All the wonderful fish and water she’d had the night before was finally making its last curtain call.  Finally her physical need overran her emotional one, and the author gently extricated herself from the sleeping duo who flanked her.  Making sure they stayed asleep, the blonde scurried out of their hiding spot, out into the drizzle, which was beginning to warm with the rising sun.

Despite the devastation the storm had unleashed, Rachel was assaulted by the intense brightness of color around her.  The plants seemed to have brightened their neon mode by at least fifty percent over night.  It would have been breathtaking if the broken leaves, pummeled flowers and snapped trees hadn’t come into play.

Her bladder announcing its intentions of letting loose any moment brought the blonde back to the reason why she was wandering out in the wild in the first place.  She walked precariously around what was usually a deep pond, but was now a veritable lake, trying to find a good bush that was still in one piece.  Zeroing in on such a bush, Rachel sighed in relief as she pushed what was left of her jeans down, yelping at a rogue leaf that tickled her in a spot she hadn’t been tickled in quite some time.

As the blonde’s bodily functions took over, she let her mind wander, wondering where they’d build their next shelter, certainly further up from the beach and deeper into the jungle.  As her thoughts bounced around, they landed briefly on Michael and Dean, praying they made it, though her heart clenched at the mental picture of the two men, who were night and day of the male species.  She smiled slightly, remembering Dean’s easy smile and somewhat tempestuous personality, while Michael was gruff and rugged, yet had a heart of gold.  She wondered what Melissa was like; what kind of woman had tamed the beast of Texas, and managed to mine her way to that gold?

Rachel was brought roughly out of her thoughts and screamed out as something smacked her in the shoulder.  Stopping mid-stream, she shot to her feet, looking around savagely for a snake.  What she found was long and could be slimy, but it wasn’t any snake.

Blue eyes flew open as a shrill scream rent the air.  Confused and disoriented, she got to her feet like a shot and was running out of the little alcove, doing her damndest to run on wet, slick rock and dirt, and not fall into the brand new ocean that had developed over night on the island.  Briefly she wondered what the eighth ocean would be called.  Her amusement was short-lived as she heard another scream.

Rachel held her pants closed as she bent over and picked up the flesh-colored object that had bounced off her shoulder and lodged itself into a tumble of leaves and branches.  She screamed again as something pinched her ass.  Turning around with wide eyes, Rachel’s heart swelled with her relief.

“Dean!”  She threw herself at him, as covered in mud as he was, she didn’t care.  In fact, she wondered how the rather prissy man was handling the grime. It didn’t matter as he wrapped his arms around her, just as relieved to see her as she was him.  “You made it,” she breathed, hugging even tighter.  She felt a sting behind her eyes that she quickly swallowed down, though it returned when she saw the tears in his own eyes.  “What about-“

“I’m here, too, darlin’.”

The blonde let out another small cry when she found herself pulled into an almost painfully tight hug, breathing out her sigh of relief into the large man’s chest.  “Oh, thank god.”  Pulling away just enough to look up into his face, she gave him a relieved, watery smile. “We were all so worried.”

“Rachel!”  Denny yelled, running through the foliage, trying to find the author, who sounded to be in trouble.  “Rach-“  She cut herself off mid-yell when she saw the grinning trio.  “Son of a…”  The brunette ran headlong to the two men, grabbing both in a headlock, relief and anger clashing together. “Do you two have any idea how goddamn worried I was?!”

Dean and Michael were taken aback by the usually laid back woman’s reaction, having only seen her get fired up the one time, over Michael calling Dean a name.

“Don’t you ever do that again, you got it?!”

“Michael!  Dean!”

Within moments everyone was crying at the happy reunion, all hugs and smiles.

“Anyone up for breakfast?” Dean finally asked, waving the retrieved dildo in the air for emphasis.

*  *  *

Tiffany Riley sipped from her clear plastic cup, stained with red drops from the fruit punch being served.  Her eyes, nearly coal black, studied the brunette across the room, talking to Jim Lopez, one of the district managers.  The new accountant wiped her red punch mustache with a napkin, adorned with a colorful turkey and wishes of a happy Thanksgiving.  She couldn’t keep her eyes off the researcher, knowing full well what had happened to Hannah over the summer, her loss.  Tiffany was reluctant to approach her, though wanted to get to know her.

It had been a month since the shorter woman started working with the company, but Hannah Donnelly had caught her eye right away.  She’d lacked the courage to so much as speak to the woman, but figured today she’d take a risk.

Running a hand through short, auburn hair, Tiffany Riley let out a long breath and set her plastic cup down on the refreshments table and straightened suit jacket, thrusting her shoulders back to show a sense of confidence she did not feel.  She walked slowly toward the woman in her sights, smiling slightly in relief as Jim Lopez squeezed the beautiful woman’s arm, then walked away, headed to fill a plate with the turkey dinner provided smorgasbord style.  Left alone, Hannah sipped her punch, watching her co-workers interact.

“Nice get together they put together, huh?” Tiffany asked, standing at Hannah’s side.  The brunette glanced at her, nodding.

“Nicer than last year.  We got cold cuts.”  Hannah chuckled with the shorter woman, whom she’d noticed in the office on and off.  She thought she was new, but didn’t know her name.

“At my last job, over at Hoff and Curtman, they handed out hard candy.”

Hannah chuckled again, shaking her head.  “That’s terrible.  A slap to the face.”  They stood in silence for a moment when Tiffany introduced herself. “Hannah.”  The researcher took the offered hand, then dropped it, noting the softness of the accountant’s hand.  She blocks it out of her mind.

“So any plans for the long weekend?” Tiffany asked at length, feeling her palms getting sweaty as she tried to build up her courage.

“Not really.”  For a moment, Hannah looked profoundly sad.  “Hanging around the house, maybe do some spring cleaning.”

“In the autumn?”

“Yeah.  Kind of like Christmas in July,  suppose.”  They shared a small smile before turning their attention back to the room filled with people, murmurs of conversation and the occasional peal of laughter.  Tiffany tried to think of a way to get to know Hannah outside of work, some way to casually invite her out without it seeming she was asking her out.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m kind of thinking this turkey they’re serving is a little gross.  I’m not a dark meat gal.”

“Yeah.”  Hannah glanced down at the remnants of her mostly uneaten dinner on the table next to her.

“I was thinking about maybe grabbing a sandwich at Rocky’s.”

“Ohhh,” Hannah grinned, “I love Rocky’s.  Their meatball sandwiches are to die for.”

“Mm, yeah.”  Tiffany’s eyes brightened, as if the idea had just struck her. “Want to go get one?”

Hannah was surprised by the offer, but couldn’t help the small smile that graced her lips, nor the nod she gave.  She couldn’t get her four day weekend to start soon enough.  It was her first Thanksgiving without Denny, and she just wanted to curl up in her flannel pjs and shut the world out.  Maybe a little socializing first would be good for her.  “Sure.”

The winter air was truly and fully settling over Buffalo, New York.  Both women tugged their jackets tighter around their bodies, raving the fierce wind as they walked the block to the popular deli.  Nearly blown inside, they welcomed the warmth and calm of the small place, which was next to empty on the late, Wednesday afternoon.

“Hey, ladies.  What can I get for you?” the man behind the counter asked, leaning his hands on the counter on either side of the register.  Taking their orders and money, he told them to grab a seat, and he’d bring their orders to them.

“I think this is the emptiest I’ve ever seen this place,” Tiffany commented, dragging her scarf out from around her neck, the action making her shiver slightly.  Hannah nodded.

“I know.  If only it was always like this.”

She has such a beautiful smile.  The accountant cleared her throat, smiling at the man as he brought their drinks.  One thing she didn’t like about the place was the no refills policy.  She often wished she could take a full cup back to the office with her.  Hannah held the cup of coffee she ordered between chilled palms, blowing over the black liquid.  Tiffany spared a glance at the woman sitting across from her, trying to study her face in the split second she allowed herself.  She made a note to herself to start asking around about the beautiful brunette.  More than she already had.

*  *  *

I won’t get sick.  I won’t get sick.  I won’t get sick.

“You okay, Will?” Garrison asked, her voice tinny in the headset mic they both wore.  The architect nodded vigorously, though his face got more green as they flew out over the water.  The pilot tried to not chuckle, just hoping he wouldn’t puke in the Bell 407.  The seven-seater was flying low, the waves rushing beneath them.  The bubble cockpit made it easy to see a good portion around the chopper.  After stopping in Florida to re-fuel, they were on their way: mission two.

Will swallowed his sickness down, not liking this height thing at all, but there was no way he wasn’t going to be there just in case.  It was the holiday season, and he had time from work to take before the end of the year, so he was using it wisely.  The sandy-haired man had come to respect and like Garrison Davies quite a bit.  She was a good person with a big heart.  During their last flight, she had told him all about her partner, Keller, and their ward, who Garrison called her daughter, which was actually Keller’s much younger sister.  After saving the girls from a savagely abusive father, Garrison and Keller had fallen in love, and started a life together, raising the then five year old Parker.

Will was touched by the story, and grew to respect the pilot even more.  Watching the obvious love between the two pilots, as Keller also flew with Davies’ Hangar, the architect became that much more determined in his search for Dean.  The memorial back in October had been a success for his goal of getting the famous author’s husband on board with his wild idea.  Sure enough, the high-profile backing had indeed garnered financial support for the mission to find any remaining survivors.

Garrison felt guilty for taking the money from the dear man sitting next to her, but she’d promised to help him, though she felt it was a fool’s errand.  Knowing the power behind an aircraft, she had been stunned to hear of any survivors at all, let alone anymore out there somewhere; it was just not feasible, but the pilot didn’t have the heart to tell him this.

The first trip Garrison had covered chartered territory, but now was going off the beaten path, checking in with the closest tower every few minutes, giving her location and direction.  The cockpit remained silent for some time, both flyers keeping their eyes peeled to the sea below, praying to see anything that would be indicative of … well … anything.

“I can’t believe how much water there is down there,” Will noted, squinting at what he realized was a fisherman’s vessel below, which they quickly buzzed past.  Garrison nodded.

“There sure is.  A shit load of ice melting, huh?”

Will chuckled.  “Yeah.  Isn’t that the truth.”

*  *  *

“Shit!”  Dean muttered a few other choice words as he sputtered salt water out of his nose, his sinuses burning from the unexpected swim.  “Son-of-a-bitch, bastard, piece of shit.  Shit!”  Treading water, he noted the bobbing pieces of wood, almost taunting him, as it floated close by, slowly drifting further and further away from each other, vines floating lamely from around the trunk they’d been secured around.

“Guess that didn’t work,” Michael grinned, chuckling at his companion’s glare of death.  The Texan had been pissed off, oh lordy yes!  But as soon as he’d seen how upset Dean was, he figured one of them had to keep a flat head.  He swam over to one of the logs, grabbing onto it, then swimming back toward Dean, sending it drifting toward the attorney.  “Hold onto that,” he instructed, swimming toward the other three logs that were getting further away.  He figured one of them would just have to get away, as he only had two hands, and didn’t want to swim too far out.

Dean did as he was told, watching as the big man swam toward the other logs, wrapping powerful arms around two before grunting as he turned them around, holding on as he kicked back toward shore.  Dean followed.

“Well, hell, doesn’t seem that worked all that well,” Pam snickered, shielding her eyes with a deeply tanned hand, watched her boys return from an attempted fishing trip.  She heard Denny chuckle behind her.

“Nope.  Don’t you hate it when your plans fall apart at the seams?”

“I told them to use the double knot-“

“-and tie the vine around the other way, too,” the brunette added as the women headed back into the jungle, sharing a knowing grin.  “Men.”

“No doubt.  You’re the smart one,” Pam said with a roll of her eyes, making her equally deeply tanned companion laugh.

Rachel sat perched in a tree, watching out over the beach and ocean, legs drawn up and stiff sheet of paper resting on her thigh.  Her hand was poised over the page, unmoving as she watched the approach of Denny and Pam.  Green eyes rested on the lithe figure of the brunette, noting yet again how much Denny’s eyes nearly glowed electric blue from the sun-darkened skin of her face.  When she smiled, as she was at the moment, her teeth were like a mega-watt light bulb tuned on.  In a word, she was beautiful.

Dragging her eyes from the coffee shop owner, she turned her attention back to the page she’d been working on all morning.  Rachel had no idea she could write so tiny, but space was of a precious commodity, and she already knew it wasn’t going to last much past the end of the year, and they were in late November as it was.  Thanksgiving was sometime soon, or past, but they’d all decided to celebrate it that night.  Michael and Dean were out attempting their newest rig, since their former fishing raft had been long swept away from the wicked tropical storm that had stripped them of everything they’d managed to salvage and make.

That was okay; what they had rebuilt was better, anyway.  They’d learned a heavy lesson, and used that knowledge beautifully.  Just beyond a small cluster of palms to the author’s left was their new shelters, built with ingenuity and practicality.  The same basic skeleton had been used, Pam, Rachel and Dean painstakingly weaving grasses and leaves to once again wrap around trunks of trees that had survived the storm, forming the shape.  The massive amounts of fallen trees and branches proved perfect building materials, enabling them to reinforce their structures and make more sturdy walls and roofs, which helped to keep the cold night wind and winter rains.

Rachel brushed her bangs out of her face, growling when they fell back into her eyes.  Her hair had grown immensely, falling in shaggy golden waves all over her head, though her bangs were just long enough to be a menace.  As she finished her creative thought on paper, she blew a breath up to blow the annoying hair out of her eyes.  What she wouldn’t do for a pair of scissors!

The blonde’s attention was grabbed from her story once more when she heard a slight groan, though muffled, coming from near the waterfall.  Curious, Rachel climbed down from her perch with the swift grace of hours of climbing to find food or hunt for the perfect leaf.  With stealthy steps and hops over fallen trees, she followed the noise, which had turned into a deep moan.

Rachel felt her stomach flutter in suspected anticipation of what she would find, but her curiosity was getting the better of her.  She knew she should probably turn right back around and mind her own business, but just in case it wasn’t what she thought, and there was a problem, she decided to continue forward.  About to round the bend into a slight clearing before hitting the new river they had in the middle of their island, Rachel stopped, biting her lower lip.  The moaning was getting slightly louder, though she could tell there was an attempt being made to keep it down.

Mentally the author pinpointed everyone she’d seen, and their current positions: Michael and Dean were playing surfer boys with their fallen logs; Denny and Pam were talking quietly amongst themselves somewhere near the girls’ hut.  Rachel was hiding behind a chunk of foliage playing peeping Tom.  That left Mia.

Green eyes wide, the blonde peeked around her hiding place, seeing the waterfall and nook behind it.  The barest hint of flesh color could be seen behind the roaring water, along with slight movement.  A loud groan followed by a gasp sent the blonde loping back into the darkness and relative safety of the dense foliage, her heart pounding.

I can’t believe I did that.  That was so bad.  Getting my jollies peeking at Mia in, well, less than public circumstances.

Rachel felt guilty as she headed out of the jungle, her own horribly neglected nether regions letting her know in no uncertain terms that they could also use a little attention.

“I’m such a letch,” she muttered, noting Dean and Michael dragging what was left of their mighty fishing vessel to shore.  “You guys didn’t wrap that second vine around, did you?” she asked, grateful for the interruption of her thoughts, and for her cheeks returning to their natural color.  Dean glared but said nothing.  Michael sighed, pushing his hair off his forehead and rubbing at his beard.

“Really thought it’d work,” he muttered absently, staring down at the remnants.

Rachel snorted. “I know.”  She patted the man on his freckle-ridden shoulder and headed off toward the girls’ hut.  “Hey,” she said, ducking so she wouldn’t knock her head, again, on the low-rise door frame.  Denny, who sat alone in the center of the hut, which was larger than the last one, looked up from the cocoanut shell she was scooping.

“Hey.  Want some?”  She offered the half-shell to the author, who took it, happily scooping out two fingers full of the pure white substance.  She hummed as she sucked in first one finger, then the second, tongue licking off the cool cocoanut.  Denny’s eyes were locked on her mouth and finger, blue eyes unable to look away.

Oh, god.

Denny forced herself to look away, concentrating on her lunch of cocoanut and water instead.  She could feel the blonde, who had sunk down to sit next to her, the warmth from her sun-kissed skin, the warmth of her very presence.  Dan it!

“So what do you-“  Rachel cut herself off, stunned when suddenly her companion disappeared through the grass flap of their shelter.  Confused, and a little worried, the blonde followed, afraid that maybe Denny had heard something, a problem.  When the blonde looked around the dense foliage around her, she saw no hint of the other woman.  Nor was she on the beach.  It was like the brunette had vanished.

“You lost, blondie?” Dean asked, on his way to the waterfalls to rinse off the sticky salt water.

“No,” Rachel said absently, her brows still drawn together. “Have you seen Denny?”

Dean turned in a small circle, scanning his surroundings.  “Nope.  Sorry, Rach.”

“S’kay.”  Sighing, a small sense of disappointment, and even crazier, hurt, filling her.  She headed back to the shelter for her afternoon nap.

Denny took several deep breaths, allowing the warm air to fill her lungs and get her body under control.  From her vantage point in the tree, she could see out over the entire island, and the ocean all around them, though the pounding surf had been muted by distance.  Her heart was pounding, her palms sweating.

Abstinence was not in Denny’s makeup, and she was caught in a fierce battle waged inside.  Everyday it seemed she was drawn more to Rachel, and was fighting to keep the image and memory of Hannah alive.  She tried to close her eyes and bring up her partner’s face, her voice, her body, a certain time they made love…  When she had it, when the image would come into focus, it was ripple and shatter, only to be replaced by beautiful green eyes.

“I can’t do this.”  Hannah had been, was, the love of her life, and Denny couldn’t forget that fact, nor could she just allow her body’s base needs to overrule her heart or what was right.  She had slowly found herself trying to deny the attraction to Rachel Holt, telling herself it was that basic need that made her skin tingle every time the blonde was around her, but honest was the best policy, and Denny couldn’t lie to herself anymore.  “Shit, shit, shit!”

*  *  *

Dinner had been good, the rare treat of birds, two of them, for dinner, rather than fish, which everyone was tired of.  No matter how many different ways it was cooked, it was still fish.  Pam had taken special care over the couple week, crushing all the berries she found, using them to mix with water, creating a weak Kool-Aid of sorts, which everyone had sucked up with a desperation for something different, if even in small amounts.

Stomach full, body partially warm, but her mind troubled, Rachel lay awake.  She turned onto her side, bringing the newly weaved grass mat further up her body, sneezing as a blade tickled her nose.  The sound opened two blue eyes, which were then staring into Rachel’s.  The author was deeply bothered by what had happened earlier in the day, Denny hurrying out of the shelter, then disappearing until it was time to help with dinner.  Even during the meal, which had been filled with not only good food, but laughter and war stories of Thanksgivings past, Denny had been strangely quiet, never once meeting the blonde’s concerned gaze.  Even their usual wishes of a good night’s sleep had been skipped.

“Did I piss you off?” Rachel whispered, mindful of the two sleeping women behind her.  Denny, who slept next to a wall, sighed quietly, then shook her head.  She could see the hurt in Rachel’s eyes, and it pained her that she’d put it there.

“No,” she finally whispered back.

“Then why have you been avoiding me today?”

She had Denny there.  Why indeed?  So I wouldn’t do something stupid to make you hate me, or me hate myself.  She knew she couldn’t tell the blonde this, so Denny wracked her brain, trying to think of a good excuse, and then a way to not let it show that the author made her blood burn.

“I just needed some time alone today.  That’s all.”

Rachel heard the explanation, and in some part of her mind it made sense, but for some reason she didn’t believe the coffee shop owner.  Even so, she didn’t push it, but instead nodded in acceptance to the explanation.  She was silent for a moment, watching the brunette’s face, blue eyes once again straying from the scrutiny.  As Rachel studied Denny’s face, she thought that the brunette was perhaps the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen; a beauty that both intimidated her and drew her closer.  Suddenly she felt a need for just that.

“Cold night,” she whispered, feeling shy and manipulative.  Yes, it was definitely cooling off, but the blonde knew she could sleep fine.  For the first time in her life, Rachel felt the need to be physically close, share personal space, with someone.  She wasn’t sure if it was to somehow comfort the troubled Denny, or herself.

Denny’s eyes flickered up to meet Rachel’s, her heart beginning to pound in her throat.  She knew what the blonde was asking, and swallowed heavily as she knew she couldn’t deny her.  Rachel was cold, and wanted to be warmed.  With a small nod, Denny lifted her arm in invitation, much like Rachel had done for her the night of the storm, and the last time they’d shared body heat.

Rachel glanced over her shoulder, making sure Pam and Mia were still asleep.  For some reason, she felt like what she was about to do was… wrong.  Turning back to the brunette, Rachel clutched her mat to herself as she scooted the short distance to Denny, turning to her other side to give her back to the taller woman.

Denny tried not to make it too obvious as she inhaled the natural scent of the blonde, who’s body was barely gracing her own.  “Comfortable?” she whispered into Rachel’s ear.  At the blonde’s nod, Denny allowed herself to relax, concentrating on keeping her companion warm, and not her raging hormones.

Rachel was indeed comfortable, too comfortable for her own liking.  She was beginning to wonder if it had been a had idea.  She felt a peace wash over her as Denny’s hand came to rest lightly on her waist, the barest brush of the tops of long thighs against the backs of Rachel’s.  Without her knowledge or permission, the blonde suddenly realized that her own hand had covered Denny’s, pulling gently until their conjoined hands came to rest on her stomach, this move forcing the brunette a bit closer.

Denny squeezed her eyes shut, willing her fingers to remain still, as well as the pounding in her nether regions.

Rachel felt deeply comforted, as though everything were okay.  She closed her eyes, sighing softly as she fell into sleep, no idea that her sleep-mate was wide awake, and praying to Apollo, the sun god, that he would shine soon.  She also missed a pair of dark eyes, hiding their presence under dark lashes, watching.

*  *  *

Hazel eyes took in the elegance of the restaurant around him.  He’d never been to Boston before, though he’d had a few opportunities with Rachel.  He wished he’d taken her up on those.  It didn’t help things that the last time the author had been to Bean Town, Matt had declined so he could get to know Diane better.

“There she is.”  Will pushed back from the table when he spotted the blonde pilot, waving her over.  Garrison smiled when she saw the architect, weaving her way through the busy establishment, taking Will’s offered hand, then Matt’s.

“Hey, boys.”  Allowing Will to push her chair in for her, the blonde studied her two companions.  She smiled at the waiter he suddenly appeared, giving him her drink order before turning back to her clients. “I’ve contacted a friend of my father’s, Jake Potter, who is a cartographer.  He used to make maps during the Korean War.  He’s charted me the entire area of the Caribbean.”

“How did he do that?” Matt asked, dark brows drawn, bringing up his beer to sip.

“He researched every single map he could find of the area, and basically made a compilation map for us.”  Thanking the waiter who brought her seven and seven, Garrison sipped before she continued. “I’m thinking it would be better to wait out the holidays, maybe give it another go come spring-“

“Come spring?”  Will felt instant anger grip him.  Leaning forward on the table and lowering his voice, though the intent was clear. “Garrison, if we wait until spring, we won’t find a goddamn thing!”

“Will-“ Matt tried to get the man to calm.

“No,” the architect cut him off, determined to make his point. “If we’re going to find anything, we’ve got to take the bull by the horns and do it now.  What if he’s drifting out there somewhere, on some,” he stumbled over his own thoughts, rage and profound grief clogging his throat, “some floating seat cushion!  If we wait, he’ll be dead.”

Garrison reached across the table, intending to cover the man’s larger, well-manicured hand, but it was yanked away.  Eyes turned to the sound of scraping as the chair was shoved back, the tall, good-looking man with sandy hair storming toward the front of the restaurant.

“Shit.”  Garrison shoved her own chair back, leaving Matt wide-eyed and wondering what the hell to do.

Will heard his name called as he headed out into the winter wonderland that was Boston, the noisy city crashing in around him.

“Damn it, stop!”  Garrison ran after the man who had much longer legs than her own, but finally she caught up to him, snagging his London Fog-clad arm, and whirling him around.  Sad, tired eyes looked down at her.  Before she knew what hit her, the pilot found herself with a bundle of sobbing Will in her arms.  She held him, rubbing soothing circles on his back, feeling an amazing amount of affection for the sweet man as he cried.  Suddenly she got it, and had never felt more determined to help him.  “Okay, Will.  Okay.”

“Alright, so, what have we got here?” Keller Davies said, tossing another corn chip into her mouth, doused with salsa.  Her blue eyes met those of the two men and her partner, who stood around the dining room table in Will’s suite.  Her dark hair was kept out of her face by a light blue and gray doo-rag.

“Well, I’m thinking that we start mapping out some of the land masses,” Garrison said, sitting back in her chair, ankles crossed on the table’s edge.  She folded her fingers over her stomach.  Keller nodded in agreement.

“Maybe Jake can help out, or any number of Frank’s war buddies.”

Matt watched the two women talk and work together, their harmony obvious as they seemed to read the other’s mind and then finish her sentence.  It was a foreign concept to him, and wondered if he and Rachel could have ever had that.

“One thing, Will,” Garrison said, a note of apology in her voice. “this is our busiest season right now, so you have to understand that.”

The architect nodded, munching on his own salsa-doused chip. “I do.”

“Okay.  So,” she clapped her hands together, booted feet hitting the ground with a thud. “I think we’ve got a plan of action, and I’ll make some calls, see what I can come up with.”  Keller began rolling up the map that was smoothed out over the table, that Jake had drawn up, Garrison getting to her feet.

“Wait,” Matt said, something niggling at him, and speaking his mind for the first time that night. “What’s to say we can find anything when the authorities couldn’t?”  His eyes darted back and forth between the two women, who stared at each other across the table.  Finally Keller’s blue eyes settled on him.

“Because we’re the best.”

*  *  *

Hannah wiped her mouth, still unable to stop the giggle from causing more Pepsi to spout out from between her lips. “I’m sorry,” she managed, watched in amused agony as Tiffany wiped her sweater, a good-natured glare aimed at the researcher.

“I’ll forgive you.  This time.”  She chuckled, remembering the look on Hannah’s face when she’d realized she’d just spit soda all over the redhead when she’d accidentally made her laugh with her impression of George W. Bush.

“Oh, this time, huh?” Hannah chuckled, sitting back against Tiffany’s couch, feet curled up under herself.  They’d spent an amazing day together, Christmas shopping and laughing.  Oh, how Hannah needed to laugh!  Tiffany was one of the funniest people she’d ever met, and had the rare capability to reach inside the brunette’s well-guarded heart, making her forget about her problems, and give her life a bit of light that went out when Denny died.  “And if it happens again?”  Am I flirting?  She felt slightly giddy at the thought, though slightly panicked.  She knew she could trust Tiffany.  They had become great friends, and it felt good.

“Ohhh,” Tiffany purred, I’m sure I can think of something.”

Hannah was taken slightly aback at the look in the redhead’s dark eyes.  Desire.  She swallowed, dropping her eyes from the accountant’s, sipping from her soda, feeling it burn all the way down her throat.

She’s nervous.  Tiffany studied the beauty before her carefully, noting the subtleties of her body language.  Only moments ago the brunette had been laughing, light and airy.  At the first sign of serious, she closed up.  Clearing her throat, Tiffany decided a change of subject was in order.

Getting to her feet, the accountant scurried back to her bedroom, then hurried back, a small bundle hidden behind her back.  “Okay, I’m always giving you shit about being a nerdy researcher for computers, so I saw this the other day, and just had to get it for you.”  With a huge grin, she brought the little guy out from behind her back, held under the arms between her hands.

“Ohhh!” Hannah cooed, looking at the adorable brown teddy bear, dressed in a white researcher’s jacket and big, wire glasses over black, glossy eyes.  Tiffany had even written Hannah over the left breast pocket in magic marker.  “He’s so cute!  Thank you.”

Tiffany basked in the tight hug, feeling Hannah’s breasts pressed against her own, the warmth of her body, and smell of her perfume invading her every cell.  “You smell so good,” she whispered into the brunette’s neck, surprised that she’s spoken it out loud.

Hannah felt a slight tremor in the contact, and softness of Tiffany’s words.  Her eyes slid closed as the hug continued, soft hands making lazy circles on the brunette’s back.  She shivered at the sigh that blew through the short hairs at her neck.

“Thank you,” she said unnecessarily in delayed response to the compliment.

Tiffany pulled back just enough to be able to see into Hannah’s eyes, which were filled with slight fear, and… something else.  The accountant brought up a hand, gently brushing a few dark strands out of the equally dark eyes.  This has been so hard on her.  The redhead’s hand found its way to Hannah’s jaw, caressing the soft skin with her thumb.

Hannah felt her breath catch, her heart pounding in need and fear, yet her insides were being gripped by guilt.  Before she could voice these thoughts, soft lips pressed against her own.  Tiffany felt the brunette respond to what she had no intention of doing, but couldn’t resist.  Hannah’s lips softened, her breathing shallow as the kiss began to deepen.  When the redhead’s tongue caressed Hannah’s, the spell was broken.

The researcher pulled back with a gasp, her hand going to her mouth, lips feeling the very place where Tiffany’s had just been.

“I, I can’t do this, Tiffany,” she whispered, her eyes filled with hurt, almost feeling betrayed, though whether it was by Tiffany or herself, she wasn’t sure.  She rose to her feet, almost knocking the redhead over in her haste to escape.

“Wait, Hannah …”  Getting her bearings back, the redhead jumped off the couch, hurrying after Hannah, who had already reached the front door of her house. “I’m sorry.”  She caught up to her, placing a hand on the brunette’s shoulder, turning her away from the door.  “I’m so sorry.  I didn’t mean to do that.  I swear, I’m sorry.”

Hannah nodded, unable to meet the dark gaze.  “I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

Tiffany nodded, her stomach falling.  Somehow she had the feeling she wouldn’t be hearing from the woman who had come to mean a great deal to her in the past month.  “Okay,” she said, her voice quiet and defeated.

“Good night.”  Hannah slipped out the door, still clutching the teddy bear in her arms.

PART 8

"GO LONG!" MICHAEL yelled, arm thrown back, ready to let the cocoanut fly.  He chuckled as he watched his little buddy try and run down the sand, which was no easy feat, especially in Gucci loafers. "Dumb fairy," the Texan chuckled with affection.

Dean glanced over his shoulder, trying to keep Michael in sight as he ran, waiting for the mechanic to throw another one of his bombs.  Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, he chanted mentally as the big man let'r rip, the cocoanut flying through the air at a dizzying speed.  The attorney's eyes followed it all the way into the surf, throwing himself into the incoming wave, almost drowning in his shock at actually catching the damn thing.

He broke through the surface, getting to his feet, half sputtering, half laughing as he raised the caught prize high overhead.  He could hear Michael cheering from where he stood far down the beach.  Dean was about the spike the "ball" when he stopped, hearing something.  Dark brows creasing, he looked up into the sky, trying to figure out what he was hearing.

"Dean!" Denny whined, waiting for her turn, completing their little triangle.

"Wait," he said, still looking up into the sky, holding a hand up to forestall anything more.  "A hum," he said softly to himself, "like, like," he concentrated, listening, listening. "Plane!  It's engines!"

Denny and Michael ran over to him, almost running him over as they, too studied the skies, trying to figure out what the attorney was talking about.

"Don't you hear it?" Dean was beside himself. "Yes, yes, it's engines.  Like a plane, but not quite ..."

Denny listened, straining, a vibration of sorts.  Like, "A helicopter."

"Yes!  That's what it is!"  Dean was almost jumping up and down.  "Light the fires!  Light the fires!" he yelled, running toward the rebuilt signal logs.

"Wait, Dean, hold on now, buddy.  Let's wait,"  Michael cautioned.

"For what?!"

"Until we see it."  Michael was desperately scanning the sky, bright blue, not a cloud to be seen, nor a glint of metal.  "Don't be wastin' the wood till we have something to signal."

"No!  We need to light it," Dean muttered, his hands shaking in his excitement, cursing as he dropped the wood bow.

"Do you guys hear that?" Pam asked, running full speed out of the dense jungle, her eyes already pinned to the sky, Mia at her heels.  "Do you?"

"Yeah," Denny said, turning in a circle, squinting against the glare in her light eyes.  Oh, what she'd do for a pair of sunglasses!

"Are they coming for us?" Mia asked, her voice a whisper of awed hope.

"I don't know, darlin'," Michael said, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. "I just don't know."

Rachel looked up from her newest project, Christmas gifts in the making, eyes squinting against the intense blue of the sky.  She set the third of the cocoanut shell that she'd been working with down, rising to her feet.  She could hear it, a motor of some type, disturbing the still, afternoon air.

"What is that?" she whispered, walking over to her favorite spot, on the ledge near the waterfall, getting as close to the edge as she dare, the ocean waiting below.  "Is that an airplane?"  She craned her neck back as far as she could, searching, hoping, her heart pounding in anticipation.

"Come on, you bastard!" Dean yelled, dropping the bow again.  Finally he managed to get all parts together, gasping with relief at the smoke that began to rise. "Light, you bastard.  Light!"  The wood caught fire, Dean smiling as the small flame flickered shadows across his face.  Glancing up at the skies again, he jumped to his feet, running into the foliage, toward his hut.

"Where you going, Dean?" Denny asked, taking her eyes off the sky for only a moment.

"To pack!  We have to be ready!"

"Dean, no," she shouted after him, returning her gaze to the heavens.  The sound was getting softer, further away. "it's leaving," she finished, entire being slumping as disappointment gripped her hard and painful.  Soon the sound was nothing but a brief memory of hope.

"Where is it?  I'm ready," Dean said, panting from the exertion and excitement, his few meager belongs in his hands.  Wide eyes looked everywhere, as though he expected a sea plane to be taxiing toward the beach.

"It's gone," Pam muttered, head hanging as she turned away from the sky, disgusted and disheartened.  She walked over to the fire that was quickly spreading on the pyre, angrily kicking sand on it to douse the flames. "Fucking gone!"

"No," Dean murmured, running toward the water's edge where he'd first heard the chopper.  "No, it can't be gone."  The desperation was beginning to fill him as he searched the sky, two cocoanuts clutched to his chest, along with the one extra sarong he owned.  "No!  Goddamn it, where did they go?"

No one said a word, each dealing with their own devastation.  The attorney turned to face each one in turn.

"Where did it go?" he asked again, voice raising in pitch with his panic.  Again, everyone remained silent.  Frustrated and beyond upset, Dean kicked at the sand with a growl, throwing his worldly possessions into the sand and stalking off into the jungle.

"Well," Michael said at length. "That's that."  He sighed heavily, reaching for the cocoanut they'd been using as a ball earlier.  "Denny, it's your turn," he muttered, his heart not in it.

"Yeah."  Denny easily caught the toss, fiddling with it in her hands, lost in her own disappointment.  She wanted to cry, break down and scream at the sky and the fates, and everyone on the God forsaken island, but knew it would do no good.  She needed to keep it together.  After all, they had everything on the island they could want, right?  Except their freedom.

Rachel felt the silent tears sliding down her cheeks, a hand absently brushing at them.  With a final dejected sigh, she turned back to her project, starting another small fire.

*  *  *

Never had she seen such a quiet group of people in her life, nor had she seen the island so quiet, save for the first day she arrived, alone.  Denny left everyone alone, knowing they needed to get through their disappointments their own way.  If any of them were thinking like she was, then they were all remembering their lives back home, realizing how close they'd come, yet how dreadfully far they were, from going home.

The brunette walked along the beach on the backside of the island, feeling the chill start in as night fell.  The waves crashed upon the rocky shore, unseen.  Stopping, she noted a lone fire up on Rachel's ledge.  Realizing she hadn't seen the blonde since early afternoon, she followed the beacon, climbing with calloused hands and feet.  Times like that, she felt like Jungle Jane.

Rachel's golden head glowed orange and shadow in the small fire, her features painted in eerie pockets of dancing shadow.  The blonde looked over at her, eyes turned a golden gray in the firelight.

"Hey," she said, her voice soft, eyes glancing back at her fire as an unfortunate bug flew into the flame, popping and fizzling.

"Hi.  Is this okay?" Denny asked, indicating the author's ledge.  At Rachel's nod, she sat down, eyeing what was before her.  Six cocoanut shells, not quite half of a shell, were lined up, four of them filled with a strange material, that was hard to tell what color it was, with the lying fire light.  "What is all this?"

"I'm making soap."

Denny's eyes widened, her spirits lifted immensely.  "Soap!?"

"Shh," Rachel chuckled, finger to her lips. "Christmas gifts.  The other night it hit me.  I had to research it when I wrote Willing To Conquer, so I figured I'd give it a try.  I just hope I remembered everything."  Her grin was sheepish, Denny's joyous.

"Well, I think after today we all need something.  This is a brilliant idea, Rachel.  So these are the moulds?" she fingered one of the cocoanut shells.  At the blonde's nod, she continued. "What's in it?"

Rachel raised a honey colored brow.  "Oh come on, Denny.  Don't hurt my feelings by telling me you didn't read the book..."

The coffee shop owner chuckled, nodding. "I did read it."

"Saponaria officinalis," Rachel said softly as she stuck her finger in a half cocoanut shell she held in her left hang, testing the texture.  She glanced up with a playful smirk. "Better known as soapwart.  Watch and learn."  Rachel took a handful of already peeled roots and leaves, pouring a bit of water over her hand, then rubbing vigorously.  Denny watched in wonder as a lather began to seep out from between the blonde's palms.

The brunette let out a long breath, eyes pinned to the sight, her skin and scalp itching at the sight.  "Gimmie."

Rachel chuckled, offering her hands to the outstretched ones of the brunette.  "It doesn't smell particularly wonderful, but it's something."

"Oh, yes," Denny breathed, looking down at the slightly prickly foam in her hands that may as well have been gold.  She closed her eyes as she brought it up to her face, inhaling the natural, slightly bitter, scent.  "This smell beats out Dean's sweat any day."

"That's no lie."  Rachel poured water over Denny's hands, which she'd lathered the foam over, smiling at the contented sigh that received.  "Did you hear it today?"

At first Denny was confused by the extreme change in Rachel's voice and demeanor.  She looked into the small fire, tossing more petals and stems of the soapwart inside, her voice low and monotone.

"Yeah.  We all did.  I think Dean was the most devastated."

"I don't know about that."  After a moment, Rachel gave the brunette a sad smile, her eyes quickly flickering away.  "What will be the first thing you'd do, if we were all able to go home?"

Denny sat back, holding herself up on her hands and stared out into the darkness, a black wall seeming to close them in on three sides, the jungle and more rock to their backs.  Grimacing as she ran a hand through her greasy hair, she sighed, thinking.  She was surprised by the first thought, and what the first thought wasn't.  "Sleep on a bed."  She smiled at the thought.

"Oh, that sounds so good," Rachel purred, eyes half-hooded in pleasurable bliss.  "Do you think they were looking for us today?"

"I doubt it.  It's been a long, long time.  No doubt everyone thinks we're dead by now.  It kills me, putting Hannah through all this for nothing."  Denny sighed heavily, allowing herself to fall back totally on the cool rock, hands tucked behind her head.

"I know."  Rachel thought of her husband, whom she hadn't thought of in a long time.  Was that wrong?

"Rachel?"

The softness of the brunette's voice got Rachel's attention.  She met a lazy blue gaze, almost outside of the line of the small fire.

"How come you don't talk about your husband?"

Rachel thought about this for a moment.  She knew why she didn't talk about Matt, but tried to decide if she wanted to let Denny in on the reasonings.  Looking into those beautiful eyes, she knew that she could trust the brunette completely.  Rachel was amazed, as she didn't even trust Reenie as much as she wanted to trust Denny.  Finally she sighed, setting down the newest batch of 'soap' she'd mixed, letting it harden like the others.

When Rachel spoke, her voice was soft, almost a though she were telling her secrets to the night, itself.  "The reason I was on that flight was because, yes, I was going to Italy to start researching my next book.  But, the timing was because," she paused, though wasn't sure why.  Her heart was pounding, the old pain coming back in a bright burst.  She looked down at her hands, yet again feeling like a failure.

Denny saw the transformation instantly, and for a moment regretted asking, but then decided that maybe Rachel needed to talk about it.  Nothing had been mentioned, and it must have been relatively recent to the blonde's boarding that plane.  She scooted over closer to the author, giving her silent support.

"Four days before I got on that plane, I had gone out to meet with a local vendor about a book signing, and when I came home, I found Matt in bed with a woman named Diane.  She lived down the street."

"Oh, Rachel."  Denny's heart broke for her friend, pushing herself up into a sitting position, moving so she was sitting beside the blonde, though facing her, her right thigh touching Rachel's right thigh.

"I guess I should've known something was going on.  All the signs were there, you know, coming home later and later, the sudden purchase of cologne."  She shrugged, still unable to meet Denny's eyes.  She knew if she saw the concern that she knew she'd find there, she'd lose it and start crying again, the betrayal still raw.  "I called my best friend in New York, asked if I could visit for a few days.  Reenie let me mope around her loft for awhile, though I think she was about to kill me."  Rachel grinned, only then able to meet the brunette's gaze.  "When I decided I'd taken up enough of her space, and definitely needed some of my own, I hopped a plane for Milan.  The rest is tragic history."

"You've been keeping this inside all this time?" Denny asked, her voice soft and soothing.  She saw a nod from the blonde, who looked away, presenting her with the back of her head.  "Why?" she asked, bringing a hand up to run her fingers through shaggy, blonde hair.

"I'm okay."  Rachel shrugged, though it was not believable in the least, and Denny wasn't falling for it.

"You're full of shit."  Denny felt the vulnerability come off the blonde in waves.  Glancing behind her, she saw the rock face, scooting back against it, reaching for the author. "Come'ere."

Rachel looked over at her companion, seeing what she had in mind, and nearly flew over to her.  No, she didn't want to talk about it, but instinctively she knew she would feel better if she did.  She needed to get it out, needed to try and understand.  It would certainly make it easier when, if, the ever made it back.  Scooting over to the brunette, Rachel found herself engulfed in a strong embrace, her body sideways against Denny's chest, side of her head resting just under the coffee shop owner's chin.

"Talk to me," Denny said, once the blonde was settled.

Rachel was quiet for a long time, so long that Denny wondered if maybe she'd fallen asleep.  Tilting her head to see the author's face, she saw green eyes blinking several times, a little too moist.  The brunette rested her head back against the wall, bringing up a hand, absently running it through Rachel's hair again.  She loved her hair, the golden color, the softness.  She could remember even before she knew Rachel, when she'd seen pictures in magazines, or the one interview she'd done on that talk show, being mesmerized by the color, wondering if it were real.  She blushed, thinking about just exactly how she knew it was real.  Modesty while being on a stranded island was not an option.

"I didn't want to marry him, Denny.  I've never said that out loud before."  Rachel brought up a hand, swiping at an errant tear.  She'd always harbored a great deal of guilt over that.

"So why did you?" Denny whispered, resting her chin atop the gold head.

"Honestly?  It seemed like the right thing to do.  And this," the blonde sniffled, tears freely flowing down her cheeks. "I saw it as an experience.  My whole life I've lived to gain experiences, something to write about, fodder."  Her voice lowered to a whisper, shame filling her, finally able to admit it to herself. "I married Matt for story ideas."

Denny tried not to react, cringing inside; no doubt Matt knew this, or knew something was up.  It wasn't her place to judge, so she remained silent, lending her support and friendship.

"I cared about him, I may have even loved him in some way, but I know now it wasn't how I should have been.  God, no wonder he cheated."  Rachel buried her face with her hands, the tears coming in earnest.

"Hey, hey."  Denny tightened her hold, placing a soft kiss on the top of the blonde's head.  "If he was that unhappy, or that unsatisfied, he should have left, not strayed."

"I know.  But it's not that simple when you're life is legally bound to someone."  Rachel's laugh was bitter and short. "I looked into it."

"You were going to leave him?"

"I thought about it.  The public scrutiny and tabloid would have been awful.  I had decided to give it more time, maybe another year, see if we could get happy."  She sighed heavily, her tears slowing, fingers wiping at them.  "Then I caught him."  The author stared out over the edge of the rock ledge, which she knew dropped off into the sea.  "You know what I think upset me most, at finding him with another woman?"

"What?" Denny whispered.

"Knowing that I had pushed him into it.  I took for granted that Matt would stick around, no matter what, that I controlled the future of our marriage and my emotions.  Never did it occur to me that he would get tired of me, and move on.  I don't blame him, really."

Denny understood both Matt and Rachel's positions, as Hannah had been in a similar situation with her husband, marrying when she was nineteen because it was the proper thing to do.  Yet, she could see how angry and hurt Matt must have been.  She knew if she were with Rachel, she'd want all of her, too.  Not just what the blonde could, or was willing, to give.

Rachel took the brunette's stretched out silence for judgment. "You must think I'm a real bitch, don't you?"

"No, Rachel, I don't.  I think you..."  What did she think?  Taking a deep breath, she decided to be honest. "It may not have been a great idea to marry when you weren't ready, but since you go through life, looking for experiences, you should know that you learn and grow from those experiences."

Rachel listened, at first wanting to be angry by Denny's words, but she forced herself to listen with an open ear, trusting the brunette to speak only the truth.  She found herself getting lost in the low, velvety quality of Denny's voice, her words soft and gentle.

"I've had a lot of time to think about this since we've been here.  I honestly don't think that was a conscious decision for me, to be so cold, so heartless as to marry him for a goddamn story."  Tears started again.

"Hey, I don't think you have it in you to be so cold on a conscious level, Rachel," the brunette said into her ear, brushing long bangs out of amazing green eyes.

Rachel had nothing left to say, so instead cuddled closer into the warm body wrapped around hers.  Yet again she was struck with the need for Denny's comfort, and the way the brunette could so effortlessly get her to drop her defenses.  Only Daisy could ever do that fully.  She was the only one who truly understood Rachel, or tried to.  Until now.

*  *  *

Dean muttered the entire way through the foliage, stomping until finally he realized he had no idea where he was.  He looked around, one tree, plant, vine, patch of dark soil, looking like the next.

"Shit."  Deciding not to panic, after all, how could he get lost on a three mile island, the attorney decided to stroll, venting his profound disappointment before returning to the others, if he returned to the others.  He was tired of this, tired of the island, seeing the same thing every day, the same faces every day, the wind, the surf, the ruin of his skin!  Dean ran hands through his stringy hair, which pissed him off all over again!  He wanted his shower back home, with the three massive heads, spraying his body with precious hot water from three angles.  He missed picking the days shampoo from the array they kept on hand.  The feel of soft skin, lotion and a goddamn shave!!

The shaver found in the washed up baggage had long ago gone dull, and was used for something else, but even that was gone from the wrath Mother Nature felt they needed again.  Why was he being punished?  Was being an attorney really that bad?  His gaze rose to the heavens, trying to find answers in the clear, blue sky, which oddly, matched the color of Denny's eyes.

Dean's thoughts turned to Will.  It was funny, during the first part of their incarceration, he could only think of Will's body, his incredibly talented mouth and tongue, and how good the architect felt against him.  But now, all he wanted was a hug from the man he loved more than life itself.  He wanted to be able to look into Will's beautiful eyes and know he was home.

Dean sniffled, swiping angrily at the new tears that sprang to his eyes.  He had a feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach, like he'd never see his Will again, never step foot into his favorite boutiques or the bagel shop on the corner.  Never again would he be able to use their season tickets to the theater.

Finding a small clearing, Dean plopped down and buried his face in his hands.

*  *  *

"Buon Natale!"

Gloria rolled her eyes as she was hugged by yet another wayward cousin, whom she hadn't seen in twenty years, and knew wouldn't be seeing this year if not for everyone feeling the need to coddle her, and surround her with joy and cheer.

"Buon Natale," she said, excepting a kiss to either cheek, then had to hug all of cousin Bernard's six children.  Stick your Merry Christmas up your ass.

"Gloria!  Come help Nonna needs your help."

The dark-eyed woman was happy to leave the receiving line and help her grandmother set the table.  The Vinzetti women had been cooking for six days, having to feed at least thirty-seven.  She just wanted to know where, in her grandparent's very small cottage, where these people going to go?

Christmas used to be Gloria's favorite holiday, but she had never dreaded a day or event so much in her life.  She knew her family was trying to be there for her, trying to help "make her forget".  Well, she had news for them: there was no way she was going to forget that she was celebrating a day of family and love without her only child.  She played along, smiling and participating in mindless chatter and catching up, wishing she were back in New York, curled up with a whiskey and cable TV.  The only good thing she saw in all of this was the chance to spend time with her grandfather, who was getting weaker, his cancer becoming more apparent.

The day before, Gloria had gone with her grandparents to the doctors, getting the sobering news that this would likely be Paolo's last Christmas.  The younger woman felt sick that Mia wasn't able to see her Pappo one last time, or vice versa.

*  *  *

Naomi studied her brother-in-law, seeing the bright red Santa hat perched slightly askew on his head, his tailored pants and white button up shirt, festive Christmas-tree drenched bow tie.  He smiled, he joked, he even took seconds of the luscious dinner he'd had catered.  All of it was for simple appearances.  He was dying inside.

"Hey, you," the architect said, raising his glass in holiday salute to his favorite female.  Naomi smiled back, hip bumping him as she sipped from her egg nog.

"Hey, yourself.  Great party."

"I thought so," Will said proudly, looking out over all of his guests, merry and jubilant.  Just like he'd planned it.  "The plumb pudding made quite the splash, I must say.  I wasn't sure," he wrinkled his nose, sipping from his own goblet of thick, rich egg nog.  Crossing one arm over his stomach, he rested his other elbow on it, tapping his chin with a finger.

"So are you going to introduce me to your new friends?  After all, they did fly all the way in from Massachusetts to join us."

Will met twinkling dark eyes, then grinned.  "But of course.  Follow me."  He took Naomi by the hand.  "You'll love Parker, their fifteen year old.  She's darling!"

*  *  *

"Come on, Walter!  The kids are ready to open their damn presents!  Slowest damn man on the planet," Meredith Adams muttered, arranging the last of the cookies she and Jenny had baked the week before, frozen to keep them fresh.  "Come on, kids!  Jenny, pour everyone something to drink!  Alan, get the fire banked!  Conrad, help me carry this stuff in!"  The older woman felt like she was doling out instructions to thin air as there was no movement in the house.  "Damn it.  Have to do every goddamn thing my goddamn self."

Slamming the last cookie down on the tray, Meredith wiped her hands on a dish towel and stormed up the stairs, knocking on, then opening her granddaughter's bedroom door.  The girl sat at the small writing desk, working feverishly on a paper that had been assigned in her tenth grade history class.

"Did you hear me?"

"Yeah, hang on, Grandma.  I'm almost done," the girl said absently, scribbling the last of her notes.

Meredith walked further into the room, looking over her granddaughter's shoulder.  "Is the paper on that female King?  What was it, The Donald?"

Jenny chucked, glancing up at her grandmother.  "Donal, Grandma.  Yeah, she was a female ruler."

"Well, whoever she was, get your little butt down there so we can start Christmas."

"Come on, boys," Walter said, walking by the family room, where Alan and Conrad continued to play video games, despite their grandmother's call.

"Come on, Con," Alan said, tossing his controller to the floor and pushing himself up from the couch.  The stubborn thirteen year old remained in front of the TV, focused on killing the bad guy, again and again and again.

About to make his way on into the living room, Walter stopped, noting the youngest boy still playing games. "Conrad," he barked,  "get off your ass and do as your grandmother says.

"Why?  You don't," the boy muttered, not taking his eyes off the screen in front of him, lip curled in rage as he shot the zombie, watching in satisfaction as it blew apart, blood and gore spraying the screen.

Walter felt anger wash through him, having no patience for the little shit and his attitude.  He and his wife had taken in those kids, and he was getting damn tired of the bullshit.  He wanted his old, peaceful life back.  And his little girl.

Conrad yelled out in surprise and anger as he felt large hands grip him under the arms, dragging him away from the TV, the boy kicking, trying to get away from his formidable grandfather.

"Let me go!  Let me go!"

"Hearing the struggle from the other room, Meredith and Alan ran over to find Walter and Conrad at the genesis of a fist fight.

"Con!"  Alan grabbed the boy, pinning his arms to his side, lifting the boy off his feet as Conrad struggled against him. "Stop it, stop it!"

Conrad stilled, the sound of his older brother's voice penetrating the fog of anger that constantly clouded his judgment and thoughts.

"This is not gonna bring mom and dad back!"  Alan felt his little brother go limp in his arms, and he turned the boy around, Conrad growing so much over the past year.  The older Dupree couldn't even use the kid's head as an armrest anymore.  Alan knew Conrad would later be ashamed at the tears that streamed down his face, their dad always teaching them to be men, and men don't cry.  "Come on," he muttered, leading the boy outside.

Meredith felt profound disappointment fill her, and suddenly her husband's arms were around her, his plaid shirt absorbing her tears of frustration.  All she wanted was a good Christmas for the kids!

*  *  *

"Here.  Thought you might want this."

Matt looked up at the unexpected voice of his partner. "What are you doing here, Burt?  All dressed up."  He sat back in his chair, taking the steaming coffee the large man had set on his desk.

"Look pretty sharp, don't I?"  Langley grinned, adjusting his tie under the roll of his chin.  "Going to Mass with the wife.  Thought I'd stop by on our way to give ya this."  A festive plastic tray, filled with Christmas goodies and wrapped in green plastic wrap, was set at the center of the detective's desk.

"Tell Rita I said thanks.  Dinner."

Burt's smile was weak, sliding off his face. "That invite still stands, Matt.  No body should be alone on Christmas."

"I've got work."

"Yeah, well, dinner's at six if'n you change your mind.  Gotta go- the wine of communion is calling."  With a wink, Burt headed out, leaving Matt alone with his thoughts.  The cop grabbed a pencil from the holder at the corner of his desk, twisting between his cigarette-stained fingers.  Rachel would kill him if she knew he'd picked up the habit again, but some days it was the only thing that calmed him.  He was working ridiculous hours every day, sometimes seven days a week.  His captain had already warned him, so to appease her, he'd taken the weekend off, but was back, sitting at his desk on Christmas day.  "Deck the halls," he muttered, turning back to his computer.

*  *  *

"You have got to be kidding me?!" Reenie gawked, watching the two women dancing across her spacious living room, furniture pushed aside, rugs rolled up.  The little blonde, hair whipping around, in Beth's arms looks wonderful, and their bodies dancing together was one of the most sensuous things the editor had ever seen.

Beth and her cast mate, Christian, were doing their best to not giggle as they dirty danced, then Beth whirled the blonde away, watching as Christian launched herself into the air, landing silently on her knees, head whipping back.

"Bravo!"  Reenie cried, clapping loudly as the two ladies bowed deeply at the waist.  "You two can be the Christmas entertainment any time!"

The two women hugged in triumph as the dark-eyed woman fanned herself.  Beth had met the amazing talented dancer in San Francisco, where they'd worked together briefly.  They had become fast friends, keeping in contact over the years, even as Christian had moved from state to state and country to country, performing for audiences all over the world.  Beth was thrilled to have her back in the US, and was in New York to support the blonde dancer in her newest role in Midnight Run.

"Miss Scott," Reenie said, handing the dancer a rose from the editor's Christmas basket she'd received at work.

"Oh, why thank you," Christian bowed deeply again with a grin as she accepted the gift of gratitude.

"And Miss Sayers,"

"Madam," Beth's bow was all flourish and pomp as she, too accepted her rose.

Chuckling, Reenie headed toward the kitchen.  "Come on, you, two- dinner's ready."

Christian had no time to fly back to Sterling, Colorado to spend the holiday with her elderly aunt and uncle, so Beth invited her over to join Reenie and herself for a quiet, low-key dinner and fun with the girls.  New to town, Christian had eagerly accepted.

Beth knew this was tough on her long time friend, so had done her best to keep the evening light and filled with laughter.  Christian was a wonderful person, and good company, and the blonde and the editor had hit it off, just as Beth figured they would.  Instead of Reenie allowing herself to roll in sadness or loss, thinking about the holiday without seeing Rachel, or at least talking to her for half the day over the phone, she listened and laughed, hearing the two entertainers' stories of success and dismal failure on stage, of breaking legs, figuratively, and literally.  In short, it was more fun than the editor had had in six months.

*  *  *

It had been a hard decision.  It had been a very hard decision, but Tracy liked her new surroundings, enjoying the snow falling around the ranch in Billings, Montana.  When her mother's insurance and retirement had been cashed, and given to the veterinarian's daughter, Tracy had taken the money, quit her job, and bought the small ranch out west.  She was tired of the east coast, having lived there most of her life, save for the four wonderful years she'd gone to college in Idaho.  She'd fallen in love with the dry climate, the people, and unbelievable openness.  Back in New York, everything and everyone was crammed into such tight spaces.  She wanted her son, Luke to grow up in Montana, both of them to be able to ride freely, every day, and not just when they could get to the stabled horses on weekends.

Colleen decided against the move west, her elderly parents in New Jersey, and she wanted to stay near.  It had been a painful parting, but Tracy understood.  The deaf woman and Tracy had talked about it at length, and decided Tracy would get a dog, trained specifically for the deaf, as well as, now seven, Luke could help his mom out.  It was scary, but necessary.  Tracy needed a new start, and new surroundings, not haunted by the specter of her mother, who she missed, and was filled with so many regrets.

Tracy had been a junior at Lampley, a college for the deaf in Idaho, when she'd met Samson Tackle, a professor, and partially deaf.  Tracy had become pregnant that spring, and Pam had been livid.  She had worked almost day and night to pay for her daughter's education, and felt Tracy was throwing it away, and with an instructor, to boot.  Mother and daughter had never gotten along well after, and Pam had a difficult time accepting her grandson fully.  Even still, Tracy knew that over the past couple of years, her mother had tried her best, and they were closer than they'd ever been, but nowhere near how close they'd been before the deaf woman had left for college.

Now, as Tracy watched her son tear into yet another gift, this one from his dad, whom the boy had seen for the first time the week before, she felt a sense of peace.  She would always have regrets, and would always yearn for the mother who not only pulled away emotionally, but was no longer alive.

Tracy's attention was caught by movement, an automatic smile returning to her face at her son's excitement as he showed her the huge fire engine.  She clapped her hands for him, to let him know she was happy.

*  *  *

The lip was released again, then promptly pulled back in, this time even, white teeth chewing lightly.  Hannah ran her thumb over the cool glass, Denny's beautiful face smiling up at her.  The picture had been taken during their trip to Kauai, Denny sitting on the trunk of their rental car in the strangely wooded area at "The end of the road", the beach at one end of Kauai's only highway, and where they'd spent a great deal of their time.

The researcher felt her heart pounding in her ears, blood racing through her veins, questioning her decisions of the past month.  Tiffany.  After the redhead had kissed her at the beginning of the month, Hannah had ran, and had run far.  The kiss had felt so right, and yet so terribly wrong.  She'd gone home and cried, cradling one of Denny's shirts to her chest.  It had still smelled like the coffee shop owner, which made her cry even more.

After long talks with her mother, Hannah had come to the conclusion that she couldn't live her life by what should be the etiquette of grieving.  She had to live by what felt right for her.  She loved Denny, would always love Denny, and somehow felt she had always loved her, but ultimately, she knew Denny would want her to move on and be happy.  The brunette felt she had a shot at happiness, and decided to take it.

"I love you, Denny," she whispered, kissing the cool glass, then placing the photograph in the box with the rest of Denny's things.  The box was placed in the garage, with the other boxes.

*  *  *

Rachel chuckled at the parade of freshly cleaned bodies that walked by, each with a huge grin.  It had been so difficult to keep her gift away from everyone for the few days until what they surmised was actually Christmas day, but she had managed, with Denny's help.

"Can I give it to them now?"

"No, Rachel, it's not time yet."

"But-"

"No!  Come on, Rachel.  Stay strong."

"What are you grinning at?" the brunette asked, seeing the goofy look on the author's face.  Rachel shook her head, brushing overly long bangs out of her eyes.  She couldn't wait until she could actually tuck them behind her ears.

"Just glad everyone enjoyed their Christmas gift.  That's all."

"Ohhhh," Denny purred, sniffing at her own skin, which wasn't Irish Spring fresh, but was no longer oily, and smelled of nature. "You have no idea."

"I think I do, if Dean's antics have anything to say about it."  They both laughed, remembering as the attorney had run to the shore, whipped his sarong off, waggling his business to God and the sea with a whoop.  "I've never seen such white ass cheeks in all my life."

"Giggling girls make me nervous," the white ass cheeks owner said with a raised brow, walking up to the couple.  That was how everyone on the island was seeing the two women as now, though no one had said a word to Rachel and Denny about the status.  It was obvious to anyone with eyes that something was growing between the two, and had been since almost day one.  Pam told Dean and Michael about their nights, when Denny and Rachel would glance over at their other two sleep mates, make sure they were asleep, then the blonde would cuddle up with Denny, the brunette wrapping her body around her, both quickly falling to sleep.

"Yeah, well your peanut flapping in the wind makes me nervous," Denny said, eyes wide as she punched her chest with her thumb.  Dean chuckled.

"Eh, you're just going through dildo loss."

"Yeah, cause you keep stealing it!"

Rachel lost it at the look on Dean's face, the blush that crept slowly up his deeply tanned chest, burning his cheeks and ears, until finally, without another word, he raised his chin in defiance, and marched off.  Blue eyes met Rachel's green, and both women dissolved in fits of laughter.

Pam stood on what had become toted as The Rock, since the back beach was covered in dangerous rocks and reef, where Pam, Mia and Rachel had landed, what seemed like years ago now.  She was freshly washed, her skin tingling, and her hand absently running over a naked breast.  She was missing Austin, her thoughts drifting to him for the first time in several months.   They hadn't dated long, so the emotional attachment wasn't there, but she still missed him, and was deeply sorry he lost his life in the crash.  She only hoped it was quick.  She didn't remember when he'd died, or if he'd been there as the vet had scrambled her way out of the sinking plane.

Closing her eyes, she allowed her thoughts to drift back to where they'd been, on her skin, highly sensitive as want spread through her body.  She'd kept her body's needs under wraps, but for some reason was strikingly alive at the moment.  She didn't know if it was from becoming clean once more, or she simply needed physical release.  Whatever the reason, she gasped as a hand brushed across one of her rigid nipples, arousal gathering between her thighs, which moved restlessly as her weight shifted from one hip to the other.

Michael hummed under his breath, deep voice almost graveling in his song.  He was on the search for more vines, making the women necklaces for Christmas.  He was amused at himself, being stranded on an island doing nothing to improve his tendency toward procrastination at the holidays.  The Texan spotted exactly what he was looking for, the bright, white and pink flowers winking at him in sunlight and shadow through the trees.  He could hear the crash of waves on rocks getting louder as he neared The Rock.

Pam's eyes remained closed as the hand squeezed her entire breast, then her palm rubbed over her nipple, her other hand sliding down over a newly flattened belly, the skin hot to the touch, to the tie of her sarong.  She was aching now, allowing her mind to bring up fantasies and memories of being touched.

"Oh," she sighed, the material of her covering sliding down her thighs, pooling at her bare feet.  Her fingers slid further down, tickling the wiry hair between her legs, shocked at how wet she was.

Michael's hum turned to a soft whistle when he broke through the line of trees, stopping dead in his tracks when he saw the naked back and butt of Pam, standing on the beach, both of her hands blocked from his sight, though he thought he saw slight movement from between her legs.

Michael Dupree had an unusually high sex drive, and this island had been like a death sentence to his manhood.  He'd sneaked off to the jungle many a night, groaning quietly at the quick release, but nothing would ever replace the softness of a woman, the feel of her heat surrounding him in a pocket of softness.  He felt himself growing hard from the thought, and from the vision before him.  He knew he should walk away, go get off in the trees, then finish his task, but the mechanic felt rooted to the spot, unable to take his eyes off the visage of Pam, obviously pleasuring herself, soft sighs and groans able to be heard above the sound of surf.

Pam froze, suddenly have the feeling that she was being watched.  Shame filled her as she took her hand away from her sex, covering her breasts with both arms, and then turning.  She gasped slightly at the sight of Michael, standing in the shadows, a predatory glint in his eyes.  That look spoke to Pam's physicality, and she felt new wetness gathering.

Without a word, she slowly uncrossed her arms in silent invitation, which the Texan made no mistake about.  He walked onto the beach, hands reaching down to his fly to swiftly unzip what was left of his jeans, his intent blatantly clear.

Pam felt her heart pounding in her chest, her breathing quickening as she slowly backed up, her eyes beckoning him to follow, which he did.  In a heartbeat, the mechanic pounced, his mouth roughly taking the veterinarian's, feeling hands pushing at his pants, one of his big hands reaching down to wrap around the back of her leg, roughly pulling her leg up, Pam's heal latching onto the back of his own thigh.

Pam groaned loudly as she felt the intense heat as Michael entered her in one quick thrust, both breathing out of control as they basked in the bliss of human contact and sexuality.  Never in her life had Pam experienced anything so satisfying, though brief, Michael groaning into her neck as he thrust one last time, their bodies plastered together by sweat and desire.

It took a moment, but they began to come back to reality, realizing what they'd just done.  Michael's eyes widened, sickening guilt consuming him as he pulled out, turning his back on Pam as he resettled himself.  Pam ran a shaking hand through her hair, noting the posture of the man before her.  She had a feeling what was going through his head.

"Michael," she said softly, grabbing her sarong and retying it, then placed a hand on his back.  "Michael," she said again, when she got no response.  He glanced over his shoulder, giving her his profile. "Please don't let this make you feel guilty.  It just happened."

"I promised," he said, his own voice shaky.

"Promised?"

"Promised my wife I'd never do that again."  He looked down, hating himself.

"Honey, Melissa is gone."  Pam gently turned the big man around until he was facing her, eyes sadder than any puppy she'd seen.  "Don't beat yourself up over this."

He nodded, but didn't convince the doctor.  Without a word, she gathered him in a deceptively strong embrace, holding him as he dealt with his pain and guilt of self-imposed feelings of betrayal.  Pam rubbed his back, thinking about what they'd done, and trying to figure out how she felt about it.  She knew it was a simple act of physical release, and nothing more, but would never want to make Michael feel this way.

PART 9

THE SKY WAS perfect, absolutely perfect. Black velvet with diamonds of stars and the moon a giant, full pearl. Two sapphire blue eyes studied the stars and sky, hands tucked behind her head as she lay on the cool, soft sand of the beach. The sound of the ocean twenty yards away was soothing.

She thought back over her Christmas, and vastly different it was from the year before. She'd been thrilled over gifts of seashells, soap and vines mere hours ago, when twelve months ago, she'd happily opened a new espresso machine for the house, clothes and a new pair of Columbia boots. She and Hannah had spent the rest of the day making love and just enjoying the company of the other. This Christmas was started out with the routine of survival: gathering food, making repairs to the shelters, clothing and washing out in the open, cold waters of the waterfall and pond. She'd created and eaten dinner with five people who had been total strangers to her this time last year, but whom have become her family. They fought together, they played together, they had survived together.

Denny sometimes wondered, if they did get rescued and returned back to their lives in New York, Texas and Oregon, would they remain in each others lives? Or would they all disappear into the recesses of the others' mind?

"Looks serious."

The brunette glanced up into the smiling face of Rachel, who had somehow managed to step within two feet of her, and Denny hadn't even heard. She smiled, nodding.

"Oh, it is."

"Do tell." Rachel gracefully fell to her knees, then sat on the sand, legs stretching out and holding herself up on her hands.

Denny tore her gaze from the blonde and turned it back to the sky above. "Just thinking about this time last year, and how amazing it is just how quickly your life can change." She snapped her fingers. "Just like that."

"Thinking about Hannah?" Rachel was surprised at the sound of her own question, a bit more harsh than it should be. Tucking her bottom lip between her teeth, she hopes Denny didn't pick up on it. She didn't.

"No," Denny said softly, "Not totally." She had been questioning herself over the past month or two. Hannah had taken less and less of her thoughts, though the brunette didn't want to admit what, or who had taken up residence instead. She glanced over at Rachel, who was staring at the ocean, watching as the moon-capped waves danced their eternal dance.

Rachel felt eyes on her, and looked down, meeting Denny's gaze. It would have been amusing if the blonde didn't sense it was so serious, the look on the coffee shop owner's face. She looked deeply confused about something. As she continued to study Denny's face, the beautiful features, Rachel felt the pull again, the pull she'd been feeling almost since day one. It was a physical pull, a spiritual one, something that tugged at her higher being. She felt her weight shifting to the arm closest to Denny, body leaning, but stopped it, sitting up and pulling her knees to her chest, effectively closed off.

"So was it me or was there some tension at dinner?" the blonde asked at length, keeping her eyes to the sea.

"Yeah, I felt it, too. I wonder if Michael and Pam had a fight or something. Hell, he refused to even look at her. Must have been a doozy."

"I hope they can get past it. This isn't the place to be fighting with someone." The author rested her chin on her knees.

Silence reigned once more. Denny's eyes kept stealing glanced at the blonde, the curve of her back, the moonlight glinting off the smooth skin, the perfection only broken by the strap of her bra. Her gaze strayed to the sides of Rachel's breasts, pressed against her folded legs, thighs strong and tanned. Even though the blonde wasn't able to shave her legs, as none of them were, Denny still thought she was perfectly beautiful.

"Denny?" asked Rachel's soft, almost wistful, voice.

"Yeah?" Denny tore her gaze away once more.

"If we make it back home, do you think all of us will stay in contact with each other?" The author glanced over at the prone woman, who sighed.

"I don't know. I was thinking about that, too. I hope so. I don't know, it's like everyone has become part of me somehow, bonding in a way that you just can't in regular life, you know?"

"Yeah. I know. Denny?"

The brunette shivered slightly at the softness of Rachel's voice. She loved her voice, letting it fill her. She said nothing, just met the green gaze again.

"Do you," the blonde swallowed, not sure whether to finish her question or not.

"What? Do I what, Rachel?"

"Do you miss Hannah's touch?"

Denny was stunned by the question, and noticed that suddenly Rachel could no longer keep eye contact, instead her gaze dropping to the sand that separated them. "I miss being touched," the brunette finally said, her voice just as soft.

"Do you like to be touched?" Rachel felt like something was taking her over, making her ask such probing questions, but she couldn't stop.

"Yes," Denny whispered. "Very much." She slowly pushed herself up to her elbows, noting a change in Rachel's breathing, as well as her own. Damn it all to hell, she was so drawn to her! "Do you?"

Rachel's smile was sad and somewhat rueful. "I didn't, we didn't," she sighed, looking away. "Matt and I hadn't been together in months before I left."

"Oh, Rachel. I'm sorry." Denny scooted over to the author, their shoulders nearly touching as the brunette mirrored Rachel's position.

"I'm not even sure I ever really liked sex. I don't know. To me, it just never reached me on a level that I needed it to. It was just physicality. I don't know," Rachel shrugged. "Maybe that's all it is."

"It's not. Trust me, it's not. When it's right, and you've connected with that person on more levels than just skin on skin, it's incredible."

Rachel turned her head, resting her chin on her shoulder to look into Denny's eyes. "It sounds wonderful."

"It is."

Rachel felt her breath catch as she studied Denny's lips, those two words so telling. Suddenly she could imagine what it would be like to be touched by this woman, the author allowing herself to give herself freely, something she'd never done with Matt.

Denny was falling further into needy green eyes, losing all sense of self or propriety. Thoughts of Hannah were dangerously far from her mind, filled only with the vision of beauty before her. She was surprised to feel flesh against her fingertips, not realizing she'd brought a hand up until it already rested against Rachel's flushed cheeks.

"You're shaking," she said to the blonde, who nodded. "Are you cold?" Again, the blonde nodded, but they both knew she was lying. All the same, it was a good excuse to stop what Denny so badly wanted to do. "Maybe we should get some sleep, then."

"Yeah," Rachel said, her voice hoarse. She allowed herself to be helped to her feet, wiping the sand from the back of her sarong.

Silently the two women made their way to the shelter, where Mia and Pam were already getting situated for the night. The older woman looked up, noting in the light of the small fire lit in the corner, the flush gracing Rachel's features, a flush very similar to the one she had been sporting earlier in the day. Twin brows raised in question, though neither woman would meet her eye.

*  *  *

"Where do you want these, Hannah?" Lisa Baker asked, box filled with napkin dispensers in her arms. The brunette walked over to the high school student, looking into the box.

"Uh, those can go in the truck. Tyson doesn't want any of the decorative stuff with DiRisio's stamped on it."

"'Kay." The girl chomped on her gum as she did as asked.

"The tables are staying, right?" Tiffany asked, wandering into the kitchen, where her friend was packing up ingredients: bottles of syrups and chocolates. Espresso beans, ground and un-ground.

"Yeah," Hannah said absently, marking off on Denny's order forms what was present. The redhead stood beside her, watching for a moment, then studying the brunette's profile.

"How are you doing?" she asked softly. Hannah sighed, shrugging tired shoulders.

"Okay, I guess." She met the concerned gaze of the woman she'd decided to give a chance. They'd not been intimate, and she knew she wasn't quite ready for that, but her walls and heart was slowly beginning to mend and soften. It was a matter of time. "I absolutely hate selling the shop, but I just can't do all this. Plus, this was Denny's dream, you know?"

Tiffany nodded. "Yeah, I can understand that." The accountant felt guilty sometimes, so tired of hearing about the dead Denny DiRisio, but at the same time, the coffee shop owner, whom she had to admit was stunning, seemed like someone she would have liked to know, like they would have made good friends. The workers at DiRisio's adored their boss, and the entire place was still grieving her loss. Seemed everyone in the woman's life was.

Dark eyes landed on Hannah again, noting the way she chewed on her lower lip as she turned a bottle of peach flavoring in her hands, gauging if there was enough o save, or if she should just dump the remnants in the huge, stainless steel sink, used to wash used dishes and equipment.

"Okay, I think this is the last of it." Deciding to dump the peach, Hannah grabbed the ever-present roll of tape, sealing up the box, and handing it to Josh Townsend, an employee of DiRisio's since it's inception, almost nine years ago. "Thanks, Josh." The man refused to answer, instead taking the box and scurrying away. He was angry at Hannah for closing the coffee shop, and felt she was betraying Denny for doing so. The researcher had run into that a lot since she'd made the announcement a month ago. It had been one of the most difficult decisions of her life, but one that needed to be made. She'd done her damnedest to try and find a buyer who would be willing to take over the coffee shop, transferring ownership of DiRisio's, but it was not to be. Ultimately, Hannah had decided to sell to the highest bidder, her heart breaking when she realized the place where she had first met Denny, and watched her dead partner put her heart and soul into, was to be turned into a French bakery.

As she gathered up the rest of the equipment in the back room, Tiffany helping her, she realized how grateful she was for the accountant's presence, and comforting support. No doubt this was all hard on the redhead, she had stuck by Hannah, doing everything she asked. They'd talked about the kiss, that had yet to be repeated, deciding that their relationship was indeed moving beyond friendship, but Tiffany understood Hannah wasn't quite yet ready for intimacy. The redhead was trying hard to hold strong, but each passing day she fell a little harder for the researcher, and she had to wonder sometimes if she was fooling herself. That may be, but she was willing to wait it out, be there to meet Hannah as she stepped out of her hell.

*  *  *

Her steps were sure, intent obvious. Pam stalked over to where Michael, Dean and Mia were cleaning fish, grabbing the big man by his ear and yanking him to his feet.

"Jesus, woman!" he barked, pulling away. He wasn't going to get free that easy. The older woman was on a mission, and quite focused. Michael found himself drug away from his task by various body parts until he and Pam were alone, just inside the jungle. He stared down at her, arms crossed over a barrel chest. "You wanna tell me just why you pulled me away like a child?"

"Sure," Pam said, mirroring his posture. "As soon as you want to tell me why you've felt the need to be an asshole for the past two weeks. It happened, Michael, get over it! We both had a baser need, and we took care of it. That's no reason to sulk around here, making everyone uncomfortable. There's only the six of us, and we all have a role to play here. When one of us decides not to play, it throws the entire dichotomy off. You got me?" she asked, poking the deeply tanned chest.

Michael was struck by the veterinarian's tirade, unable to hold his defensive posture, his hands fell to his sides. Sighing heavily, he ran his fingers over his thick beard. Pam could almost read his unspoken thoughts.

"Michael, you can't let guilt of past actions run or ruin your life. Even if we're stuck here until we all die, it will do you no good, but eat you up inside. And if we do get home, your kids are going to need their dad, and they're going to need him to be whole." Pam was taken off guard by the Texan's reaction to her lecture. Brows falling, a hand strayed to her hip. His laughter bubbled up from deep in his throat.

"Woman, you sure are a force of nature."

The vet grinned. "Can you believe my husbands called me controlling?"

"No!"

"I know. It was hard for me to believe, too." Pam grinned, reaching a hand up to cup the side of the man's face, suddenly sobering at the obvious pain in his eyes. "Don't let Melissa's memory hold you back from being a human being, Michael. We all make mistakes, but she knew you loved her."

Michael nodded, eyes falling. He knew Pam was right. Though he was loathe to admit it, he knew he was using what had happened with her as excuse to be angry for his own past deeds.

"Come here, you big pain in the ass." Pam took the mechanic in a hug, brows furrowing again. "Are you happy to see me, or do you have a banana in your pocket?" She pulled away just far enough to see a sheepish Michael indeed pull the short fruit out of his pocket. The laughter startled a few birds nearby.

Mia glanced over at Dean, wondering if he knew what that had been all about. He just shrugged slim shoulders, turning back to his rather nasty task.

"I swear, I will never eat fish as long as I live when I get home," he muttered, placing the newly shredded strips of meat onto the flat rock, used for just that purpose.

"I've never been a fish person, actually. I don't know," the girl shrugged her own shoulders, squinting as she studied what she thought was a tiny bone buried in the meat. Carefully she picked it out. "I kind of like it now." She set the, hopefully, boneless meat aside for Dean to cut up with the sharpened rock. She remained quiet for a moment, mind wandering in a few different directions. "Dean?"

"Yeah, Sweets?"

"How did you know you were gay?"

The question about his sexuality surprised him, especially coming from the sweet young girl, all of them had become extremely protective of. She was such a kind, compassionate and sensitive, and utterly beautiful. Dean knew someday she would truly be a stunner.

"Don't tell me I've got another lesbo on my hands. I've already got two."

"Two?" Mia cocked her head to the side, studying the grinning man, who waved her off.

"Never mind. But, you're not-" he eyed her.

"No!" Mia wasn't offended, just shocked at the question. This got even more laughter from her companion. She reached over, smacking him playfully on the arm. "I'm just curious, you goof."

"Okay, okay. I don't know," Dean swiped his forearm across his forehead, wiping away the sweat from the midday sun. It may be January, but oy! "I think somewhere inside I always knew, since I was a boy. Crushes on this actor or that actor, loving to watch the Olympics, especially the men's gymnastics!" He winked at her conspiratorially. "I remember getting my first woody the year Mary Lou took the gold." He sat back, a slight, wispy smile on his lips.

"Who?"

Again, Dean waved her off, unimportant details. "I just loved the boys, loved looking at them, fantasizing about them, jerking off to them-"

"Ew! Dean!"

"Sorry, Sweets. Just part of every growing queer's legacy." They were quiet for a long time, each lost in their own thoughts. The attorney glanced at the girl next to him, his own questions running through his mind. "You got a boyfriend back home?"

Mia grinned, though it was shy, her head lowering so her curtain of dark hair covered her burning cheeks.

"Ohhhh! Daddy like! Tell me about him."

"His name is Abraham Schwartz."

"Mm, Jewish boy. Don't believe what they say about circumcision, Mia," Dean whispered, leaning over to the giggling teen. "Foreskin has its plusses, too."

"God, Dean, you're so gross!"

"That may be, but I'm also an expert on such things. So? Is the boy cut?"

"Cut?" Mia was confused for a moment, but then the meaning hit her, her cheeks becoming enflamed. "Dean!" Her body heat went up about three hundred degrees, part embarrassment, part memories of the little bit she and Abe had done.

The attorney was thoroughly loving the conversation, and the reactions of his young friend. His virgin alarm was humming steadily. All the better to torment her.

"I'm sorry, Sweets," he chuckled, once again using his special nickname for the special young girl.

"We hadn't gotten that far," Mia admitted, almost ashamed to tell this man, who obviously knew so much about the carnal world, in all its forms, that she was inexperienced and pure. Dean sensed this, and immediately felt bad.

"Mia," he said, voice soft as he reached over and raised her face with a finger under her chin. Once he had her dark gaze, he smiled. "Be proud. It's nothing to be ashamed of. This Abraham guy obviously wasn't the right guy, or the right time."

Mia smiled, though it was shy. She nodded slightly, still feeling embarrassed, but better by the sincerity she saw in Dean's eyes.

"I'm a pig," Dean continued, dropping his hand and turning back to his task. "Always have been a pig, always will be a pig, but you, dear, Mia, are a beautiful lady."

"Awww, you're so sweet, Dean! Cheesy and queer, but sweet."

Dean chuckled, nodding. "You got that right, Sweets. It sucks here, with only Michael." They both snickered at the attorney's fate.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"Am I crazy, or is there something going on between Denny and Rachel?" the girl, who had been wondering about it for months, glanced shyly over at her friend. She was worried he'd laugh at her, that she was all wrong about their relationship. She was surprised by the soft smile that graced Dean's hair-covered lips. She didn't like him with the facial hair; it just didn't suit him, somehow.

"Oh, I think so. Definitely." Dean nodded to emphasize his own words. "Those two share a very special bond I think, Mia. If I didn't know better, I'd say they were very much in love."

"Really?" Mia's voice was soft, wistful. Again the attorney nodded.

"It's beautiful to watch, isn't it?" His smile turned sad. "I think Denny is fighting it, though."

"Why!?" The teen couldn't understand not grabbing at love with both hands. The girl was a romantic at heart, and filled with ideals of youth.

"Hannah."

"Oh." Mia's heart fell, understanding all the implications behind that one word. "But what if we're stuck here?"

"I don't know, Sweets." Dean sighed, cringing internally at the very thought of being stuck on the island for the rest of his natural life. He knew his loafers certainly wouldn't make it, nor would his libido. "I can only hope they'll see reason."

*  *  *

The night was quiet, unusually so. It was almost as though the entire island had fallen to sleep. All except Denny. She lay on her side, facing Rachel, who also lay on her side, facing her. They were no more than six inches apart, the blonde's face relaxed in peaceful. Denny studied that face, so beautiful. Dark blonde brows arched slightly over the most amazing green eyes Denny had ever seen, and it wasn't just the color. No matter how hard the author tried to hide herself, the coffee shop owner could read it all in the green depths. Ironically, the eyes of a famous author read like an open book. Denny didn't understand why no one else could read Rachel, why her own husband couldn't see everything, because it was all there. All you had to do was pay attention.

She thought about what she'd seen in the blonde's eyes over the past several weeks, and it nearly took Denny's breath away. No doubt she saw her own feelings reflected back at her, and it scared the brunette half to death. She hated to admit it, but the guilt was steadily seeping from her, replaced by longing so strong, it sometimes made Denny lose her breath. She felt Rachel in every part of her being, seemingly down to a cellular level, but how could she dare act on it? It wasn't fair to the author, who seemed to be so confused in her own heart about things involving said heart.

Who was she kidding? And why was she putting her own issues on Rachel's shoulders? When it all boiled down to it, Denny was scared. What was she afraid of? She knew love, she understood its beauty and ramifications. She had taken a huge gamble on Hannah, and it had paid off for eight years of wonder and deep love. Perhaps she was scared because the little blonde author had entered her life, and the love she felt for Hannah seemed to have been swept away. No, not swept away. Denny would always love Hannah, no matter what, even I they were stuck on the island for the rest of their lives. But she had to admit that her heart was big enough to allow more than one love in her life to enter. She did love Rachel, that much she grudgingly admitted to herself.

Rachel felt like she was being watched, her brows knitting for a moment as she was swiftly pulled from sleep. Eyes opening, she found herself staring into an unwavering blue gaze. She said nothing, but smiled in greeting, though it quickly faded at the look of intensity in Denny's eyes. She studied those eyes, looking deeply within, almost able to read the brunette's thoughts. She wanted to blush at what she saw there, a shiver of heat flowing through her body. Though married for three years, with Matt for four, well, would have been nearly five now, she had never experienced desire at his touch. At least not to the degree that a simple look from Denny could muster.

Denny reached out a hand, needing to touch the softness that was Rachel's face. Green eyes closed as the backs of her fingers brushed Rachel's cheek, her hand turning over so her fingertips traced her brow, down the straight line of her nose, and over soft, full lips, which brushed her fingers in passing. The hand trailed its way down, along the blonde's jaw, opening to cup the side of Rachel's face.

Rachel's heart was beating at an insane cadence, her skin tingling where Denny had touched her, lips slightly parted as her eyes opened, noting where Denny's eyes rested. I want to kiss her, too.

Denny licked her lips, as though readying herself for a big, juicy steak, as if her very life depended on it. She met Rachel's gaze once more, her own breathing beginning to hitch, her blood racing through her, warming her in the most wonderful ways. She reached her own hand out, touching the soft, warm skin of Denny's shoulder, tracing the valleys and hills of muscle, skin and bone, awed at just how soft the brunette really was. So very different from Matt and the few other men she'd been with. She allowed her fingers to trace up, over the smooth, yet hard skin covering the muscle leading toward the brunette's neck.

Denny fought a shiver at Rachel's soft, teasing fingers, her own hand finding its way down the blonde's side, and finally tucking itself behind her back. Rachel felt the slight tug at her back, but wasn't sure if she began to move from that, or her own uncontrollable need for closeness. Bodies a hair's width apart, Rachel looked up into Denny's eyes, feeling the soft warmth of the brunette's breath on her face. The blonde swallowed, suddenly filled with nervousness, and uncertainty. What am I doing? No longer able to look into those intense eyes, she closed her own, tucking her head under Denny's chin. She felt strong arms wrap around her, and she snuggled in as close as she could against Denny's chest.

The coffee shop owner was so grateful when Rachel snuggled up against her, taking the temptation of her lips- so close- away from the brunette, allowing her to just hold Rachel, and feel her close. Their breasts and stomachs were pressed together, the warmth electrifying. Denny made her heart calm, sighing deeply as she held Rachel as close as she dare. She had a lot to think about, and a lot to consider, but she didn't want to think about it, knowing it would leave her with troubled dreams. Closing her eyes, finally falling into a deep, easy sleep.

*  *  *

Matt slid a hand through his hair, fussing with it, making sure it looked properly messy, the casual ease of his look belying the hour it had taken him to attain it. Samantha liked it, so he was willing to do it for her. Today they were going for a fun day playing miniature golf and go-cars. He liked Sam; she was fun, young and hot. The detective grabbed his sunglasses and keys, checking his breath one last time before locking the house behind him.

He had struggled for a long time, trying to decide what was prudent. Truth be told, and he had told no one, since Rachel's death, he realized just how unhappy they had been as a couple, and the relief within his heart was palpable. He loved Rachel while she had been alive, there was no doubt, but he found through her absence, he hadn't liked the man he'd become while married to her. He had spent such a long time trying to make her happy that after awhile, he hadn't given a damn, and had let himself go, his wants and needs until he'd given in with Diane, getting caught red-handed. Now, though it was tragic how their marriage had come to an end, he could see that Rachel knew that, and was preparing for the end. That was why she had left the bulk of her estate to Reenie and her sisters. His anger had fizzled over time, realizing that it didn't matter in the long run. He needed to make himself happy, and Rachel's money wasn't about to do that.

Matt had stopped by the cemetery two weeks ago, filling the bronze container next to Rachel's large stone- the author's memory buried next to her sister Daisy, just as she'd want- and had sat on the grass, gaining new life as spring inched its way forward. He'd talked to the blonde for hours, telling her all about his thoughts, what he wanted for his life, and what he planned to do. He begged for her forgiveness in his infidelity, but hoped she'd understand that he needed to move on with his life. The detective wasn't sure how often he'd return, but he assured her he loved her and always would.

With a spring in his step and song in the air, Matt climbed into his brand new SUV, started the engine, and listened with satisfaction as it rumbled to life. Buckling himself in, he pulled slowly out of the garage, letting it buzz closed behind him.

*  *  *

Brows drawn, Meredith Adams listened, nodding periodically, glancing over at her grandson who sat in a chair, fingers tapping on the arms.

"I'm sorry, what was that last part?" she asked, shaking herself from her thoughts of the past month.

"I said I'll need to see him twice a week for at least two to three months. If we have any progress, we can bring it down to once a week. Mrs. Adams, that is one angry boy," Lynn Mason said unnecessarily. The older woman nodded solemnly.

"I know. These past eight months have been trying on all of us. We just don't know what to do with him anymore. My husband, Walter is threatening me."

"Threatening you?" The counselor didn't like the sound of this, and her body language spoke volumes as suit-clad arms crossed over her large chest.

"Yes. He said that if Conrad gets into one more fight, he's out," Meredith near whispered, not wanting the thirteen year old to hear. "I don't know what to do!"

"Hopefully I can get him to talk about this. He hasn't dealt with the death of his parents. Bottling it in his extremely dangerous, and counter productive, as you've seen." She placed a hand on the older woman's arm, gently leading her toward the door of her office, a subtle hint that the boy's session was over. "I'll see him back here day after tomorrow. Mary can schedule an appointment fro you."

"Okay. Thank you. Come on, Conrad." Meredith tugged her purse strap onto her shoulder, waiting for the boy to drag himself from the chair, then followed him out the door. The older woman glanced at him as they made their way to the receptionist's desk. "How did it go?" she asked.

Conrad shrugged. "This is stupid."

"I'm sorry you think that." She made an appointment for him, taking the reminder card the gray-haired woman behind the desk gave to her, tucking it into her purse. "You have got to do this, Conrad. Your grandfather is so upset with you. You have got to stop this fighting." She unlocked her side of the car, reaching across the bench seat to unlock Conrad's. The boy surreptitiously adjusted his jaw. Wade Pickett could sure throw a mean right hook.

*  *  *

"What's got you so sad, pretty girl?" Denny asked, settling herself down beside Mia, who sat on the beach, the shore washing up to cover her wiggling toes. The girl had been sitting there for the better part of an hour, staring out to sea, long, dark hair blowing in the salty breeze.

"Do you think we're ever going to get home?" the teen asked, her voice soft, wistful. The brunette was left without an answer for a moment. Mia was simply stating aloud what everyone else was afraid to dare breathe, let alone speak.

"Yeah. Sure we will." She smiled, though it was weak, and the girl knew it was. Denny's heart broke as she watched the girl's face crumble, then disappear behind her hands.

"I'm gonna die a virgin!" Mia cried, her voice muffled. Denny tried to hide her smile as she placed an arm around Mia's shaking shoulders, pulling her against her.

"Shh," the older brunette cooed, kissing the side of Mia's head. Denny had kept track of their time on the island for the first one hundred and seventy-two days, but then it began to depress her more than keep her up to date, so she stopped. She had absolutely no idea what month it was, thought he weather was warming immensely. The nights weren't quite as cold, and the rains had turned warmer, though more frequent.

"I want to go home, Denny," Mia said, sniffling as she rested her head against the strong shoulder offered.

"I do, too."

Mia was quiet for a moment, watching the waves come in, then flow out, just like they had done every friggin' day since they'd arrived on the God-forsaken island. She was beginning to hate the island, and never wanted to see the ocean again as long as she lived. Hope had faded along with the light in her dark eyes.

"Do you think they had funerals for us?"

Denny's eyes closed at the morbid thought, shivering. She took a deep breath. "I don't know. Probably. They all think we're dead."

"I bet we die here, Denny. I bet one by one we're going to die until there's only one left, and then that one person will have to try and fend for themselves until they, too die." Mia's voice was eerily soft.

"Why are you saying all this, Mia?"

"Because it's true, Denny. Tell me you haven't thought about it, too?" The girl raised her head, meeting troubled blue eyes. "Part of me feels guilty for thinking this way since I know I should be grateful, surviving that crash and everything. But what is the good of surviving when we're left to die here?"

"I don't really know." I wonder the same thing, kid. "But I have to think that the six of us surviving has to be for a reason, right? Maybe we're supposed to live on, whether it's here, or if we get home, making the best of the second chance we've been given." Denny's voice was velvety smooth and soft as she spoke in the girl's ear, fingers running absently through long, soft hair. Mia was almost getting lost in the sensation of the comforting gesture. Her mother used to do that. "I'm not going to give up, Mia, and don't you, either. There's a reason for everything, and there was a reason we all survived."

Mia was quiet for a moment, taking in all that the older woman, whom she respected so very much, had said. At length, the girl cleared her throat and spoke. "Denny?"

"Yeah, honey?"

"Can we stay in contact if we get home?"

Denny smiled, pulling the girl in closer, placing another soft kiss on the side of her head. "Of course."

Silence, then, "Denny?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you and Rachel fighting?"

Denny squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, then opened then, sighing deeply. "No. Why do you ask that?"

Mia shrugged. "I don't know. Guess you guys aren't together all the time like you used to be. I saw her crying the other day, over by the waterfall. Not sure why, and I felt like I was intruding, so I left."

"Crying?" Denny saw the girl's nod. She felt pain shoot to her heart. No, they weren't fighting, but yes they were spending less and less time together, compliments of Denny's avoidance. It was a hard thing to do on an island that was three miles across, but it was necessary. After that night in the shelter, she realized that she needed to put some physical space between them, and allow her heart and head to clear. Denny needed to believe that they would get home some day, and there was no way she could face Hannah, knowing that she hadn't been true to her.

"She loves you."

The coffee shop owner was tugged from her thoughts by the unexpected comment. She wasn't sure she'd heard right. "What?"

"That's what Dean says. He says you guys love each other, and that you need to get your head out of your ass and open your eyes."

Denny would have wanted to laugh if she hadn't been stung by Dean's words. "Well, maybe Dean should mind his own fucking business."

Uh oh. Mia raised her head from Denny's shoulder, turning enough to look in the older woman's face, which had hardened. "I'm sorry, Denny. I didn't mean to make you upset."

"You didn't, pretty girl." The older brunette smiled, raising a hand and gently cupping the girl's face before dropping her hand to her own lap. She sighed heavily, running a hand through her too long hair. "I can't allow myself to," she paused, unsure of just exactly what she was trying to say.

"To?" Mia encouraged.

"To follow my heart. These are hard circumstances, and the feelings I have aren't honest ones. I think ultimately Rachel would get hurt."

"And what about you?"

"What about me?" Denny met wide, innocent brown eyes.

"I see it," Mia brought her own hand up, thumbing one of Denny's eyebrows. "You look so sad all the time, when you look at Rachel." Mia felt so sad as blue eyes disappeared behind dark lashes. "Denny?" Her gaze was against met by piercing blue. "We may not get out of here. Don't keep hurting you and Rachel both."

"You don't understand, Mia." Denny's voice was thick with unshed emotion. Yes, she was hurting Rachel. She saw it every time she dared to look at the blonde, which wasn't often. At night, the brunette turn to her side, back facing the author, effectively cutting herself off physically and emotionally. The first few times Rachel had tried to snuggle up behind her, but when she got no response, she'd given up, curling up into a little ball. It had broken Denny's heart, but she had to do it, had to protect herself and her goddamn super-sized sense of what was right and what was wrong.

The girl had a feeling that she was only serving to make her friend mad, and she didn't want to do that. "Denny?"

"Yes?" Denny could feel her jaw clenching, trying to think of a way to tell the girl to drop the damn subject without hurting her feelings. She was eternally grateful when she heard the next softly spoken words.

"If we get back to New York, will you make me a mocha breve?"

Denny grinned, unable to help it. Her eyes far too moist, she pulled the teenager against her again, nodding. "Of course."

*  *  *

Angry. She was so damn angry she almost couldn't stand herself! Rachel splashed in the water, scrubbing at her skin until it was raw from the scratchy plant lather. Sniffling again, she ducked her entire body, pushing her medium-length hair from her face, finally able to keep her damn bangs behind her damn ears, and out of her damn eyes.

"That's some pretty fierce washing."

Rachel whipped around, green eyes flaring as she noted Dean sitting one of the rocks around the pool, arms crossed over his chest.

"Do you mind, Dean? I'm trying to take a bath."

"It looks like you're trying to kill the soap, your skin, the water-"

"Fuck off, Dean." The blonde turned her back to him, quickly swiping at her eyes, only to get more frustrated as the water made her nose itch, and the more she tried to scratch at it with wet fingers, the worse she made it itch. "Damn it!" Wading over to where she'd laid her sarong, which had become much shorts as the bottom third had been ripped off to make a covering for her breasts. Her bra had given out two months ago, finally literally falling apart.

"Hey," Dean rested his hand atop hers, which lay on the garment, ready to dry her face with it. Rachel looked up into concerned eyes, filled with compassion and understanding. "Slow down, Rach," the attorney said, taking the sarong from under her hand and gently wiping at her nose, then tenderly wiping her eyes. This only made more tears fall. The author tried to turn away, embarrassed at the man witnessing her emotions, but he wasn't about to allow that. "Come here, you. Play the tough butch later."

Rachel chuckled through her tears as she allowed herself to be drawn into a warm, scratchy embrace. It reminded her briefly of Matt, used to the smooth skin of Denny. The thought made her tears really fall in earnest.

"Shh, sweetie," Dean cooed. "It's okay, Rachel. It's ooookay," he rubbed comforting circles over her back, rocking her gently. He felt his own heart ache for the two would-be lovers. He knew what the problem was, but decided to make the blonde talk about it, out loud, to somebody else. She lived so often inside her own damn head, it was no wonder she was falling apart.

Once Rachel had managed to get herself under control, Dean got her dressed, and led her by the hand to the blonde's ledge. It was time they talked. She knew what was coming, and tried to brace for it, her brain swarming with ideas and excuses. Anything to avoid talking about Denny. Dean got himself comfortable, patting the rock beside him. Once the blonde was situated, he placed an arm around her shoulders, absently playing with the muscle of her shoulder, a testament of the hard lifestyle of survival. None of them had an ounce of body fat on them, now lean and fit. Even Pam had lost all of her mid-section. Dean often ran his fingers over the hard bumps and valleys that was now his stomach, amazed at the transformation.

"This is kind of nice," he commented, squeezing the blonde's shoulder for emphasis. "Reminds me of the first and last time I played peek-a-boo with a vagina."

Rachel exploded into laughter, her voice thick and nasally from crying. She looked at the attorney, incredulous. "Dean!"

"What?" he asked, glancing over at his companion. "It's true." He smiled with a wink. "Now, tell me what happened."

Rachel sighed, knowing there was no way to get around talking, so she swallowed and readied herself for humiliation. "I don't know. I think I've pissed Denny off in some way, or hurt her, or-"

"Made her fall in love with you..."

The blonde was stunned, head whipping around until she was looking at the attorney's profile. Finally he met her gaze. "What did you say?"

"I said she's in love with you, and scared shitless."

"She's scared shitless?" Rachel blew out. Dean nodded.

"Honey, she's got a partner back home, whom she loves dearly, and then her heart goes and has the nerve to fall in love with another woman? Shit, that's a lot for a dyke to deal with, you know?"

"She can't be in love with me," Rachel insisted, her stubborn streak coming to the surface.

"Why not? You are with her," Dean said pointedly.

"No, Dean. I am not in love with Denny. I can't be."

"Why? Cause you have a husband back home? Because you're straight?"

Rachel looked down at the hands that fidgeted I her lap. "Because I don't know how to love. I made that clear by totally screwing up my marriage." Dean had no idea what the blonde was talking about, but decided to wait her out, let her explain in her own time. "I'm so confused, Dean. Never in my life have I felt anything like what I feel when she's around." Rachel was shocked by the words that came out of her own mouth. She couldn't take them back, so she tucked her bottom lip between her teeth to keep anything else unexpected locked inside.

Dean hadn't been expecting that, but was glad it wouldn't require anymore prodding. They were at the core of the issue. "What do you feel, Rachel?"

"I don't know. It's like my day brightens, my skin tingles and my stomach flutters. It's like, it's like nothing else matters, you know? Just the fact that she's close to me. I want to touch her, I want her to touch me," she paused, searching the sea before and below them for answers. "It's like I need her to touch me."

"Honey, can I ask you a question?" Dean asked, his voice soft, filled with understanding. The blonde nodded. "Have you guys..."

"No." Rachel smiled sadly, shaking her head. "I thought for sure one night she was going to kiss me, but ... she didn't."

"What if you kissed her?"

The author snorted, bringing a hand up to swipe at an errant tear. "I think she would freak out. She won't talk to me, it's like she can't stand to be around me. It hurts Dean, and there's not a goddamn thing I can do about it."

"Give her time, Rachel. I think Denny's probably pretty torn right now. She's got a good heart, and is obviously loyal to Hannah, even if it's just not necessary anymore. No doubt she's pushing you away because she's struggling, a fight between her heart and her head."

"Really? You think so?"

"I do," Dean nodded.

Rachel sighed heavily, finally leaning into the attorney. "This would all make such a great book."

Dean drew his brows, confused. "What do you mean?"

The blonde chuckled. "Never mind."

PART 10

WILL PULLED A face as he adjusted the headset again. Those things just weren’t meant to be comfortable. He wondered how his pilots did it every day, day in and day out, and still managed to have magnificent hair. Keller sat beside him, the tall, powerful brunette well in control of the Cessna they were using. Garrison was using the Bell 407 today, and couldn’t get away. The blonde had warned Keller not to “kill her baby”, whatever that meant, some sort of private joke between the two women, no doubt, before they left. Keller was a good pilot, adept and graceful, yet she seemed to take more chances than her partner. She’d get an evil twinkle in those baby blues, and the architect knew he was in trouble. She’d apologized profusely for making him lose his lunch the last time they flew tighter, and was behaving this trip.

It was their fifth trip, fifth fruitless tip, and Will was beginning to think maybe Garrison was right, and it was a fool’s dream to think anyone else could have survived the crash, and that they were floating around somewhere, or living on a modern day Gilligan’s Island. Will was a stubborn man, and very tenacious, but even he was starting to wonder when is enough enough. The trips were draining him financially, even with donations fro the public, that hope only held out so long, as did the funds. The worse part, though, was that his own hope was draining, resignation settling in. Dean was most likely dead, and his heart had been lying to him for almost a year. An entire year without his feisty, picky, fussy, primadona attorney.

Sighing heavily, Will looked down at the map that the girls’ friend had drawn up for them, little red makings and circles all over it, marking where they’d been. The map was a testament of how much he loved Dean, but also, and perhaps most sad of all, his determination not to believe what was so clear to everyone else: Dean was gone, and no amount of stubborn determination was going to bring him back.

“Look at those waves,” Keller said, eyeing the sea below, which was starting to curl in on itself. “Looks like a good storm is brewing. We should probably get back soon, Will.”

The architect nodded mutely, noting the unrest of the waters below. It was early May, and hurricane season was just around the corner.

Keller glanced over at her passenger, noting the lines around his mouth and eyes that had started to form over the past year, as well as the touch of gray at his temples. Everything was having such a profound effect on the man, and she just wanted to grab him and protect him from his own heart and hopes, which any fool could see were fading. She remembered when Garrison would come home at night, after the first couple of turns, and she’d be exasperated by the architect. His demands and earnest belief were exhausting and pushing the small blonde pilot to her limit. Now, Keller could see the toll taken on Will, and he wasn’t quite the man he was when everything had started. Feeling the need to comfort him, she reached across the small cockpit, covering his hand, which rested on the map that was splayed out on his lap. His sad gaze met her own, and they shared a moment, something passing between them of understanding and affection. Will squeezed the hand that held his before his own larger hand was released. The message had been clear and very appreciated. Even after everything was over with, he wanted to keep Keller and her family in his life. He’d never known truer, more wonderful people.

*  *  *

“Nonna, give me that.” Gloria took the heavy box from her stubborn grandmother, placing it atop the others in the storage unit the younger woman had rented. Inside were all of her daughter’s belongings, which she just couldn’t make herself part with. She hadn’t wanted to remove them from the apartment, but since her grandfather died, there was no way Gloria was going to let her Nonna live all alone in Milan, and she couldn’t leave her life in New York. Having only a two bedroom apartment, the dark-eyed woman had made the difficult decision to pack up Mia’s room and bring her Nonna to live with her.

“Watch yourself.” The older woman stepped back, watching as her granddaughter slid the storage door shut, locking it with a yank to the lock.

The past year had been a difficult one, watching Gloria fall apart then put herself back together, only to fall apart once more when Paolo had finally succumb to cancer. Lizbeth was amazed that her granddaughter still had a job to come back to, so much time off she’d had to take. Gloria wasn’t the same woman she was this time the year before. When she’d lost Mia, Gloria had shrunken inside, now just a machine who walked through life doing what must be done. She was existing.

“Gloria,” Nonna said, her voice soft, accent lilting in the early summer day. When she had her granddaughter’s attention, she continued. “Why you no have some fun, eh? I can take care of a myself.”

“No, Nonna,” Gloria shook her head, sighing deeply as she hailed them a taxi. There was no way she was going to make her grandmother ride the train, only in town a week. “I’ve got to work.”

Lizbeth shook her head sadly, groaning slightly as she tucked herself into the back of the yellow cab.

*  *  *

Denny stopped, bending at the waist to rest her hands on her knees, taking deep breaths to calm her racing heart and burning lungs. The island so early in the morning was an incredible sight to behold, the colors sparkling over the water, white sand beaches almost glowing pale in the birth of a new day. Rising to her full height, she rested her hands on her hips, gently summer breeze drying sweat-kissed hair, making her shiver slightly. Never a runner back home, on the island she found it to be calming, as well as gave her time to herself, a chance to think and find joyous, and so rare, solitude.

Blowing out a breath, she watched in awe as the sun slowly broke the surface of the distant watery horizon, making her squint at its brilliance. If someone didn’t believe in God, this would make them think about changing their mind. It seemed only a divine entity could create such breathtaking beauty. No wonder so many crazy stories were created to explain the unexplainable mysteries of life in Greek, Roman and Christian mythology. Never in Buffalo had she been able to see anything even half as spectacular.

Reaching behind herself, she untied the material of her pseudo bra, allowing her breasts the freedom to dry uninhibited by the tightly pulled cotton. She was a larger breasted woman, and the lack of a real, structured bra had taken its toll, her breasts aching and her back yelling at her from time to time. How on earth did women do it before the invent of the brazier? Smiling at the thought, she slapped the damp garment over a piece of drift wood that was often used as a seat, then untied the sarong at her waist, letting it fall to the sand at her feet.

The cool waters of the ocean felt marvelous against her heated skin, the brunette diving down into the depths , allowing her muscles to stretch and her body to soar. She caught sight of a few fish, just starting their day, their bright colors muted by the depths. Learning the hard way not to stray too far in the early morning hours, Denny made her way back to shore. The sight of a dorsal fin, not thirty yards from her during a late night swim had cured her of ever wanting to see Jaws again.

Like Aphrodite emerging from the waters, Denny broke the surface, water trailing down her long body in rivulets, kissed by the golden sunlight of dawn. She ran her hands over her face, then her hair, pushing the wet strands back to flop against her mid-back. She noted the way the rising rays were casting sharp shadows against the foliage that formed a barricade behind the beach, the rock facings winking in shadow and moss-covered landscapes.

“Wow,” she breathed, taking it all in. Truly a masterpiece.

Rinsed off, Denny decided to go bathe and start her day before the mad dash for privacy began. Grabbing her sarong and top, she flopped them over her shoulder, walking naked to the rock she’d placed her soap on, then headed into the jungle, heavily calloused feet barely registering any change in terrain. The warming months had brought warm rain with them, and the waterfall was doing overtime. The spill could be heard within half a mile of it, before the sound was eaten up by the dense foliage. Humming softly to herself, the brunette noticed the island starting to come to life, a few colorful birds watching her from their high perches, as well as unseen rodents scurrying into hiding.

Denny’s humming and steps faltered as she heard whistling not too far up the path. Quickly tying her sarong and top in place, she broke through the trees, frozen to the spot. Rachel was standing just beside the rock ledges that curved around to the waterfall wall, her back bare, and facing the brunette. She still wore her sarong, but was about to untie it when the blonde stopped, cocking her head to the side, almost as though she knew she were being watched. Denny watched with baited breath as Rachel’s green eyes met her own, the author slowly turning to fully face her, her top in her hands. They stared at each other for long moments, neither moving or saying a word.

Months ago Denny had started pulling away, but then she got so far, she had no idea how to come back. Now, standing face to face with the woman who haunted her waking and sleeping moments, she could do nothing but stay rooted to the spot, hungry eyes drinking in the precious sight that would sustain her. Rachel made no move to put her top back on, and blue eyes took her in from the waist up, beautiful, perfectly shaped breasts, small enough to remain firm, but large enough to make Denny’s mouth water. The skin was pale, rosy tips slightly puckered. She could see Rachel was breathing heavily, her breasts heaving with every intake and exhale.

Rachel couldn’t take her eyes off Denny’s, seeing the hunger and desperate want in their turbulent depths. It scared her and aroused her beyond anything she’d ever known. Her body was responding in ways that shocked her. Denny had made no movement, as though she were frozen, which surprised the blonde. She had expected her to run off like a frightened deer, as she’d been doing since Christmas. Something inside the author spoke to her, telling her to move, to go to Denny, so she did. The brunette swallowed visibly as Rachel got closer, until they were standing toe to toe.

Denny looked down into Rachel’s eyes, which seemed remarkably calm, though they were alive and burning. Denny wanted to speak, to say something to dilute the intensity of the moment, but it was almost as if her brain had shut itself down, her throat parched and lips numb. Her eyes slid half-closed as a hand came up, resting against her jaw, the brunette’s own hands traitorous as they encircled a slim waist, feeling the softness of Rachel’s naked flesh. She had no idea who initiated it, but her eyes closed the rest of the way as she felt soft lips against her own, just a touch, then a return touch, this time more solid, the fullness of the author’s lips pressing into her own.

Rachel brought the hand up from Denny’s jaw, entwining her fingers gently into long, wet strands of hair, made stiff from the saltwater of the ocean. The fit of their lips was perfect, softness like the blonde had never known. She could taste salt upon Denny’s lips, and wanted to taste more, yet had no idea how to precede. The warm hands at her waist moved, sliding up the length of Rachel’s strong back, kneading the skin and muscle as they went, until finally those hands and fingers were running through the strands of Rachel’s hair, running to the length, allowing the strands to fall back between Rachel’s shoulder blades before capturing the back of her head, the kiss deepening.

Denny stepped closer, feeling the warm softness of Rachel’s breasts press against her own, the blonde gasping slightly at the material of Denny’s top, made wet by her sea-wet flesh. Opening her mouth, the brunette silently asked for permission to enter, which was quickly granted. Rachel sighed into the kiss, feeling her heart lighten even as her body tensed, waves of budding pleasure spreading through her as she pressed their bodies together, needing to feel the steady strength of Denny against her.

Denny felt her own body begin to pulse, and knew she had to stop this before she couldn’t stop it. Breaking the kiss, she rested her forehead against Rachel’s, both breathing heavily.

“Damn it,” she whispered, eyes closed as her fingers continued to play in the golden strands of Rachel’s hair.

“I know,” the blonde agreed, stroking the tanned skin of Denny’s shoulders and upper back.

“I’m sorry, Rachel,” Denny said, a slight whimper in her voice. Her body was thrumming with need, though her brain was screaming. “I just can’t.”

“I know.  I know.” Though Rachel was trembling, she could hear the pain in the brunette’s voice, and knew right now Denny needed her to be strong for her, and to be understanding. She gathered Denny’s head in her arms and pulled her gently to rest against her shoulder, holding her close. Squeezing her eyes shut, Rachel ordered her body to calm, her heart still racing, the ache between her legs and in her breasts painful. Her erect nipples had been made even harder by the cold, wet material of Denny’s covering, and now they were ultra super sensitive. How could Hell feel like such Heaven?

Denny allowed herself to be comforted, guilt of two varieties waging a battle within her. How could she do this to Hannah? How could she do this to Rachel? She tried to pull away, but was held fast, Rachel whispering for her to stay, so she did. She basked in the warmth, not only physical, of the smaller woman, needing it more than she ever had. A question arose.

“Do you think Hannah has moved on?”

The question was spoken so soft, and so unexpectedly, Rachel almost missed it. She thought about her answer for a moment. “I don’t know, Denny. We’ve been gone so long, surely no one has put their lives on hold for us. They can’t.”

Finally Denny did pull away, but only enough to look into beautiful green eyes, so filled with compassion, and … love? Denny threw that thought out of her head. It didn’t matter right then. “Am I a fool to hold on, Rachel?” she whispered, desperation in her voice. Rachel reached a hand up, pushing away a drying strand of hair from the perfect face before her.

“No. I think you’re a wonderfully loyal, loving woman who Hannah would be a fool to move on from.” She met the troubled blue gaze. “But ultimately you’ll have to understand that things have changed, for everyone. None of us are the people we were when we got here, and I’d wager no one back home is, either.” She returned the small smile she saw grace full lips that had been so wonderful only moments before. “Wash my back?”

Denny chuckled, stepping fully away. “I’d better not.” Rachel nodded in understanding, her own body still buzzing. “I’m going to start gathering breakfast for everyone.”

“Okay.” The author watched Denny disappear back through the trees until she was gone, then with a heavy sigh, returned to her morning bath.

*  *  *

“It’s been one year today since the tragic crash of flight 1049, hundreds of miles off course due to instrument failure, and ultimately it was determined engine failure. What has become of the Lucky Three in the twelve months since they were pulled from the waters of the Caribbean? Have they been able to lead normal lives? How are they dealing with the loss of their loved ones, who were left behind to face a watery grave? All over the country private memorials are attended by hundreds to commemorate the deaths of the other two hundred and sixty-three people who lost their lives in one of the most tragic plane crashes since flight 800. Join us tonight on Action News at-“

Reenie pushed the power button on the remote control, the TV clicking off. Turning back to her guests, she sighed sadly. “I can’t believe it’s been a year.”

“I know,” Gloria Vinzetti said, nodding. They turned to see Will, the man who had brought them all together, staring out the window of Reenie’s high-rise loft.

“You okay, Will?” the editor asked, sipping from her bottle of spring water. The architect nodded, but said nothing. They had all decided, on the one year anniversary, to get together and decide what, if anything, they wanted to do with the rescue expeditions. Should they continue, should they give up and accept the fact that their loved ones were gone for good. Milton Bryce, another man they’d met at October’s memorial also joined them, having lost his wife and two daughters on flight 1049.

“Well, I need to get to work here soon, so lets get talking,” Milton said with a heavy sigh, looking at the others in the room, meeting their eyes, all much like his: sad and empty. He’d lost his world on that plane.

Will sighed heavily, able to feel three pairs of eyes boring into his back. He knew they all waited for a report from him, of his and Keller’s last flight. Turning away from the window, hands resting on his hips, he reached up, adjusting his loosened tie. “I think we should stop.” The silence that filled Reenie’s loft was like the quiet of a tomb, each in shock at his calm, firm announcement. “I’ve been thinking a lot about this. Five trips,” he held up his hand, fingers spread wide, “five. All that time, energy and money, and for what? We’ve found nothing, hell, we haven’t even found nothing. It’s all just water, bleak, dark, cold and empty ocean. There’s nothing there.”

Reenie felt her heart fall. Though she had felt it was a fool’s errand to ever start searching, she had allowed her heart to fill with a small bit of hope. Hell, if three could survive it, why not three more? One more? Swallowing, she got her disappointment under control.

“What do the rest of you think?” the editor asked, looking at Gloria and Milton in turn. “Do you think we should stop?”

Milton felt his anger bubble up, exploding with red face and vein-ridden neck. “Goddamn it, Will! You got us all hyped up on this hair brained idea of yours, and now you just wanna give it all up?”

“I don’t see any other choice, to be perfectly honest. I can’t keep doing this every damn time. Do you have any idea what it’s like to go up there in that helicopter or airplane, your hopes flying as high as the engines will allow, only to fall short of anything but profound disappointment? Well, I can’t do it anymore. If any of you would like to volunteer to take a trip or two, then fine, do it. But I can’t. I won’t.”

“We need to make a decision. Garrison and Keller will be here soon,” Gloria reminded.

“She’s right,” Reenie said, like Gloria, sensing that a fight could break out between the two male types in the room. They had to deliver a decision to the rest of those who were funding the expeditions, and who had given their hopes and prayers to the small group leading the mission, resting them in their hands.

“I say we stop,” Will said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I think it’s done.” It hurt like hell to say it, but it needed to be said. The hope and acute disappointment was eating him alive.

“Okay,” Gloria said, her words soft. They all knew none of this would have happened if not for the determination of Will, so she was willing to listen and agree. Reenie also nodded. Milton shoved away from the table and out onto Reenie’s balcony. The other three remained silent, filled with an assortment of emotions and feelings; guilt. Were they giving up too soon? Foolishness- was it crazy to ever think anyone else survived? Grief- the final connection to hope was being cut as they sat around.

With relief and dread, Reenie answered the knock at her door, knowing it was Garrison and Keller, come to get the final tally. The editor smiled as she let the pilots in, followed by their fifteen year old ward, Parker. “Come on in, ladies.” With a heavy sigh, she closed the door and leaned against it, eyes briefly squeezing shut before pushing away from it and joining the others.

Garrison looked around, getting a pretty good idea of what had been said before they arrived, by the looks on the three faces before them, and then that of Milton Bryce, standing in the doorway of the French doors leading to the balcony, a lit cigarette dangling from his fingertips.

“You guys are stopping the expedition,” the blonde pilot said, meeting each gaze in turn. Most looked away or simply nodded. Garrison was surprised to feel her heart break, somehow hoping that the group would decide to continue. She had wanted so desperately to find something, anything for them, even if it was just a piece of luggage for a last physical link. Sighing, she sat heavily in the chair Milton had vacated, Keller standing behind her, hands absently rubbing her shoulders.

“Are you sure?” the brunette said. No one answered. “Okay.”

*  *  *

“You are so full of crap, Dean! You did, too move that piece when I went to the bathroom,” Mia complained, staring down at the checker board they’d made in the sand, rocks as their pieces.

“I did not!” the attorney defended, looking to Denny and Rachel, who were busy eating bananas and staring at each other. “Ladies? Can you defend me, here, or are you too busy making oogly eyes at each other?”

“Huh?” Denny asked, realizing she was indeed being spoken to. She blushed deeply, knowing full well she’d been busted watching Rachel’s lips as she ate her lunch, the soft, pink tongue poking out now and then to snag a bit of runaway banana from her lip. “Oh, uh, didn’t see it.”

“Small wonder,” Dean groused, Mia giggling behind her hand. Rachel was also an unnatural color of red.

“Sorry, guys.”

“Y’all might wanna consider folding everything up. Looks like we got ourselves an ugly coming.” At Michael’s words of warning, everyone looked up into the sky. The clouds were dark and brewing, distant rumbling indicative of what was to come.

“Oh, man,” Dean whined with a heavy sigh. He yelled out when he saw Mia take out three of his men. “Hey!” The girl gave him a shit-eating grin. Wiping out their board, he muttered. “Storm’s coming.”

“Sore loser.”

“Better than being a plain loser,” the attorney mumbled, getting to his feet.

“Oh, that’s mature.” Mia followed him toward their shelters. They were schooled in the art of escaping a big storm, now, though every time one came in, they all held their collective breath, hoping it wasn’t a hurricane, or a tropical storm bigger than the first one that blew in. More than likely, nothing on the island would survive it.

Denny felt like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar. She had no idea she was so transparent. She and Rachel had kissed more than two weeks ago, and it hadn’t happened again, but she still felt that kiss all the way down to her toes. The brunette just couldn’t let it go, no matter how hard she tried. Thought she and Rachel were spending time together again, she still made sure it was with at least one other person there with them; she didn’t trust herself.

Everyone gathered what mattered to them, which boiled down to their soap, and the few scraps of clothing they had left. The few tools they’d made from stones and ticks were also gathered, taken to the nook behind the waterfall to wait out the storm. It didn’t take long for the island to be overtaken by severe winds and rains, the day turning cold and nearly impossible to see through the deluge. The skies opened up with a roar of thunder. As everyone settled in to ride out the storm, Michael spoke.

“Do y’all think we’ll get off here?” He met every gaze with mild curiosity. Pam sighed heavily.

“I sure hope so. My grandson is bound to be about two feet taller than when I saw him last.” This earned a round of chuckles.

“What do y’all say about making a boat again?”

“To fish with?” Dean asked, having a sinking feeling that wasn’t what the Texan had in mind.

“No. A boat to load us all up on, with water and food, and get out of here. Find civilization somewheres.” Again, he studied everyone in turn. Anyone agree?”

“Are you suggesting leaving the safety of the island for the unknown of the middle of the Caribbean?” Pam asked, brows raised in surprise, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I’m sayin’ that I don’t want to stay here forever, Pam. What if one of us got sick? Or something else?” he eyed the veterinarian, the question hanging in the air between them.

“Sick, yes, other, no.” Pam answered him with a slight shake of her head. The relief was palpable.

“Either way, we gotta get outta here. Who’s with me?” He was surprised by the silence that met him. “Come on, guys! Do you really wanna rot here?”

“We could still be rescued,” Dean said, though his voice was quiet, almost shy.

“Do you really think that, Dean? Can you honestly look me in the eye,” the Texan pointed at his own face, “and tell me y’all think some big boat is gonna float on up to the shore tomorrow and bam!” he clapped his hands, startling everyone. “Saved!”

“Don’t be an asshole, Michael,” Pam said, her voice a low growl. “We can talk about this without the theatrics. I mean, isn’t Dean here the queen?” She raised a single brow, Michael grinning slightly at the chuckles from the group. His smile quickly disappeared at the seriousness of the situation.

“We’ve got to be thinking, folks. If’n y’all wanna stay here, then stay. But I wanna start thinking outside this damn island. I wanna go home.”

“I’m with you, Michael,” Mia said, nodding with conviction. She turned hopeful eyes to Denny and Rachel. Rachel met her gaze, but said nothing.

“Why now, Michael?” Denny asked, bringing her legs up to wrap her arms around, resting her chin on her knees.

“I heard engines again the other day,” he said, looking bashful.

“What?!” Dean shot up from where he’d been lounging back against the wall. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Cause I didn’t want any of y’all to get upset.”

“Great!” Dean exploded. “We could have all looked for it, waved it down, something.”

“Dean, stop it,” Pam growled, glaring at him. She turned back to the Texan. “What’s your plan, Michael?”

“Well, as I see it, they gotta have a base around here somewheres, in order to be out here. I figure we got a shot to find them.”

“I don’t know if it’s wise, Michael. We don’t have anything to keep water in. The only way to get fish to keep is to salt it, and that would make the thirst worse. I just don’t know if it’s practical.”

Michael sighed, crossing large arms over his chest. He was irritated, thinking that more than Mia would stand behind him on this. He really thought everyone would be willing to leave the island, and didn’t want to admit they were right. He was still determined. “I still think we should build a boat.”

“Okay, how about this,” Denny said, tucking her legs under her and leaning forward to be heard over the increasing sound of the storm. “let’s compromise. If there is still no one here by, what,” she looked to the others, “say end of year? We start considering our options.”

“By end of summer,” he countered. The women and Dean exchanged looks.

“Okay. End of summer.”

*  *  *

“I’m glad that storm’s over.”

Rachel glanced over, watching as Denny climbed up on her ledge. The blonde nodded. “Me, too. It didn’t seem to do as much damage, either.”

“Yeah. We’ll have to make some repairs to the shelter tomorrow, but other than that…” The coffee shop owner settled in next to the author, sighing as she leaned back on her hands, looking out over the sunset.

“I’m not sure if Michael did more damage or more good with his outburst tonight.”

“Why?”

“Because now he’s got everyone thinking.”

“Including you?” Denny asked, tucking her chin into her shoulder to look at the other woman, who sat cross-legged.

“Yeah. I guess including me. I don’t know.” Rachel picked at some loose vegetation that had been swept onto the ledge during the storm. “I’ve been thinking a lot about Matt over the past months, and I think it’s best I let him go, once I get back. Let him find a woman who can be what he needs to be.”

“And what about you?” Denny had no idea why she asked that question, as when she got back, if she got back, she would have to attempt to reclaim her life with Hannah, and get back into the swing of things with DiRisio’s. She would have no room in her life for questions concerning Rachel Holt.

“What about me. Good question, Denny.” Rachel mirrored the brunette’s position, basking in the coolness of the night. It was humid and the air was heavy after the rain, but the breeze coming in off the ocean was cool and refreshing. The day time temperatures were definitely getting hotter and hotter. “I guess rebuild my career, decide where I want to go.”

“Will you stay in Oregon?”

“I honestly don’t know. I know my best friend, Reenie, has been trying to get me to move to New York forever, but,” she shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t know if I want to do that. I’m just not made for the big city.” She glanced over at Denny. “You’d go back to Buffalo.” A statement. Denny nodded.

“Yeah. I would.”

“You know, I wish I could have met you back home, me on some trip to New York to deal with my publisher, or something.”

Denny smiled. “Yeah. You walked into DiRisio’s, and I fell all over myself, unsure what the hell to do with a celebrity in my humble coffee shop.”

Rachel chuckled. “I’m hardly a celebrity, Denny.” Rachel felt slightly embarrassed, having been able to forget about that unwelcome part of her life while on the island. No one knew who she was, other than Rachel, a fellow member of the island family.

“Bullshit! You graced more covers of People magazine than Julia Roberts.” Denny liked the blush that covered the blonde’s face. She found it adorable. “No, I would have been honored to make a caramel macchiato for the great Rachel Holt.”

“I’m just me, Denny. Nothing special.”

“That’s not true, Rachel,” the brunette’s voice was soft, like a whisper on a breeze. Denny met the blonde’s gaze and almost got lost in it. Clearing her throat and looking out toward the ocean again, she continued. “You know, I was sitting next to Mia and her mom on the plane.”

“You’re kidding?” Rachel felt her heart break all over again for the sweet girl that they’d all fallen in love with.

Denny shook her head. Ironically enough, we were talking about you during the flight.” Again she met the author’s gaze. “Gloria was a huge fan of yours.”

Rachel had to look away, suddenly emotion rising to sting the backs of her eyes. She wasn’t sure what she felt, knowing that Gloria was now dead, and Mia had no idea who the blonde was.

“I didn’t mean to make you cry, Rachel. I’m sorry.” She reached over, touching the blonde’s shoulder.

“No, I don’t know why that touched me so much. God, that poor girl.” The blonde took several deep breaths, trying to calm herself. She knew she was getting close to her week of fig leaves, and was overwhelmed by sudden fear and grief. What if she did make it back home? What did she have to go back to? She got herself under control, feeling silly and insecure. Swiping at her eyes, she took a deep breath.

“I was wondering if maybe you’d talk to her, you know,” Denny shrugged, “tell her. It might help for Mia to be able to talk about Gloria a little. She really hasn’t thus far.”

“Do you think that might be a little too much?”

Denny shrugged. “I don’t know. I really worry about her. She doesn’t talk about anyone else, other than her great grandparents in Milan. I don’t know if she has anyone back home.”

“Yeah,” Rachel agreed with a nod. “Mia doesn’t deserve this. But then again, I guess none of us do.” She looked at the brunette. “You should be back home with Hannah, cuddling in front of the TV or something.”

Denny sighed. The crazy thing was, in the fantasy the blonde spoke of, she only saw Rachel in it. “Why did all this happen, Rachel? They say things happen for a reason, what was the reason for all this?” she waved her hand, indicating them and the island around them. “Why did all those people have to die?”

“I don’t know. You want to know the crazy thing, though?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m so sorry for everyone who died, and for those left behind, including all of your families, but for me, I don’t know.” She sighed, falling back to lie prone, hands tucked behind her head. “I feel like this whole thing, as nutty as it all is, has been good for me. I don’t know, I feel like I’ve grown in some way, as a person.”

“If you stop growing, you die,” Denny said, her voice soft as darkness began to reign, that time of night when secrets seemed to be more safe, honesty abundant.

“That is true. I always thought that’s what happened to my parents. They were too afraid to grow, too afraid to discover what the world was really like outside religion and rigidity.” They fell into companionable silence for a moment, surrounded by the sounds of the island as the small wildlife began to return after the storm. “Denny?”

“Yeah?” The brunette could no longer see Rachel, but could feel the immense heat that radiated off her smaller body. Her own body responded.

“I probably shouldn’t say this, in light of what we’ve been talking about tonight, but,” Rachel paused, almost at a loss for words to convey what she needed to say. “I really loved kissing you. I don’t know, it, it just made me feel so…” her brow knit. An author who had no words. “It just made me feel.”

“You don’t get to feel very often, do you?”

“No.” Rachel’s response was like a whisper on the wind, filled with sadness and longing. “I know we shouldn’t have done that, Denny, I know you have Hannah back home, and I know you love her. But I wanted to say thank you for that. It was beautiful.”

“It was,” Denny nodded, wishing she could see Rachel’s eyes at that moment. She loved the blonde’s eyes, not just for the amazing color, but also to read them, to see exactly what she was feeling and thinking. But then again, if she could, that may be the end of her resolve. What resolve? The brunette reached a hand out, tentative so as not to frighten the blonde with the sudden touch, also to make sure she wasn’t going to accidentally grab something she shouldn’t be grabbing.

Rachel gasped slightly at the feel of warm fingers brushing across her cheek, not expecting the touch. She brought her own hand up, covering that hand and closing her eyes; the touch was pure bliss. She heard movement, then suddenly the side of her body was engulfed in Denny’s body heat as the brunette scooted beside her.

Denny couldn’t deny herself the feel of Rachel’s skin, the smoothness of her face, inhaling the fragrance that was all Rachel. “How do you always smell so good?” she whispered, the breath from her words making the blonde shiver.

“Hardly. I haven’t had a stick of deodorant in months.”

Denny smiled at that. “It must just be you, then.”

Rachel could tell the brunette was near, could feel her breath against the side of her neck, gently blowing her hair off her face. Her hand left Denny’s and followed the arm it was attached to until eventually she was touching a shoulder, then a neck, then her fingers curled around to the back of Denny’s head.

“Denny?”

“Yeah?”

“I’d really like it if you’d kiss me again.”

Denny said nothing, instead leaning in, intending to only drop a soft, brief kiss on full lips, but she was a fool to think she wouldn’t lose herself again. The hand at the back of her head moved to the back of her neck, squeezing slightly as Denny was pulled closer to the author, feeling the blonde’s right breast brush against her arm. At first the kiss was a simple touching of lips, softness brushing against softness, exploring.

“Denny,” Rachel whispered against the brunette’s lips, not asking nor telling, just stating. She felt the coffee shop owner lower herself slightly, their upper bodies almost making full contact. Rachel opened her mouth, inviting Denny inside, sighing at the feel of the brunette’s soft tongue caressing her own.

Denny pushed everything out of her head, only allowing herself to take in what she was feeling and tasting. Her brain threatened to pull the plug on her bliss by bringing up images of Hannah’s face, taunting her with the realization that she was having trouble remembering just how her partner tasted and felt, instead replacing those thoughts with how Rachel tasted, and how soft she was. Even as she pushed the part of herself down, the part who screamed traitor, she couldn’t help but be frightened by just how badly she wanted to make love to Rachel in that moment. How badly she wanted to show Rachel that she could feel a hell of a lot more than just a simple kiss.

Rachel’s head arched back instinctively as soft lips left her own and began to trail along her jaw line, Denny’s heavy breathing in her ear as a wet tongue flicked at her earlobe. That swipe made Rachel’s eyes shoot open, her fingers clutch Denny’s shoulders.

“Denny,” she whispered, half moan half plea for the brunette to listen to her. “Denny, baby, wait.”

“What?” As soon as the word was out of her mouth, Denny knew why Rachel had gotten her attention. Sighing with frustrated resignation, her forehead fell to Rachel’s shoulder, her body still thrumming, electrified by the woman beneath her. “God, this is torture.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t want you to do something you’d regret. I’m sorry, Denny. I never should have said anything.” Rachel felt suddenly cold as Denny pushed herself to sit beside the blonde, scooting some to put a little distance between them.

“No,” the brunette said, scrubbing her face with her hands before running them through her hair. “I’m sorry. God, that was dumb.”

Denny’s taste still fresh on her tongue, Rachel took a deep breath. “Maybe we should get some sleep.”

“You go ahead. I’ll be in later.” With that, Denny climbed down the rocks, disappearing into the inky darkness.

*  *  *

“Keller, calm down.”

“Calm down? Why the hell should I calm down?” the pilot did feel herself calming down, however. She stopped pacing, looking to her partner, who was already in bed, sitting up against the headboard, sheet tucked at her waist. “Why the hell would he give up? I don’t understand this.”

“Because we haven’t found anything in a year, Keller. What do you expect the poor man to do? We’ve given him the best discount we can, but it’s still expensive. Plus, to be honest, I think Will’s dying inside. He’s a sensitive guy, and I don’t think he can take any more.” Garrison’s voice remained calm, matter-of-fact to try and keep her excitable partner calm. It was a trick she’d learned over the years. It usually had a calming affect on Keller.

“I just,” the tall pilot plopped down to the bed, stretching out on her side of the bed, facing Garrison. “My gut tells me to keep going. I don’t know why, but it does.”

“You really think so?”

“I do.” Keller nodded to emphasize her point, reaching out to play with the hem of Garrison’s tank top. “I think we should make one more pass, just one last go of it. We only have one or two places left on the map, anyway.”

“True. I doubt Will would go for it,” the blonde warned, reaching out to smooth dark strands of hair out of Keller’s beautiful blue eyes.

“So then let’s just do it, Garrison. We can afford this one trip, on us, just to make sure. It would make me feel a hell of a lot better.” She studied her partner’s eyes, knowing that ultimately it was Garrison’s decision. She handled all the financial stuff of their business. The blonde nodded.

“We can.”

“So let’s do it, baby,” she scrambled up to straddle Garrison’s legs, caressing the side of her face with calloused fingertips. “Just one last flight to ease my gut.”

“Or I could just get you a nice shot of Pepto Bismol.” Garrison grinned, kissing the fingers the grazed over her lips.

“Cute.”

“We’ve got summer rushes, baby. How are we going to find time to do this?”

“I don’t know. It may not happen tomorrow, but some time soon, within the next couple months, I really want to do this.”

Garrison looked into Keller’s eyes, and she saw the truth in her words. She really believed in this, and Keller wasn’t one to be frivolous. Finally she nodded. “Okay. We’ll do it for Will.”

Keller grinned, that adorable lopsided grin that made Garrison’s heart melt, even after more than ten years together. “Yeah. We’ll do it for Will.”

“I love you.”

“Nuh uh. I love you, more.”

PART 11

MICHAEL COULD FEEL the sweat dripping down his temples, and used the back of his arm to wipe it away before it stung his eyes. He looked over what he had achieved already. Five logs or major branches had already been drug from the jungle, laid out upon the beach for examination by the Texan. He had a visual in his head of what he thought would make the raft stay together this time, and was bound and determined to make it work.

“You gonna actually use a second tie this time?” Dean asked, strolling into the beach, doing one of his twice daily teeth picks with the bone from their dinner.

“Fuck off, fairy boy, unless y’all plan to help.”

The attorney chuckled, continuing on his way to the waterfall. “Whatever, red.” Feeling something warm and grainy seep into his shoe, Dean stopped, bending down to examine his shoe. “Ah, damn.” He could see his pinky toe wiggling through the small hole in the loafer. Grumbling to himself, he marched off to take his daily bath, passing Mia and Rachel on the way.

“Wonder who started his tighty whiteys on fire,” the author muttered, making the girl giggle as she led her off to the far side of the beach so they could talk. In the three days since Denny had told the blonde about Gloria being a fan of her work, she had thought a lot about Mia, and if it would make things better or worse to tell the teen. Ultimately, she decided she should tell her. “Want to sit?”

“Sure.” Mia sat, crossing her legs in front of her and resting her arms on her knees. She didn’t get to spend a lot of time with Rachel by herself, so was surprised when the blonde asked her to take a walk with her. She liked Rachel, as like Denny, she was young enough to be somewhat close to the teen’s age, but was old enough to gain her respect and admiration. Plus the two women were really cool!

“It’s hot today,” Rachel commented on, watching a sea bird diving for its lunch.

“Yeah. I can only imagine how hot it is back home.” The girl rolled her eyes at the thought of the hot, humid nights. At least here they had the breezes rolling off the ocean to cool things down.

“Are you a reader, Mia?” Rachel asked, not sure how to bring the subject up. She felt like she was trying to throw her name around, and felt slightly embarrassed doing so.

“Yeah. I used to read from time to time. Not half the reader my mom was, though.”

The perfect opening Rachel needed. She swallowed before asking the next question. “Did she have a favorite author?” She couldn’t look at the girl, feeling like she was manipulating her.

“Oh, yeah! Rachel Holt. Hands down.”

The author couldn’t help the slight shiver of pride, but it passed quickly as she realized it had to come at the price of a dead woman. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”  Mia smiled, remembering the hours and hours her mom had spent reading all those books, many more than once. She looked at the blonde sitting next to her, only to find herself staring into intense green eyes. “Why?”

Rachel looked away, wishing she didn’t have to do this. “I like to know people enjoy my books, Mia.”

The girl sat there, confused. What? She stared at her friend’s profile, dark brows drawn as she tried to understand what Rachel was saying. Wait. Rachel. Blonde hair. Young. No way. Mia shook her head, not sure whether to laugh or be angry at the audacity of Rachel to make such a claim. The blonde met her gaze once more, never more serious. “You’re trying to tell me,” Again, Mia shook her head. “No way, Rachel.” Despite the girl’s protests, she once again looked into the green eyes, suddenly seeing them in black and white, as well as short hair, which Rachel had when they first landed on the island. “No way,” she breathed.

Rachel nodded. “Yeah.”

A hand flew to Mia’s mouth, eyes open wide as she studied the author, not sure what to say or think. Instead of doing either, she pushed up from the sand and ran off into the privacy of the jungle.

“Shit.” Rachel popped up, turning to run after her. “Mia!” She could hear the girl’s muted sobs as she followed the well-worn path through to The Rock. “Mia, stop, please!”

Mia stopped at the water’s edge, her tears nearly blinding her as she thought of her mother’s admiration for the author, and the way she went on and on about her work, and wondering what kind of person Rachel Holt was, and what she was like.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she yelled, hearing the blonde break through the trees behind her.

“I didn’t tell anyone who I was, Mia. Denny recognized me. I had no idea about Gloria, I swear.” She walked over to the girl, dark brows knitted in troubled thought. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you, honey. I just wanted you to know that your mom’s loyalty to my work means a great deal to me, and I’m very grateful for it. That was all.”

Mia, still crying nodded, understanding. She allowed herself to be pulled into a warm embrace, her head resting upon Rachel’s shoulder. “I can’t get over the irony,” she said at last, followed by a sniffle. “My mom would crapped her pants if she realized her beloved Rachel Holt was on the plane with us.”

Rachel smiled, gently caressing the back of the girl’s head.

“When did Denny know? Why didn’t she tell me?”

“She spotted me when she got on the plane. I don’t know. I guess she was trying to respect my privacy, which I’m grateful for. I don’t need all that crap, Mia. I’m just me, just Rachel, and I happen to love to write stories. We had enough to deal with here, without buzzing about who I was.”

Rachel’s voice was so soft, so calming, Mia found herself burrowing even further into the blonde woman’s arms. She loved to listen to Rachel talk, always had. The author had such an aura of peace and calmness about her that you couldn’t help but be affected by it.

“If we ever get back home, can I have you autograph one of my mom’s books for me?”

“Of course, honey.”

Mia grinned, pulling back just enough to look into caring green eyes. “I can’t believe one of the people I care about most is a famous author.”

Rachel smiled warmly, brushing strands of dark hair off tear-streaked cheeks. “I’m just me, Mia. No better, no less.”

“I’ll have to tell my mom about this, tonight when I pray to her.”

“Tell her I said hello.”

Mia laughed, taking the author into another hug.

*  *  *

“Hey, Monk,” Tony Smith called out, seeing his boss walk into the hangar. Crew and mechanics at Davies’ Hangar used the pilots childhood nickname: Monk, short for grease monkey.

“Hey, Smitty. How’s it hangin’ today?” The blonde mouthed the words the mechanic said every time she used that greeting: straight and slightly to the left. “Walk into that every damn time.” She made her way to her office to use the phone. Keller had called her over the radio while the blonde pilot had been up in her Cessna, so she promised to call her when she got in. “Hey, baby. What’s up?” Garrison plugged her other ear to try and hear around the ruckus of a drill across the hall in the hangar. “What?” She nodded as she took in the words, broken up from a bad connection on Keller’s cell phone. A quick good bye, and Garrison flopped down into the chair behind her desk, whipping off the doo-rag she’d been wearing to cover her blonde hair, fluffing it with her hand.

So Keller had found them a seaplane. A G21-A Goose, to be exact. A vintage plane made in the last year of World War II. It seated six, plus seats for pilot and co-pilot. If they needed the room at all, Garrison hoped it would be enough. They’d been working on their plan for a month, using what time they had between jobs. Summer was the most busiest time for the pilots and their cargo business, but Keller was determined, so Garrison supported her on it. After all, the blonde started the whole thing a year ago.

Grabbing a pencil out of the coffee cup on her desk that held a small army of them, she twisted it in her fingers as her mind began to wander. Only one of them would be flying to Florida, where they’d pick up the Goose. Many years ago they promised that they’d never fly together, unless Parker were with them. If something happened, and a plane went down, Parker would not be orphaned again. After Parker and Keller’s mother was murdered years ago, and their father, an evil beast, was put behind bars for the crime, the Mitchum sisters, who had taken Garrison’s name of Davies, had no one but each other and Garrison. The three of them had formed a bond stronger than anything the blonde had ever known, especially after losing both of her own parents.

That great love for Keller and Parker, whom they both saw as their daughter, had driven Garrison to help Dean in the first place, and then continue when their searches had proven fruitless. She also knew that same love was what kept Keller determined to finish, no matter what the outcome.

They planned their final search mission for the last weekend of July, Garrison flying it as Keller would be out of town on her own flight, and the blonde was free. The spots on the map where they had yet to peruse were too far away for the Bell to safely search and return to land, and Keller would be using the Cessna. They had decided to call in a favor from Duke Wingom, a long-time friend and flying peer of Garrison’s. He had agreed to fly with her, as she was shaky on seaplanes, having only flown one a few times.

Sighing, she returned to work.

*  *  *

“Everyone move together!” Denny grunted, the weight of her end of Michael’s raft nearly unbearable. She could see from everyone else’s face that they were struggling, too. “Jesus, Michael! Did you use an entire forest?”

The Texan grinned, then glanced over his shoulder to make sure he wouldn’t trip as he stepped back into the water. He felt a small wave break on the backs of his legs, and knew they’d start getting bigger and stronger. “Set it down,” he instructed, feeling they were in deep enough water that the raft should float on its own. A round of relieved groans sounded with the splash of the heavy raft hitting the surface of the water. They all watched with baited breath, the raft bobbing on the oncoming waves. Michael climbed on top, the oar he’d carved from branches in hand. Soon Dean and Mia followed suit.

“I think they’re going to kill themselves,” Rachel muttered, stepping up beside Denny, their arms touching. The brunette nodded absently, amused as she watched the three try and get their paddling in sync. “I talked to Mia yesterday, about her mom and I.”

Denny looked over at the blonde, catching her profile before the wind whipped long, blonde strands around her head. “And?”

Rachel tucked the strands behind her ears, meeting the blue gaze. “She was upset, but then we talked, I mean really talked, about Gloria, Mia’s fears of going home. She doesn’t have a father, Denny. The only people she has are her great grandparents in Italy, and she doesn’t want to live in Italy.”

The brunette sighed, brushing her own hair out of her mouth. “I’ve thought about that. Hell, I’d be willing to take her in.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I’ve got the room at my place, and I could even give her a job at the shop.” She shrugged. “It’s not much, but it would keep her somewhat close to home, I guess.”

“Poor kid. She’s such a sweet thing. I’m actually impressed with how well she’s handled all this. She seems like a sheltered girl, somewhat naïve.”

Denny nodded in agreement. “I know.” Before she realized what she was doing, an arm had snaked around Rachel’s waist, pulling the author against her as they continued to watch the three drift further out, Michael’s deep voice barely able to be heard barking out orders to the other two. Rachel stepped into her personal space, moving to stand in front of the brunette, arms wrapping around her neck. She rested her head on Denny’s shoulder, sighing heavily at the feel of the brunette against her, the warmth, the softness.

Denny lowered her nose to Rachel’s neck, inhaling her scent, forgetting herself, and where they were. The warmth of the blonde’s bare stomach pressed against her own, only two thin cotton layers separated their breasts. She closed her eyes as she felt warm breath against her sensitive neck, causing a shiver to travel up her spine. Soon the breath was replaced by soft lips. The brunette sighed at the sensation, one of her hands coming dangerously close to the top of Rachel’s sarong, her fingers itching to slide underneath.

Rachel started when she heard cat calls, her head whipping around to see Dean making less than gentlemanly gestures, and Michael whistling around two fingers.

“Oh, god,” the blonde buried her face in the chuckling brunette’s neck. “I’m sorry.” Denny hugged her close, placing a soft kiss on the top of her head.

“Come on. Before we get knocked over by a wave.”

*  *  *

“You okay?” Rachel asked, her voice soft, as she climbed up onto the ledge. Denny, who lay on her back, an arm over her eyes, nodded. “Another of your headaches?”

“Yeah.” When the brunette had lost her contacts in the plane crash, the eye strain of the past year and some change had played havoc on her head. She suffered almost weakly headaches, sometimes bad enough to make her physically sick.

“I’m sorry, Denny. Want me to leave you alone?”

“No.” One blue eyes peeked out from under her arm.

“Okay.” The author settled next to her, brushing some hair from her face and studying her with concerned eyes. “Can I do anything for you, honey?”

“A cool rag?”

“Okay.”

Denny closed her eyes again as she heard her friend scamper away. She hadn’t realized just how much Tylenol meant to her until she had none. They were all lucky, as no one had been sick or hurt badly enough to require serious medicines, but the brunette was plagued by these horrendous headaches, and she was so tired of it. There was very little she could do, save try and sleep or lie in utter blackness and quiet. She’d left dinner early that night, bidding everyone a good night, then slipping away to the ledge to suffer in peace. Truth was, she was glad Rachel had sought her out.

“Here we go,” the blonde said, as though bursting forth from Denny’s thoughts. Denny gasped at the coolness that was laid across her forehead, gentle fingers cool against her pain-heated skin. “How’s that?”

“Better. Thank you.” Denny closed her eyes, the sudden cold causing the pounding to become worse for a moment before the blood vessels began to relax slightly, calming to a marching band inside her skull, rather than an atomic bomb exploding again and again.

“Do you want me to go, Denny?” Rachel asked, gently caressing the brunette’s arm.

“No. What were you writing? Before you ran out of paper,” Denny smiled weakly.

“A novel. I finished it in my head. Actually, still writing it.”

“Tell me?”

“Okay.”

Denny listened to Rachel’s voice, the soft, soothing tones affecting her like it did Mia, the sound having an instant calming affect, making Denny want to relax and listen. She did, listening to a novel about strangers, trapped on an island. She smiled, listening to the characterizations of the six of them, including the antics that Dean had pulled over the endless days. Denny tried to stop herself from laughing outright at the mention of the fictional character’s own private pleasure device struggles.

Rachel spoke, enjoying talking about her tale, her fingers running over the soft skin of Denny’s arms. Her voice never broke as she smiled, noting how the brunette turned her arm over, silently encouraging the blonde to caress the sensitive, pale underside of the limb. The skin was unbelievably soft.

Denny sighed, the exquisite touch filling her with such pleasant sensations, once in awhile sending a shiver down her spine. Between the touching and soft voice and story, and was almost able to forget about the pain in her head.

Rachel paused for a moment, her fingers touching the cloth covering the brunette’s head. “How are you feeling?”

“Better. Just don’t stop. I love listening to you talk. Have you ever considered reading books on tape?”

Rachel smiled. “No.” She leaned down and placed a soft kiss on Denny’s damp hair. “Shall I continue?”

“Please.” Denny leaned into the touch as fingers left her arm, only to resume their stroking in her hair. She loved to be touched by this woman. As Rachel continued her tale, weaving her story, as well as discussing details of it, almost as though she’d forgotten Denny was there altogether, though her fingers continued to play in the thick, dark hair. Denny knew the questions posed weren’t for answering, but just simply the blonde’s mind at work. She was enthralled to hear the thoughts and questions slowly mutate themselves into ideas, then visions, then scenes, and finally they were smoothed over to fit into the story, molded and gently squeezed around the edges until they were seamless.

Rachel was lost in the world she knew so well, and felt most comfortable in. A world of her own making, a work in her own head. The world of creation. She had no worries of what people thought of her, or how they may complain or try and pick apart her story. In the world of creation, she was the boss, she made the decisions, and she could make things beautiful. Denny was entranced.

The blonde grunted slightly as she pushed herself down to her side next to Denny, her thigh brushing the side of the brunette’s. She held her head up as she continued. “I’m thinking of calling this ‘Lost In Paradise’.”

“I like that,” Denny smiled, eyes still closed. The pounding in her head had lessened substantially, making her want to kiss Rachel in gratitude. “Will you take it to your publisher?”

“I don’t know.” Rachel shrugged a shoulder, her hand moving from Denny’s hair to rest on her naked stomach. A larger hand covered it, entwining their fingers. “This may just be for me. Not sure yet.” Finished with her tale, she grew silent, studying Denny’s features. “You know, you are truly the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.” The blonde’s voice was soft, almost in awe. “Truly,” she said at the blue eye that studied her. “It’s just amazing.” Rachel shook her head slowly in wonder. “I think someone sculpted you.”

“Stop!” Denny protested as loud as she dare. “You’re making me blush.” Her eye closed and she heard a light chuckle.

“Not trying to. I thought that from the moment I laid eyes on you on the plane.” Soft fingers brushed over softer skin on a forehead, trailing down prominent cheekbones to a proud jaw. “I have an artist friend who I bet would love to paint you.” Her whispered words flew straight into Denny’s heart, warming her from the outside in.

“You are a silver tongued devil,” Denny whispered, the slightest up curve of her lips showing her pleasure at Rachel’s words.

“That I am. But this devil speaks the truth.” Rachel leaned down, placing the softest of kisses to the brunette’s lips, just a brush for emphasis, then she was gone. She was silent for a few moments, pushing herself up to a sitting position again, nudging Denny to lay her head in her lap. The brunette grimaced slightly, the movement unsettling her easing headache. “Relax,” Rachel whispered, fingers finding her temples, and gently massaging, which initially hurt, but eventually began to ease the pressure in Denny’s head.

“That feels good,” Denny whispered, sighing in relief at the magic of Rachel’s cool fingers.

“I’m sorry you hurt,” the blonde whispered back. “I wish I could take it all away.”

“You are,” Denny sighed. She brought an arm up, snaking it around one of Rachel’s thighs, fingers lazily playing with the prickly skin she found there. It made Rachel slightly self-conscious.

“I can’t wait to shave,” she said, her fingers changing their position just slightly, still massaging the delicate bones of Denny’s face.

“Me, too.”

“Your rag is getting warm. Want me to refresh it?”

“Yes,” Denny said as she shook her head no, making the blonde grin, bemused. “Don’t want you to move. I’m comfy. Yet my head feels like it’s boiling.”

“I’ll be right back. Then you can have the best of both worlds, ‘kay?”

“’Kay.” Denny moaned in discontent as Rachel slowly slid out from underneath her, almost purring at the blonde’s return. Again, she gasped as the cold rag was placed across her forehead, Rachel inching it down so it covered her eyes, too. “Ohhh, that’s nice.” She turned her head, lips almost touching the blonde’s naked stomach.

“How are you doing? Need anything else?”

“Just keep talking,” Denny murmured. “Your voice is so calming.”

“You want to hear something crazy?” Rachel paused, looking out over the darkened night. “I can’t believe I’m actually going to say this out loud.” She paused again, running resuming her gentle combing of Denny’s hair. “There’s a part of me that doesn’t want to go home. I mean, sure, I miss all the comforts of home, I miss Reenie, and even Matt. But,” sighing heavily, she looked down at the woman who lay in her lap. The brunette’s breathing was even and slow, her body relaxed in sleep. Rachel smiled, leaning down and placing a soft kiss on slightly parted lips. “I don’t want to leave you guys.”

*  *  *

Going, going, almost gone… gone. Will sipped from his wine, one leg crossed over the other as he sat on the Italian leather sofa he and Dean had bought together three months before his partner boarded the doomed flight. Reaching to the table across from the couch, he grabbed the bottle, pouring what was left of the expensive red into his glass.

Had he done the right thing? Too late now, for certain, but it plagued him. Coming home from Reenie’s loft almost two months ago, he had stared at Dean’s picture for a long time, memorizing every single little detail of the man’s face, remembering the sound of his laugh, his voice, the way he smelled. He had to smile, even now, remembering the attorney’s aversion to anything dirty, or what he felt to be unsanitary. Even at the club, when they’d go play racquetball, Dean refused to talk barefoot in the locker room, his ever-present slippers there to cradle his feet.

The sun was going down, not only on the day, but also on the summer, a summer Will had prayed would bring joyous news, or at least some sort of closure. The other day he saw ads on television for school supplies; always the first indication that fall was, indeed, on the way. Another holiday season without Dean, the second of many to come. Truthfully, Will wasn’t so sure he could handle it again. Sure, he’d put on a happy, smiling face, even his Christmas bow-tie, but those closest to him knew better. Will never was a good liar. After all, Dean was the attorney, not him.

The wine had ceased to taste like anything anymore, the strong drink frosting Will’s brain, dulling his senses, but making his thoughts sharper, pain more acute. Alcohol was funny that way. Perhaps he should switch to something stronger.

Mind trailing back to Reenie’s loft, Will remembered the look on Keller’s face when he told them they were finished, would not be continuing the search. Hell, she’d looked almost more crestfallen than the architect had felt. He really needed to do something spectacular for the pilots. They’d put so much heart into the searching, not taking money for anything more than fuel and maintenance of their flying machines. Real troopers. He often wondered what Dean would think of the ladies, grease monkeys, both of them. More than once Will had seen a smudge of the black goo on Garrison’s cheek, and definitely the girls’ hands were more calloused than all the men in Will’s entire architectural firm put together. Though Dean would have turned his nose up at their rough and sometimes unkempt appearance, Will thought his partner would like those two.

Sighing heavily, Will continued to drink his wine.

*  *  *

Lizbeth Vinzetti hummed an old Italian lullaby her mother used to sing to her almost eighty years ago. She could recall her mother’s lilting voice singing to her nine kids, all hiding during the bombings in World War II. At twelve, Lizbeth had been second to the oldest, and she and her older sister, Rose, had been expected to help care for the other seven. Those had been hard times.

She had already vacuumed her granddaughter’s small apartment, trying to help as she knew Gloria worked so hard all day, working at the courthouse all day, then at night time she worked part-time at the diner. The young woman was even considering taking on a third job. Though she tried to say it was because they could use the money, Lizbeth knew better. Her Gloria was trying to not think, work herself to an early grave. The elder Vinzetti knew the trick all too well. When she and Paolo had lost Gloria’s mother thirty years ago, Lizbeth thought she would die right along with her. Somehow she needed to convince her granddaughter that life does march on, no matter how hard it’s fought. Gloria would not win.

Part humming and part singing the words, Lizbeth held the picture in her hands that she had found in the drawer. Smiling at the beautiful face of her great-granddaughter, Lizbeth placed the picture in its place of honor among the other family photos, arranging them so Mia would have a prime spot.

Lizbeth smiled, knowing they’d go through the same routine tomorrow. When Gloria got home at an ungodly hour, she’d put Mia’s photo away, and the next day Lizbeth would bring it out. She wasn’t going to let Gloria forget. She couldn’t let her forget.

*  *  *

Tiffany looked out the window as she sipped her morning coffee. She was trying to hard not to be angry, but her emotions were starting to get the best of her, starting to take over her rational, ultra logical side. It had been almost eight months, eight months! She promised Hannah she’d be patient, that she understood the researcher had to deal with all the radical changes in her life. She promised her she’d be there for her, support her, and be her friend first, girlfriend second.

Eight months ago. Valentine’s Day had been their first kiss, and Tiffany was fine with that. She’d kept the holiday a low-key event, not pushing anything onto Hannah that she wasn’t ready for. It had been nice, flowers, a nice dinner, a moonlit stroll. They had done a lot of talking that night, their dreams and hopes, what Hannah planned to do with her life now that she was suddenly a me instead of an us. When Tiffany had dropped the enigmatic brunette off at her house, she’d been surprised when Hannah had leaned over across the car, giving her a soft, yet wonderful kiss. Tiffany had responded, but all too soon it had been over.

Time had marched on, as it does, and Hannah was still somewhat remote, keeping Tiffany at a chosen distance. Understanding could only go so far, and the accountant was starting to plain run out. If Hannah wasn’t over Denny’s death, fine! Then don’t drag the redhead into the mess.

Last night Hannah had opted to spend the night, a first time event. Tiffany had been surprised but elated. She hoped it would be when she would finally be able to show Hannah how she felt about her, that she was serious about her and wanted to give them a chance. They’d kissed, Hannah had even placed the accountant’s hand on her breast, outside her tee shirt, but it was something. The accountant had started to get into it, her body on fire when suddenly Hannah had stopped her, apologized, then quickly tugged her jeans on and left.

Another sleepless night. Tiffany had tossed and turned, weary and emotionally exhausted. She’d been a fool. The thing is, as angry at Hannah as she wanted to be, she couldn’t quite muster up the energy to get past the anger at herself. She should have known better. It was time for her to really evaluate this, decide if it was worth it anymore. She didn’t think Hannah was trying to play with her emotions, not at all. But she did think Hannah had bitten off more than she logically thought she could chew. She should have given herself more time, more time to grieve and truly put Denny’s memory to rest.

When everything had been final, the sell of DiRisio’s complete, and the shop emptied, Hannah had cried in Tiffany’s arms for hours, questioning herself, and wishing she hadn’t acted to rashly. She had explained that for her, it was the only way to move on with her life, she needed to not see Denny at every turn. Perhaps seeing Denny at every turn was what the brunette needed.

“Hell, I don’t know,” Tiffany whispered, sipping from her coffee, watching as the paperboy rode by on his bicycle, tossing a large bundle at her front lawn.

*  *  *

Jennifer Dupree sat in the idling car, waiting. Her grandmother had sent her to pick up Conrad from his weekly counseling session. Her little brother had always been a handful, but one word or look from their dad, and the kid had straightened right up. Grandpa was a lot like their dad was, but it seemed to make Conrad rebel that much more. Maybe he felt Grandpa was trying to take their father’s place.

The sixteen, almost seventeen, year old’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel. She’d been so nervous to take Meredith Adam’s car, but the teenager’s mom’s car, which would be hers, was still in the shop. Her grandparents were having it painted for her for her seventeenth birthday, coming up in September. She was glad, and couldn’t wait to have her own car, though every time she got in she wanted to cry. She and her mom had been so close, and Jennifer could still see her mother’s sparkling eyes and hear her boisterous laugh.

Resting her head back against the seat, she began to daydream about her parents. It had been one year, one month and nineteen days. The only daughter of Michael and Melissa Dupree had been keeping a calendar since that day, only used for that, marking off the days with a red x. She missed them terribly. Her mother had started to teach her how to wear make-up, Jennifer finally allowed at fifteen. Her dad, the big ol’ dork that he was, had been pacing out in the hallway outside the bathroom, glancing in from time to time. The girl had asked her mother what his problem was, and Melissa had explained that he didn’t like the fact his baby girl was growing up.

Jennifer looked into the rearview mirror, studying the face that looked more and more like her mom’s. She had her hair color, her eye color, but her dad’s height. He had been a big man, strong and sturdy. A hug from him had been like nothing else in the whole wide world. Jennifer smiled at the memory, how warm and comforted he could make her feel. Yet, oh boy! If you made him angry… wow. Her father always made her think of that country song by Holly Dunn:

Daddy’s hands

Were soft and kind when I was crying

Daddy’s hands

Were hard as steel when I’d done wrong

Daddy’s hands

Weren’t always gentle but I’d come to understand

There was always love in Daddy’s hands.

That was her father to a tee. She could see his big smile, so handsome with his Stetson on.

“Hey, dork. Why are you crying?”

Jennifer was startled out of her daydreams by the voice of her brother and slam of the car door. Quickly wiping at her tears, she sniffled and got the car started.

“How was your appointment?” she asked, carefully looking in all her mirrors and over her shoulder before merging into traffic. She’d only had her license for nine months, and was still slightly nervous. Especially with a passenger in the car.

Conrad shrugged. “It was okay, I guess.”

Jennifer could tell her brother didn’t want to talk about it, so dropped it. “Grandma is making a big dinner for Alan’s visit,” she said conversationally.

“So?”

“Don’t be such a jerk, Con. They’re just trying to do right by mom and dad.” She glanced over at the boy, who refused to look at her, growing body slumped against the door.

“Yeah, well, they’re not mom and dad, and never will be.”

*  *  *

“Good luck, baby,” Keller said against Garrison’s lips.

“Thank you. I love you.” Turning to the back of the Cessna, Garrison reached around and squeezed Parker’s knee. “Love you, honey. Have fun today.”

“Thanks!” the teen gushed, happy to be flying with Keller. That was one great thing about summer vacation. Ignoring the other two women again, she turned back to her laptop, writing frantically on her newest story, this one a whole fifty pages!

“I love you, too.” The brunette watched as her partner climbed out of the Cessna, Duke Wingom waiting for her. “Call me and let me know what happens!” she called out. “I should be home by nine tonight.” She smiled at the blonde’s salute, then returned the blown kiss.

“Hello, Monk,” Duke said, slapping his fellow pilot on the back. “Good to see you.” He led her toward the hangar, where the G21-A Goose was already fueled and ready to go. They stepped into an office in the large hangar, Garrison shrugging out of her backpack and unzipping it to pull out the map.

“This is where we’ve been so far,” she explained, pointing to all the red marked areas I’m thinking here,” she ran her finger around in a circle on the smooth paper. This is our last shot, so we’ve got to make it count.” She met the grizzled man’s gaze, watching as he stroked his salt and pepper beard, brows drawn in deep thought.

“What’s your plan to get there?” Duke listened as Garrison explained her strategy to him, as well as the figures she’d made for fuel and time, the older pilot nodding his head in understanding and agreement. His mind began to wander back to a flight he’d taken with his uncle years ago, just the outline of a memory, so faded over time that he wasn’t even sure if it hadn’t been a dream. He shoved it into the back of his brain, focusing instead on what the blonde was saying.

*  *  *

Denny groaned slightly as she tried to move. Her headache may be gone, but now she had a whole new ache to keep her company throughout the day. Her back was screaming at her from sleeping on the hard stone all night.

“I thought those grass mats were bad,” she muttered, eyes blinking open. It didn’t help with the extra added weight, either. Rachel was lying practically on top of her, head tucked under the brunette’s chin, one hand tucked under Denny’s shoulder, the other resting on her upper chest. Dark brows drawing, Denny noticed something else, too.

Glancing down, she saw the side of Rachel’s breast, where it was pressed against her stomach. The other side produced the same result. Why the hell is Rachel half-naked? This thought led to another: it felt wonderful. Her hands, which had rested on the slight waist, began to move, wanting to feel the smooth skin of the entire expanse of the author’s back. The skin was warm, unbelievably soft. Rachel sighed in her sleep, her upper body adjusting slightly atop Denny’s as the fingers ran up her spine, making her body tingle. The brunette closed her eyes again, allowing her fingers to do the walking, a textile journey. Her fingers tips grazed up and over slightly pronounced shoulder blades, gently pushing blonde hair aside as they danced across the back of a neck, the smaller body beneath them shivering slightly as they passed.  Soft smile graced Denny’s lips at that. Her fingers continued on, over smooth, strong shoulders, down the warm skin of Rachel’s sides, ribs, barely brushing the sides of soft roundness before returning to the spine.

Rachel slowly rose to the surface of wakefulness, sighing at the sensation of being touched. She kept her eyes closed, just allowing the feelings to stream through all of her nerve endings, making her shiver. The hand that had been wrapped around Denny’s shoulder began to move, fingers squeezing and massaging the skin, letting the brunette know she was awake, and very okay with the exploring fingers. For a brief moment the blonde panicked, remembering she was topless, having used the material for Denny’s cool rag. She quickly shoved embarrassment aside as the magic fingers spread out into warm palms, running all over her back, gliding down to her hips before returning up towards her neck and shoulders, then coming dangerously close to the sides of her breasts.

Denny sighed at the feel of soft lips against her upper chest, where Rachel’s head lie. Her hands grew bolder, her mind filled with only sensation, nothing else mattered at that moment. She felt the soft material of the cotton sarong wrapped around Rachel’s hips, her finger daring to brush slightly underneath, making the author gasp slightly in surprise, which was quickly followed by a soft, almost sighed moan. Large hands cupped the blonde’s behind, feeling the muscles underneath tense in response.

Rachel lifted her head and upper body, resting on her elbows as she pulled herself up so her face was level with the brunette’s. Without thought, without a single stream of conscience, she leaned in, taking Denny’s mouth in a kiss that deepened quickly, her nipples hardening as they brushed against the material that still covered the brunette’s.

“Oh, Rachel,” Denny whispered into her mouth, hands sliding up Rachel’s back and curving around until she reached between their bodies, cupping the blonde’s breasts.

“Oh, Jesus,” Rachel gasped, arching her back as her head raised, eyes closing as Denny’s palms pressed against her nipples. Her entire body burst to life, every fiber of her being alive and buzzing. She exhaled shakily as lips and tongue were applied to the column of her exposed throat, her arms trembling as she tried to hold herself up against the onslaught of sensation.

Denny had never wanted anyone so badly as she wanted Rachel Holt in that moment. The taste of the blonde’s skin was exquisite, the texture and weight of her breasts, the feel of her wet heat through the thin sarong she wore. She wanted to make love to her, needed to make love to her. She knew now there was no way she could resist this, what was happening between them. She’d been blessed with a second chance in a situation that otherwise could have been seen as a tragic curse. She’d be a fool to let it pass, when chances were good she’d never step foot home again. This was her life now, so why deny her body and heart?

Gently pushing Rachel to her back, she leaned over the blonde, looking into her face, such a beautiful, beautiful face. She ran the backs of her fingers down the side of the author’s cheek, over her jaw, and finally down the side of her neck. Her gaze drifted down over the blonde’s face, following the path her fingers had just made until finally she took in Rachel’s breasts. Not the first time she’d seen them, but they were more beautiful at that moment than ever before.

“You call me beautiful, but I don’t think you look at yourself,” she whispered, looking into Rachel’s hooded gaze as her fingers inched toward the round underside of a breast. “Your so amazingly gorgeous, Rachel, inside and out. So wonderful. So soft.” She leaned down, placing a soft kiss on waiting lips. “Thank you for last night,” she murmured.

“Any time. I hated seeing you in pain.”

“I’m cured.”

“For now,” Rachel smiled, hand weaving its way into thick, dark hair, gently pulling the brunette closer.

*  *  *

“And I’m telling you I think you’re out of your mind,” Mia said, glancing over her shoulder at Dean who scowled behind her.

“You don’t think I have ears of an eagle?”

“No, I don’t.”

“And why not?” he stopped mid-step, hands on hips.

“Well,” the girl laughed, “mainly because I’m not quite sure eagles even have ears.” She laughed harder as Dean stomped past her, grumbling to himself about what he heard. “Come on, Dean,” Mia jogged to catch up with his longer stride. “Don’t do this to yourself again. I think you heard what you want to hear.” Her voice had softened, not wanting to hurt him, but trying to be honest.

Dean stopped, feeling that in his heart, though he knew the girl hadn’t meant it that way. Stopping again, he turned to look at her. “Do you really think that’s what I’m doing? Playing tricks with myself, hearing things?”

“I don’t know, Dean, but I just don’t want to see you get so upset again.” She placed a hand on his shoulder, leaning up to place a soft kiss on his cheek. “Come on. Pam ordered us to get her some water, so let’s get her some water.”

*  *  *

Garrison looked out the side window, headset firmly in place as she watched their tiny shadow move along the waves, then turned to her co-pilot.

“I can’t believe how differently she handles than my Cessna.”

Duke grinned, nodding, his response tinny in her headphones. “Different animal, entirely. I’m actually surprised Davies’ doesn’t have a seaplane.”

“Dad wanted to get one years ago, but it just didn’t work out. We do pretty well with the Bell, Cessna and Herc, though I’m wanting to possibly expand and bring in a few sea-faring vessels.”

“Well, aren’t you just the little entrepreneur?”

Garrison chuckled. “Hey, I’ve got college to pay for, soon!”

*  *  *

“Om on, eice o it!” Michael muttered around the ‘knife’ held between his teeth. Polished wood with razor sharp reef tied on. He squeezed powerful thighs around the tree to free both hands, reaching up and grunting as he tried to dislodge the stubborn group of cocoanuts. Finally he gave it a good whack with his fist, watching in satisfaction as they fell to the ground below. Grinning with the tool between his teeth, he looked like some sort of psychotic serial killer.

Turning to the other side of the tree, and the goodies it had to bear, the Texan stopped, cocking his head to the side as he listened. What was that? Like … like …, a swarm, bees? Locusts?

Climbing higher, Michael strained his neck to try and see above the tree tops. He cried out as he started to slip, fingers digging into the bark as his thighs tightened. Heart pounding, the mechanic resumed climbing, determined to get a look out to sea, or the sky.

*  *  *

“Any time now would be just peachy!” Pam hollered, the morning catch already beginning to sizzle. She sent Dean and Mia out on a simple errand of getting fresh water, and Michael was to supply cocoanut milk. How hard was it? Climbing to her feet, the veterinarian was prepared to launch an all out fit when she stopped, turning toward the ocean. “What is that?” bringing a hand up, she shielded her eyes from the intense overhead sun, still squinting against the shade. A buzzing, like an annoying mosquito…

*  *  *

Duke veered off to the left, following the flight pattern they’d registered before leaving that afternoon. They’d gotten a later start than he’d wanted, but such was the life of a pilot. He felt like he was entering the memory that had been so elusive when Garrison had arrived. Familiar, something niggling at him. What was it? What was he trying to remember? On instinct, he veered slightly off their decided path.

“What are you doing?” Garrison asked, noting that Duke was heading them west. She saw the drawn brow and deep lines of the pilot’s tanned face.

“I don’t know. Something, I feel like there’s something out this way. I think I remember, something…”

Trusting her old friend, Garrison turned back to the window, grabbing the radio to call in their new co ordinance.

*  *  *

Rachel’s head fell back as she felt fingers inching closer to her breast, her nipples straining with arousal, desperate to be touched by Denny. About to grab the brunette for another earth-shattering kiss, she paused, ears straining.

“Wait, Denny, wait,” she pushed up, holding herself up on her hands.

“What is it?” Surprised, the brunette also pushed herself up to her knees.

“Wait, listen.” If the blonde could have perked her ears, she would have, brows drawn, eyes looking absently around as she tried to concentrate fully on her sense of hearing. “Hear it?” she asked at length, gaze landing on Denny.

“I don’t-“ Denny stopped herself, suddenly … yes, yes, she …. Jumping to her feet, she looked around, turning in a circle on the ledge. She was joined by the blonde, who was quickly tying her top into place. Both their gazes settled out to sea.

“Oh my god.”

*  *  *

Michael nearly fell out of the tree in his haste to get down, forgetting about the prize he’d fought so hard for as he ran headlong toward the beach, powerful body pumping as fast as it could go. Once he broke through the trees, he saw Pam standing at the water’s edge, standing stock still, arm raised to shade her eyes. The Texan stopped mid-beach, eyes glued to the sky.

*  *  *

“Oh my god!” Duke cried out, startling his co-pilot, making what would normally be a dangerous turn, but he didn’t care. He was an experienced pilot and knew what he was doing. Garrison, so caught off guard by his unusual carelessness nearly started screaming her head off at him, but then she saw it, and then she saw them.

*  *  *

“They see us! They fucking see us!” Dean was nearly tripping over his loafers as he ran out of the jungle, throwing the cocoanut shell full of water to the ground, Mia right behind him. “Hey!” he yelled, waving his arms frantically, half yelling, half crying as the beautiful glint of steel and glass in the sky was heading straight for them. “They see us!”

Mia was crying as she ran to join Pam and Michael, throwing her arms around an equally sobbing Pam. They began to jump together, not sure what to do first.

“What’s happening? Oh my god,” Denny breathed, breaking through the trees, Rachel beside her. They watched as if in a daze as the seaplane made several spins high above the island, coming in closer each time, getting low enough to make a landing.

*  *  *

Garrison was beside herself, tears streaming down her face as she tried to telegraph what they were seeing through the radio wires. Her voice was shrill and almost couldn’t be deciphered.

“We found someone! Oh my god, we found someone! Lots of someones!”

*  *  *

The six islanders stood together in a huddle, mixed emotions flowing through each as they watched the white and blue plane make a graceful landing on the ocean surface, taxiing over to them.

Denny felt Rachel’s hand take her own, and she squeezed it back. “I can’t believe they found us,” the brunette whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

“I know.” Rachel couldn’t decide if she was happier than she’d ever been in her life, relief washing through her and threatening to erupt in a windfall of emotion, or if she was scared. She thought of the life she was going back to, as well as leaving the family she’d made. And she’d have to leave Denny.

Dean fell to his knees, his emotions taking him over, unable to control himself. He could no longer see, his vision a solid sheet of tears. He heard the propellers and engines winding down, then the squeak of doors opening, and a woman’s voice.

“Ahoy, there!” Garrison stood on the floater above the wheel, waving an arm at the stunned group that watched from the beach. She jumped into the water, which reached her waist, sloshing her way toward the beach. The closer she got, the more she could tell these people had been there for awhile, but obviously weren’t natives.

Mia was steadily crying, holding on to Pam for dear life. She couldn’t think, couldn’t feel anything but ultimate relief, and the belief that maybe her mother had been right all along, and there was a God.

“Hello!” Michael called out, hurrying into the surf to grab the small pilot in a massive, bone-crushing hug. “Jesus, god are we glad to see y’all,” he whispered into the sweetest smelling hair he could recall.

Garrison couldn’t keep her own emotions under wraps, looking up at the big man with tears in her eyes, which spilled down her cheeks at the look in his eyes.

“We thought y’all forgot all about us,” he whispered, voice choking on the last word.

“Why are you here?” the pilot asked, hope in her gut.

“We was all on that flight that went down,” his brow scrunched in thought. “What day is it?”

“It’s July 30, 2006.”

“We been here for more than a year?” he asked, eyes wide.

“You guys were on flight 1049?” Garrison asked, bursting into tears at his nod. “Oh, Will,” she cried, throwing her arms around his neck, feeling his arms wrap around her waist. “you were right.”

Denny wiped at her eyes again, though it didn’t seem to help, as immediately her vision was sliding all over the place again. She watched as Michael led the pilot to the beach. The blonde looked at them all, unable to believe what she was seeing.

“All of you?” she asked, meeting six pairs of eyes, and matching nods. “What are your names?”

“I’m Denny DiRisio, this is Rachel Holt-“

Garrison’s eyes got huge, Reenie’s face popping before her. “Oh god,” her hands went to her mouth, fresh tears threatening to fall.

“Mia Vinzetti,” Denny continued, surprised when she saw the blonde hurry over to the girl, wrapping her in strong arms.

“Oh, honey,” Garrison cried, unable to control herself now. “Oh, honey,” she said again. “Someone is going to be so happy to see you.”

Mia clung to the stranger, crying even harder at the thought of going home, finally going home. “I’m excited to see my grandparents, too,” she managed. Garrison sniffled, shaking her head as she pulled back just enough to look into the girl’s dark eyes.

“No, honey. Oh, Mia, your mom is waiting for you.”

“What? No,” Mia shook her head, heart breaking all over again at having to say it out loud. “My mom was on the flight with me.”

“Gloria Vinzetti? No, Mia, she survived,” Garrison clutched the girl’s arms, shaking her slightly for emphasis. The blonde heard fresh sobs around her at the news.

“Oh, Sweets!” Dean took the girl from Garrison’s grip, holding her close to his chest as the girl sobbed, sliding in Dean’s grip. Garrison felt like Santa Clause, looking into the eyes all around her.

“Who else do I have here?” She looked at Michael, then at Dean and Pam. “Anyone here related to Milton Bryce?” she saw she had no takers, so began to list off a few other names she could think of, still no takers. “Will Ash?”

Dean’s head popped up from where it had been resting against Mia’s. “Will?” he said, the name like a balm on his tongue. The pilot looked at him, hope in her green eyes. “Will Ash? Have you seen him?” He pulled away from Mia, the girl taken into Pam’s arms. As though walking in a dream, the attorney walked over to Garrison, who looked up into his eyes, filled with profound hope returned.

Taking a gamble, and praying with everything in her that she was right, Garrison placed a hand on his arm. “Are you Dean Ratliff?” At the nod she got, Garrison’s face broke into the biggest smile Dean had ever seen. “Oh, Dean,” she whispered. “Because of you we’re here.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, tears slowly leaking out of red-rimmed eyes.

“Will never gave up hope of finding you. We’ve been searching for you since September.” She reached up, taking the slight man into a warm embrace, letting him cry on her shoulder.

“Are we going home?” he whispered. At the pilot’s nod, Dean finally was able to let go of the grief and fear, loss and isolation. Garrison held him, whispering to him, telling him all about how much Will loves and needs him.

Denny was sobbing, almost numb on sensation overload, her heart feeling like it was about to explode.

“Garrison?” Duke stepped up on shore, meeting the blonde’s gaze. He felt bad interrupting, but they had pressing business. “We’ve got storms moving in. We need to get moving.” The pilot looked at each of the survivors, tallying mentally in his head the fuel they had left and added weight of six adults. Making a decision, which he knew Garrison wasn’t going to like, but had no choice. “We can take half of you today, and come back for half in the morning.”

Garrison looked at him, surprised, but then her years of experience took over. She knew Duke was right, sighing sadly as she pulled away from the attorney, facing everyone. “He’s right. We can’t chance the weight in getting back safely.”

“I’ll stay,” Michael said, stepping back. “Let the girl and Dean go.” He motioned toward Mia and the attorney, who looked at him with ever grateful eyes.

Duke nodded his approval. “One more.”

“Go,” Denny said, turning to Rachel. The blonde shook her head.

“No. Not without you.”

“Please go,” Denny leaned her forehead against the blonde’s, eyes closed. “Please.” She needed to break this now, make it hurt less later. “Please just go with them.”

Rachel threw her arms around Denny’s neck, hugging her with everything in her. Eyes squeezed shut, she breathed in the brunette’s scent, memorizing everything about her. Finally she released Denny, looking to the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. She looked inside the brunette’s soul, and saw herself reflected back at her. Nodding at what they dare not speak, she placed a soft kiss on Denny’s lips, then let her go.

“I’m going to miss you,” Pam said, hugging Mia close. “I’m so happy for you, honey. So, so happy.” Holding the girl by the shoulders, she smiled, amazed at the light she saw shining for the first time in those dark eyes. “Goodbye.”

“Thank you, Pam. For everything.” Mia leaned in close. “Tell your daughter you love her,” she whispered in the older woman’s ear, then was gone.

Denny tried to keep everything in as she watched the goodbyes, seeing Mia walking over to her. “I will never forget you,” the girl said, taking the taller woman in her arms.

“You won’t have to,” Denny whispered, squeezing Mia tight. “I promise we’ll have that mocha breve someday, you and me.”

Mia nodded, giving the brunette one last squeeze before letting her go. She studied the sad blue eyes. “Denny?”

“Yeah?”

“Follow your heart.” The girl nodded over to where Rachel was saying her goodbyes. Denny smiled, sheepish. If only the girl understood how hard it really was.

“Go home and tell your mom hi for me, okay?”

“Oh, I will!” Mia was filled once more with the knowledge that her mother was alive! She no idea how, but she didn’t care. Nothing mattered except that she was alive.

“Alright, red, you’re finally free of me,” Dean said, grinning up at the large man. Michael chuckled.

“Yeah. Maybe we’ll find some peace on this damn island.”

Dean laughed, almost giddy with his unrivaled excitement. He extended a hand, watching as the Texan looked down at it, then before he could breathe, Dean was pulled into a bone-crushing hug.

“You take care of yourself,” Michael said, feeling Dean nod.

“You, too, big guy.” Dean stepped out of the hug, hand still on Michael’s shoulder. “Go take care of your kids. They need their dad.” Michael smiled with a nod, having no idea just how he was going to tell them their momma was dead.

Michael, Pam and Denny stood back, watching half their family board the small plane, Garrison giving them one last thumbs up before the powerful engine and propellers rocked the stillness of the day.

Denny could see Rachel sitting next to a window, the blonde’s face pressed to the glass, eyes on her. Denny raised a hand, which she saw the author do the same.

PART 12

DARK BROWS KNIT, Keller pushed the button for the option to listen to the message again.  She held the small phone to her ear, holding up a hand to forestall whatever Parker was about to tell her so she could try and concentrate again on the hysterical message.

"Keller!  Get you and Parker down here ASAP!" Sob. "WefoundDeanandfiveothers,ohmygod,Keller,wefoundhim!" Sob.

The tall pilot stood there, mouth slack-jawed as it registered what the blonde had said.  Turning stunned eyes to an expectant Parker, she swallowed.  "Go pack a bag for Florida, Parker."  The teenager ran back up the stairs, their Beagle, Tut attempting to run after her, but his arthritis causing him to follow at a limping pace, though his bark was still worse than his bite ever was.

Keller walked over to a kitchen chair, falling into it, stunned, and still not entirely sure she'd understood.  Shaking herself out of her daze, she quickly dialed the familiar number to Garrison's cell phone.  It was picked up after half a ring.

"Keller?!  Oh, thank god," the blonde ran a hand through her hair, her eyes so sore from all the crying she'd done.  "Oh, baby, we did it.  Oh, Keller..."

"Whoa, whoa, honey, what's going on?"  The brunette stood from her chair, realizing that she, too needed to pack a bag.  She headed up to her and Garrison's bedroom.

"We found six survivors on an island, Keller!  And Dean was one of them."

Keller faltered at the top of the stairs, nearly landing face first on the landing.  "What?"

Sob.  "Yes.  Mia Vinzetti, Rachel friggin' Holt!  Oh, god, Keller.  Please hurry.  I need you here."

"I'm coming, baby.  Parker's packing a bag now, and I'm on my way to."  The brunette pushed through the door into their room, looking around frantically for an overnight bag, holding the cell to her ear with her shoulder.

"Thank you, Keller."

Dark brows drew.  "For what?"

"For having faith, and wanting to make one more run.  All those people would have been stuck there for God only knows how long."

"I can't believe so many survived.  Nine people!  That's unheard of!"

"I know."

"Where are you?"

"We're at Duke's house.  We could only take three, so we're heading back out in the morning."

"Who all do you have?"

Garrison was getting impatient.  She needed to see Keller, and she needed to see her now.  "Less talk, ore fly!"

Keller chuckled.  "I love you.  See you in a few hours."

*  *  *

Rachel ran her hands over her face, wiping the water out of her eyes.  She turned off the water flow, wishing she could stand underneath it all night, but she knew other people were in that house other than herself, Dean and Mia.  Besides, she was surprised there was any hot water left after Dean's marathon shower.  She was the last, the other two swathed in clothing from Duke and his family.  The blonde's own borrowed sweats and tee shirt were folded on the toilet seat.

Stepping out of the shower stall, the author blew out a breath, feeling utterly exhausted.  It had been one of the craziest days since the day of the crash.  The flight back to Florida had been long, though probably far shorter than it seemed.  Rachel had looked out the windows, part of her terrified to be in the air, the other part amazed to feel padded seating again.  She and the others had been shocked to find a large group waiting for them when they landed, employees and crew of the hangar and small, attached airport.  They'd swarmed the plane, cheering and hollering as the three refugees disembarked.  They'd been offered, food, drink, anything they desired.  The first word out of all of their mouths was , "Shower!"

Duke, his wife Eva and their three sons, were kind and generous, offering their home to the survivors, which had quickly become dubbed as the Island Six, until they could be shipped back to their own homes.

Home.  That was such a foreign and confusing word for Rachel, who truly had no idea where she wanted to go.  Her world had completely turned upside down in the past year and two months.  When looking in the mirror over the sink before stepping into the shower, Rachel hadn't recognized herself.  Yes, her hair had grown out, her body hairier than it usually was, and she needed a serious eyebrow wax, but the changes had nothing to do with her physicality.  It was all in her eyes.  The blonde had to looked away from them, unable to look in their depths and see the altered soul within.

How was it that she had discovered herself on that island, yet back on dry and, felt so incredibly lost?  It was as though nothing made sense, nothing she had known for twenty-eight years seemed like the truth; her life was a lie.

Rachel wrapped herself up in a fluffy towel, inhaling the fragrances that danced all around her nose in the steam-filled room: laundry soap, shampoo, steam-enhanced body soap.  She nearly moaned in pleasure as she rubbed lotion onto newly-shaved legs, the smooth skin felt wonderful to her palms and fingers.  Rachel almost felt overwhelmed by the luxuries all around her.  Hell, just peeing in a real toilet had been the highlight of her day!  And then, not even having to bury it in rock-infested dirt.  Bliss.

Passing her hand over the smooth, steam-opaque glass of the mirror, she studied herself, noting had thin she'd really gotten.  She could almost hear Reenie chewing her out, all the while trying to fatten her up.  Reenie.  The author smiled, suddenly filled with a sense of giddiness.  On the flight back to Florida, the pilot, Garrison, had explained what had been happening over the past year and some change, the 1049 Club that Reenie and Matt had established, and the committee, led by Will Ash, that was set up to try and find any survivors.

She had been offered the use of Garrison's cell phone once she got out of the shower.  The blonde felt a mixture of nervous energy and elation at the prospect.  She couldn't wait to hear Reenie's voice again, and let her know she was okay.

*  *  *

Mia took a deep breath, grateful for the hair band Duke's daughter, Ivory, loaned her.  Her hair had gotten long and unruly on the island, and it was bliss to have it out of her face.  She closed her eyes as she took a huge bite of the cheeseburger, chewing with slow reverence, allowing all the flavors- ketchup, Mayonnaise, mustard and pickles- to burst in her mouth, along with the taste of the grilled meat and soft bun.  What she had once taken for granted as Tuesday night dinner had become a delicacy of the richest variety.

When the girl opened her eyes, she felt sheepish, as every pair of eyes at the table were on her.  Dropping her gaze down to her plate, she tried not to make an absolute glutton of herself as she ran a French fry through the puddle of ketchup.

Garrison was absolutely fascinated, watching both Dean and Mia dig into their dinners with no relish she'd seen before.  That's not true; it reminded her of Parker when she was little, and the blonde pilot had introduced her to beloved chocolate milk.  She smiled at the memory, realizing she was staring when she heard a throat clearing.

"Sorry," she muttered, looking away from Dean's raised brow.  "So, Dean, are you sure  you don't want to call him?"

"Positive."  The attorney grinned, wiping his hands on a napkin.  "I want to give Will the surprise of his life!  Me!"

"I think you're going to manage that just fine, my friend," Duke chuckled, chewing on the tender skin of a tomato slice.  "Bound to give the poor guy a heart attack."  Duke couldn't believe that he had been part of such an amazing, momentous event, and would have to thank Garrison all the rest of his days for giving him the opportunity.  He couldn't wait to go get the other three the next morning.  They planned to take off just after day break.

"Isn't that the truth!" Mia grinned, gulping from her glass of milk, eyes closing once more at the wonderful cool smoothness.

Garrison chuckled. "There's plenty where that came from, Mia.  Don't make yourself silk."

"Do you have any idea what it's like to only have water and cocoanut milk to drink for an entire year?"

"And the berry water Pam would make from time to time," Dean added.

"True.  With the food masher," the teen's eyes were filled with evil intent.  Everyone around the table, other than Dean, looked baffled at what was obviously a private joke between the survivors.  Dean actually looked bashful as he turned his attention to his plate.

"A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do, Sweets."

Mia chuckled.  She was about to ask the blonde pilot if she could used the promised phone when there was a loud knock at the door.  Garrison jumped up, quickly following Duke's wife through the house.  To her relief, Keller and Parker stood on the other side.

"Oh, thank god!"  She took the tall brunette in her arms, feeling like the craziness of the past few hours was finally set straight, and her world was back into focus.

"Oh, Garrison," Keller said, her voice unusually deep.  When she pulled back from the hug, her blue eyes filling.  "We did it?"

Garrison grinned, her own eyes watery.  "We did it," she whispered.

"Show me."

*  *  *

The sun was beginning to set, seeming like it should be sizzling into the ocean depths.  It was beautiful, but Denny saw none of it.  She sat on the ledge she'd shared with Rachel the night before, and the place where they'd had some of the best talks she'd had with anyone.  It was the ledge where she'd gotten to know the blonde, to understand, and to love her.

She raised a hand, surprised to feel moisture on her fingertip as it brushed under her eye.  Looking at it, she rubbing it into her thumb, , then sighed.  So they had been rescued, saved, brought forth from exile.  How amazingly bitter sweet.  Was she a monster to feel that way  Should she be jumping up and down for joy, as Pam and Mia had been doing earlier on the beach?  Should she be howling to the moon above, thankful to the Goddess of good luck and serendipity?

She felt none of those things.  All she felt was confusion, and desperately lonely.  Off in the distance she could hear Michael and Pam laughing, singing ridiculous songs, and basically reveling in their soon-to-be freedom.  Did she want it?  Of course she did.  She had to go back to her life, reestablish herself in the world of civilized society again, and all that came with it.  She had no choice.

Telling Rachel to get on that plane, to leave, had been one of the hardest things she'd ever had to do, but knew it had to be done.  One of them had t be strong, and had to be practical.  Denny damned her damn practical nature.  Hannah.  She had to focus on Hannah, and getting her life back with the researcher.  What had Hannah done all this time?  Denny knew her partner was a strong woman, but she also knew Hannah was extraordinarily sensitive, and couldn't even imagine how she had managed through her grief.  Knowing Hannah, who didn't like to deal with things, she'd put all of the coffee shop owner's things in one of the spare bedrooms, closed the door, and hadn't been able to look in there since.  Denny smiled at the thought, then she thought about the kind of pain Hannah had been put through, and all for nothing.  Would Hannah be angry?  Losing so much of herself in grieving for Denny, as Denny knew she would, or would she be so relieved it didn't matter?  Had Hannah moved on?

Denny rolled that thought around her brain, tasting the slight bitterness.  How would she feel if Hannah had, indeed moved on?  If she were dead, looking down at her partner, she knew she would want to see Hannah happy, and whatever it took to make her that way, Denny would be all for.  But she wasn't dead.  She was very much alive, and heading home.

Rachel.

Denny felt like such a hypocrite, daring to think she may possibly be hurt or angry if Hannah were dating someone else, when she, herself had fallen in love with another woman while away from Hannah.  She had valiantly tried to fight it, stop anything from happening, knowing that if Hannah and her situation were swapped, the researcher would have done the same thing for her.  She would have waited.  Even still, Denny could control what her body did, almost, but there was just no way to stop the heart from following its own path.  And, boy had it followed its own path!  It had boarded that plane yesterday with Rachel Holt.

Denny was so tired, her eyes burning almost as much as her heart ached.  She wished she could just close her eyes and go back to her world before the crash, before the name Rachel Holt meant anything more than just a face and distant author.

*  *  *

Michael sat back, hands tucked behind his head, and a permanent smile plastered on his face.  It hadn't left since he'd spotted the plane earlier that day.  Pam's was just as big, the vet laying in the sand across the small fire.

"What's the first thing you're going to do?" Pam she asked, not taking her eyes from the constellations above, knowing this would be the last time she saw them so clearly.

"That's easy," the Texan said, his voice soft and wistful. "Give my kids the biggest damn hug they ever had."

Pam smiled at that, picturing it well.  "Yeah.  Me, too.  My daughter, and my grandson."

"Grandkids," he whistled through his teeth. "Can't even imagine, though my oldest boy could very well be a daddy by now.  He's twenty-two."

"Pam nodded.  "Tracy became a mother younger than that."  Pam sighed, happy and satisfied, though she had to admit, she was a little scared to rejoin the world. "Michael?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you think they forgot about us?"  She glanced over, meeting Michael's eyes, reflecting the flames.  "Our families?"

"Nah," he said after some thought. "If'n they did, we'd never have been found."

"I can't believe Dean's partner is behind all this."  Pam felt more tears choking her, and did her level best to swallow them down.  She hadn't cried as much in the past two years as she had in that one afternoon.  "He must really love that little pain in the ass."

Michael snorted.  "Some love, indeed.  Maybe them queers got the right idea," he said, thinking of will and Dean, Denny and Hannah.  Hell, even Rachel, it seemed, the way she was always carrying on with Denny.  After a heartbeat of silence, he and the older woman glanced at each other.

"Nah."

Pam chuckled, as did the Texan.  They had never again talked about what happened between them, and it bothered some part of the veterinarian.  She wanted Michael to know that she would never forget it, nor him.  They had managed to comfort each other that day in a way no one else could.  "Michael?"

"Yeah?"

"About what happened between us,"

The mechanic was surprised Pam was bringing it up, but apparently she needed to talk, so he gave her his full attention.  "Yeah,"

"You and I have our own lives to return to, and you'll have a lot to deal with, the kids and their grief of losing their mother..."  She studied his face for a moment, briefly glancing at the thick beard that hid his lips. "I just want you to know it meant something to me, and wasn't just some mindless fuck to a lonely old veterinarian."

Michael heard what she said, and was surprisingly touched by them.  Pushing himself up to his knees, he crawled around to her side of the fire, and pulled her up by the hand.  Pam went into the hug, resting her head on his shoulder, relishing the last bit of closeness on the island.  They said nothing more, sitting on the sand in each others arms, staring into the fire.

*  *  *

Reenie yelled from the kitchen, telling her guests that more martinis were on the way.  Tossing an olive into her mouth, she chewed happily, shaking the last of the drinks, and pouring it into the waiting glass.

"Hey, Reen?" Quinn said, sticking his head in through the swinging door.

"Yeah?" the editor said absently, loading drinks onto the tray.

"Your cell is ringing."  He handed her the phone in question.

"Thanks.  Take these out, will you?  I'll be out in a sec."

"Sure."  The copy editor grabbed the tray in steady hands, butting his way out of the large space.  Reenie looked at the small window on the phone, lit and flashing a strange number.  She didn't recognize it, and decided to rejoin her party, listening to her voicemail later.  Tossing the phone to the counter, she was about to push through the door of the kitchen, but then decided better of it.  She had a new author she was working with, and thought it might be her.

Snatching the phone back up, she flipped it open, putting it to her ear.

"Hello?"

There was silence on the other end, though it was obvious the line was open.

"Hello?"  Dark brows drew.  Finally she heard someone take a breath.

"I understand I owe a great debt of gratitude to you and Will Ash."

Reenie's brows drew further, her heart skipping a beat.  She knew the voice like she knew her own face, but... there was no way.  "Who is this?"

"Don't you recognize the voice of your favorite author anymore, Reenie?  I haven't been gone that long."

"Rachel?" the editor whispered the name, falling onto a nearby stool, her face paling, hand beginning to tremble as she tried to hold the tiny phone closer to her ear.

"It's me, Reen.  I'm alive.  A little thin and have the best tan of my life, but I'm alive."

The gasp that left Reenie's mouth was part whimper, part cry.  "Oh my god.  Oh my god.  This can't be."

"It is, Reen.  I swear.  And if I didn't know any better, I'd say you're having your end of month, Friday night martini party.  Am I right?"

"Oh, god, Rachel!"  Reenie felt something explode in her chest, part shock, part profound relief, and all joy.  She could heart her friend on the other line, tears in her own voice.  "Where are you?  How did this happen?  Who found you?  Where are you!?"

"Whoa!"  Rachel laughed, swiping at her eyes with her hand, amazed at just how relieved she was to hear such a familiar voice.  For just a moment she felt normal again.  She had to keep blowing her nose and wiping her eyes as she explained what happened, and where they had all been.  Her friend interrupted often, filled with tons of questions, or just plain words of astonishment,  Before Rachel could even finish her tale, Reenie interrupted her yet again.

"I'm coming to get you.  I'm on the airlines right now, getting us tickets."

"Wait, Reenie," Rachel felt her heart skip a beat, realizing she was about to rejoin her life, and she'd have to deal with the mess that had been left.  Running at trembling hand through her hair, she sighed. "I can't get on a plane.  I don't have anything, no money, no identification, nothing."

"Shit.  You're right. Jesus Christ, Rachel!  You're alive!"  Reenie felt another burst of realization flood through her, bringing with it a new torrent of watershed.

Rachel smiled, feeling her own eyes brim again. "Crazy, isn't it?"

"Yeah.  I've got to get you here.  I've got t see you, Rachel.  Give me the number where you're at, wait, I have it on my phone.  Stay put!  I'm going to call Carrie."

"Why?"  The blonde couldn't understand why Reenie would call her publisher.

"Because she can get us a charter.  Honey, we've got to get you here.  Carrie is going to shit her shorts."  Reenie paused, taking a deep breath. "Honey, your contracts have all been voided.  You need to talk with Carrie, get all this straightened out."

The author took a deep breath, nodding with a sigh.  "Okay."

"You're alive!"

Rachel smiled.  Mostly.

*  *  *

The entire damn house was up in arms, the damn dogs barking like mad.  Sighing in irritation, Carrie Tillman tugged her robe tighter around her body as she headed down the hall toward the front door.  She growled in her throat as the bell was rung again.  She hoped someone was dead for the disturbance.

Unlocking the many locks, chains and deadbolts, the VP yanked open the door of her brownstone, shocked to see one of her editor's on the stoop.

"Reenie?  Are you okay?  What the hell are you doing here at," she looked at her wrist, irritated again when she realized she wasn't wearing her watch.

"It's almost eleven."  Reenie breezed by the surprised woman, who quickly closed the door and relocked it.  She followed the bold woman into the living room, waiting not-too-patiently for an explanation.  "You're not going to believe what I have to tell you, but I need you to listen.  Okay?"

*  *  *

"You okay?" Keller asked, a comforting hand on Mia's shoulder.  The girl nodded, but she was still trembling badly.  As the tall pilot watched, the girl dropped her cell phone three times.  "Here.  Let me help," she said softly, taking the small phone from the girl's hand.

"I'm sorry," Mia said, laughing nervously.

Keller asked for the number, dialing as the girl told her.  The line was ringing as the brunette brought the phone to her ear.  Picked up on the fourth ring, Keller's brows drew as a woman began speaking what sounded to be Italian.  She gave Mia a questioning look.  "Uh, is Gloria Vinzetti there?"

Lizbeth was beside herself that someone would have the audacity to call so late!  "How dare you wake me up!" she shouted into the phone, her words slightly slurred from being woken from a deep sleep.  She could not understand the woman's words, her English sketchy at best.  The only thing she was able to pick out was her granddaughter's name.  "She works!  Unlike you."  And with that, the phone was slammed down, ringing in Keller's ear.

Lowering the cell phone, the pilot looked at the teen, stunned.  "She hung up on me."

"What?"  Baffled, Mia looked to the cell, as though it held the answers.

"Some older lady, sounded like she was speaking Italian or something."

"Italian?"  The girl was trying to make sense of this.  It was nine-thirty, and her mother was always home and awake by that time.  She prayed that Gloria hadn't moved, changed her number, or-  Gasping, the girl covered her mouth with her hand, dark eyes wide.  "My great-grandmother," she whispered.  It was the only thing that made sense.  Taking the tiny phone from Keller's hand, Mia quickly dialed her home phone number again, the number she'd known since she was a child.  The only phone number she'd ever known.  As the line kept ringing, dark eyes closed, the girl silently praying that if it was in fact her grandmother, she'd answer.

Keller sat back, watching Mia as the girl toed a dog toy, her nerves flowing through her in waves.  She couldn't help but wonder what was going through the girl's mind at that moment.  What was making her so nervous?  The tall pilot couldn't help but put herself in the shoes of the survivors.  What were they facing going back to their lives?  Did they have lives to go back to?  She hadn't had much chance to talk to Rachel or Dean, Dean too busy thrilling the gathered family with tales as life as an islander.  She wasn't quite sure what to make of the attorney, though she couldn't wait to hear how Will reacted to finding out his lover was, in fact, still alive.  Apparently Rachel's publisher was sending a chartered plane for her in the morning, and Dean was going to leave with her.

Keller's thoughts were brought back to Mia when she heard the girl begin to speak in her mother's native tongue.

Mia blushed at the most unkind names being sent her way through the phone lines.  When the old woman took a breath, she spoke.  "Grandma, it's Mia."

Lizbeth, yet again about to slam the phone down, stopped, at first from the Italian spoken back to her, then from the voice, then lastly from the name.  She stopped dead in her tracks, stunned, and feeling as though her heart had stopped beating.  When her voice returned to her, it was barely a whisper. "You are a cruel demon to play this trick."

"It's no trick, grandmamma, I swear."  Mia felt a smile spread across her lips at the sound of her great-grandmother's voice; that much closer to her mother.  "We survived the crash, grandmamma."

"I do not understand."  Lizbeth slowly fell to a nearby chair, hand gripping the handset for dear life, the other grasping the small, gold crucifix around her neck.  Surely this had to be a trick.  Surely.

"We were rescued today," Mia said, her voice growing thick with rising emotions, images of her great-grandmother and mother swimming before her eyes. "They found us, finally."

"But," Lizbeth was trying to wrap her mind around this, her eyes beginning to sting as moisture gathered, hands shaking. "they said..."

"I know."  Mia smiled through her tears.

"Oh, Mia!  Mia, Mia, where are you, child?!"  Lizbeth lightened her hold on the crucifix, feeling the strain she was putting on the chain with her suddenly desperate hold.  "Thank God!"  She looked to the Heavens, only seeing the water stain in the corner above the bookcase.  "Oh, Mia!"

"Where's mom, grandmamma?  They said," the girl was suddenly afraid to finish her sentence.  What if it had all been one big lie, and Lizbeth and Paolo were now living in their dead granddaughter's apartment?  Those thoughts were cut off by the older woman's next words.

"She's at work, my child."

Mia gasped.  So it was true!  "She's alive?"

"Oh, yes, child, though barely."  The older woman was running around the apartment now, grunting as she threw on her clothes, trying to see through her tears of relief and joy.  Managed to climb into the dress she'd so carefully removed earlier, she nearly dropped the phone, sliding a gout-swollen foot into her shoe.

"Oh, child, your Mamma will be so happy!"  Lizbeth Vinzetti almost forgot to lock the door on her way out.

*  *  *

Gloria sighed heavily.  It had been a long day, and just seemed to be getting longer, though her shift at the diner would end in less than two hours.  It might as well have been a lifetime.  She began to softly hum to herself, figuring if she had to concentrate on the tune, she'd be able to stay awake.

The waitress knew she was slowly killing herself, working fifteen hour days five days a week, then any overtime she could get on her days off.  She couldn't stand being home, even though she was thrilled to have her Nonna at home waiting for her.  The problem was, home wasn't home anymore.  Something had died inside her the day of the crash, and Gloria felt a cold presence inside of her, slowly taking over until there was nothing left but a woman in her mid-thirties, grown old before her time.

"Gloria!"

"Yeah, Joe?" the dark-eyed woman called from the back room, where she was chopping tomatoes for a salad that was ordered.

"Someone here for ya!"

Dark brows drawn, Gloria set down her knife and wiped her hands on a towel.  She had absolutely no idea who would be coming into work to see her.  The answer wasn't long in arriving.

"Gloria!" Lizbeth yelled, trying to push past the man who refused to allow her into the back kitchen.  Didn't he understand what was happening?!  She hissed at him in Italian, his face registering only confusion and anger.

"Nonna," Gloria said, shocked to see her grandmother standing there, and in her slippers, no less!  "What are you doing here?"

"Take this!"  Lizbeth held out the cell phone she'd clutched to her chest the entire three block sprint to the diner.  The seventy-seven year old heart was pounding wildly.

Gloria stepped out from around the breakfast counter, leading the old woman away from prying ears, just in case Lizbeth Vinzetti was starting to lose her cotton pickin' mind.  "Nonna," Gloria near whispered, trying to keep her anger in check. "you ran here in your house shoes for a phone call?"

"You must take this, my child.  Here!  Take it."  She shoved the phone at her granddaughter, the fire never burning so bright in Lizbeth's eyes.  That intrigued Gloria, though she still felt her grandmother was losing her marbles.

Taking the tiny phone, Gloria put it to her ear.  "This is Gloria," she heard a sniffled, then a miracle.

"Mom?  It's me!"

Gloria stood stock still, her mind trying to catch up with what she'd just heard.  It can't be.  "Who is this?"  Her voice was low and deep, filled with warning.

"It's me, Mia.  I'm okay.  I'm coming home in the morning."

Gloria felt tears of grief sting behind her eyelids.  She sat on a stool at the breakfast counter.  "You are one cruel monster to play such a game."

Mia felt her heart pounding, both in elation that her mother was truly alive, and deep disappointment at the lack of reaction she'd hoped for.  Tears at the hardness in Gloria's voice were streaming down the girl's cheeks.  Before she knew what had happened, the phone was taken from her.

"Gloria?  This is Keller."

Gloria gasped at the sound of the pilot's voice.  Hope was beginning to trickle into her anger.

"I have Mia sitting here beside me, and she's one upset kid who needs her mom."

"Keller?  I don't understand,"

"She's alive, Gloria," Keller said, her voice softening, filled with understanding.

"We stopped looking," Gloria whispered, a trembling hand coming to her mouth.  So overwhelmed, she didn't even noticed the small group of curious co-workers and diner regulars that had begun to gather, a proud Lizbeth standing in the middle of it.

"Well, uh," Keller picked shyly at her jeans, "Yeah, about that,"

"I don't care!  Give me my baby back!"  Gloria tugged her phone from her ear. "My baby's alive!"  She was all out crying now. "Mia?  Honey, are you there?"

"I'm here, Mamma," the girl sobbed, cradling the phone against her ear.  She heard her mother's sob at the endearment Mia hadn't used since she was a small child.  She felt like a small child again, lost utterly vulnerable.

Garrison pushed off the wall she'd been leaning against, watching, arms crossed over her chest.  She couldn't keep the smile off her lips, feeling like she and Keller had participated in the most important even of their lives.  She caught her partner's eye, and waved Keller over to her, giving Mia privacy.  The tall pilot hurried over to her, taking the blonde in her arms and burying her face in the familiar hair.

"I've never for so happy in my life," Keller whispered, feeling Garrison's nod of agreement.  "You should go to bed, baby.  You and Duke have an early morning."

"I know."  Garrison rested her head against Keller's shoulder, sighing in contentment at the peace that filled her.

"Come on."  Kissing the blonde head, Keller pulled away, taking Garrison by the hand and leading her toward the basement, where Duke had set up a room for them.

*  *  *

Rachel sat cross-legged on the foldout couch, which was to be her bed for the night, still trying to adjust to the softness beneath her.  At first contact, it had felt wonderful, but her back and skeletal structure wasn't sure what to make of the foreign feeling of padding and luxury.  Sleeping and sitting on hard ground for more than a year had been hard on her body, and Rachel could already feel the effects.  She felt almost as though she'd been running around without stopping for two days, too busy to feel the strain on her bones and muscles, then suddenly stopping, finally feeling the true state of her aches and pains.

Grimacing as she tried to get comfortable, the blonde laid back, hands behind her head.  She stared up at the ceiling, thinking of what would happen within the next eight hours.  Reenie had called the author back within an hour after they hung up, bearing news that a chartered plane would be ready for take off at six in the morning.  She, Dean and Mia would all be on board, headed north.

Thoughts of her return to society quickly bled into thoughts of Denny.  She wished so badly the brunette was with her, holding her.  She thought about their night on the ledge for the first time since they'd been interrupted with the sighting of the plane.  If she closed her eyes, she could still feel Denny's hands on her body, her mouth, and could still hear the brunette's soft, sensuous words.  Never in her life had she been so affected by one single person, and in so many ways: emotionally, physically and at a soul level that took Rachel's breath away.  She'd never known the kind of longing and loneliness that plagued her, feeling Denny's absence acutely.

When the brunette had insisted that she leave the island, Rachel's first instinct was to feel hurt, but then, looking into the profoundly sad blue eyes, she began to understand, and could only comply.  They had to let go, had to go back to their regularly scheduled lives, and Denny was trying to make it as quick and painless as possible.  Quick, for certain.  Painless, not in this lifetime.

Turning over to her side, Rachel curled her hands up under her chin, staring at the furniture that had been moved aside to make room for the bed to fold out, the blonde didn't see the end or coffee tables in front of her.  Instead, she saw the brilliance of Denny's eyes, and heard the soft, velvet voice that had come to mean so much more than just mere comfort.  Rachel's heart hurt, a burning inside that she felt could consume her.

Rachel forced her thoughts away from Denny, far too painful to be her bedmate.  Instead she made herself face the reality in front of her, and decide what needed to be done.  She saw Matt in her mind's eye.  She knew in her heart that their marriage was over, and she needed to let him go.  She, too, needed to be free and explore her own heart.  Rachel couldn't think of what direction it might go without thinking of Denny, so she concentrated on the rest of her future, instead.  She had a clean slate, could go wherever she wanted.  Well, if she had any money, she could.

That thought scared her.  From the little Reenie had said, the blonde had been left destitute.  She knew that she had a place to go, Reenie would never leave her to fend for herself, but still, Rachel was a fiercely independent woman, and needed to be alone to think and explore her own heart.  Staying with someone, even her best friend, did not appeal.  Maybe she should find her own damn island somewhere and rot all by herself.

*  *  *

"Can I ask you something, Denny?" Pam asked after almost an hour of lying in the dark, attempting to get her body and mind to shut down enough to allow sleep.

"Sure."  Denny was suffering from the same thing, thoughts, wanted and unwanted, continuously marching through her brain.

"What happened with you and Rachel?"  The vet glanced over to her right, where she could just barely make out the outline of Denny's profile.

The coffee shop owner sighed, bringing her hands up to rest her head upon.  What happened, indeed.  "I fell in love with her."

"And what about her?"  Pam had already known that much; you couldn't look at those two together and not see it, or feel the bond between them.

"Yeah.  I think so."  Denny really didn't want to talk about it.  She was about to say as much when Pam spoke first.

"Why did you send her away?  Why not give it a go?"

"Pam, it's not that simple.  She has a husband, I have Hannah."  She studied the shadow that was her friend, then turned back to study the solid darkness of thatched leaves.  "I'm sure what happened was a direct consequence of our situation.  Back home," she shrugged, "who knows.  We may not even have felt the same way."

Pam snorted.  "Doubt that."  She was about to continue when they heard something just outside their shelter.  There was a ruffling sound, then the flap was pulled back, a looming figure in the opening.

"Sorry if I scared ya, ladies," Michael said in a whisper.  He felt stupid as he continued to stand there.  Swallowing his pride, he spoke again. "Do y'all mind if I join ya?  Kinda lonely over there, ya know..."

Denny smiled, utterly charmed by the Texan.  "Come on in, Michael.  We've got plenty of room."  Denny scooted over to make room for the big guy, the three settling in once more, finding silence.  The brunette was amazed at just how cold it felt without Rachel pressed against her.  She loved holding the blonde, loved the feel of her body, her warmth and smell.  They seemed to fit together so perfectly, like two pieces cut from the same puzzle.  As cheesy and clichéd as it seemed to Denny, it was the truest truth she'd ever known.

Denny turned her thoughts to home, and what she'd find when she got back.  She wasn't sure how she'd be able to face Hannah, knowing in her heart that the researcher no longer held the spotlight as the light of her life.  All the same, she would have to resign herself to the fact that what she and Rachel had briefly shared had been a wonderful experience, but could be nothing more.

Closing her eyes, Denny felt a single tear lazily trail down her cheek to settle in her ear, making her shiver.

*  *  *

"Please take care of yourself," Garrison whispered into her hug with Dean.  "Will would kill us if anything happened to you before you get home."

The attorney smiled, gently pulling away.  He gave the blonde a kiss on the cheek and a blinding smile.  "Thank you, Garrison.  It seems like such a simple, completely under whelming phrase, but it's the best I can do on such short notice."

Garrison chuckled, reaching up to palm the man's clean-shaven cheek.  "Tell him hello for us, ‘kay?"

Dean nodded.  "Will do."

Garrison turned to see Rachel walking toward her, the pilot immediately taking her into her arms for a quick hug.  Parker had been beside herself, able to spend time with the famous writer.  The teen was a bit of a writer herself, but just hadn't been able to find the confidence within herself to truly explore her creative world.  Seeing a real, flesh and blood author, who had been able to make a life of writing, Parker was edging toward her dream.  Garrison chuckled when she went in to wake Parker up so the girl could say goodbye to everyone, and she had a signed copy of Rachel's novel clutched to her chest.

"Thank you so much, Garrison.  Without you and Keller, I don't know if we ever would have made it back."

"It was certainly my pleasure, Rachel."  The pilot looked into troubled green eyes.  She had no idea what lay beyond the pained expression, but hoped the author could work through it.  Perhaps finally going home would help.

Keller stood back, watching the last of the goodbyes with a broad smile.  One by one, the survivors boarded the plane.  She put her arm around Garrison's shoulder, feeling her partner's head rest on her shoulder.  The door was pulled into place, the plane sealed up and readied for takeoff.  Neither pilot could find the words to express how she felt, seeing the first wave of the rescued returning to their lives.  They'd cried along with Duke and his family, and the three islanders as they'd re-connected with their loved ones over the phone.  Only Dean didn't make a call, which had been difficult for the attorney.  He had paced the house, glancing at every phone he passed.

"Truly amazing," Garrison said at long last.

"Yeah.  You ready to go back out?"

"Definitely.  I wish you could go with us."  The blonde sighed, squeezing Keller before letting her go.

"Me, too.  We'll be waiting here for you."  She gave Garrison a quick kiss and wishes of good luck, watching as the blonde walked over to Duke, ready to go out for round two.  Keller turned back toward the rising sun, its brilliance catching her eyes and making them glow.  She watched the small plane purr its way along the tarmac, taxiing into position.  She couldn't help but wonder what lie ahead for the occupants.  How could they possibly return to life as normal after what they'd been through?  Mia had stayed on the phone with her mother late into the night, laughing, crying, and reacquainting.

As Keller walked over to Duke's truck, ready to head back to his house where Parker was very likely still asleep, she wished she could be a fly on the wall, watching what would undoubtedly be very emotional reunions.

*  *  *

Denny slicked her hair back from her face, bringing the long, wet rope of hair over her shoulder to wring it out.  As the cold droplets ran down over her front, making her gasp slightly, she took in all that surrounded her.  The colors, vibrancy and island had become old hat after so long, the brunette no longer seeing the beauty that was her world.  Now, knowing that it would all be gone soon, she saw it again through new eyes, trying to memorize every detail, every memory, every bit of luscious growth and natural song.

It had been a restless night for all three of them, each lost in what would be once they returned to their lives, as well as reliving what had gotten them there in the first place.  Denny was woken up more than once by nightmares that she hadn't had in nearly a year.  Again, she'd found herself strapped in that seat, submerged under millions of gallons of water, and heading into black depths.

Feeling as though she were suffocating, the brunette had woken with a loud gasp, frantically trying to get to the surface, only to find strong arms wrapped around her, and a deep, comforting voice in her ear.  It's alright, darlin'.  I got'cha.

It had taken nearly an hour for her heart to calm, and the visions to leave her mind.  She remembered the screams of panic and fear as the plane had been heading toward the water, the fear rising up like sour bile in her throat.

Denny climbed up to the ledge to allow her skin to dry in the air, which was already warming.  She stared up into the sky, just burgeoning with color.  She'd never look into such a pure sky again, and that made her sad.  She thought about her hustle and bustle world back in New York, and wondered if she'd ever truly be able to rejoin that, knowing what it was like to take life in stride, in no hurry, as it made things happen no sooner.  On the island she'd learned to relish smells, textures and sights.  She'd learned that when beauty was ignored, it seldom came around a second time.  A bird, filled with color and inspiring awe, if not studied and appreciated in the moment, it would fly away, perhaps never to be seen again.  She'd even caught Dean daydreaming now and then.

Hearing a bird's early call, Denny thought about music for some reason.  That was one thing she couldn't wait to get back to.  Such a simple thing, but one that had always been singularly important to the brunette.  She couldn't sing, had no talents in playing an instrument, but it had been a part of her soul since she'd been a small child, and not a day went by that she didn't spent at least a few hours filling her soul's need for it.  She had found herself humming or singing softly to herself throughout the duration of her stay on the island.  It would calm and sooth frazzled nerves, or ease her bouts of homesickness.

Lying on the ledge, Denny knew she was a short time away from returning to all that was normal and conditioned to her.  She felt a nervous flutter in her stomach, various luxuries floating before her mind's eye, things she looked forward to getting back to, using or tasting.  Or hearing.  Her beloved MP3 player had gone down with the plane, a fact that almost saddened her more than losing her contact lenses.  The brunette chuckled at that.  She certainly wouldn't miss the eye-strain headaches.

*  *  *

Michael tossed another pebble into the incoming surf, his other wrist dangling on his bent knee.  The sun had come up, and a new, fresh day was upon them.  Now what?  Did he go fish for breakfast?  Climb a tree and make it a cocoanut and berry morning?  How much time and effort before the plane came back?  Was it coming back?

It had been a long night, thinking about his kids, and wondering how they'd managed without either of their parents.  No doubt they'd gone to Melissa's parents, which was a good place for them.  The mechanic was worried about his youngest, who was sometimes unnaturally attached to his mother.  How had he handled the news that she was gone?

Michael truly had no idea how to relate to his children with their mother dead.  She had always been the buffer, the nucleus of their family, and the one they all revolved around.  Now what?  And how could Michael face his kids, beat down with the guilt that he had survived and Melissa had not?  How did he explain that to them?  To Mel's parents?  To the world?  Had he tried hard enough?  Had he fought the water and situation enough, or had he done something horribly wrong, allowing her to die?

Bringing up a large hand, the Texan wiped it across his grizzled face before absently tugging at his beard.  He couldn't get that thing off too soon.  He wasn't keen on the mountain man look.  He had to grin as he imagined that being the first thing Dean had done when he got back to civilization.  He was happy for his friend that Will had never given up.  Michael wondered if could have had the same tenacity, had it been Melissa.  Or would he have just rolled over in saddened resignation?  He hoped to one day meet the man who kept Dean going.  A strange thought, for sure.  Michael never thought about no man being banged by another guy, and saw queers as the sexual perverts they were perceived and portrayed as being.  But one look into the tortured soul of Dean, and the mechanic realized that just maybe there was more to it than that.  Just maybe the two men felt about each other as he felt for Melissa.

The whole world had turned upside down.  Certainly Michael's.  The thought was barely let loose in his head when he heard the familiar droning of engines.  Pushing to his feet, he walked out toward the water's edge, raising his hand to his eyes, trying to figure which way the plane was coming in from.

"I am not looking forward to getting on that plane," Pam said softly as she stepped up beside him.  He grunted in agreement.  The seaplane made a magnificent splash as it touched down, then threw waves of water behind it as it cruised in.  Soon they were joined by Denny.

"Guess this is it," she said softly, feeling Pam take her hand in her own.

"Yeah.  Guess so."

"I sure am gonna miss you gals," Michael admitted, watching as the plane slowed, the body surging gently over the waves it had created.

"Same here."  Denny turned to the other two, smiling as they all came in together for a tight group hug.  The brunette felt her stomach roiling in waves of nervous excitement.

"Hello!"  Garrison yelled as she stepped out onto the floater above the wheel.  Her wave was returned by three more.  Once again, she found herself wading through the water toward the island, able to focus more on her surroundings this time.  It was beautiful, no doubt, but she just couldn't wrap her mind around trying to survive with nothing more than nature and your own wits.  "Are you all ready to head back to civilization?" she asked, splashing onto the shore.

"Hell, yes!" Pam said, taking the pilot in a hearty hug.

"Well, let's get you all home.  There are some happy reunions taking place as we speak."  Garrison was grinning from ear to ear, thinking that the other three had probably landed in New York no more than forty minutes ago.

As they all piled in, Denny looked out the window.  It was so strange to see the island from the other side of the glass.  When she looked at the white beach, she didn't see sand and incoming surf: she saw their almost daily game of cocoanut ball, or their nightly campfire.  She saw Dean prancing around in his sarong, finally clean and ready to tell their limited world about it.  She saw Michael's red face every time he had to use the food masher.  She saw Pam's easy smile and the way she had mothered all of them through the most trying times of their lives.  She saw Mia's laughter and tears, and Rachel's lovely eyes and deep insights into the psychology of humanity.  She saw them as a family, a unit and bonded for life in a way no one back home could ever understand.

Pam braced herself as the plane was moving, swallowing hard to keep her newly acquired fear of flying in check.  Though she wished they could have sent a boat to get them, she knew it was a necessary evil.  Her knuckles were white as she grasped the armrests.

"It's gonna be okay," Michael whispered from behind her.  She nodded, though simply for response than because she believed it.

Once they were in the air, Garrison turned around from the co-pilot seat.  She pushed a blue and white cooler back until it bumped against Denny's bare foot.  "Figured you guys may want something other than fish."  She grinned, then turned back front.

Denny reached down, unlatching the white, plastic lid, her mouth watering at what she saw inside.  She held up a can of gloriously cold Coca-Cola, looking back for any takers.  Michael nearly jumped out of his seat as he reached over to take it.  She handed an identical can to Pam, taking a bottle of orange juice for herself.  The turkey and cheese sandwiches were accepted with relief as everyone dug in.

"Welcome back, gang!"  Garrison called back over the roar of the engines.

PART 13

REENIE WAS ALMOST vibrating, the excitement making her body flush, palms sweaty as she repeatedly wiped them on the thighs of her jeans. Beside her stood a very anxious Gloria, who had started to pace once more in the tiny terminal for private planes, connected to the main airport at BUF. They had been waiting for the past hour, all three, Gloria, Lizbeth and herself, growing more anxious by the minute.

The editor had had next to no sleep the night before, arranging to get Rachel home, as well as her mind was wide awake no matter what her exhausted body had to say. She had left a message on Matt's phone, but he had yet to return it. It had been a fight with herself to not just hop a plane anyway, and go to Rachel. She missed her with everything inside her, and was beside herself to see the blonde again. It had been miracle of miracles, and the dark-eyed woman couldn't keep her emotions under control. She'd been crying off and on since she'd received one of the most important phone calls of her life.

After hanging up with Rachel, Reenie had cleared everyone out of her loft, not saying a word. She didn't think Rachel would want a media circus just now, and had tried to call Gloria, only to get sent directly to the Italian woman's voicemail. From that point, she'd hopped into a cab and raced over to Carrie Tillman's. Together they devised a plan. Carrie assured Reenie she'd get Rachel home as quietly as possible, though Reenie was warned that the publisher would want to milk as much publicity out of this as possible.

Outside the massive windows, a plane was coming in for a landing. A small plane. A private plane. Lizbeth said something to her granddaughter in Italian, Gloria smiling as she turned to see what the old woman was pointing at. Gloria looked over at Reenie, and they both took a deep breath.

"I can't believe this is happening," Gloria whispered, hands wringing in front of her.

"I know. If I didn't believe in God before, I do now," Reenie blew out. The three watched in silence as the plane landed, then taxied over toward them, crew members out on the tarmac directing the small plane in to a bright white X painted on the ground.

Gloria wanted so badly to run out that door, down the stairs and to that plane, but knew it wasn't possible. The man who had directed them there was stern in his instructions that they were to wait in the lobby. He said they weren't even supposed to be there, but circumstances being what they were, the airport had relented.

"Holy god, that must be Dean," Reenie whispered, watching as a thin, very tan, man stepped out of the plane, dressed in a simple polo shirt that looked to be a little too large, and a pair of cargo shorts. His face was clean shaven, but his dark brown hair was long and shaggy. The editor held her breath when she saw the sunlight glint off of a white shoe as someone else neared the open door. From the whimper she heard to her left, she knew it was Mia.

Gloria hadn't even realized she'd made a sound, her heart pounding, eyes already stinging. She couldn't take her eyes off of her daughter. "Oh my god," she said, voice cracking on the last word. "She's so thin."

"She's alive, my child," Lizbeth said, equally unable to take her eyes from the sight. Next a petit blonde stepped off the plane, her hair blowing around her head and shoulders as a slight breeze caught it. Gloria sucked in a breath.

"That's Rachel Holt,"

Reenie ran over to the door, face almost pressed to the glass as she watched the three being led toward the steep, narrow iron staircase. She was openly crying now, unable to take her eyes off Rachel. She couldn't believe how long her hair had gotten, how thin she was, and when green eyes rose to meet her own, Reenie was taken aback again by the deep sadness that filled them. Stepping away from the door only because she had to allow them to enter, Reenie flew back the instant the door was out of the way.

"Reenie!" Rachel cried, grabbing her best friend and pulling her close. She was stunned to see how hard the editor was crying, having never seen the woman cry in all their years of friendship. The display of emotion got her own tears going again. And just when she didn't think she had any tears left.

"Oh, Rachel," Reenie cried into the blonde's neck, almost crushing the author to her. "I thought you were dead," her words were almost unintelligible with the intensity of her emotion. Rachel said nothing, just held her, eyes squeezed tightly shut.

"Mamma!" Mia almost bowled Rachel and the editor over in order to get to her mother. Gloria met her halfway, the impact making them both lose their balance. Gloria barely managed to keep them both standing. She crushed Mia to her before pushing her away, needing to see for herself that she was okay, that she was alive! She touched the girl's face, her hair, saw Mia's overwhelmed emotion, much like her own. Pulling Mia back to her, she held her tight, rocking her just like she did when she was a child.

Mia had never felt so much relieved comfort in her entire life. The feel of her mother's arms around her, the sight of her even, brought her back to the days when she cried at a scraped knee, needing her mothers warm, comforting touch and words to let her know it was all okay.

"We had a funeral for you," Reenie cried, pulling back just enough to be able to look into green eyes, made verdant from the tears. "Goddamn you, don't you ever do that again!"

Rachel almost laughed as she was pulled into another bear hug. "I'm so sorry," she finally whispered. "I've missed you so much."

"I've missed you, too." Sniffling and attempting to get herself under control, Reenie smiled through her tears, bringing a hand up to touch the author's face. "I'm jealous of your tan."

Rachel did laugh, leaning into the touch.

"You're so thin, Rach. And your hair is so long," the editor ran her fingers through it. She just couldn't get her mind to wrap around what was happening, that Rachel was alive after just shy of fifteen months.

"I know," the blonde touched her own hair, so glad to have it clean and combed. She looked behind Reenie's shoulder to see Mia's reunion with her mom. The look on the woman's face made Rachel tear up all over again. An older woman stood off to the side, watching, her hands at her mouth. A rosary dangled from her clasped fingers.

"Mamma," Mia said, swiping at her face and taking deep breaths. "I want to introduce you to two very important people." Turning, she saw Rachel standing with a woman with short, dark hair, their arms around the other's waist, and Dean, who stood off to the side, his face flushed and moist from the touching scene. "This," she reached her arm out for Dean, who quickly entered the girl's personal space. "is Dean."

"Oh, Dean," Gloria said, taking the attorney in her arms. "Thank you, thank you, thank you. Without your Will, I wouldn't have my baby back."

"It was my pleasure," Dean said softly, squeezing the woman before letting her go with a watery smile. Stepping aside, he motioned for Rachel.

"Mamma, I'd like you to meet Rachel Holt." Mia was proud to be able to introduce her mother to her favorite author, able to make her mother's day that much more special.

"Your daughter is one of the finest people I've ever known," Rachel said, her voice soft and sincere. She smiled at Mia, then turned to Gloria, only to find herself lost in another hug. Smiling, she hugged the woman back.

"Can you believe that most of our time on the island, I had no idea who she was?" Mia laughed, wanting to try and bring some levity to the emotions. Gloria and Rachel both chuckled, then shared another hug.

"Thank you for keeping my baby safe."

"Any time, Miss Vinzetti." Rachel turned to Mia. "You keep in touch, young lady."

Mia saluted with a wide grin. Turning to Dean, Rachel's heart automatically softened. She took his hands in her own, feeling their softness. "Go get him, Dean," she said softly, looking into his eyes, which were just as red-rimmed as the rest of theirs were. Dean nodded, beyond words as he took Rachel into her embrace. He hoped it wouldn't be the last time he saw her, but squeezed her as though it were.

"Take care of yourself, Rachel, and don't let her get away," he whispered into her ear, then placed a soft kiss on the side of her neck. Hugging Mia one last time, Dean backed out of the door, back toward the plane.

After introductions were finally over, Lizbeth's words of gratitude translated, Reenie took the blonde by the arm, leading her out of the small lobby, and into the rest of the airport toward the parking garage. As they walked, she kept glancing over at the author, still not believing her eyes.

"What?" Rachel finally asked, feeling Reenie's eyes on her for the sixth time, and they hadn't even reached the editor's rented car yet.

The brunette shook her head. "I don't know. It feels like I'm in a dream, I can't believe you're here." Stopping them with an arm to the blonde's arm, she pulled her into yet another hug, which was enthusiastically returned. "I'm glad your nightmare is over."

Rachel sighed into the hug, needing so badly for physical affection. Never before had she thought she was without it. Until Denny. "I'll tell you about it, Reen. Not now, but I'll tell you everything."

*  *  *

"Ah, son of a bitch," Duke muttered as he began to taxi.

"How the hell did they find out?" Garrison asked absently, eying the crowd that awaited their return. The cameras and lights gave it all away. "Shit!"

Denny heard the pilots talking and was curious to see what the problem was. It didn't take her long to find out. Dozens of reports and media had amassed outside the hangar, just off the tarmac. Vans from local news stations were clogging the parking lot, and men were setting up camera equipment as the door to the plane was opened. Immediately the sound of shutters clicking and questions yelled filled the cab. The three passengers exchanged looks, each feeling their nerves triple.

"Looks like you guys are outright celebrities," Duke said as he climbed out of the cockpit.

"Goody," Pam muttered.

*  *  *

Hannah closed her eyes, arching her head back to give Tiffany more of her neck to kiss. She moaned softly when she felt her breast cupped, the nipple growing hard at the warm contact.

"Oh, yes," she whispered. Laying back on the couch and taking the accountant with her. It was their nine month anniversary, and it had been a wonderful day, spent talking, eating the wonderful dishes Tiffany had created, and making love. Their relationship had taken a physical turn three weeks ago when Hannah finally felt she could go through with it. It had been awkward and tense, but ultimately, a wonderful night, and the right decision for the researcher.

Having sex with Tiffany that time had been difficult emotionally, as the last person to touch her had been Denny. She'd disappeared into the bathroom afterward, crying for a short time before she made the decision to let go, and commit fully to a new life, without Denny.

Now, as she could feel wet heat growing between her legs, Hannah blocked out thoughts of her dead lover, knowing that it would do no good anymore. Denny would never be forgotten, but ultimately, her memory had to be put away, stored in a safe place.

"Turn the TV off, baby," she whispered, the noise from the program they'd been watching distracting her. Tiffany hummed her acknowledgement of the request, but her mouth kept working on the brunette's neck as she blindly searched for the remote control.

"Shit," unable to locate it, Tiffany left her girlfriend's neck and fell to her knees on the floor in front of the couch, reaching underneath. Feeling the smoothness of the stubborn control, she was about to pull it out from under the furniture when she stopped, her gaze riveted to the TV screen.

*  *  *

"Oh, fuck," Reenie muttered as she turned the corner leading to her building. The drive from the airport had been long, and traffic had made it worse. Reenie had kept the radio on, as Rachel, who was quiet by nature, was damn near mute. She sensed something was very wrong, and tried to stay silently supportive, reaching over to squeeze her friend's hand from time to time, but said nothing. She figured when Rachel wanted to talk, she would.

Hearing the curse, the author brought her attention back from the clouds and to the mob of reporters swarming the outside of the editor's building.

"Shit, should I just keep driving? And what the hell?! Carrie said she'd take care of this!"

Rachel couldn't say she was all that surprised. When she found out her publisher was footing the bill to get everyone home, she knew they'd want some sort of return.

"No. They can't follow us inside. Let's just deal with it now."

"Are you sure?" Reenie was surprised. At one time the blonde would have had them slink off to a hotel for the night.

"Yes."

Trying to swallow her anger down, anger at Carrie for going back on her word, and anger at the damn hungry public who would do anything for news. She gunned the engine, startling a few of the reports, and pulling up in front of the building. A valet man was right there to meet her.

"Do not let those bastards near my car," she growled, shoving an uncounted wad of bills into the kid's hand. She grabbed Rachel by the arm, and together they faced the swarm.

*  *  *

Michael had no idea where to look or what to do or say. As they climbed down the stairs of the plane, they immediately had cameras and microphones in their faces, and dozens of shouted questions. He kept hearing his name, and when he'd turn to respond, he was met with another bright flash of light.

"Hey, give them some room!" Garrison yelled, trying to get in front of the three rescued. "Jesus! They just get back to civilization and this is the welcome they get? Get outta here!"

Duke quickly rushed the three into the hangar, the more aggressive journalists following.

*  *  *

Hannah absently put her shirt back into place, eyes riveted on the screen.

"It is an absolutely miracle in New York, today. Last summer the country was stunned to hear about the three survivors, dubbed as the Lucky Three, who survived international flight 1049 in the off-course waters of the Caribbean. Fifteen months later, three more survivors, including novelist Rachel Holt seen here, were rescued from an unmapped island. It's not yet known how the survivors were found, or exactly how many there are."

"Oh my god," Tiffany breathed, transfixed. She watched the footage of the blonde author, long through dead, being ushered into a building, a woman with short, dark hair guiding her by the arm. Rachel Holt looked dazed and very tired. She said nothing, just hurried through the throngs until she disappeared behind the double glass doors of the building. The newscast moved onto other things. "Let's see if there's anymore coverage." She flipped the channel, and was not disappointed.

"Rob, we couldn't get any of the survivors to talk to us today, but we're told that there are six survivors total," the reporter explained, glancing down at her notes.

"Do we have any names as of yet?" the anchorman asked.

"We do know that the author Rachel Holt is one of the survivors. Other than that, no, we have no names." Suddenly the reporter's voice was the voice over of footage shot earlier in the morning.

Hannah shot off the couch, eyes huge as she fell to her knees in front of the entertainment center where the TV was housed. She watched as three people disembarked from the small seaplane, two women and a man. She watched as the three were ushered away, a small, blonde woman trying to shoo the reporters away. Hannah didn't care about any of that. What caught her eye was the woman with dark hair. She was tall, deeply tanned and very slim. She thought about Denny, and her constant complaining about the last fifteen pounds she wasn't able to lose. This woman's body looked nothing like Denny's, but her hair, the color, longer than Denny's, but...

Hannah's gasp caught Tiffany's attention. Turning to the screen, she saw the tall woman with dark hair had turned, facing the camera, very brief, but not brief enough.

"Oh my god," the accountant whispered, stunned beyond stunned. "That's Denny, isn't it?" She'd seen enough pictures of the beautiful brunette to know her, though Hannah's reaction had mostly pointed toward that conclusion. Even now, the researcher could only nod, her hand covering her mouth, eyes filling with unshed tears.

*  *  *

Dean stepped off the plane, glad to see the car waiting for him that Reenie had arranged. The door was opened for him, and he settled into the backseat. The attorney's stomach was turning, leaving him feeling nauseous and anxious. Leaning forward, he noted the time on the dashboard clock, and knew that Will would be in his office, probably working on his third cup of decaf.

Will.

Dean let out a long, slow breath at the thought. Running a hand through his hair, which was far too long and heavy, he closed his eyes for a moment, allowing images to enter his brain unhindered. He couldn't wait to see him, couldn't wait to be able to inhale Will's cologne, run his fingers through the thick, sandy hair.

Over the time he'd been gone, Dean had thought a lot about their relationship. It was good, had always been good, but he realized just how much they'd taken each other for granted over the decade and some change they'd been together. After more than a year away from Will, Dean couldn't ever imagine taking for granted the fact that he can wake up next to him, see his face, hear his voice, feel his touch, every single day. As far as he was concerned, the town car he was currently in couldn't get to Will fast enough.

*  *  *

Denny rested her head against the back of the mini-van seat, breathing out then sucking in lungfulls of air. She hadn't been expecting the welcome wagon, and could tell Michael and Pam were just as rattled. In the front seat of the van, Garrison and Duke were in a heated discussion about who could have alerted the media.

"I'm telling you, Monk, I made all of my people sign a sworn document. I don't know who talked."

"What about your wife? Any of your kids..."

"I don't know." Duke shrugged. "I can't imagine they would, but I just don't know. It could've been anyone."

Denny allowed their conversation to ease into a constant buzz in the back of her mind, her thoughts returning to her surroundings. She was overwhelmed by the sights, sounds, smells, and feelings racing through her. She felt almost like she'd landed on another planet, gazing in wonder at the cars that passed, the buildings and people strolling along the sidewalks.

"Feels weird, doesn't it?" Pam whispered beside her. The brunette nodded, grateful for the warmth of Pam's body sitting next to hers.

"I'm not sure what to look at first." She smiled absently at Pam's soft chuckle.

*  *  *

Rachel was almost tossed into Reenie's apartment, the editor slammed the door shut behind them, leaning against it.

"Son of a bitch!" she exclaimed, blowing dark bangs out of her eyes. "I'm going to fucking kill-" Reenie was cut off by a gentle hand to her upper chest. She looked into tired, green eyes.

"Let it go, Reen. It was bound to happen." With that, she stepped into the editor's personal space, and Reenie found herself enveloped in a warm hug, soft, blonde hair resting on her shoulder. She smiled with a soft chuckle.

"You know, in all the years I've known you, you've never initiated a hug before."

Rachel thought about that as she tightened her arms around her closest friend. She so desperately needed the comfort of familiarity. "Life changes people."

"What happened to you on that island, Rach? Your eyes," Reenie pulled gently away, looking into the blonde's face with drawn brows. She studied the depths of Rachel's eyes, amazed to see just how expressive they were, usually so guarded. "Was it bad?" she whispered. She was relieved by the small smile and shake of Rachel's head.

"No. Just..." the author tried to think of exactly what it was. "altering." She knew that made little sense, but it was the best she could do.

*  *  *

Will Ash winced as his third cup of coffee singed his tongue. "Damn it," he grumbled, setting the mug down on the corner of his desk, then walking over to the wet bar in his corner office, snatching a paper towel to wipe the small amount that had dribbled down his chin. He was just glad he'd managed to get to it before it had spilled on his new tie.

Tossing the soiled paper towel away, the architect walked back over to his desk, sighing heavily as he sat in the leather chair, swinging around to the computer terminal against the window-lined wall. It was a beautiful day in Manhattan, not too hot, scattered clouds in the sky. Perhaps he'd take a nice, leisurely walk at lunch.

*  *  *

The town car pulled up in front of the skyscraper, Dean craning his neck to see up to the sky. With a smile of gratitude to the driver, Dean let himself out of the car, slamming the door behind him. Looking up and down the familiar street, the attorney breathed in the scent of Manhattan in late summer. He couldn't wait to take a walk in Central Park with Will, hand in hand.

*  *  *

Brad Schuester typed the email, fingers flying over the keys at seventy-two words per minute, the gold ring on his left pinky glinting off the light from the reading light anchored above his head. He chewed on his bottom lip, wincing as he caught a single hair from his neatly trimmed goatee.

"That should do it," he muttered, tapping the send key and waiting for the sent confirmation. Getting the screen he needed, the assistant twirled his chair around to the filing cabinets behind him, about to tug open the drawer with files landing from O-Z, as he knew Will would want the Rollings-Homestead file pulled for his meeting at ten that morning.

The door to Will's personal office suite opened, letting in a cacophony of shrill protests.

"You can't go in there, sir!" Martha Munez was exclaiming, running after the strange man who just sauntered right past her desk, headed to Will Ash's offices. He ignored her, even as she managed to get her plump body out from around her desk, short, stubby legs working hard to catch up to him.

Brad sucked in a breath, heart stilling in his chest.

"Brad! This man-"

"It's okay, Martha," he breathed, unable to say anything else.

*  *  *

Will smoothed down his tie, readjusting the gold clip as he switched on his drafting table light, spreading out the plans he'd been working on over the weekend. Walking back over to his desk, he grabbed a pencil from the cup, tapping it on the palm of his other hand on the way back over to the table. His attention was drawn toward his office door at a shrill voice in the outer office.

*  *  *

"Dean?" Brad whispered, a manicured hand reaching up to remove the gold rimmed computer glasses from his nose. His movements were slow, as though he were moving through water. The man standing before him, hair long and shaggy, skin deeply tanned, and devastatingly handsome, grinned at him, nodding. The assistant threw himself at the attorney, unsure of what to say, or how to react. He was in a deep fog, the only reality the strong embrace he received.

"Is he here?" Dean asked into the man's ear. At Brad's nod, Dean pulled away, then with a wink, headed toward the door with the newly spit-shined WILL ASH engraved in it.

*  *  *

After the shrillness, there was complete and total silence. A little niggling feeling tickled at the back of Will's neck, causing him to toss his pencil on the drafting table and head towards his office door to make sure everything was alright. Reaching his hand out toward the doorknob, he jumped back, startled, as the door swung open, barely missing him. Standing back, he watched as a man walked in, dressed in Army green cargo shorts and a gray polo shirt. Will's eyes trailed up tanned arms, noting dark, shaggy hair, and dark, twinkling eyes.

The force of what stood before him hit Will square between the eyes, knocking him to his knees. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, could only stare. He watched as the apparition sank to its knees in front of him, warm, trembling hands taking Will's cold, clammy ones.

"Hey, baby," Dean whispered, seeing the cold shock in Will's wide eyes. "It's me. I made it." He felt hot tears making their way down his cheeks, matching those that had begun to leak out of Will's own eyes.

"I knew you couldn't be dead," Will breathed, finally feeling his heart begin to beat again. "Oh, god, Dean."

The attorney was knocked back against the door with the fierce hug he found himself surrounded by. He banged his head, but didn't care. All that mattered was the man he loved was in his arms again, their tears mingling as Will began to pepper kisses all over Dean's face, pulling back to look at him, making sure that he was, in fact real.

"I love you," Dean cried, squeezing Will to him, almost painfully so, but he didn't care.

"I looked so hard," Will sobbed, finally knocking the attorney to his back, half lying on top of him. He couldn't stop the emotions that were flying through him. Brushing long strands of hair out of Dean's eyes, he looked at his face, guilt beginning to pool in his stomach. "I don't understand how this happened," he whispered, touching Dean's face, running a thumb over his brow and down his cheek bones, caressing the skin of his jaw. "We," the architect swallowed hard, his eyes dropping even as tears continued to fall from them. "We stopped the search."

Dean's heart broke as Will shattered before him. Pushing himself up to a sitting position, he pulled Will in again him. "Shh, it's okay," he whispered, rocking the sobbing man. "Keller and Garrison made one last go at it, and they found us, Will. They went for you."

Overtaken yet again, Will clung to Dean, burying his face in a warm neck. "Oh, my Dean."

*  *  *

Rachel sat up against the headboard, Reenie's laptop balanced on her thighs, an empty Word doc waiting to be filled. The cursor had been blinking at her for ten minutes, the screen finally going black before it changed to Reenie's screensaver of dancing penguins. Green eyes didn't notice, instead staring straight ahead.

It amazed the blonde how she could be in a place that was a second home to her, filled with familiar sights and smells, and filled with the love of her best friend. Yet she had never felt so alone.

The slight tapping on the closed bedroom door brought Rachel out of her distant, dark thoughts. "Yeah?" Shaking her head, Rachel looked down at the screen as though seeing it for the first time. She ran a finer over the touch pad the dispel the screensaver.

"Hey. Here." Reenie stepped into the room, a steaming mug in both hands. "Mint fudge hot chocolate."

"Ohh," the blonde almost purred, setting the laptop aside as she took the proffered mug. The brunette slid onto the bed beside her friend. Dark brows drew.

"You've been in here for two hours, and haven't written a thing." She met sheepish green eyes. "Honey, that's not like you." Reenie reached up, brushing a long, golden strand out of the author's face. "Are you okay?"

Rachel sighed, resting her head against the editor's shoulder. "I was fine, Reenie. I was totally focused on my career, my writing was steady and my head clear." The blonde's voice was soft, almost a whisper. She sipped from her drink, swallowing slowly. "My life was fine."

Reenie heard the soft words, bringing up a hand to run through the long strands. It was strange for the brunette, expecting to see Rachel's beautiful, golden, short hair. The longer style just didn't suit her, somehow. Bringing her focus back to Rachel's words, she cleared her throat.

"What happened, Rachel?" The blonde set her mug on the side table, then turned back to her friend, curling up to her side. A comforting arm snaked around her shoulders. "Talk to me."

After a deep sigh, Rachel began her story. "I met the most amazing soul on that island, Reenie. My eyes and heart have been opened in a way that I just don't know what to do with here back home. There," she snorted ruefully, "she was just part of my everyday." The blonde felt the sting of tears behind her eyes. "I feel so lost," she whispered.

Reenie was stunned, but said nothing. She rested her cheek against the top of Rachel's head and continued to run her fingers through her hair.

"It's not only her. I just feel like my entire world, the world I knew, doesn't exist anymore. I'm not sure where to begin."

"I'm so sorry, sweetie." Reenie kissed the golden head. "I can't imagine what you're feeling right now."

"I just feel numb. Completely and utterly numb."

"You've been given a second chance, Rach. That has to be for a reason. You're not alone, and I'll be here for you every step of the way. You've got to know that."

After a moment, Rachel nodded. "I do know that." Another pause. "I'm going to ask Matt for a divorce. I need to set him free."

"I can't believe that son of a bitch did that to you." No matter what kind of amends the editor and the detective had made, it still made Reenie angry to think of the pain he'd caused her friend. Rachel shook her head.

"None of that matters anymore Reen. I'm over it, and ultimately I can't say I blame him." She felt the editor grow stiff as her anger grew. Rachel pushed slightly away, just enough to look back at her friend. She placed a calming hand to the woman's shoulder. "It doesn't matter, Reenie. Truly. That's all over with now."

The editor decided to let it go. After all, it wasn't her marriage. "So, tell me about this woman."

Rachel's smile was instant, yet her heart began to ache. "She's wonderful," the blonde whispered, staring off into distant space. "She's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, Reenie. Her heart, it just, it just... glows."

"Rachel?"

"Hmm?"

"Have you ever been attracted to a woman before?" The editor sipped from her cooling mug of mint chocolate.

"No. In truth, I've never been truly attracted to anyone. Before. No, not even Matt," the blonde said, forestalling the question she knew would be coming. "I feel like I've been reborn."

"Where is she now?"

"I don't know. On her way back to her partner in Buffalo, I imagine."

Silence reigned as Rachel felt silent tears run down her cheeks, Reenie lost in her thoughts. She was trying to get her mind to somersault over what she had just been told, yet not react. She could feel the pain radiating off Rachel in waves, the slight body shaking with the intensity of her emotion.

"It's going to be okay, sweetie," she whispered, placing another kiss on the blonde's head. "It's going to be okay."

*  *  *

Tiffany chewed on the oversized sleeve of her sweatshirt, body curled up against the arm of the couch. She watched the images on the screen, now just about the only thing on TV. She tried not to listen to Hannah's pleading voice on the phone.

"There has got to be some way for you to get me through," the brunette demanded to the woman on the other line. Her forehead was wrinkled in consternation. "I don't give a shit what the station manager said! One of the survivors that were brought in, and your cameras caught, is my goddamn partner!"

Tiffany was startled by the loud expletive then the sound of the phone slammed into its cradle. "No luck?"

"No," Hannah blew out, running her hands through her hair. She pushed up off the couch, almost tossing Tiffany off with the force. Walking to the front window of the small house, she blew out another breath. Hannah's mind was filled with a tempest of thoughts and feelings. She was standing in her girlfriend's house, where they'd spent the past thirty-three hours sharing their bodies, and she believed, Tiffany's heart. So many thoughts and feelings were throwing themselves at her, Hannah wasn't sure which one to latch onto first. So deeply entrenched in her thoughts, she cried out in surprise when her cell phone chirped to life in the other room. The researcher hurdled the coffee table in her haste to get to her phone.

"Hello?"

"Hey, baby. It's me."

Hannah blew out a breath, falling to sit on the edge of the bed, eyes squeezed shut. "Oh god, Denny. Oh, god. I saw you on the news, I've been trying desperately to find a way to get hold of you..."

Denny ran a hand through her hair as she rested her elbows on her thighs. She wasn't sure how she'd feel once she heard Hannah's voice: would she be filled with guilt? Uncertainty? Regret? She felt none of those things- only relief.

"I'm here, Hannah. I'm coming home today. I'll be in later tonight." Denny's eyes slid closed at the sob she heard on the other end of the line. "Please don't cry," she whispered. "I can't stand it when you cry." She felt her own tears brimming.

"God, Denny, I've missed you so much!" Hannah gushed, suddenly overwhelmed by her need to see the tall brunette.

"I've missed you, too, baby." Denny covered her face with her hand, trying valiantly to focus her sole concentration on the voice at the other end of the line. "I can't wait to get home, to you, get my life back," the last words were muffled behind her hand.

Hannah's eyes flew open, her hand covering her mouth. "Oh, god," she breathed.

*  *  *

One last shuddering gasp, and Dean found himself enveloped in a desperate, full-body hug. He tried to get his breath back as he clung to Will, who had begun to string baby kisses along his neck and jaw. The attorney chuckled, gently pushing at Will's shoulders.

"I need a breather, baby," he panted, wrapping his arms around the architect's neck and pulling him close. Dark eyes closed as Dean inhaled his partner's scent.

"Mmmm, I missed you," Will whispered, rolling to his back and pulling Dean with him. Dean said nothing, just snuggled in, luxuriating in the feel of skin, the hardness of Will's body and softness of the bed beneath them. "We're going to have a huge party, invite all our friends, reintroduce you back into the world."

Dean sighed, content and sated. "I want to just lie here with you forever, Will."

"We can do that, too."

Dean raised himself so his cheek rested in his palm. He studied the handsome face of the beautiful man he'd just spent all afternoon making love to. It had all happened so soon, so quickly, like a whirlwind. One minute they'd been there lying on the carpet of Will's office, the next settled into Will's Lexus, driving home. Dean hadn't been able to take his eyes off the architect the entire ride, drinking him in like water in the desert. As soon as the car was parked, the two men had hurried inside the building, Will pushed against the elevator wall as the door whooshed shut. Dean couldn't keep his hands and mouth off of him, the year's worth of abstinence catching up in one fell swoop.

At the moment, lying in their bed. Almost forgotten in Dean's album of memories, nothing else mattered- not the luxury cars, the amazing loft in downtown Manhattan, not even the hundreds of pairs of finely polished Gucci loafers lined up in the closet, all waiting for Dean to come home and wear them. Gazing into Will's face, brushing sand-colored hair back from his brow, Dean realized his world was complete.

"I love you so much," he whispered, leaning down to place a soft kiss on Will's lips. The architect smiled softly. He always knew Dean loved him, but he couldn't remember the last time he'd heard him say it in such a long time, even before he boarded that plane for Milan.

"I love you, too, Dean. Always."

"And forever."

PART 14

"TAKE CARE OF yourself, Mikey." Denny smiled up at the wrinkle that formed between the big man's eyes at the endearment. She leaned up, placing a kiss on his weathered cheek. "Tell those kids of your hello for me, ’kay?"

Michael nodded, looking down into moist blue eyes. "Good luck, Denny. I'm gonna miss you, darlin'." He took the tall woman in a massive hug, taking the very breath from her lungs. "Be good to yourself."

"You, too, big guy." One last painful squeeze and Denny was released. She surreptitiously took a deep breath, watching as the Texan walked over to Pam, taking her into a similarly tight hug.

Pam reached up when released, cupping Michael's newly shaven face. She smiled, he was such a handsome man. "Take care, Michael," she said softly, reaching up and placing a soft kiss on his lips.

"You, too. Go make nice with your daughter, Pam. She's all ya got."

The veterinarian nodded, trying to hold back her tears. Her family was slowly slipping away, the last vestiges boarding planes heading in two different places than herself. She and Denny watched as Michael stepped into the helicopter, Duke behind the helm. One last wave, the door was pulled closed and the giant bird gracefully lifting into the air.

Denny was surprised to feel her heart falling the higher Michael got. The world she'd known was dissolving, the people she'd come to know, love and trust, all gone, scattered to the four winds. She'd been pleased to find the note Mia had left for her at Duke's house, her gratitude written underneath her phone number, along with a reminder for that promised mocha breve. She felt a warm hand take her own.

"Your turn, kiddo."

The brunette accepted Pam's warm hug, feeling tears glaze her cheeks, for not the first time in the past hour. "I'm going to miss you, Pam."

"I'll miss you, too, sweetie. I'm so happy for you and Hannah. I'm sure she's beside herself." Pam felt Denny's pain, could see it in her eyes, and knew it had nothing to do with her partner. She also knew Denny was far too honorable a woman to not do what was right.

"Good luck with Tracy, Pam. You two can make it work, okay?"

Pam nodded. She had been shocked to find out from Colleen that Tracy and Luke had moved to Montana. Right then and there, Pam had made the decision to follow. New York meant nothing without her daughter and grandson, a realization that Pam hated herself for not making before. Life is taken so terribly for granted when it's expected to rise every day.

Denny released the older woman and walked over to Garrison, who waited beside her partner, and the Cessna that would be taking the brunette home.

"You are the most remarkable woman I've ever known, Garrison. We all owe so much to you and Keller. Truly phenomenal human beings."

The blonde pilot smile, her face flushing as her gaze dropped. It almost felt like the day after Christmas, such a let down to the great build up, as the last of what the media had dubbed The Island Six, went home. She accepted the hug, rubbing Denny's back.

"Good luck, Denny," she whispered. The brunette turned to Keller.

"Ready?"

"Anytime you are."

Denny gave the two pilots some privacy to say their own goodbyes, ducking as she climbed into the Cessna, taking a deep breath as she buckled herself in. She wasn't too keen on another bout of flying, but knew it was a necessary evil. She took the headset that was offered to her by Keller, who settled in beside her.

"This flight will be way more cool," the tall pilot grinned, putting her own headset into place. "The world looks different from the cockpit."

"Okay," Denny said, slightly shaky.

"Let's rock and roll! Get you home!"

*  *  *

Denny managed to get some sleep after awhile, finally overtaken by exhaustion from such a busy, crazy day. They'd been taken to Duke's house, where a nice, hot shower, with as much soap and shampoo as their bodies could take, awaited them. The meal of homemade chicken noodle soap had been Heaven on earth. And the shower! Denny's lips were graced with a small smile as she remembered the sensation of the hot water running down her body, feeling fully clean for the first time in far too long. And the sensation of grainy toothpaste, sadly painful. Her gums were tender, teeth in bad shape. They'd done what they could, chewing on fragrant plants and picking their teeth with the tiny bones of the fish they ate. She knew she had a smattering of cavities, which pissed her off. Denny had always taken pride in her teeth, vane with their bright white perfection. A dentist was a must, and soon.

Images of Hannah swept through her mind, their house and neighborhood in Allentown. A nice place, three bedroom house, small but well-kept. She thought about the day they'd bought the house, their excitement at finally having a place of their own. They'd gone out to a home improvement store, picked out wacky paint colors, only to settle on more traditional, safer hues. The fun of painting, splashing each other, eventually making love on the plastic spread out, protecting the carpet.

Denny smiled at the memory, wondering if the house would look the same, or if Hannah had made any changes. Was Denny's old Volkswagen bus still working? Or had it just been parked at the side of the house, left to rust?

"So, are you excited to get home?" Keller's tinny voice asked in the brunette's ear. Denny thought about the question for a moment, then nodded.

"Yeah."

*  *  *

Tracy Sloan looked around the ranch house, making sure it looked perfect. Her heart was pounding, and she was filled with emotions, many of which she couldn't quite identify. Colleen had called her the night before, the machine attached to Tracy's phone displaying in green electric letters what Colleen was saying. She had stared at the small screen, falling to the chair at the desk the phone rested on. Unable to believe what she was reading, deft fingers raced across the small keyboard, asking for clarification. Colleen said that, yes, she had Pam on her cell phone, she was alive, had miraculously survived the crash, and was coming home.

After the call, Tracy had cried, head buried in her hands, tears leaking through her fingers. Luke had hurried over to his upset Mommy, hands flying as he asked what was wrong. Tracy had answered with a few simple graceful strokes: Grandma's alive.

Apparently Pam had been stunned when Tracy's old number no longer worked, and the vet had been frantic, finally calling Colleen. She was due in Billings in less than six hours; Duke would be flying her in, as he had a cargo drop in Canada.

Luke wasn't sure what to think. The child didn't see much of his grandma in the first years of his life, and now, more than a year without her in his life at all, the eight year old just didn't much care either way. He knew that his grandma often made his Mom cry, so because of that, he was fiercely protective, being the man of the house and all.

Maybe this time his grandma would be nicer.

*  *  *

Meredith Adams' heart was pounding so loudly, she could barely hear. She hadn't believed it for one minute when the call had come in earlier that morning. It was a lie, a hoax, something. Michael could not be alive, especially after all this time. Then for a split second, the older woman's heart had sped up, maybe there was a chance for her daughter if Michael was still alive. She had gotten the answer, her heart breaking all over again, hope replaced by profound disappointment.

Michael had said he only had a minute, no time to speak to anyone else, just to let them know he'd be in Beaumont within three hours.

Meredith placed her hand over her heart, taking several deep breaths. She had to tell the children. And Walter.

Jennifer had taken she and Conrad to buy some clothes and supplies for school, which would be starting in less than a month. Meredith had to stay home and keep an eye on her cooker, Ball jars all spread out, freshly steamed and ready to be filled with the canned tomatoes, peaches and green beans.

Shaking herself out of her daydreams, Meredith took the phone into her hand again, quickly dialing the number of Jennifer's cell phone. Once the girl started driving, she and Walter felt it was a good idea for her to have one, in case her car broke down or something equally disastrous happened. It rang three times, Meredith about to give up when Jennifer's breathless voice finally answered.

"Hello?"

"Jennifer?"

"Yeah, grandma? Sorry, I was trying on a pair of jeans. What's up?"

"Honey, I need you to get Conrad, and I need you two home pronto."

"What's the matter? Are you okay, Grams? You sound like you've been crying. Is Grandpa okay?"

"We're fine, honey. Just come home. Now."

"Uh, okay. We'll be home in fifteen minutes."

Jennifer Dupree flipped her phone shut, brows drawn. She hoped everything was okay. Hurrying into her shorts, she tugged her shoes on, untied, then went in search of her little brother, who of course, was in the mall's arcade.

"Con, come on, we have to go."

"No. I'm in the middle of a game.," he muttered, never taking his eyes off the screen as he continued to kill the bad guy.

"Now, Conrad. Grandma wants us home right now. Come on.'

"Just let me finish-"

"Conrad Michael Dupree! Let's go!" She grabbed the precocious pre-teen by the back of his shirt and drug him away from the game.

Alan Dupree sighed heavily into the phone. "Grandma, I have to work. I can't just leave for some family meeting."

"Alan I really need you to come. I'll talk to your damn boss if you need me, to."

The young man grinned. "Grandma, it's not like school where a note from my mother will do it. I can't just walk out on this job. I shouldn't even be on the phone-"

"Your father's alive."

Alan felt his body stiffen, words of protest stuck in his throat. "What?"

"They've found him. I didn't want to tell you until all three of you were together. You need to come home, Alan."

"Give me ten minutes."

"Conrad! You heathen!" Jennifer yelled, dropping to her haunches to pick up the contents of the shopping bag. Her little demon brother had run by her so fast, he'd knocked the package right out of her hand. Gathering everything up, Jennifer couldn't help but be a little bit nervous. Had one of them done something wrong? Was everything truly okay, or had her grandmother just said it was so as not to worry the girl until she could get them safely home? Millions of possibilities raced through her mind, never once the truth crossing her thoughts.

"Grandma?" she called out, heading toward the stairs. She stopped cold when she saw Alan standing in the doorway to the kitchen, his eyes red-rimmed, yet smiling. "Hey," she said, voice uncertain. They rarely saw their older brother now, out on his own and having his own life.

"Hey, sis," he said softly, then walked over to her, taking her shopping bags from her hands. "Wouldn't want you to drop these." His grin was infectious, though just proved to confuse the girl even more. What was going on?

"Hello, my little angel."

Jennifer's head snapped up at the voice, deep, as well as the endearment she'd known her whole life, well, up until one year, two months and a day ago. Her breath caught at who stood in the kitchen doorway, hair long and shaggy, a neatly trimmed beard covering his handsome face, making him look even more rugged than usual.

"Daddy," she breathed, still confused, but it was overtaken by a relief and happiness she'd never known. His arms opened, and she ran to him, only to stop a foot away, looking him over, inhaling: he had the same scent as her father, looked like her father, yet there was no way it could be her father.

"I don't understand," she whispered.

"I'm alive," he said, looking into her eyes, raising a hand to gently brush a tear off her cheek, then some hair from her forehead. "I've come home, Jenny,"

With a loud sob, the girl threw herself at her father, squeezing her eyes tightly shut as she felt him consumer her slight body with his much larger one.

"My little angel," he cooed, cupping the back of her head as it rested against his chest. "I missed you so much."

Jennifer couldn't speak, couldn't think, could only feel. She felt like a life, that had become dark the day her parents died, had suddenly grown bright, the sun burning away all the inky black from her heart and mind. Finally able to breathe again, she gently pulled away, looking up into his gentle face. "How did this happen? Where's mom?"

Michael felt his heart crumble, but knew he had to stay strong. For them. "I escaped the wreckage, honey, managed to get to an island. Your mom," he swallowed, gently brushing the girl's hair behind her ears. "she didn't' make it. I tried." The last words shaky as his emotions balanced precariously on a tempest edge.

Jennifer's eyes filled again, allowing herself to be swallowed in her Daddy's arms.

Michael had never felt so close to Heaven as he did holding is daughter. It had been something watching his oldest, Alan fall apart at the sight of him, but Jennifer, his Jenny Angel, who looked so much like her mother, nearly made him lose it altogether. The big man opened his eyes and saw his third child standing at the foot of the stairs, looking on in disbelief, his face pale, mouth hanging open.

"Come here, son," Michael said softly, holding out an arm to the boy. He watched in horror as Conrad shook his head slowly, then ran out the front door.

*  *  *

Hannah could feel her palms sweating, heart pounding and her ears burning. She was walking through the airport, on her way to the gate for private planes. She had been surprised and overcome with a sense of relief when Tiffany had called her name after she'd hung up with Denny. Walking into the living room, the researcher had found what little she had at the redhead's house stacked neatly by the door on the end table.

A simple explanation had followed. Tiffany had known it was a possibility that Hannah could never truly give her her heart, and now with Denny's return, that fact was undisputable. She was letting Hannah go, and asking for the same in return. It had been a sad parting, but one Hannah was grateful for. She knew she had a lot to think about, and even more to deal with once her partner returned to her.

Hurrying past a small gathering of security guards, Hannah read the overhead sign, finding her terminal and rushing to the door.

Denny took a deep breath, running a hand through her hair. She was glad to be on solid ground once more, hating flying now, as well as just wanting to get settled somewhere finally. It felt strange glancing over at the airport, thinking back to her life the last time she'd seen BUF. So much had changed. She had changed.

Unbuckling herself, she saw Keller's wide smile, a spotlight aimed right at her. Denny tried to return it, but nerves and uncertainty weakened it.

"Everything will be okay," the pilot said, almost as though reading her thoughts. She leaned over and gave the brunette a tight hug. "I wish you the best of luck, Denny. If you need anything, anything at all, you give us a call, ’kay?"

Denny nodded, pulling away. "Have a safe flight back." Keller nodded as Denny made her way out of the Cessna, one of the tarmac workers holding his hand up to aid her. She smiled her gratitude, then took in lungfulls of air, filling her chest with the smells of home.

Hannah paced, her hands wringing together in front of her before wiping them on the sides of her denim-clad thighs. She froze when she saw the small white and blue plane taxi in.

"Here we go."

Denny climbed the steps, hand running along the smooth, cool metal of the railing, then pulled open the door. The sterile, manufactured air of the airport terminal met her nose, her eyes searching. They froze on their target.

Hannah felt her breath catch, melting all over again in the blue of the brunette's eyes. They had been the first thing she'd noticed about her almost ten years ago, fixing that damn machine, which never seemed to work right.

Denny's eyes fell closed as she wrapped her arms around Hannah, feeling her own body engulfed in return. Nothing was said, no tears, just a seemingly endless embrace of relief and reconnection. Nearly ten minutes later, Denny pulled back, bringing up a hand to rest on the side of Hannah's head.

"You cut your hair," she commented, her voice soft. The researcher nodded, running a nervous hand through the pixie cut.

"Yeah. It was time."

"It's cute."

"You're so thin, Denny," Hannah whispered, taking a step back to take in all of her partner, dressed in a pair of jeans, which were sagging off her hips, and a plain white tee shirt.

"Yeah. Borrowed," Denny said, tugging at the hem.

"Let's go home." Hannah leaned forward, cupping the brunette's face and placing a gentle kiss on her chapped lips. "Here," she said against them, holding up a yellow tube of Burt's Bees chapstick. Denny chuckled, taking it and applying as they walked back through the airport.

"What?" the brunette asked, glancing over to meet Hannah's probing gaze.

"Nothing," the researcher shook her head, a soft smile on her lips. "I just can't believe you're here." She stopped their progress with a hand to Denny's arm, moving them out of the way of rushing travelers, luggage in tow.

Pulling Denny into another hug, she buried her nose in the long hair. Her mind raced, trying to think of how to tell the brunette about DiRisio's. Though she felt she had done nothing wrong, she felt her guilt beginning to gnaw at her stomach, making her feel nauseous. DiRisio's had been Denny's dream. Hannah had thought it as dead as its owner. It had upset Hannah immensely when the last day of business, Denny's old boss and mentor, Joni Sanchez, had come in, calling Hannah just about every name under the sun but murder, for killing Denny's dream.

"I need to talk to you about something," she said into Denny's ear, the breath of warm air making the brunette shiver.

"What?" Denny tried to pull away, but was kept close.

"Not here. Later."

Denny nodded, her eyes closing once more as she tried to concentrate on being happy she was home. She felt nervous, as though she were entering a new world, one that was unfamiliar and strange. Finally she felt Hannah pull away and take her by the hand, leading them toward the parking garage.

*  *  *

Pam had never felt so out of place in her life. Born and raised in New York, spending much of it in Queens and the Bronx, Montana couldn't have been any more alien to her than if Duke had flown her to the moon. The wide, open spaces, endless wilderness and clear, blue skies, truly breathtaking.

For Pam to say she had been stunned to find out where Tracy had started her and Luke's new life would be the understatement of the century. She had no idea what possessed the girl to come so far west. Either way, she had, and Pam was going to do her level best to make it work with her daughter and grandson. She'd promised her new family she would.

Duke knew a woman at the tiny airport they'd landed at who had offered to drive her home, not wanting to bother Tracy with that task. After all, she had Luke to watch after.

The small farmhouse loomed just ahead, a tall, narrow two-story, painted white with dark blue trim. It was charming, Pam had to admit. She could feel her stomach responding to the building nerves, their parting not good so long ago. It just seemed mother and daughter couldn't manage to get on the same page, no matter how hard they tried. That had saddened Pam to no end. When Tracy's father, and Pam's first husband, had found out they were having a child, they had been thrilled. Theirs had been a marriage of seven, barren years, both blaming the other for their lack of conception. Then like magic, one morning Pam had gotten sick, running from the bed at breakneck speed, nearly trampling over their Pug, Ralphie, in her efforts to get to the toilet on time. Sure enough. Tests had proven positive, and plans for a new life had begun.

It was evident pretty quick that Tracy was a miracle baby, and Pam would not be having anymore. She'd been so excited when the doctor pronounced a girl had just entered the world, her cries filling the delivery room and her mother's heart. When Tracy had turned three, they began to realize that something was wrong, and the toddler couldn't hear. It had been a devastating blow, but one they'd dealt with as best they could, even as Pam and Jack's marriage fell apart. The young mother and girl who lived in a world of silence never saw eye to eye. Tracy would move in with her father every couple years or so, until she realized she hated his newest flavor of the month, then would move back in with her mother, only to dislike her newest step-father. When the girl had been sent away to school after high school graduation, it had been the best thing for all involved.

Then Luke came.

Pam stared out the window of the bucket of bolts with Ford stamped on the grill. The truck pulled to a stop in front of the house, the front door opening, and curious eyes peering out. Pam nearly swallowed her tongue when she saw how big Luke had grown. His mother stepped up behind him, her hands resting on narrow shoulders. The boy leaned slightly back into Tracy's comforting body, still not sure about this grandmother person that had arrived.

Tracy squeezed one shoulder, then stepped out from behind him, trying to decide exactly which emotion to settle on first. She felt relief to see her mother like nothing she'd ever felt before, but at the same time, she felt a sense of foreboding wash over her. What would this bring or mean to her and Luke's new life?

Pam quietly thanked Amanda Brody, who smiled acknowledgment, then climbed down from the large truck, her eyes locked on her daughter as Tracy carefully made her way down the few stairs that led up to the porch. Tracy stopped about mid-step, then a keening, almost mewling sound escaped her throat, and she raced the rest of the way, the little girl inside her winning out on the bitter adult, allowing herself to take comfort from her mother's arms and safe return.

Though she knew the girl couldn't hear her, Pam couldn't help but whisper her daughter's name, like a sacred word, against soft, chestnut hair, inhaling the fragrance and essence of her little girl. Feeling eyes on her, Pam looked down, seeing her grandson standing next to them, his big, curious, yet watchful eyes, on mother and daughter.

Sniffling back her relief, the veterinarian swiped a hand across her face, then knelt down, looking up into Luke's handsome face.

"Hello, Luke," she said, her voice soft, almost dreamy. "I've missed you, sweetheart." She took the boy's stiff body in her arms, a pang of hurt and regret shooting through her heart. Yes, she had a lot to make up for.

*  *  *

"I don't understand," Michael whispered, so as not to wake up Jennifer, who was curled up in his lap. He brushed his fingers through her hair absently with one hand while sipping from the cold can of Miller Walter had brought to him. Now, his father-in-law sat across from him on the loveseat, listening to the sounds of a Texas night.

"Don't know. The boy is just filled with so much anger, I don't think he knows what to do with himself no more. Meredith and I have tried everything, counselin', all of it. Nothing is helping."

The mechanic sighed, staring out into the blackness beyond the living room windows. His chest ached, heart ripped out of its hiding place. Conrad had run from the house, and was yet to be found yet. Alan was out looking for him, hoping to knock some sense into the stubborn boy.

"It's been a hard time, Mike. Don't let no body tell you different. These kids have suffered heaps."

"I know." Michael leaned down and kissed the top of his daughter's head. He couldn't remember the last time he'd done that. "I can't thank y'all enough for what you've done, Walter. These kids needed you, and y'all were here for them. Thank you."

Walter nodded, sipping from his own beer. He wasn't comfortable with all the emotional mumbo jumbo. He listened to the sounds of his wife cleaning up the dinner dishes. Normally Jennifer would help out, but tonight she wasn't letting her Daddy out of her sight, so Meredith left her to it.

"Did she suffer?" Walter finally asked, clearing his throat to cover the hitch in his voice.

Michael studied the older, hardened man for a moment, then sighed. "No. She went in her sleep. Lost too much blood." Michael could feel his throat constrict with the conversation. He hadn't had to think or talk about Melissa in over a year, and it was like losing her all over again.

"Good."

"Look, Walter, Mel-"

"No," the older man stood, waving off Michael's words. "it's late. Gotta get me some sleep." He hurried from the room, his heavy boots thudding against the wood of the stairs, followed by a distant slam of a door.

"Everything okay?" Meredith asked, drying her hands on a dishtowel.

Michael nodded, resting his cheek against Jennifer's head. "Yeah. It's late. I'm gonna get this one to bed." Michael looked down at his daughter's face, seeing she was still deep asleep. Gathering her to his chest, he rose to his feet, holding her safe, and making his way up the same stairs the girl's grandfather had just scurried up.

"Daddy?" the teenager mumbled in her sleep, her voice thick and groggy.

"I'm here, darlin'. Sleep, Angel." He gently laid her on the bed, pulling the covers down around her, then tucking her in. With a small kiss to her forehead, the mechanic turned out the bedside lamp, but couldn't leave. He stood next to her bed, staring down into the face of a woman, remembering the little girl he'd left behind. Never in his life had he felt so infused with love and a need to protect another human being. This little girl was the product of his Melissa and himself, all he had left of her.

Reaching out, he brushed a few strands of hair out of her sleeping face, so easily able to see Mel, just a bit older, when he'd first seen her. Jennifer would be a spitting image of her, just as beautiful, and filled with just as much fire. He smiled at that thought, sending out a silent word of warning to all those boys who thought they could tame her. She'd slowly and quietly tame them; just like her Momma.

Meredith was cleaning up the beer cans when she heard Michael enter the room. "Out cold," he said, voice still quiet with the hush of night. "Let me help you." He took the cans from the older woman, missing the stunned expression on her face as he headed into the kitchen to dump out the undrunk amber liquid into the sink, then squished the cans in his large fist.

"I talked to Leo down at the garage," Meredith said conversationally, wiping down the table once again, just to keep busy. Michael glanced at her over his shoulder.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. He's real shocked and relieved to hear you're okay. He wants to give you your old job back."

Michael was stunned, slowly turning to face the older woman. "You're kidding,"

"Nope." Meredith smiled, the wrinkles around her eyes increasing ten-fold over the stresses of the past year. Michael had been shocked at just how old she looked when he'd walked through the door earlier that afternoon. "You're our hometown hero, Michael." His mother-in-law walked over to him, placing her hands on his chest, looking up into his eyes. Meredith tried to keep her rising emotions under control, but could tell it was a losing battle. "I'm so glad you're alive," she whispered, followed by a quiet sob. She rested her head against his chest as strong arms enfolded her.

"Me, too. God, me, too."

*  *  *

Matt was tired. It had been a wonderful trip, but exhausting. The guys, him and his girlfriend, Jessica, had gone fishing over the past five days, catching just about everything the fish god had to offer, and then some. He set down the cooler of iced fish on his counter with a grunt, then headed back toward the garage door to unload his gear from the back of his SUV. He noticed the light on the answering machine was flashing like mad, and wondered who had called him fourteen times.

Dropping his huge duffel and tent bag on the living room carpet, he pushed the play button, jotting down a message from his mother, grinned at the message from Jessica, wondering where he was. He had only been forty-five minutes late picking her up, after all. The next message stopped him cold. It was Reenie, and almost unintelligible. The detective hit rewind, listening again, trying to decipher what was wrong.

"Matt, oh my god! Where are you?! You need to call me right now! Right now, Matt!" BEEP "Matthew, where are you? It's beyond important. Oh my god, call me!" BEEP

Matt hit stop on the making even as he picked up the cordless phone, his insides twisting in concern. He waited impatiently for the line to be picked up, blood going cold at the voice on the other end.

"Hi, Matt. How are you?"

The detective stood silent, rooted to the spot, unsure what to say or do, but knowing that voice anywhere. "Rachel?"

"Yes. It's me."

"What, I don't understand..."

"It's a long story. I'm coming home the day after tomorrow. I'll be flying in with Reenie."

"Okay." Matt ran a hand through his hair, blowing out a breath. He wasn't sure what he was feeling; was it relief? Fear? Regret? Guilt? All of the above? One thing he did know- he was in shock.

*  *  *

Denny walked into the house, instantly looking around, curious of what, if anything had been changed in her absence. Hannah followed close behind, watching her closely, waiting for her reaction, and dreading the conversation she knew they had to have. Denny deserved to know the truth.

The wall to the right, that flanked the stone fireplace, was nearly bare, when once it had been covered with pictures of them, trips they'd taken, or just goofy snapshots taken by friends. The walls had been painted an off-white, when once they were dark green, the woodwork white. They'd contemplated such a bold choice for months, finally Denny bringing home cans of paint one Friday night. The rest of the weekend had been spent bickering over which room would get the treatment.

A couple pieces of the artwork they'd picked out together littered the room, the small copper Buddha sitting on the mantel. The rug under the coffee table was gone, now replaced by a large, and Denny thought, mismatched area rug.

The thing that the brunette noticed the most was that it were as if any trace of her was gone, leaving only a sterile living space with little warmth or personality.

"It hurt too much to keep some things," Hannah said from behind her, voice soft. "I had to make a change, Denny. It was the only way to keep my sanity."

The brunette nodded, though part of her understanding, she couldn't deny that she was hurt, and felt like maybe she wasn't wanted back, didn't belong.

"I uh, I'll be right back." Denny hurried from the room, back out the front door and into the cool, evening air.

Hannah sighed heavily, hugging herself.

Denny sat on the stoop, wrapping her arms around her knees, resting her chin on top. Never had she felt so out of place, certainly in her own home. She felt nervous and unsure, insecurities gripping her in cold fingers of doubt. For a moment she thought about going back inside, feeling bad. She knew Hannah couldn't keep everything as it was, nor would she expect her to, considering she thought Denny dead. But all the same, she was overwhelmed suddenly by the fact of, not only was she back to her life, but it had obviously changed.

She didn't have time to contemplate that thought as the front screen door squeaked as it was opened, softly banging back into place with a whoosh of air. Glancing over, she saw Hannah settling next to her on the stoop.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice soft. "I guess I just got a little overwhelmed for a moment."

"It's okay. I don't imagine this is easy for you, Denny. I want to try and make this transition as painless as possible for you. What can I do to help? What will make it better?"

"Nothing. I don't know," Denny blew out a breath. "It's all just really surreal. All I could think about was coming home, for the first six months or so, everyday, marking on a tree, thinking that maybe after a few more of these marks, I'd be home. With you." She looked into concerned brown eyes, shrugged. "Somewhere along the way I stopped marking the tree. I never thought I'd be home anyway, so why keep torturing myself?"

"Oh, Denny." Hannah reached out, brushing a long lock of hair out of the brunette's eyes. "Was it bad?"

"No." Denny shook her head. "Just different." They were silent for long moments, neither sure what to say as they listened to the summer sounds. Finally the brunette took a deep breath. "So, what did you want to talk to me about?"

Panic seized Hannah's heart, her eyes growing wide before she got herself under control. Putting a smile on her face and hand on Denny's arm, she shook her head. "Not now, Denny. Let's get you settled home first."

"You sounded pretty serious about it in the airport." Denny wasn't sure why, but her heart was doing double time. "Just tell me, Hannah. I don't need to be handled with kid gloves. I won't shatter." I don't think.

Nodding, Hannah swallowed. "Okay." She felt the need to explain before she told Denny the truth. "When I found out you were dead, it nearly killed me, Denny. I felt like I had lost everything in one fell swoop. I was so goddamn angry with your cousins," she snorted ruefully. "We argued about you going on that trip alone," shaking her head, she stared out into the darkening neighborhood. "Anyway, I didn't know what to do with myself, so I kept living, going to work, coming home, all to do it again the next day. I was dying inside." She met steady blue eyes, trying to read what Denny was thinking, but there just didn't seem to be anything there, or it was being hidden well. Hannah had always been able to read her partner like an open book. "I had to do something, and as the months passed, I realized that being surrounded by you, everything that was you and reminded me of you, was making it worse."

Denny listened, doing her best to keep an open mind, as she'd want Hannah to do the same for her. She nodded in acknowledgement of what was told to her.

Hannah debated whether to tell Denny about Tiffany or not. Deciding she had enough crushing news to deliver, she'd leave that part out. Maybe later she'd tell her. "One Saturday I decided to take anything down that reminded me of you- pictures, trinkets, whatever. I was amazed to find I had filled six boxes. I guess I hadn't realized just how much our physical lives were bound until then. No wonder I saw you everywhere." She snorted. "Hell, I even had to take that god-awful troll out of my car. I couldn't help but remember when you had valiantly won him for me at the fair."

Denny chuckled at the memory.

"Anyway, there was one thing left, one last bit of you that tortured me, that I couldn't just pretend wasn't there. It was the last thing keeping me from moving on with my life." At the look of hurt on Denny's face, Hannah clarified. "I didn't want to forget you, baby, I could never, ever forget you. But I had to start a new life, without you in it."

"What was it?" Denny asked, her voice hoarse as fear gripped her heart.

Hannah took several calming breaths, trying to think of the best way to say it. "Honey, Denny," she took two cool hands in her own, the researchers almost looking pale in comparison. "I," her voice caught and she had to catch her breath. Forgive me, Denny. "I sold DiRisio's."

Denny's eyes slid closed, her gut turning over. She jumped to her feet, racing back into the house and throwing the toilet seat lid up. Falling to her knees, she grasped the sides of the cool porcelain bowl, waiting for backfire that never came.

"Here," Hannah placed a cool cloth on the back of the brunette's neck, gathering the long, thick strands of hair into a rope down her back. "Breath, baby. Just breath."

Denny tried to do as instructed, but felt her stomach roil again. Instead of throwing up, she began to sob, the sound echoing in the large bowl. Falling over to her rump, she sat against the side of the tub, Hannah kneeling in front of her, her own tears of sorrow washing down her cheeks.

"I'm so sorry, Denny. I didn't know. You know I'd never hurt you on purpose."

Denny heard the words, and somewhere inside even knew they were true, but couldn't let them penetrate. She buried her face in her hands. The only bit of normalcy was gone. Denny's sobs calmed after many minutes, her senses numbing, head pounding from the emotional roller coaster that had been her first day back in the real world.

"How can I feel so out of place in my own life?" she whispered, not expecting an answer.

"It'll take some time," Hannah responded, reaching out a tentative hand to cup the side of Denny's face. "We've both had a lot of excitement for one day. What say you we go to bed?"

Denny nodded, not entirely sure what she had just agreed to, as she was helped to her feet. She heard more whispered words, Hannah telling her to follow her. Once in the bedroom, Denny's shirt was lifted over her head, her jeans unbuttoned and unzipped, the baggy material sliding down her legs unaided.

"You have got a killer tan," Hannah commented absently, providing a shoulder for Denny to steady herself on as the researcher tugged the jeans off, tossing them aside. "Do these need to be returned?"

"I dunno."

The tee shirt came next, Hannah's gaze roaming across the bared flesh, more toned than she'd ever seen it. She couldn't believe the fact that she was almost able to count her partner's ribs. Deciding the touching a decidedly skittish Denny wasn't a good idea, she instead helped the beautiful brunette to the large four poster bed, their fifth anniversary gift to each other, then undressed herself.

Denny rolled to her side, curling her hands under her chin. She stared into the darkness that was their bedroom as Hannah turned out the light, feeling the mattress shift as the researcher climbed on.

"Is this okay?" Hannah whispered, spooning up behind Denny. In answer, her hand was taken and tucked under the brunette's chin.

*  *  *

Michael sighed, once against flopping to his back, trying unsuccessfully to get comfortable on the mattress. What had once been his most anticipated act once returning home- sleeping on a bed- was turning into a huge disappointment. His body wasn't sure what to make of the softness, his bones leaning to adjust to the hard ground for so long. His mutterings and curses were interrupted by a soft knock at his bedroom door. Raising his head, he stared at the wood, as though suddenly he'd see all the answers to the world unlocked in its grains.

"Daddy?" the door was barely pushed open, a dark shadow against a darker night.

"Yeah, Angel?"

"Can I lay down with you?" the girl asked, squeezing through the small opening she'd made, then softly closing the door behind her. She heard covers ruffling, sheet held up in invitation. Without a sound, she padded over to the bed and climbed on, immediately snuggling against her father.

"Can't sleep?" he asked, placing a soft kiss on the crown of her head, feeling her shake it.

"Not really."

"What's on your mind, Princess? You okay?"

"I'm better than I've ever been." She smiled into the warm scratchiness of her father's neck. She'd never seen him with facial hair before, and wasn't sure she liked it. "I'm so glad you're home. I never truly believed in God until today."

Michael chuckled. "Well, don't tell your grandma that. She'd think we hadn't raised a fine, Christian girl."

Jennifer giggled softly. "Who says I am?" She raised her head to meet a hard gaze and giggled again. "I'm teasing." Lying her head back down, she sighed in contentment, smelling the laundry detergent her grandmother used in the shirt her father had borrowed. He and Alan were close to the same size.

"How is school going?" The mechanic's brows drew. "What grade are you in?"

"I'm a junior."

Michael's eyes slid shut, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed down the grief of missing an entire school year of his only daughter. Jennifer seemed to read his mind. "It's okay, Daddy. It wasn't your fault. I know that. Alan knows that. Even Conrad knows that."

"Why is he so angry?"

"I don't know." The girl shrugged a shoulder, only to have it caressed a moment later. She reveled in her father's affections, always a daddy's girl at heart. "I think he feels you abandoned him in some way. It's irrational, but that's how he feels. It's been awful for grandma and grandpa. He's in trouble all the time, at school and at home. He's just... mean."

"I'll talk to him tomorrow." He didn't want Jennifer to know just how hurt her truly was. When Alan had marched the fourteen year old into the house by the collar of his shirt, Conrad wouldn't say anything to his father, nor pay him any mind.

"Daddy?"

"Yeah, honey?"

"What did mom die of?"

"Honey, I don't-"

"Please?" Jennifer raised her head again, meeting her father's troubled gaze. "I need to know. I need to know if she was in pain. Did you get to say goodbye?"

Michael studied the girl's face, then a slow smile spread across his lips. He nodded. "Yeah, honey. We got to say goodbye. She," he cleared his throat. "she died in my arms."

Jennifer laid her head back on his shoulder, feeling better about it, even as she felt tears sting her eyes. She listened to the low rumble of her father's voice as he continued.

"She got a nasty gash on her head. It was just too much for her."

"I wonder if she knows how much she's loved. And missed."

"Oh, she knows, Jenny. She knows."

"Goodnight, Daddy."

"Goodnight, little Angel."

PART 15

DARK EYES BLINKED open, then blinked several more times before the light of day shone in through the large window that led out to the fire escape. Mia turned to her back, looking around the tiny, cramped room of her mother. The bed next to her was empty, the covers pulled up neatly. Beyond the closed bedroom door, she could hear humming, and smell the unmistakable scent of Italian sausage frying and coffee brewing. The girl's stomach began to growl, as if on cue.

Gloria was light on her feet, her chest seeming filled to the breaking point with the greatest joy: her little girl was alive! She happily slaved in front of the stove, working back and forth between the sausage, breakfast potatoes and Mia's favorite- pancakes.

She had slept beside her daughter the night before because she was not about to let the girl out of her sight! She woke up every two hours, making sure Mia was actually there, touching her face and hair, before falling back into a restful sleep. The dark-eyed woman wasn't sure what to do as for space now that Lizbeth was in Mia's room. She'd be more than happy to figure it out. Her baby was alive!

"Look at that smile upon your face," Lizbeth Vinzetti teased, walking into the tiny kitchen. Gloria couldn't help but beam at her grandmother with a nod.

"I've never felt so happy in all my life."

"I am glad for you, child." The older woman placed a gentle kiss to Gloria's cheek and a pat to her arm. She was amazed to see her granddaughter that morning. It looked as though twenty years had melted off her overnight, her dark eyes sparkling and filled with life that had been missing for far too long. The day Mia had disappeared had been the day that a part of Gloria Vinzetti had died along with her. But alas, she was alive and well once more, and Lizbeth's heart no longer feared for her beloved Gloria. "I will move in with your cousin, Joseph," she said absently, uncovering the sausage and looking inside, making sure Gloria wasn't burning the patties.

"What?" Gloria blurted in English, shocked. She continued in Italian. "No, Nonna. Why would you do that?"

"Because you and Mia need time to reconnect, Gloria. She has been gone too long."

"Nonna-"

"Besides," Lizbeth said with a soft smile, placing a dry hand on Gloria's cheek. "There is no room."

"We'll make it work, Nonna. I want you here. I'll worry too much about you if you go back to Milano."

"No, child. You need to focus on Mia now. I am fine."

"Fine with what?" Mia asked, wandering into the kitchen, her stomach making its hunger known more and more with every step she took.

Gloria turned at the sound of the girl's voice, the conversation forgotten as she smiled, big and bright, opening her arms, which Mia quickly stepped into.

"Are you hungry, sweetie?" Gloria asked, nose buried in her daughter's hair. She felt Mia nod, then slowly pulled away, leaving a soft kiss to the girl's forehead. She began to serve up food as Mia gave her great-grandmother an equally warm hug. "Did you sleep well?" Gloria asked, handing Mia a plate, filled with every delight the girl could want. Her eyes got huge as she headed over to the small table tucked into the corner.

"Yeah. My body isn't real sure what to think of the change in sleep accommodations." She grinned. "It's used to the ground and a thin layer of leaves."

Gloria smiled weakly, hiding the unexpected pang that sent to her heart. She sat across from her daughter. "Someday I'd like to know what you experienced there, Mia. Will you tell me?"

The girl nodded enthusiastically. "Definitely." She grew silent as she began to eat her breakfast. It surprised her just how lost she felt without her island family, even though her own mother sat quietly talking to her great-grandmother, not three feet away. Mia glanced up, watching the two women for a moment, unable to keep images of Dean, Denny, Michael, Rachel and Pam from her mind's eye. She saw the six of them sitting around the morning fire, eating fish or bananas and cocoanuts, Dean and Michael bickering or Denny and Rachel lost in deep conversation. She had grown to love and respect each of them for their own unique gifts and personalities they'd brought to the mix. It was amazing how much Mia had learned, just how little the pettiness of the world mattered when everyday was a venture to survive.

Mia thought about some of her friends at school, and her boyfriend Abe. How simple their problems seemed to her now: pimples, dating and boys. What one girl was saying about another girl. Who was going to make the cheerleading squad that summer. Who cares? In the scheme of things, none of that mattered.

"What are you thinking about over there, looking all serious." Gloria chewed on a mouthful of pancakes as she awaited her daughter's response.

"Oh," Mia shook herself out of her reverie. "Nothing. Just thinking."

*  *  *

Will's brows were drawn as he entered the loft, nearly run over by Marguerite, the housekeeper muttering something in her native Cuban as she stormed past. He thought it was something about a crazy white boy. Deeper into the loft was loud tango music, topped by Dean's wonderful singing voice, singing in Spanish.

"Dean?" Will called out, setting his briefcase down next to the entry table and shrugging out of his Prada suit jacket.

"In here, my poco gatito del sexo!"

Will chuckled, though leery. Over the week Dean had been home, he had no idea what to expect each time he walked through the door. Never in all the years they'd been together had the attorney been so free with himself, truly living life each moment. Today was no exception.

"Honey, why did the doorman look at me like I was nuts, and Marguerite look like she was being chased by …" the architect's words faltered, eyes turning huge; Dean was bare-chested, a brightly colored sarong tied around his waist, and his bare feet padding around the Mexican tile in the kitchen, "…a pack of raving banshees. Okay, Dean, why the hell are you wearing a skirt and squashing berries with a dildo?"

"Ah, the misguided," Dean murmured against his partner's lips. "And all these years I thought these things only had one purpose." He held up the purple toy, the tip stained a darker purple from berry juice. Turning back to the counter and the meal he was preparing, he continued. "This is a sarong, my love, and they're amazingly comfortable. You should try one."

"I'll pass," he said into Dean's neck, hugging him from behind. "Mm, you smell good."

"Yeah? Just wait until you smell my berry tart, which will be cooking in five minutes."

"Did Martha Stewart come visit while I was gone?" Will uncapped a bottled water, taking a healthy swig before passing it onto Dean.

"Nope," the attorney said, passing it back after his own drink. "I always wanted to try this, so decided to. Get comfortable, baby, cause I've got plans for you later." He grinned saucily over his shoulder, filling the little tin pans he'd already pressed the dough into with the berry mixture. With another kiss, Will sauntered out of the room to shower and change. Left alone, Dean began to think.

Dean's old job at Wheeler & Ferrell was long gone, and he was fine with that, in all honesty. The thought of going back to an office filled with stuffy, pompous assholes, which he, himself had fit in quite well with at one time, left him cold and feeling empty. Something inside had changed, almost like it had broken. Looking around the ostentatious surroundings of his neighborhood made him sad, wondering if people understood just how useless all the money in the world was if there was nowhere to spend it, no one to love, and no love in return.

The Island Six. That had been a love and a truth that Dean wished upon ever one of those stuffy bastards who welcomed him back to his face, yet knew they were snickering behind his back. He had never realized just how pretentious their world was until he escaped it.

"So, why exactly are you using Big Purple to kill the berries?" Will asked, startling Dean out of his thoughts.

"You see the way it bounces?" the attorney asked, demonstrating. At Will's nod, he continued. "it gives just the right amount of bang but bounced before the berries are totally crushed."

"Please tell me you didn't learn this on Martha?"

"Nope. You hungry?"

"Famished." Will began to walk toward the dining room, confused when all he saw was a beautiful polished table, ready to seat eight.

"Not here," Dean said in his ear from behind. "Follow me."

More confused than ever, Will followed Dean out the front door and toward the staircase at the back of the hall, which he'd never used before. Taking Dean's hand, he allowed himself to be led up the dark, dingy staircase until they reached a solid-looking metal door. Dean produced a key and turned it in the lock, the door squeaking open. The warm, late afternoon air me them as they stepped out onto a tar-covered roof, the Manhattan skyline all around them.

"I think you've lost your mind," Will muttered, brows drawing as he was led around a small grove of skylights, then a chimney, and finally to an island paradise a la New York.

"I'm not surprised that Eddie looked at you like you were nuts. Who do you think I put in charge of finding someone to bucket in all this sand?" Dean grinned, reclining back on his hands in the middle of the scene he'd manufactured for their dinner. Thick, soft sand covered ten feet of the roof, a beach umbrella sticking out of it and a folded blanket, ready to be spread out, a single red rose resting atop it. The attorney grabbed it, placing it between his teeth and rising to his knees, reaching for Will's hand.

"What has gotten into you?" Will chuckled, falling to his knees, and accepting the flower, as well as a kiss.

"Can't a man show the one he loves just how much he loves him?"

"Of course, but, before-"

"Shhhh," Dean whispered, bringing a hand up to silence Will. "Before doesn't matter. That was then, this is now. I've learned a lot over the past year and months, Will. I never knew what was important, or what was right in front of me. I'll never make that mistake again."

Will studied Dean's eyes, seeing the honesty within. He shook his head, speechless. "I love you."

"I love you, too. You stay here while I serve dinner." A quick kiss and Dean was gone, leaving a bewildered architect sitting in the sand.

Will sat on the roof, staring up into the sky, a content smile on his face. His Dean was home. It was still a miracle to him every time he opened his eyes in the morning to see hazel eyes twinkling back at him. For so long Will had cursed the world and all happiness in it for taking his life from him. He'd been merely existing over the past year and some months. But now, Dean was back, and the world was right again.

Even so, Will could see changes in the attorney, things that shocked, and sometimes, delighted him. Most of all, they baffled him. Things Dean never bothered with before were now interesting and new to him. For instance, they were in Central Park two days ago, and Dean had stopped them with a hand to Will's arm.

"Look at that," the attorney breathed, pointing up into the trees. Will had looked, following Dean's finger, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Certainly nothing spectacular enough to stop their stroll.

"What?"

"Look! The way the sun comes in through the leaves of that tree. Beautiful, isn't it?"

All Will could do was shake his head and continue walking. And this rooftop picnic, homemade food and romance. Another thing Dean had been woefully lacking in their years together. Long ago Will had realized and accepted Dean for the way he was, no longer expecting or hoping for some grand gesture. Now, it seemed Dean couldn't do enough for the architect, and Will was eating it up.

"What are you thinking about, sweetie?" Dean asked, setting down the basket he'd packed to make carrying their food up to the roof easier.

"Nothing," Will said with a smile and shake of his head. "Absolutely nothing."

*  *  *

Hannah turned over with a soft moan, not ready to face another day, but duty called. Or was that her alarm clock? With a slap of her palm, thee annoying beeping was reduced to chirping birds outside the window. Blinking rapidly, Hannah awoke enough to realize that she was alone.

"Denny?" The bedroom was empty, as well as the attached bathroom. "Sweetie?" The researcher's feet hit the floor with a thud, then she pushed herself from the mattress. "Denny?"

"Yeah?" the brunette stepped from around the corner, standing in the doorway to the bedroom.

"Why are you up so early?" Hannah walked over to her partner, taking her in a firm morning hug, placing a soft kiss on her lips. Denny was responsive, kissing her in return, then surprising Hannah by deepening the kiss.

With a happy sigh, Hannah wrapped her arms up around Denny's neck, pulling her closer, reveling in her touch, which had been non-existent in the week since the brunette's return. She had been aloof and somewhat distant. Hannah figured she just needed time to readjust to real life again. Maybe the famine was over and they had weathered the storm.

Denny reached her hands down, cupping Hannah's boxer-clad butt, pulling her closer, trying to lose herself in Hannah's familiar taste and feel. As hard as she tried, as much as her body was responding, she couldn't shake one thought from her head: this is wrong.

"What's the matter?" Hannah panted as Denny abruptly pulled away.

"Uh, nothing. I'm sorry. Guess I just need a little more time." Denny turned away, ashamed and confused. "I've got coffee ready," she threw over her shoulder as she left the bedroom. Hannah leaned against the wall, her chest still heaving, her body on fire. She was trying to shake off the sudden sting of tears that lingered behind her eyelids.

Denny closed her eyes as she leaned against the counter. The past week had been such a roller coaster, filled with emotions and feelings that she wasn't sure how to deal with. It hurt like hell that her coffee shop was gone; if nothing else, while she tried to deal with her feelings and confusion toward Hannah, she would've at least been able to lose herself in her business.

Two days ago Hannah had showed the brunette where all of her belongings had been packed into six boxes and stored in the garage. Denny hadn't had the heart to go through it yet, so it had all stayed where it was. Maybe she'd go through it today, once Hannah had gone to work.

Deciding she needed to do something to make up for hurting Hannah just now, as she knew she had, the brunette began to make breakfast, trying to hurry and have it done by time the water of the shower stopped.

"Oh, thank you, baby," Hannah beamed, admiring the bounty that had appeared while she readied for work. Denny smiled shyly, putting the finishing touches on the table with folded napkins.

"Figured you might want something good to eat to start your day."

Hannah nodded, remembering a time when they had made a choice of food or making love before work. Denny proved to be most amorous in the mornings, so Hannah often stopped at the café down the street from her office for a muffin, nearly running to clock in on time.

"Thanks, baby. That was thoughtful." She smeared a generous spoonful of jelly on her waffle, then squirted some Reddi Whip on top, glad Denny remembered how she liked them. "So what are you going to do today?"

Denny shrugged, playing with a link of sausage. "I may just wander around town for a bit. Maybe do some cleaning."

Hannah's' first instinct was to be offended by the cleaning comment, taking it to heart knowing her cluttered nature was often a point of contention between them, but then she remembered cleaning was something Denny enjoyed, and often did when she had something on her mind. That thought was even more disturbing. For a moment she almost wished it were a slight of her housekeeping abilities.

"Sounds good. Al offered to give me a half day off today." She eyed the woman across the table from her. "What do you think? Maybe we could do something? Get you caught up on what's been happening in good ol' Buffalo?" Why was she so damn nervous?

"Oh, uh, yeah. That would be good. Okay." Denny only half heard what the researcher said, mind a million miles away. It seemed she couldn't hold a single thought for more than a few moments at a time, and even when something stuck, it was quickly eclipsed by something else.

"Denny?

"Yeah?"

Hannah paused, unsure of what her question was. The brunette's name had just slipped off her tongue. Apparently her mind was more focused than her mouth. "Is," she stopped herself, sipping from her coffee to decide if she wanted to complete the question that had finally materialized.

"What?"

"Well, during the crash, I mean, were you hurt?" Coward. Hannah couldn't understand the radical change in Denny's behavior and the thought had occurred on more than one occasion that perhaps Denny had hit her head or suffered some sort of head injury that was totally throwing her personality off whack. Or maybe she was just overwhelmed. Either way, Hannah felt ashamed of the thoughts as soon as they had entered her brain. All the same, they plagued her.

"A few scratches. Bruises. Dislocated my shoulder." Denny winced at the memory of Pam setting it for her. It still ached from time to time.

"Ouch."

"Yeah. There was this woman, Pam, she's a veterinarian. She set it for me, and damn," the brunette shook her head at the memory. "Hurt like nothing else." She adjusted the wounded arm for good measure.

"I bet. I'm sorry you were hurt, honey."

"Eh," Denny shrugged. "that was nothing next to what could have happened. All of us were extremely lucky."

"Yeah. Did you all get along? Six of you, right"

"Yeah. And at first, no," she cracked a grin, finally cutting the sausage link into three bite-sized pieces, a comfort washing over her as she settled into thoughts of her island family. "We had our moments of fighting like cats and dogs, a few miss-matched personalities But, overall, it wasn't that bad. We formed a family, I guess. It helped get through it, I think."

Hannah listened, hanging on every single precious word, which she'd heard so few of over the past days. She leaned her chin on her palm as she was regaled with a few choice tales, outright guffawing at the attorney, Dean, and his beloved loafers, worn till the end.

"Oh, but the best part was this dildo we found in a suitcase-"

"Oh, shit!' Hannah interrupted, shoving back from the table after glancing at the clock on the wall. "Honey, I'm sorry, but I've got to go. Shit. I'm late." She placed a harried kiss on Denny's lips then gathered her purse and car keys. "We'll finish this conversation when I get home. Okay?"

"Yeah, sure." Denny smiled, though it didn't reach her eyes. She watched Hannah rush out the door in a whirlwind of perfume and freshly laundered clothing. Denny marveled at how her sense of smell seemed to have improved during her isolation. Certain smells, wonderful smells- perfume, flowers, candles, all invaded her olfactory senses, sending delicious messages to her brain, making her eyes close and a smile spread. She imagined it spawned from far too many months of unwashed bodies invading her senses.

Sighing heavily, she began to clean up their breakfast dishes.

*  *  *

The same trees lined the street, the same houses and people living in them. Rachel watched a world pass by the held so much familiarity, yet was an absolute mystery to her now. She no longer understood the dynamics the world had put on man and wife, and baby makes three. It was a foreign concept, and something she no longer cared about.

In the time she'd spent with Reenie in New York, she'd kept to herself, trying desperately to refocus her mind and energies into what she knew lie ahead- getting herself reestablished in her life and career. It had been mental gymnastics to keep her thoughts from veering off track, images and memories of Denny never far away.

The meeting with her publisher had gone well, though their every move had been dogged by media, which had nearly turned the blonde's editor into an alcoholic just to settle her nerves. Before the crash, Rachel had been under a newly signed, five book deal, but had only delivered on two, so the other three had been null and void. Her publisher had been good enough to not only not demand the advance from the original contract, but to allot her another smaller amount when the contract was reinstated. The author had been grateful, because once in the real world, she had been shocked to find out she was virtually penniless.

Reenie had told her all about the 1049 Club that she and Matt had established, along with the help of many of the other family and friends of victims of the crash, including Dean's partner, Will. She had been awed by her friend's generosity, even if it was with her money. It was all material, and when it boiled down to it, it was all earth-bound anyway.

"Are you ready for this?" Reenie asked, expertly steering the rental car into Matt and Rachel's driveway. The blonde nodded, taking a deep breath.

"As I'll ever be."

"I'm going to head to the hotel and work on some second edits, give you guys some time alone. Call when you're ready, okay?"

Again the blonde nodded. With a quick hug of gratitude, she climbed out of the car, watching nervously as her husband hurried out onto the porch, then to the driveway, sweeping her up in relieved arms.

Matt had agonized over what to do since he'd spoken with his wife on the phone two days before. He had no idea what the proper etiquette for something like this was, nor what he was supposed to do. Did he break up with his girlfriend and leave the life he'd made for himself, returning to a cold marriage simply out of duty and honor? Did he tell Rachel he was thrilled she was okay, but their life together had ended the day he thought hers had? Gaining no more insight than he had before hearing Rachel's voice, Matt had decided to just let things happen as they would. He'd see her, which he truly was happy about, wanting to make sure she was okay, and alive. And she was. Very much alive.

"Wow, what a crazy dream, huh?" he said, pulling away just enough to look into the beautiful green eyes that had first snagged his attention. Well, that is after he'd stared at her ass for ten minutes.

"Yeah. You can say that again." Rachel smiled, her nerves easing somewhat at the familiarity of Matt, the same face, same color of hair, though it was shorter and neatly styled. She also noted the clean-shaven face, and neatly trimmed sideburns. "You look really good."

"You, too. I can't get over how long your hair is. I've never seen it like this before."

"I don't have the heart to cut it," she said shyly. The detective smiled, then led her inside. "I'm sorry it's messy. I've been working a lot of overtime since coming back from my vacation." Matt grimaced, wanting to take the words back as soon as they were out of his mouth. He didn't want to have to answer questions he, himself didn't quite have the answers to. To her credit, Rachel didn't ask for specifics.

Rachel looked around the house she had shared with the man standing expectantly next to her. It looked the same, not much changing. Messier, but that was about it.

"How are you?" Matt's voice startled her. She turned, nodding nonchalantly.

"Good."

He wasn't buying it. "I mean, how are you really?"

Rachel couldn't avoid the direct, detective-interrogating-look she was receiving, and chuckled at herself, knowing better than to try. With a sigh, she ran a hand down the length of her ponytail. "I'm coping. That's about the best I can say right now."

Matt understood. From all the disastrous situations he'd seen over the ears, he wouldn't be one bit surprised if post-traumatic stress syndrome followed at some point. "Let's sit down."

"Alright." Rachel did, Matt sitting next to her. "Listen, Matt, um," she looked down at her fumbling hands in her lap, her left hand decidedly bare. The ring hadn't survived the crash. Matt's gaze were drawn to the movement, also noting the missing jewelry. "I think we need to talk. About us." Finally garnering the courage to meet his gaze, Rachel was surprised to see relief there.

"I agree. But can I please say something?"

"Sure."

Matt rubbed his sweating palms over the thighs of his jeans, swallowing hard, not wanting to bring up such a painful day. "About what happened, before you left. I'm so sorry, Rachel. I don't know what I was thinking, I never meant to hurt-"

"Yes you did." She held up a hand to forestall an argument. "It's okay, Matt. We were pretty miserable, and I've had a lot of time to think about my part in that. It was wrong, yes, but it's forgiven. You did me a favor, really."

"A favor?" His relief was momentarily washed away by the sting of pride at what he sensed was coming.

"Yes, a favor. Look at you." She placed a hand on the side of his face, smelling the shaving cologne on his skin. "You look so good, better than I've seen you look in years. You're obviously happy, have made a life for yourself- without me." Again, Matt's mouth opened to protest. This time Rachel placed two fingers over his lips. "It's okay," she said softly. "On that island, I came to realize that it wasn't working, and it was time to more on. For both of us. I think you've done that."

After a moment of looking down at his fingers play with the silver band of his wristwatch, Matt nodded. "Yeah. I have. But I want you to know, thinking you were dead, it hurt like hell, Rachel. Especially knowing that you were on that flight because of my own stupidity."

Rachel couldn't argue with that fact, so didn't try. "I still care about you, Matt. Very much. I want to see your happiness, and the best way I know how is by giving you your complete freedom- no guilt, no worries, no hurt feelings."

"You're asking for a divorce?" he asked, voice somewhat thick as his throat constricted. Matt was surprised by his reaction to the news, though knew deep inside it was the only answer, and was in awe of Rachel's strength and grace in granting it to him. Still, he loved her, and once had so many hopes for them.

"Under the circumstances, I think it's the only way. That is, if the state still even sees us as married. I'm not sure how that works, considering they think you're a widower."

Matt nodding, weakly returning the small smile from the blonde. "You're sure about this?"

Rachel looked at him, surprised by the pain in his eyes. Taking his hand, she held it between both of hers, surprising him. He couldn't remember the last time the blonde had initiated any sort of physical touch with him, even in the most innocent of contexts. "Don't you, Matt?"

The detective sighed, then slowly nodded. "Yeah. It's been on my mind since I found out you were alive, to be honest. I guess thinking about it and talking about are two very different things."

"They are," Rachel agreed. She caressed the back of his and with her thumb. "I think it's for the best."

"Is this," he cleared his throat and tried again, "Is this because of-"

"No." Rachel shook her head. "It certainly wasn't fun, what happened with that woman, but no. It would have happened anyway, I think."

Matt blew out a breath, nodding. "I think you're right." He looked at her, almost like he was memorizing her face, wondering how they'd gotten from that first, electrified glance to sitting on the couch, Rachel basically back from the dead, talking about divorce. "Well, uh, I can be outta here-"

"No." Rachel shook her head. "This is your home, Matt. Besides, I honestly have no idea where I'm going to land right now. I'm still just," she shrugged, looking around the living room, unsure exactly what she was trying to say. "trying to figure things out." It was lame, but the best she could come up with. She still wasn't entirely sure what she meant. Matt didn't fully understand, but from the look on the blonde's face, knew she didn't either.

"If you need to talk, Rach, I'm here. Okay?"

"Thank you. I appreciate that."

*  *  *

"Now, I sure hope you didn't get sea sick on that float this mornin'," Jake Bradshaw's chuckle echoing over the crowd from the giant speakers. He grinned at the guest of honor, Michael looking decidedly shy and uncomfortable standing on the small stage next to the mayor. Jake looked at him expectantly, wanting him to play along with the little joke.

"Uh, no, I'm fine."

The mayor smiled at the gathered crowd, an amazingly large percentage of the population of well over one hundred thousand, turning up to celebrate their local hero.

"The town of Beaumont would like to give you this, Michael, the key to our city." He handed the mechanic a plaque with a giant brass key affixed, as well as his name engraved into a plate beneath it. Michael took it, holding it and a smile along with the mayor, while hundreds of flashbulbs went off. The crowd cheered as he took it from Jake Bradshaw, looking at it in wonderment.

"I really gotta say, I'm shocked. Didn't think I'd done nothin' big enough for y'all to wanna give me somethin' like this," he said, running a hand over the sooth, cool surface of the key. "Can't say I've ever seen a lock big enough for the key, here, neither." This earned him a round of laughter. "Thank y'all. I'm touched. I can't accept this without this belongin' to my wife, Melissa, too. I'd like to ask for a moment of silence for her right quick."

"Everyone, if we could have a moment of silence," the mayor said, his voice low and dramatic. The music from the high school band stopped, everyone falling to absolute quiet.

Melissa, baby, wherever you are, I love you.

After a moment, the mayor raised his hands, indicating festivities should continue.

The parade had been a huge hit, local businesses donating their time and creative efforts to make fun floats, as well as one for Michael and his family to ride on, as they made their slow way through the center of town. Even Walter and Meredith had gotten into the fun, waving and throwing candy from the large bags given to them before the parade had started on its way, pouring into the Burleson County Fairgrounds, where a carnival had been set up over night. Music, food to rot your teeth, and fun awaited the crowd as Michael and Mayor Bradshaw made their way off the stage, engulfed by a sea of well-wishers.

Jennifer stood back, at a loss for words, so proud of her father, yet so deeply sad that her mother couldn't be included in the celebration. Her dad had been home for almost two weeks, and she couldn't allow him out of her sight, a desperate need for him overtaking her. Sometimes she felt like a child, clingy and unsure. Luckily, her father seemed to have the same needs of his kids, always keeping her and Alan close. He had tried with Conrad, but he was still being obstinate and difficult. However, the other night she had caught him laughing at some of the stories their dad was telling the family over dinner, of his time on the island, and some of the Island Six. That guy, Dean, sounded like a hoot. She'd like to meet him someday, even though it sounded like he and her father couldn't be more polar opposites if they tried!

The games, rides and food was free for the Dupree-Adams family, everyone enjoying themselves, and allowing all the stresses and tension of the past year go. It had been a hard time, adjusting without Michael and Melissa, and then adjusting to a huge change yet again, when he resurfaced. It was a good day.

*  *  *

The garage was filled with old lumber from the shed that was built four years ago. The musty smell of dust-covered wood and grease filled Denny's nose. She picked her way past the spot where Hannah parked her car, to the back where she was told the boxes were stacked. Sure enough, under an old quilt, she found what was left of her life. Brushing a few spider webs out of the way, the brunette pulled the box cutter from her back pocket. Taking the first box she came to, she carefully slit the tape along the sides and top, pulling the flaps back. Underneath layers of wadded newspaper, she found a framed picture of the two of them during their trip to Kauai. Denny held it in her hands, looking closely at her own face, studying her eyes and the bright smile on her lips. Where had that light gone? The passion she'd felt for life at that time, where did it go? She had been so content and satisfied with her personal and professional life. Now, sitting in the dark, dank garage, she had never felt so lost or disheartened.

Turning her gaze to Hannah, she saw the love shining in her dark eyes, the happiness radiating off her. S he remembered the day that photo had been taken, the amazing time they'd had together, the way they laughed and truly enjoyed the other's company. What had changed? Why did Hannah feel like such a stranger now? Even her eyes were different. Yes, she was kind, understanding, and was being so very gentle with Denny through the brunette's return home, and readjustment. Yet, something was definitely off. True, it hadn't been very long, and it was an adjustment for both of them, not just Denny. Maybe she just needed to give it more time. Maybe it would all be okay in time.

Then why did Denny keep thinking about Rachel? She tried to keep the blonde out of her thoughts, knowing that what they had shared on the island was simply a product of their circumstances. They had each temporarily filled the void that had been left by the loss of their families and homes, all that was familiar and comforting. That was all, nothing more. If they met today, in the 'real' world, what they felt would soon dissolve into precious memories. So then why did Denny's heart ache so badly? And why was the void the blonde had filled on the island, still there once Denny had returned to her family and home?

Denny fell into the quilt, leaning against the boxes, a hand over her mouth. She stared out the raised garage door into the afternoon, not seeing the woman walking by with the Dalmatian on a leash, nor the souped up Accura that roared by.

She felt tears pepper her cheeks, tasting their saltiness as they slid down over the corner of her mouth.

PART 16

THE STREET WAS quiet, the lunch rush not yet started. Denny knew the time of day well. It was when she and her crew were finally able to relax and breathe after the morning rush, as well as start new brewing rounds, and restock the pastry cases. Denny would often disappear into her office to get the ordering done, or paperwork.

Standing on the corner of Marsh and Clifton, Denny shoved her hands deep into the back pockets of her jeans and stared up at the corner building, its carved stone face and two big windows, where DiRisio's had been prominently displayed. Now that space was filled with the name of the current shop, some sort of bakery.

Denny's face slowly crumbled, her hands coming up to catch her head as it fell, tears streaming through her fingers.

*  *  *

Can you believe Halloween stuff is already out?

Pam chuckled, nodding, then signing her response: Must milk the general public for every penny as quickly as possible. One week before Halloween we'll be seeing Christmas trees.

Tracy grinned, picking up a heavy piece of orange foam, which looked startlingly realistic with its Jack-O lantern face carved into the ‘pumpkin'.

Very cute. Luke would love this, Tracy said, turning the prop over to look at the price tag. Pam tapped her on the shoulder to get her attention.

Wouldn't he enjoy carving a real one better? Her daughter studied her for a long moment, eyes twinkling with amused astonishment. What? I think it would be fun. Pam's grin was contagious as Tracy's face nearly split wide open. She quickly put the foam pumpkin down, heading away from the display with purpose. Pam wanted to pump her fist in the air in victory. The past month had its rough spots, Pam not sure what her place was in her daughter's house or her life. The younger woman had invited her mother to stay with them for as long as she liked, but it was an uneasy truce. Pam tried to keep her tongue in check, and not butt in on Tracy's parenting duties, which was tough sometimes. She was getting to know her grandson, and loved him dearly, but was beginning to realize he could be quite the pistol. She had to smirk as she realized he took after his grandma.

What are you grinning at?

Pam shook her head. "Nothing.

Tracy was quiet for awhile as they strolled down the aisles of the large discount store. She had been pleasantly surprised at how well things had gone since her mother had returned. In all honesty, inviting her to stay had largely been out of obligation. It had been a few weeks now, and though they'd had a couple brief arguments, she could tell that Pam was really trying, and she appreciated it greatly. And, to her shock, was enjoying the time with her mother. It was beginning to help rebuild some of the bridges that had been torched over the years.

Tracy thought about the way her son was responding to the new woman in his life. That alone was a large part of her change of heart toward the woman who had given birth to her almost twenty-eight years ago, and who she had thought of as a cold, heartless person for a long time. Something had happened to Dr. Pam Sloan on that island; it was evident in everything she did, and even in her eyes. They were softer, kinder, and filled with an interest and wonder that wasn't there before.

Pam was looking over their shopping list, so was unaware of the scrutiny she was being put under. The hand on her arm got her attention. She wanted to cry as she heard what her daughter had to say: I'm so glad you're here, Mom.

*  *  *

"So how has it been? Wonderful, no doubt. I just can't believe she's actually alive."

Hannah heard Jill's words, though took a sip from her drink so she wouldn't have to respond. Jill Burbank was a long-time friend of hers and Denny, the tall blonde eyeing Denny as she spoke softly with Jill's husband, Rod.

"How has catching up been? Has she told you what happened on that island?"

The researcher shook her head. "No. Not really. She's told me some, but," she shrugged. "nothing major. It's been- an adjustment."

Jill could hear something in Hannah's voice. She wasn't sure what exactly that ‘something' was, but it wasn't good. "Is everything okay?"

Hannah sighed, shaking her head as she, too watched Denny and Rod, in a heated discussion about something. Turning sad eyes to her tall friend, Hannah sighed again. "No."

Jill was shocked, as Denny and Hannah had always been the golden couple of their small circle of friends, the couple that everyone wanted to be like. After eight years, the woman were still so much in love, it had truly been an inspiration in Jill's own marriage. Setting her coffee down, Jill took Hannah by the hand and led her toward the door.

"Come on, come outside with me while I have a cigarette."

Hannah nodded, settling herself beside her friend on the front stoop. The researcher looked up into the night sky, seeing a few twinkling stars.

"The weather is going to be changing soon," Jill said conversationally as she pulled a smoke out from the pack kept in her purse. Her companion remained silent, but nodded. Lighting the tip of the cigarette, Jill took a drag, then blew out her next question with the smoke. "Talk to me. What's happening?"

"I don't know. It's like something broke inside somewhere. Denny," she glanced behind her to make sure her partner wasn't anywhere near the door. She lowered her voice. "It's like she's not all here sometimes, like she is so distracted, or her mind is a million miles away. Then some days she's like her old self. Those days we can talk, even laugh. You know, at first I figured she just needed to try and readjust to life again," she chuckled ruefully. "Hell, at one point I even wondered if she'd gotten a head injury or something."

"Oh, nice," Jill chuckled, taking another drag.

"Well, that's how different she is. Like I said, at first I was okay with it. Confused, maybe, but alright for the most part, as I figured it would take some getting used to. But now-" she shrugged. "It's been a month, and I still feel like I'm living with a stranger. We haven't made love at all, and it's almost like I'm afraid to touch her in any way, like she'll break or something."

"You guys haven't been intimate?" Hannah shook her head. "At all?" Again, the researcher shook her head, pulling her knees up and hugging them to her chest. "Wow." Jill looked back out into the night, the cigarette dangling from her fingers. "Do you think this has to do with DiRisio's? I mean, you said she didn't take it well, right?"

"Yeah. She was devastated. I've never felt like more of an asshole as I did that day, Jill. I thought I did the right thing for me, hell, I did do the right thing for me, but she was truly devastated. I've never watched Denny shatter into a million pieces until that day. She just seems so lost, and yeah, I do wonder if that has something to do with it."

"Why doesn't she open another shop? Maybe something different this time?"

"I've thought about that. We're still dealing with this insurance company business. They declared Denny legally dead, but now are trying to decide whether they want their money back or not."

"Oh, shit. What are you going to do?"

"I don't know. We've talked about going after the airline to get them to pay it back." She looked at Jill. "I paid everything off with that money."

"And DiRisio's sale?"

"Most of it's in the bank. I rolled it into a retirement fund."

Jill blew out the rest of her cigarette smoke, smashing the butt against the stoop and tossing it into the old coffee can Hannah had set out for just that purpose when she knew Jill and Rod were coming over. That was their deal; they could smoke on the front stoop as long as they threw the butts in the can, and not sprinkle them over the front walkway or grass.

"I've thought about talking to her about maybe seeing someone. I don't know. Maybe she's just depressed. I don't know. She's certainly not herself. That's about the only thing I'm at all sure of."

"You know what I noticed the most?" Jill asked, tucking her hands between her thighs. Hannah glanced at her. "Her eyes. Denny has the most gorgeous eyes of anyone I've ever known in real life, and what made them so striking was the life in them, that wonderful mischievous twinkle that always seemed to be there."

Hannah smiled, knowing all too well that mischievous twinkle, and what it was capable of. She nodded.

"Now, I don't know." Jill blew out a cigarette-scented breath. "It's gone somehow. Like the lights are one, burning brightly, but no one is home."

"I know what you mean. I know exactly what you mean." Hannah rested her chin on her knees, staring up into the night sky. "I really hope she'll bounce back out of this. I'm trying to be patient."

"Yeah. It has only been a month."

"Yeah. It has."

Dinner had been fun with Jill and Rod, Denny thought as she got ready for bed. She pulled back the comforter and blanket on the bed, folded it at the end. The nights were still warm enough for the body heat of two to only need a sheet. Glancing across the bed to where Hannah also got ready, Denny watched her partner, noting how quiet she'd been after returning from outside with Jill.

"Everything okay?" she asked, stuffing the clothes she'd worn that night into the hamper.

"Yeah. I'm alright." Hannah smiled, though it was sad.

Denny headed into the bathroom, heart heavy. She knew that sad look, and knew she'd put it there. It had been off and on over the past couple weeks. As Denny brushed her teeth, still smarting at the three new fillings in her teeth, she thought about her behavior over the past weeks. She knew it was hurting Hannah, but she just didn't know how to be the same person she used to be, because when it boiled down to it, she wasn't. Going to see what had once been her baby, her dream, long gone, had effected Denny more than she thought it would. She had been devastated all over again, feeling anger, though surprisingly, not at Hannah. She had come to understand her partner's reasons for doing what she did, but rather anger at life, at the world, at the goddamn airlines. She felt they had stolen her life, and she'd do anything to get it back.

Leaning against the sink, Denny looked into the mirror above it, looking into her eyes, her face, and finally trailing down to take in her upper chest, visible above the low neckline of the tank top she slept in. Bringing a hand up, she spread her fingers out over the warm skin, her palm resting against her collar bones.

Though her heart hurt and she felt empty and lost, Denny knew she had to make the best of things, and enter back into her own life, figure out how to live back in her skin. With steely determination, Denny finished getting ready for bed.

Hannah climbed in between the sheets, sighing as her body relaxed, arranging the sheet and her pillow just so. She heard the bathroom door open, then the lights were turned out as Denny climbed in on her side.

"It was good to see Jill and Rod," the brunette said, settling herself on the soft mattress.

"Yeah, it was," Hannah agreed. She looked over, barely able to see Denny's profile in the darkened bedroom. "Rod said he wants to know the name of the tanning booth you go to."

Denny chuckled, meeting the dark eyes not quite a foot from her. "Well, that's quite a ways away. I don't know if he could do it in a weekend." She smiled at Hannah's laugh. She had to admit it was a good sound. She decided she wanted to hear it again. "Yeah, see there's no little goggles and cool glass to keep you safe from the little bits of sunlight captured in light bulbs. No, no, in my tanning salon, you get a slab of rock underneath you, and a fig leaf over you. You can, however, use cocoanut shells to cover your breasts, cause, you know," she lowered her voice to a whisper, "it hurts to have sunburned nipples."

Hannah giggled as she turned to her side, reveling in the lighter side of Denny, which had been strangely absent since her return.

"Trust me on this one," Denny continued. "found that out the hard way."

"Oh, did you?"

"I did." Denny stared at Hannah's face, pale against the night, and suddenly she felt a deep need to be close to her, to feel normal again. Reaching out, she pulled the researcher closer, their bodies nearly touching. "I missed you," she said, running her fingers down over the soft skin of Hannah's arm.

"I've missed you, too, baby." Hannah felt Denny's hot breath against her face, a shiver running through her body. She whimpered softly when she felt Denny's breasts brush against her own as the brunette scooted closer.

Denny pushed Hannah to her back, covering her body with her own as she claimed the researcher's mouth.

*  *  *

It had taken some maneuvering, but Rachel had managed to escape the prying eyes of the media, needing to disappear for awhile. Only Reenie knew where she was, not even trusting her publisher; after all, it was because of them the media frenzy of the Island Six had started in the first place. They knew how to find her via email or phone, but that was all they needed to know.

Armed with her laptop, a goodly amount of cash and keys to the small cottage Reenie had rented in her stead in Beaver Creek, Colorado- a ski town near Vale- Rachel settled in for an indeterminate amount of time and self-isolation. She needed to think, needed to write, and needed to regroup.

Pulling up to the turn, which led down a densely tree-lined, single lane road, Rachel looked at the computer printout of the directions to the place, going back over her travels since she'd hit town. Deciding she was in the right place, she clicked her left turn signal, and, waiting for a large truck to pass, turned onto the private road, suddenly chilled as the thicket of trees lining the road thrust the inside of her rental car into shade before bursting back into sunlight as she neared the small house.

Charmed, a small smile graced Rachel's lips as she pulled the four-wheel drive Explorer up to the front porch, replete with a porch swing and small round table flanked by two wrought iron chairs. Rachel heaved her laptop bag and suitcase out of the back of the rented SUV and headed up to the small, three room cottage.

The inside was just as charming as the outside- hardwood floors, covered by numerous area rugs to protect against cold feet in the colder winters. A huge stone fireplace, which took up one entire wall, as well as rugged, sturdy wood furniture, and thick, down throws across the backs.

"This is beautiful," she murmured, turning in a small circle, already imagining what she could come up with in the space. She set her laptop down on the couch, then headed into the bedroom, equally impressed with it- massive oak bed with thick, homemade quilts, and large, heavy bedroom furniture. The one bathroom was attached to the bedroom with a door leading back to the living room. The blonde couldn't wait to try out the Jacuzzi that night. In the mean time, she wanted to get unpacked and settled in, a nice cozy fire, glass of good wine, and an open Word document.

Dinner was a leisurely affair, and Rachel sat, curled up in the corner of the couch, sipping her wine and staring into the flames. It was almost too warm for a fire, but enough of the cool, mountain air came in to justify it for her. She loved fireplaces and cold weather- something she'd missed dearly living on the island. She couldn't wait for winter, and had considered staying in the mountains for the duration of the year, watching the covering of the Rockies.

Rachel had thrown away the manuscript she'd written on the island, deciding that her view of the situation had changed, and new ideas had sprouted. She felt far different now than she had when she had started writing it, and needed. She needed to write, vent what was eating her up inside and figure out her feelings through recreating the events that had happened. She saw everyone in a different light than she initially had, and visions were haunting her daily of what needed to be written.

Setting her wineglass aside, Rachel opened up the silver lap computer, letting it boot up as she took her dinner dishes to the kitchen and rinsed them before arranging them in the dishwasher. Walking back into the main living space, she studied the flames once more, wishing with everything in her that Denny was there. She hadn't seen the brunette in nearly two months, and she missed her dearly. Rachel realized that there was literally a hole inside her, one that had always been there, though she hadn't realized it, and Denny had somehow managed to fill it. Then she was ripped away, and the hole was left bigger than it started out being.

Reenie had asked the blonde if she thought she were gay, and Rachel hadn't had an answer to that. She didn't see Denny as a ‘woman' or a ‘lesbian' thing. Denny was simply the person who made her feel whole, and who brought a warmth and joy to her life like no one else; she just happened to have a pair of breasts. Even so, Rachel was more than willing to try out those breasts.

As Rachel sank into the couch, she sighed, closing her eyes as she remembered that last morning, before the plane had arrived. Denny's hands had been so gentle, her mouth hot and driving the blonde to wild heights of arousal. She'd been desperate for Denny's touch, and still was. The beautiful brunette invaded her dreams, and her thoughts, no matter how hard she tried to keep her out. It had been the most embarrassing when she had been down visiting her sisters at Veronica's house in Portland. Danielle had caught her daydreaming, and when she'd asked the blonde what had her flushed, Rachel had been left speechless and flustered.

She had thought about making a trip east, maybe visit Reenie, see a good show- look up Denny. That thought had stopped her cold. Denny was happily married, and their circumstances on the island had made their connection feel that much stronger, and that and that alone made Denny stray. Rachel knew she didn't stand a chance against Hannah, nor did she want to do that to Denny, or put her in that kind of position that may ruin her relationship, that Rachel knew meant so much to the brunette. Besides- she was probably more than busy with getting back into her coffee shop and reacquainting herself with her partner.

The blonde forced her thoughts away from Denny, and back to the novel se planned to start, and not leave Beaver Creek until it was done.

*  *  *

Hannah's breathing was even and slow, her body relaxed and warm. Denny held her, but sleep was far away. It had been nice to give Hannah pleasure, make her feel good, give her what Denny knew she'd been longing for. Even as the brunette had kissed her, touched her, made love to her, she'd felt like she was a million miles away, her thoughts wandering, her heart nowhere to be found. She just hoped Hannah hadn't noticed. She didn't want to hurt her anymore than she already had. She didn't want to make Hannah doubt herself, or her place in Denny's heart.

So why did Denny feel sick to her stomach?

She stared up at the ceiling, Hannah's steady weight all along the right side of her body. Her eyes followed the subtle pattern made by the brush strokes in the paint. Denny hadn't allowed Hannah to touch her or bring her to release, as she knew it wouldn't happen. She felt awful, but deep down Hannah wasn't the woman she wanted touching her at that moment. Shoving that thought aside, she'd told Hannah that tonight it was all about her. Hannah had argued at first, but her body's need finally made her give in. Denny had thought she could do it, thought she could just let herself go, let her body take over, and feel what she used to. Feel the love she and Hannah had at one time, that she knew had to still be there. Somewhere. Sometimes it was so frustrating it made her want to cry. Since when did making love to the woman you'll spend the rest of your life with, had already spent eight years with, become something forced? Denny was confused and very, very sad.

*  *  *

Michael gazed lovingly down at the set of tools that had been given to him, admiring the chrome sheen and steel perfection. He ran his fingers over the cool metal of a socket wrench, inhaling the smell of greased tools. He loved tools, loved what could be done with them, fixed or created. Raising his eyes, he looked around the garage, running a hand over the patch that Meredith had stitched on the left breast pocket, feeling the raised stitches that were his name.

Damn, it felt good to be productive again.

*  *  *

The night was pitch black, sun long since disappeared. The only sound breaking the sound of perfect midnight was the sound of tapping computer keys, the steady staccato beat a lullaby for the night creatures that roamed the forests of Beaver Creek, Colorado.

*  *  *

Mia studied her text book, trying her damnedest to not notice the boy and girl sitting at the next table over in the library. He was murmuring some sort of nonsense to her, and she was giggling and asking him to stop, though her tone of voice sent a very different message. Dark eyes rolled for about the tenth time in as many minutes. Finally having enough of the petty flirting, and the fellow students not taking their studies as seriously as they should- after all, they never did know when the chance to learn may end- she slammed the book shut, shoving it into her backpack and storming out of the library. She'd find another place to study, a quiet place.

For the first time in her life, Mia hated going to school. She loved to learn, she loved what she got from the classes and lessons, but hated the pettiness around her. She looked at her peers and wanted to laugh at what they thought was the end of the world. So what, he didn't ask you to the prom? Who cares that her shoes and accessories don't match. And who gives a good goddamn that his fake I.D. isn't as good as his brother's!

Everyday required a pep-talk, if not from Mia herself, then from her mother. Why couldn't she just bypass all of this and go on straight to college? These people had absolutely no idea just how big the world really was, and small their lives were.

*  *  *

Pam ran a hand through her hair before resting her head in the palm of her hand, staring down at the book laid out on the table. She was trying to get certified in Montana for veterinary medicine, and was having a hell of a time. She hadn't been in school for so long, she felt like a complete idiot, wondering how she'd ever done it the first time, baby in tow!

"Because I was thirty years younger," she muttered, testily flipping the page of her notebook, trying to find the notes on the assignment she'd taken in class that afternoon.

After hanging out with Tracy and Luke on the ranch twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, Tracy had not-so-subtly suggested Pam try and get back into practice. The older woman knew she was driving her daughter crazy, so had agreed. Besides, she missed her work, loving all the animals like nothing else. The love a cat or dog or even pet ferret, gave was a love like no other. They asked no questions, wanted nothing from you but love and care. Pam seemed to be trying to give that to Tracy and Luke a little too much.

The older woman smiled at the thought, sighing as she found the spot in her notes she was looking for.

*  *  *

"I was thinking that maybe we'd head to Maine, or maybe New Hampshire, see the trees change colors. What do you think?" Will asked, tightening his hold on Dean's arm.

"Mmm," the attorney sighed, "that sounds wonderful. Great idea." He eyed his partner, a smirk curling his lips.

"What?"

"Maybe I'm converting you into a little tree hugger after all."

Will rolled his eyes, about to pull away when they were stopped, a young girl wearing a green baseball cap stopping them.

"Good afternoon, guys. Care to support your environment?" She held out a flyer to them. "I'm part of the environmentalist group, WorldWin, and we're taking donations right now for our campaign to stop illegal logging, which is destroying out forests at startling rates."

Dean took the flyer, reading the black print as he listened to the girl prattle on about percentages and alarming facts. He could feel Will trying to tug him away, but the attorney was intrigued. Glancing up into the girl's hopeful blue eyes, he smiled, crossing his arms over his chest. "Tell me more."

*  *  *

Hannah had left for work, humming and walking on a cloud. Denny had done her best t play the ever dutiful wife, making Hannah breakfast, though she'd made sure she was up before the researcher, needing time by herself, and not wanting to get cornered in bed. She needed her space.

Now she had it, the house quiet, just the barest lingering scent of Hannah's perfume. Denny showered, then slipped into one of the pairs of jeans they'd bought her. Hannah had kept some of her clothing from before, but much of it no longer fit her much leaner frame. Buttoning her shirt, she looked into the mirror above the dresser, snatching a flyaway eyebrow hair, when she noticed something in the reflected image of the bedroom behind her. Turning, the brunette walked over to Hannah's side of the room, to the researcher's closet, which had been left open in Hannah's haste to leave for work. On the shelf, tucked between a folded blanket and box of their old love letters, she saw a wooden box- a jewelry box.

Denny chewed on her bottom lip for a moment, wondering what to do. She knew she hadn't given that to Hannah, and had never seen it before. Curiosity got the best of her, and she reached up, taking the small, delicate box from the shelf, sitting on the end of the bed to examine it. It was a rich mahogany, and quite beautiful. Denny ran her fingers over the lead glass top, tracing the etched flower pattern. The lid squeaked slightly as she lifted it. Inside was a gold watch, again new to Denny, some ticket stubs that looked like were from Broadway shows. Looking at the names, Denny recognized a couple of the standards- Chicago, Beauty and the Beast, then a couple she'd never heard of. Gingerly fingering those aside, she saw what looked to be upside down Polaroid's.

Yet again Denny was chewing on her lower lip, trying to decide whether to disturb Hannah's privacy, or sate her curious nature. Something inside her told her to close the lid on the box, put it away, and continue on with her day. Her fingers itched to move, to be doing something, though they were frozen in Denny's indecision. Taking a deep breath, Denny plucked the pictures from the bottom of the box, turning them over. The first was some sort of scenic picture, boats and water, some sort of harbor, perhaps. Sliding the picture behind the stack of three, the second showed Hannah, her hair in the pixie cut Denny was getting used to, and a smile plastered on her face. She was standing next to a woman with medium-length red hair, kind brown eyes gazing at the lens of the camera. She was also smiling, though it was closed mouth, more of a smirk.

"Pretty girl," Denny muttered. The two women were standing on what looked to be a dock, maybe the same dock of the harbor from the first photo. Sliding it behind the first picture, Denny's breath caught, eyes glued to the image on the third Polaroid. Hannah held the redhead in her arms, one hand cupping the back of her head, their foreheads resting against each other, both grinning broadly in profile. It looked as though the photographer had just caught them after or before a kiss.

Denny felt her face pale, blood rushing toward her stomach as nausea set in. She couldn't take her eyes off the picture, the still taking action in her brain, the women's lips meeting, Hannah's eyes closed as the redhead plundered her mouth, drawing her close.

The brunette tried to shake the image out of her head, but couldn't. Who was she? Why had Hannah kept the box and pictures? Denny could only guess the redhead had given it to her, as well as the watch, and had gone to the shows with her.

Slowly, she put the pictures back as they'd been, carefully placing the stubs and watch back over them and closing the lid. She caressed its smooth surface absently for a moment, lost in thought. So I'm not the only one who found love. Though it was true, and technically Hannah had done nothing wrong, it didn't help her stomach, nor the hurting of her heart. Denny couldn't help but wonder how Hannah could feel anything for anyone else, when she thought Denny was dead. Would she be able to? If Hannah had been dead for more than a year, could she move on? How long had the relationship gone on? Was it still going on when Denny had miraculously returned from the dead?

The thought sent the brunette to the bathroom, forehead resting against the cool glass above the sink, shoulders hunched as she leaned against the sink. Had that redhead touched Hannah the way Denny had the night before? How long had it been since they'd been together?

Running a shaky hand through her hair, Denny pushed off the sink and headed toward the kitchen, grabbing her car keys off the hook by the door.

*  *  *

"Hello?"

"Hi."

Silence.

"I'm sure you don't want to hear from me, but I need to talk. Please, Tiffany, I need a friend." Hannah placed her hand on her pounding forehead, trying to will the pain away.

"Are you okay?" Tiffany sat back in her desk, more than surprised to hear from Hannah after two months without a word, just as she'd asked it to be. It had been difficult, seeing news of the Island Six's return plastered all over every damn TV screen and channel, and knowing that Hannah was in the same building, just a few floors away.

"Not really. It's Denny. God, I feel like she came back from war or something, shell shocked and changed." Taking a deep breath, Hannah sat back in her chair, wincing as it squeaked. "Last night we made love for the first time-"

"Hannah, I really don't to hear this." The accountant could feel the ache deep in her heart, and roiling of her stomach.

"Please, Tiffany." Hannah heard the heavy sigh and reluctant agreement to listen. "She's not herself. At all. Last night she wouldn't let me touch her, like my touch burned her or something. And even when she touched me, I felt," Hannah paused, trying to remember back, thinking of what she had felt and thought, even during the bliss of sexual release. "I felt like I was being touched by a robot, some sort of drone or something. I don't even know if she was truly there." Hannah whispered the last words.

Tiffany squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the mental images that her brain had conjured up, Hannah's beautiful body in the throes of ecstasy from another woman's hand. Clearing her throat, she spoke. "What would you like me to do about this, Hannah?" She didn't want to sound cold, but had no idea what the researcher expected of her.

"I want to see you," Hannah whispered desperately.

"Oh, no!" Tiffany shoved away from her desk, eyes wide. "I am not going to play that game with you, Hannah. You made your choice."

Hannah nodded dumbly, feeling like a bitch for even suggesting it. "I'm sorry. You're right. I need to go." She carefully replaced the handset into the cradle, tears of confusion stinging her eyes.

*  *  *

"You think I don't realize I sell coffee here? As I told you, I'm out of French Nut Surprise for the time being. You can either chose something else, or go somewhere else." The older woman's icy gaze nearly froze the rude patron where he stood. Without another breath, he quickly ordered something else, then scurried to his seat at the back of Mile. "That's what I thought," Joni Sanchez muttered, hurrying over to the drink station to make the order. She heard the bells above the door jingle to life. "I'm out of vanilla whoever you are, so don't even ask."

"Good thing I'm a chocolate gal."

Joni froze, the hair prickling on the back of her neck. "Goddamn, son-of-a-bitch!" Drink creation forgotten, Joni hurried around the counter, taking Denny into a choking hug. "Wondered when you were going to show up around here." She gave a painful squeeze. "Took you long enough!"

"Yeah, well," Denny had nothing to say as she was led around back, into Joni's office. "You stay. I'll be right back."

The brunette sat back in the space she knew well. Even when she'd already established DiRisio's, she'd come back from time to time for advice or just simply to chat. The office was small, crammed with boxes of syrups and cups that wouldn't fit into the tiny storage room. Joni's desk was covered in papers, purchase orders and packing slips.

"Okay. Had to get Robert from outside to take over," Joni said, breezing back into the office, throwing herself into the squeaky desk chair across from Denny. The older woman sat forward, elbows resting on a small stack of Mile brochures, a few floating to the floor. "Can't believe you're back, Denny. Hot damn, what a story."

"Mm," the brunette agreed, playing with her bottom lip.

"How are you doing, Denny?" Joni asked, her voice growing soft.

"I'm fine."

"No, I mean, how are you. You don't look good. You look tired and- haunted."

Denny looked into narrowed eyes, which scrutinized her from head to toe. "You see a lot, Joni." Sighing, she leaned forward, resting her elbows on her thighs.

"What's going on, Den? Everything okay? At home."

Was everything okay? Denny saw that picture in her mind again, her eyes closing. Then she felt the cool distance she felt from her own life. Lastly, she saw Rachel's face, felt her touch. No. Nothing is okay. Even so, she didn't want to talk about her turmoil. She wasn't ready to speak about what she didn't quite understand yet.

"I'm just trying to adjust, Joni. I had no idea what a huge feat that would be. I thought I could come back, immediately rejoin the world of the living, and fall right back into my relationship." She shook her head. "Harder than I thought."

Joni had a feeling her old friend wasn't going to say much more, so decided to not push. "Well, what are you doing these days to occupy yourself?" Since your damn wife betrayed you and sold your business.

Denny shrugged, sitting back in her chair, jiggling ankle crossing her knee. "Cleaning the house, bumming around the neighborhood to reacquaint myself with things, neighbors, that kind of thing."

"Sounds- exciting."

Denny smirked, shaking her head.

"Come work for me," Joni tossed out, eyeing the beautiful brunette, head cocked nonchalantly. Somewhere inside, the coffee shop owner had a feeling that it would be the best thing for her, get out of the house and around something familiar. Joni had no idea what was going on, but could tell her old employee and friend was deeply disturbed by something.

Denny studied her friend for long moments, contemplating her offer. Finally she nodded. "Okay."

Joni smiled big. "Good. I could use someone around here who knows what the hell they're doing."

*  *  *

"Are you sure about this, Michael? Think maybe you should hold off, get through the holidays?" Meredith asked, hands on hips as she looked around the small house, packed boxes stacked high.

"No. I need to try and get their lives as normal as possible as quickly as possible." The mechanic blew out a breath, proud to finally have his own house again, even if it was a tiny three bedroom rental at the edge of town. It was rundown, dirty, but cheap. Michael figured he, Jennifer and Conrad could make themselves a home there, painting, cleaning and decorating for the upcoming holidays.

"Alright, son." The older woman leaned up, giving her son-in-law a kiss on the cheek, then went out to join Walter in the truck.

Once left alone, Michael looked around, trying to decide where to start. The kids were still at school- he hadn't wanted them to have to deal with this, so their grandparents, a couple guys Michael worked with and himself had gotten everything moved into the new house. Jennifer would drive she and Conrad to their new home after school. Over the weekend he'd take them to the store so they could pick out stuff for their rooms, personalize them a bit. Maybe put up some sports memorabilia in Conrad's room, and whatever new actor or singer Jennifer was into.

It still amazed Michael, the way his kids had grown up, seemingly over night. Granted, he'd only been gone for just over a year, but he'd noticed changes in all three. Maybe it was the situation, having to grow up over night. Or maybe his babies truly were just growing up.

He pulled the box cutter out of his back pocket and began to open up boxes, kept in storage over the past year and a half. Meredith had kept much of their belongings, thinking it would help the kids when they got their own houses. In fact, Alan had a set of their dishes, and the downstairs furniture, in his own house. He was coming over later that night to help unpack, and the four of them were going to enjoy a quiet night together, celebrating the new home.

The big Texan got busy unpacking, putting things away and breaking down boxes, getting the kitchen and his own bedroom completely unpacked. He was surprised when he heard car doors slamming outside, and the voices of his two youngest. Glancing at his watch, Michael saw he'd been at it for more than six hours.

"Daddy?" Jennifer Dupree called out, looking around the small living room as she entered the house. The couch had been set against the paneled wall, a few boxes stacked on top of the cushions, a thick pile of broken down ones on the floor next to it.

"In here, guys!" came the deep, disembodied voice of their father, deeper in the house. She followed his voice back to his bedroom, the smallest, at the back of the house, by the back door. "Hey, Angel," he said with a broad smile, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. "Hey, big guy. How was school?" He knew better than to try to hug or touch Conrad, knowing the boy would pull away. As it was, he barely stood in the doorway of the room, hands buried deep into the pockets of his baggy jeans, baseball cap perched cockeyed on his head.

"S'kay," he muttered.

"Good. Well, I left both your rooms alone. Your beds are put together, but you kids can put your stuff away. Alan will be over after work, then we can all sit down at eat some pizza. Wuddya think?"

"Sounds great!" Jennifer gave her dad a quick hug then bounced off toward her own room. She was so excited to have their own place again. She loved her grandparents, but never liked staying with them. Her grandfather was constantly a grouch, always had been, and her grandmother seemed overwhelmed most the time. Jennifer hated seeing her that way.

Conrad followed, trudging his way to his own room.

*  *  *

"It's been announced today that Paramount will be producing a feature film based on celebrated author, Rachel Holt's novel, Willing To Conquer, due out next winter."

Denny turned her eyes away from the book she'd been reading, glancing at the TV screen, only to be met by old file footage of Rachel. She was sitting behind a table, pen in hand, at what appeared to be a book signing gig. It was before the crash, Denny was sure. She sat forward, looking into the green eyes that she hadn't allowed herself to see. Any news footage over the months, she'd refused to watch, not wanting to be reminded. Seeing the author's face, that beautiful, wonderful face, Denny was amazed to look into her eyes, and not see the glowing light she was used to, but rather dull, lifeless eyes. When the brunette thought about it, those were the eyes she'd had when they'd first landed on the island. The eyes of a woman lost. Denny had to smile ruefully, knowing her own eyes looked like that now.

Grabbing the remote control, she turned the television off, trying to return her attention back to her book. She couldn't concentrate, her mind wandering back to the images from the screen, which then morphed into memories from the island. Her eyes, her face, her voice, the way her body felt against Denny's. Closing her eyes, she allowed her mind to conjure up that last day on their ledge. The taste and feel of Rachel's skin, the sight of her half-naked body lying there, waiting to be made love to, begging to be touched.

Denny groaned, her body warming painfully at the memory. She was shaken out of her thoughts by the sound of the garage door opening. Pushing herself up from where she'd begun to slouch in the cushions of the couch. Getting to her feet, she headed to the kitchen where dinner was already cooking.

"Hey, baby," Hannah said, coming in through the garage door, setting her purse and keys on the counter just inside.

"Hey. Hungry? Dinner'll be ready soon." Denny had to look away, or see the redhead standing next to her partner. She felt like a hypocrite as she took out a can of peas from the cabinet, using the electric can opener mounted under the cabinet to remove the lid.

"Yeah. Sure am." Hannah hugged the brunette from behind, placing a soft kiss to the bared neck. Hannah closed her eyes, trying to swallow down the sense of guilt from her brief conversation with Tiffany that morning. She pushed thoughts from her mind at what she would have done, or allow to happen, had the accountant agreed to meet with her. Instead she concentrated on the smell of Denny's hair and skin, the feel of her body, taller than Tiffany's, and a very different body type.

"Good. Chicken will be done in about three minutes."

"Smells like cornbread, too. You've been busy."

"I have been. Actually, I went to talk to Joni today."

Hannah paused, her hand on the fridge door handle. "Oh yeah?" Ever since the coffee shop owner had judged the researcher's actions in dealing with Denny's death, she had grown hard against Joni, hurt with her ever thinking Hannah could or would throw Denny away.

"Yeah. She's offered me a job."

Hannah turned, Denny's back to her as the brunette stirred the peas she'd dropped into a saucepan to heat them. "And what did you say?"

"I said yes."

"Honey, we don't need the money. I can support-"

"I know you can, Hannah. And I'm proud of the promotion you got while I was gone." Denny turned to meet Hannah's eyes. "I need this. Sitting around here all day is killing me. I need something for me again."

Though she knew Denny hadn't meant it that way, the statement stung. She nodded, turning back to the fridge, taking out a bottle of water. "When do you start?"

"I'm probably going to go in tomorrow."

Hannah took a long drink, setting the bottle aside. She wasn't sure why she felt sudden anger wash through her. Joni had verbally attacked her character and her love for Denny, yet Denny was going there for a job at her coffee shop.

Perhaps it brought up her own feelings of guilt for selling DiRisio's. "Well, uh, I hope it goes well."

"Thanks." Denny gave her a quick smile, then turned back to the stove.

*  *  *

Rachel gasped, her head thrust back into the soft pillow, eyes squeezed tightly-

*  *  *

- holding her fingers still, Denny tried to catch her breath, her body-

*  *  *

- pulsing. The blonde's hips bucked as her body convulsed, her breaths-

*  *  *

- shaky, her emotions on a shoestring as she tried to push away the image in her mind, Rachel's face before her eyes, the passion shining in her green eyes.

"Wait, wait," she-

*  *  *

- panted. "Oh, Denny," Rachel whimpered, the sting of hot tears behind her eyes at the powerful orgasm that had just overtaken her. She covered her eyes with her arm, trying to get her heaving chest back under control. "Shit."

*  *  *

"What? Are you okay?" Hannah took her hand away, Denny's thighs closing, the brunette turning away. "Denny? What happened? Did I hurt you?" She saw the brunette shake her head.

"No." Denny felt foolish, but couldn't allow Hannah to continue making love to her when all she could see was Rachel's face, her body craving the blonde's touch, not the woman who had just been inside her. Sitting up, she covered herself with the sheet as she reached to the end of the bed for the tank top that had been taken off moments before.

Hannah moved to her side of the bed, the bitter taste of rejection in her mouth. "I'm trying to make this work, Denny," she said at length, unable to look at her partner.

Denny was being consumed by guilt and confusion, her constant companion over the past couple months. She could hear the bitter hurt in Hannah's voice, which made her feel even worse. Denny was ashamed at what she said next, her guilt morphing into anger. "Why? Do you feel obligated?"

Hannah was stunned, her mouth falling open as she watched Denny rise from the bed, snagging her panties from the floor. "No! Because I love you. I missed you."

"Did you?" Denny glared accusingly at her from the doorway of their bedroom, then disappeared into the darkened house.

Hannah sat stunned, wondering where the hell all that had just come from. Her stomach began to somersault as she glanced toward her closed closet door, wondering-.

Denny ran her hands through her hair as she stared out of the window in the guest bedroom, her body still humming with adrenaline and un-sated arousal. "What am I doing?" she whispered, hating herself for allowing her own tempest of emotions to let her speak before thinking. Hannah hadn't deserved that.

"Shit." Tugging her panties on, she was about to head back to the bedroom to apologize when she almost ran smack into Hannah. "I'm sorry. That was a real asshole thing to say."

"Yeah, it was. I died that day, Denny, and how dare you question that. But you were dead, and I had to learn how to live my life without you." Hannah felt the hurt and anger that had been building over the past two months rise to the surface. "I'm assuming you were referring to Tiffany?" Denny said nothing, having no idea if that was the woman's name or not. "If I'm wrong and it was just an ugly remark, then yes, there was someone. I fought it, unable to let you go, but then I realized that I had to. Tiffany never had my heart, but she was good to me, and helped me get through the most difficult time of my life. Your death!" She slapped her hands on Denny's upper chest, her anger and grief beginning to trail down her cheeks. "Don't you dare judge me, just like Joni. You have no idea what it was like for me. None!"

Denny allowed Hannah to let it all go, even took the slight beating she was taking, finally grabbing Hannah by the shoulders and pulling her to her. Her heart broke at the woman who was falling apart before her. For the first time, she was able to really see what Hanna went through, and she felt like an asshole.

"Shh. Don't cry. I'm sorry." Blue eyes slid closed as Hannah cried against her, grabbing fistfuls of Denny's tee shirt, clinging to her. "I'm sorry." Denny kissed the side of Hannah's head, cupping the back of her head and rocking her slightly.

"Why did you have to go, Denny?" Hannah cried, finally able to take out her anger on the woman who spurred it. "Goddamn it, why did you have to get on that fucking plane? We were happy! Fuck!" Hannah pushed away, hurrying from the room as realization dawned- it was over. Suddenly she saw it all clear as day. Denny had known, almost from the very beginning. Hannah had been holding onto a ghost.

PART 17

JENNIFER'S BROWS DREW, resting her hands on her thighs as she took a closer look. She brought a finger up, ticking each fish she saw off with a stroke to the air. Only counting nine, she began again, moving around to the side of the tank, then the other side, looking for the elusive number ten.

"Hey, Dad?" she called, moving back to her starting position in front of the aquarium.

"Yeah?" Michael walked into the living room, dishtowel in his hand, where he and Conrad had been washing and drying the dinner dishes.

"We're missing Rusty."

Michael bent down, grabbing the small green net from the storage compartment under the fifty gallon tank. He brought his own finger up, counting the air as he squinted into the shipwreck half buried in the white and blue rocks covering the bottom of the tank.

"Where you at, little guy," he muttered, sticking the net into the water, waving it around to try and shoo the angel fish out of hiding, if he was hiding.

"You don't think it got caught up in the filter, do you?"

"Hope not." He waved the net around again, both groaning when the body of the fish floated up from where it had died and settled. "Aw, that sucks," the mechanic muttered.

"Conrad," Jennifer called out, still gazing into the tank. "Your fish died."

"What? Which one?" the teen asked, stepping into the room.

"Rusty," Michael supplied.

"Figures," the kid snorted, voice dripping with angry sarcasm.

Michael stood, turning to face his son, who was eyeing him suspiciously, stomach churning at what might come out his mouth this time.

"Why would I think you could keep a fish alive."

Jennifer yelped, hands covering her mouth as her brother hit the floor, their father standing over him, hand still stinging. "Don't you ever, ever say anything like that again," he growled, trying valiantly to hold his temper in check.

Jennifer watched in shock as her father stepped over the prone boy, slamming out of the house, followed quickly by the slam of his truck door and roar of the engine.

Stunned and thoroughly disgusted, the girl looked at her brother, who was starting to pick himself up. "You little bastard," she hissed. "How dare you say something like that to him." She felt tears of rage and grief flow down her face.

Conrad got to his feet, feeing sick to his stomach at what he'd just said to their father. His jaw hurt as he adjusted it, and deep same suffused his face. He didn't know why he'd said it, it had just kind of slipped. Now Jenny was mad at him, and she was the last person he wanted upset with him. In a lot of ways, he felt she was all he had. When they thought both their parents were dead, he and his sister had gotten very close while living with their grandparents.

With a heavy sigh, he went to his room, closing the door behind him.

Michael pulled into Stuffy's Bar parking lot, shifting into neutral, and slamming the heavy metal door behind him. The small bar, which he hadn't been to in over five years, looked as it always had- small, smoky and the cheap beer flowing. Everything seemed to stop as he walked in, all eyes on him. He wasn't in the mood for excitement or for folks to get all up in arms cause he was alive, surviving some crash.

Ignoring the attention, he took a seat at the bar, ordered a cold one. Once the mug was in his hand, he took a sip, closing his eyes as the liquid slid down his throat. Opening them, he stared at his reflection in the mirror behind the bar, stroking his trimmed beard with thick fingers. Why did Conrad hate him so bad? What had he done to deserve that? Michael carried enough guilt over Melissa's death. The fact that his son blamed him for that hurt almost as bad as though Melissa had slid off the wing all over again.

Running a sandpaper-like hand over his face, Michael's head fell, staring down into the amber liquid of his beer, unsure what to do. Maybe it would be best for everyone involved if Conrad went back to live with Meredith and Walter.

Funnily enough, as he sat there, his family from the island popped into his mind. He thought about Pam, wondering what she would do in a situation like this. Michael actually smiled at the thought; no doubt she'd pop the boy into next week. Which made the mechanic think about what he'd done. Never had he struck his kids like he had. Conrad had dropped immediately, Michael's hand still hurt from it. He brought his hand up, looking at it, spreading out his fingers before slowly curling his fingers into a fist, noting the reddened skin. His luck, he'd get back to the house to find a police officer waiting for him. Not like he wouldn't deserve it.

Michael sighed again. Opening his wallet, he removed the two folded Polaroid's, straightening them out flat on the bar. In one was Rachel, Dean and Mia, all three smiling into the camera, just before leaving Duke's house to head home. Dean stood in the middle, grin huge as the two girls flanked him, an arm around each of their shoulders. The other picture was of Pam, Denny and himself, in a similar pose, though Pam was sitting in a chair between the others. He looked at all the faces, all six of them, a smile creasing his grizzled features. It amazed him just how much simpler life was when they'd been on the island. He wouldn't give up his kids again for a moment, but couldn't help but wonder how everyone else's lives were going. With any luck, smoother than his.

*  *  *

"Will this work? I know it's not exactly the Taj Mahal, but it's warm and dry. And private."

Denny looked around the tiny room. To one side were stacked boxes, filled with old paperwork that needed to be shredded. On the other side was a foldout sofa and small breakfast nook, replete with dorm fridge and wet bar sink.

"This'll work, Joni." She nodded, imagining her meager belongings stacked in the corner- all six boxes of them.

"Okay. Well, I need to get back downstairs, so if you need anything, just holler." Joni gave the dazed woman a firm hug, then left her alone, her footfalls fading as she scurried down the steep staircase that led to the sidewalk, right next to the entrance to Mile.

Denny blew out a breath, hands in her back pockets as she walked around the small space- all seven steps of it. There was one window on the wall where the boxes were stacked. She grunted quietly as she pushed it open, determined to get rid of a bit of the mustiness. Window opened, Denny turned back to the room, running a hand through her hair. She had slept in the guest bedroom the night before, though sleep had been a joke. Over a barely picked at breakfast, she and Hannah had decided that perhaps too much water had gone under the proverbial bridge, and it was time to call it quits. Hannah had cried, which had inevitably tore at Denny's heart, but they both knew it was for the best. To make it as easy on Hannah as possible, she had waited until the researcher had left for work, then had loaded up what was left of her belongings in her VW van, given Joni a call, and had left a note behind.

Flopping down on the couch, grimacing at the boing of an unhappy spring, the brunette buried her face in her hands.

*  *  *

"Hello, my friend!" Reenie took the blonde into her arms, hugging her tight before releasing her, moving aside so Rachel could enter the loft. "Is this all you've got?" she asked, indicating the backpack slung over the blonde's shoulder.

"Yep. Light packer."

"I guess. Come on in. Beth's here."

"Oh, great!" Rachel had met Reenie's actress friend a time or two, always thinking she was a beautiful talent.

"Well, it's great to see you!" Beth Sayer's said, standing from where she'd been lounging on the couch. She walked over to the author, wrapping her in a warm hug. She smiled warmly down at her. "What a great thing to happen to a storyteller, huh?" she teased with a wink.

"You have no idea," Rachel chuckled. "It's good to see you again, Beth. In town for a show?"

"Yeah. Got about two weeks left, then I'll be out of this one's hair." Reenie waved her off.

"Sooooo," the editor purred, nodding toward Rachel's laptop, tucked inside her backpack. "you finished?"

"Yep." Rachel grinned proud. "Martin has it, so you should be getting it soon." Rachel flopped down on the black, leather couch, Beth sitting next to me, taking up the blanket she'd been wrapped in before. "He's looking to get this thing out by the two year anniversary, in June."

"Of the crash, or of the rescue?" Reenie asked, handing both women a cup of coffee, then cuddling on the loveseat with her own mug.

"The crash- June 5."

"Ah, so the media hound strikes again." Reenie was still angry with her employer for sending the dogs after Rachel. It had taken the author to disappear, closed up in a mountain cabin for five months, to give her some privacy and a chance to bounce back. During that time, she'd written, what Reenie thought, was her greatest work.

"So are you coming out of self-isolation? Reen tells me you were in Beaver Creek."

"Sure was," Rachel said with a huge grin.

"It's beautiful up there."

"You've been there?" the blonde asked, relaxing into the corner made by the back of the couch and the arm. She wrapped chilled fingers around her mug of coffee. Beth nodded.

"I grew up in Pueblo, not all that far."

"No kidding? I didn't know that."

Beth nodded, sipping from her own mug. "Yes, ma'am. I haven't been back in some time, though."

"Does your family still live there?"

"My mom."

Rachel could tell that was a conversation perhaps best served by a change of subject, noting how Beth's eyes fell, her shoulders stiffening. "I've actually been puttering around Oregon again, looking to buy a house. I'm ready to head back home."

"Well, good for you." Beth smiled, her entire face lighting up. Rachel, who hadn't seen Beth in a few years, was struck all over again by the woman's beauty. She found it funny- since she'd accepted her attraction to Denny, she'd realized that she had always looked at women in degrees of attractiveness. She didn't gauge them in comparison to herself, as she knew a lot of women did, but rather as to what sort of character they'd make. Now, after everything with Denny, she had to wonder if it were perhaps more accurately, in degrees of how they'd be for her. "So what's your next novel about?"

Beth's voice shook Rachel from her thoughts, making her blush slightly as she looked away. She missed the amused gleam in blue eyes. "Well, I'm actually considering something dealing with Pompeii and the eruption of Vesuvius in 79 A.D."

"God, doesn't that require more research?" Reenie asked, resting her head against her closed fist. Rachel nodded vigorously, eyes twinkling. Reenie rolled her eyes. "I don't get it."

"A woman with a brain- it's sexy," Beth grinned. She caught the warning glare Reenie sent her way. Don't worry, Reen. I know, hands off.

Rachel blushed again.

"I saw your Island Six on TV the other day," Reenie said, stretching her legs out, resting her crossed ankles on the coffee table.

"Really?" She had Rachel's attention. She'd been purposefully avoiding television and any newspaper articles about it. She didn't want to see Denny. She already saw enough of her in her dreams.

"Apparently Dean has taken up the cause of the environmentalists." Rachel stared at her, stunned. Reenie chuckled, amused. "Yep. He's become the lawyer for WorldWin. Quite the little prize fighter, from what I'm hearing."

"I'll be damned."

"Have you kept in contact with anyone?" Beth asked standing to refill her coffee, bringing the carafe back to give anyone else a warm up.

Rachel shook her head with a heavy sigh. "No."

"Why not?" The actress sat back down, tucking her bare feet under her body.

"I don't know, to be honest. I think a lot of it is because I had so much to deal with when I got home. Hell, everything just kind of-"

Beth nodded in understanding. "Who knows, they may have been able to give you the support you needed."

"Probably, and in retrospect, undoubtedly. I don't know," she sighed, mind focused on a single image. "I think I needed to get on with my life without memories of what happened." She looked down at the mug, which she slowly turned in her hands. Beth studied her movements, then glanced at Reenie, who shook her head slowly, as if to say "Don't ask".

"It's probably best, hon," she said, reaching over to squeeze Rachel's arm. The blonde smiled, though it was forced. Beth watched the interaction between the two women, and when blue eyes focused on the author again, she saw it plain as day- longing. She knew that look well, and knew the heartbreak that went along with it well.

Interesting.

"Beth, would you help me for a second?" Reenie asked, getting to her feet and snagging Beth's hand as she walked in front of the couch.

"Uh, sure, Reenie." Beth rolled her eyes at Rachel, who chuckled. "What?"

Reenie waited until the swinging door of the kitchen had swung safely shut, then turned to her friend. "Listen, Beth, I saw the looks you were giving Rachel in there. I know she's a beautiful woman, but don't even-"

"Reenie?"

"-think, huh?"

"Shush. Do you really think I'd do that to your best friend?" Beth crossed her arms over her chest, more amused than offended. She saw the shame suffuse Reenie's face. "Listen, Reen, yes, she's beautiful, and well, hot as hell, but something happened on that island, didn't it?"

The editor looked up, dark eyes surprised. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not stupid, and I'm not blind. There's someone on that island special to her, isn't there?" Beth's eyebrow raised in challenge, daring Reenie to deny it.

The dark-haired woman sighed, running a hand through her short hair. "I can't talk about that, Beth, I'm sorry."

"I understand. It's just," Beth looked down at the tile, nudging at the pattern with her toe. "I know that kind of sadness and loss. I don't know," she shrugged. "Maybe I can help her."

"Don't!" Reenie's voice was quiet so Rachel wouldn't overhear, but firm "She's confused enough as it is."

Beth studied her face for a moment, then nodded, the barest hint of the corner of her mouth curling up. "It was a woman, wasn't it?"

"Goddamn you, Beth," Reenie fumed, "How do you read me so goddamn easy?"

Beth threw her head back and laughed. "Oh, honey. You're priceless."

"Uh, ladies, if you'd like to talk about me some more, I will happily leave so you can do it in the comfort of the living room." Two stunned pairs of eyes stared at Rachel, who had poked her head in through the door. "Honest, guys, I won't break."

"I'm sorry, sweetie," Reenie said, squeezing Rachel's shoulder. "I was just trying to tell Fido, here, to behave."

Rachel met Beth's amused gaze and shrug. The author shook her head, walking back out into the living room, followed by the other two.

"Thanks a lot," Beth hissed. She almost growled when she heard Reenie snicker.

*  *  *

Lynn Mason looked over the rims of her glasses, pen paused in mid-sentence at what she'd just heard. Clearing her throat, the counselor studied her young charge. "Why do you think your father hates you, Conrad?"

"Because he does," the boy said. Lynn had grown used to the boy's obtuse nature, but something in his voice as he spoke those words made her take notice.

"Because why?" The counselor cocked her head to the side, removing her glass altogether.

Conrad sat on the couch, elbows resting on his thighs, one foot jiggling. He leaned forward, staring out the window, watching as traffic on Ute drove silently by. His hands dangled between his knees, and he stared down at them. There was silence, Lynn Mason waiting for him to explain his comment. He hadn't meant to say it, but it had just come out. It had been three months since his father had struck him, since he'd said- it. Michael Dupree avoided the boy, muttering only a few words to him, and only when necessary. Some of the light in his father's eyes seemed to have dimmed that day. Conrad truly didn't know if he could bring it back.

"I said somethin' I shouldn't have said," he finally muttered. Lynn had to strain to hear his words, but when they finally sank in, she was intrigued, though kept her body language even, calm. Conrad was surprised when he felt the sting of emotion behind his eyes. He cleared his throat, sitting back into the soft cushions, stretching long legs out in front of him. He'd grown a lot over the past year and a half. He was proud to say he was at his dad's shoulders now.

"Conrad?"

"Yeah?" the boy near whispered. He was trying to keep it in, trying to be strong and a man. He knew what she was wanting, so he pushed himself up in the seat, preparing to talk when Lynn Mason said magic words.

"It's almost time, Conrad. Do you want to stay and talk about this?" She wasn't surprised when the boy shook his head, bringing a hand up to quietly wipe something from his eye. "Alright. I'll see you next week."

The boy could only nod, afraid that if he said anything, he'd lose control. It made it worse when they walked out of Lynn's office and Michael was sitting in the waiting room, reading a magazine. Jennifer had dropped him off, and he wasn't expecting to see his father. He figured he'd at least have the ride home to get his emotions back under wraps.

"Ready?" Michael asked, tossing the Parenting magazine aside and pushing to his feet. Without waiting for a response, he held open the door for his son, nodding at the receptionist behind the counter. The walk to the truck was a silent one, Michael thinking about his day at work, Conrad trying to think of a way to talk to his dad. He glanced over at him, noting the way the big man's jaw was working, as though something were on Michael's mind.

Conrad climbed into the truck, tugging at the seatbelt as his dad brought the truck to life. Clicking the buckle into place, the boy stared out the passenger window, his stomach in knots. He tucked his bottom lip in, as if to keep in words he may not be ready to say, not knowing what to say. Panic gripped him as he felt the stinging of tears in his left eye. He tried desperately to keep his eyes open, so as not to squeeze out the betrayal of his emotions.

Michael whistled softly between his teeth, glancing out at the scenery as it passed by. It was a chilly fifty-nine out, and he was glad he'd brought his coat. He glanced over at his youngest, trying to not feel anger as he did so. He was surprised to see the boy bring up a hand to quickly swipe at his eye.

"You alright, son?" he asked quietly. Michael nearly ran the truck into a compact car in shock when the fourteen year old broke into uncontrollable sobs. Pulling the truck off onto the shoulder of the road, he unbuckled his seatbelt. "Hey, hey, now," he cooed, startled and unsure.

"I'm sorry, Dad!" Conrad almost yelled, everything he'd bottled up over the past year and a half breaking free. He felt strong arms tug him across the bench seat of the Ford, Conrad unable to fight his dad, instead burying his face in the fleece canvas jacket he wore. "I'm sorry-"

Michael felt his own tears mix in with his beard, he chin resting on Conrad's head. "It's okay," he whispered, eyes squeezing shut. "It's okay."

"Why'd you have to go!" the boy cried, his words muffled, his hand clawing at Michael's jacket-clad chest. "Why'd she have ta die!"

"I don't know, son. I just don't know," Michael's own sobs matched that of his youngest child. "I'm so sorry, I tried, Conrad. I really, really tried. I couldn't save her."

Conrad felt just like a little baby again, allowing everything to finally burst free, feeling so safe as his dad tightened his hold around him, rocking him as they both cried for what was and what would never be again. After long moments Michael felt Conrad calming, his breathing becoming warm and even against his neck. He continued to rock his son, sensing that they both desperately needed this. He smoothed the boy's hair down absently, blinking a few times to clear his own eyes of the backlog of tears.

"I love you, Dad," was muttered quietly.

"I love you, too, son. Never, ever doubt that. We're gonna be just fine. You, me, Jenny and Alan."

*  *  *

Denny tossed the last of the trash into the bin behind the coffee shop, the alley just beyond. Looking up into the night sky, she smiled weakly- snow. Closing her eyes, the brunette inhaled the cold, wonderful smell of moisture in the air. She figured they'd have a goodly amount by morning. Reaching up, she took the baseball cap off her head, running a hand through her flattened bangs, then replaced it- maroon with Mile stitched in bold, yellow letters.

"Busy day," Joni said from behind her. Denny turned and met the older woman's gaze, nodding. The owner sat on the top stoop, so Denny took her place off to the side, one step down.

"Never thought it would end."

"Yeah, well, with the better competition gone-" Joni brought out a pack of cigarettes, pounding the tobacco to the bottom of the pack, then snagged a smoke between her lips.

"Mind?" Denny asked, grabbing for the pack. Her boss shrugged and handed it to her before lighting the tip of her cigarette.

"Didn't know you'd started back up," Joni commented, the smoke bouncing with each word.

"I didn't. Sounds good, though." Denny inhaled, closing her eyes a she did, trying not to cough. She'd stopped smoking six years ago. After the first puff and taste filled her mouth, the brunette grimaced, tugging the smoke from her mouth and smashing it on the cement next to her. "Nasty"

Joni chuckled, letting her cig dangle between her fingers, which hung over the side rail. Sighing heavily, Denny resumed her examination of the night sky.

"You coming over for Thanksgiving?" Joni asked, taking another puff.

"Not sure. I don't know just how much of the holiday spirit is in me these days, Joni."

"Yep, I could see that. I'm not going to force you, but if you want, you know you're more than welcome. Steve would love to see you."

"Thanks. I'll think about it. Mind if I still come over to wash my clothes?"

"Nope. Not one bit."

"You know, I want to know something," Denny said, again swiping the cap from her head, tossing it around a finger. "How did I go from being a successful business owner, living in a beautiful home with a beautiful wife, to living in a ten by ten room and wearing a stupid hat?" She held up the hat to her eyes. "Some days I feel like I'm in prison," she whispered.

Joni reached out, squeezing the thin shoulder before her. "I don't know, hon. I wish to god I did."

Denny blew out a breath, setting the cap aside and tugging on the hair tie that had been holding her hair back in a ponytail all day. Running her fingers through the strands, she said nothing more, afraid she'd start to cry if she did.

Joni took one last, long drag, then flicked the cigarette into a puddle of something wet and very smelly in the alley. She listened for the satisfying hiss of the lit tip hitting liquid. "I've been thinking about something, Den," she said, folding her hands, which dangled at the wrist over her knees. She saw blue eyes look at her. "I want to retire soon. Within the next six months. I'm tired, and want to enjoy what's left of my time before Steve retires."

Denny smiled, knowing how much the couple fought like cats and dogs when forced to spend long periods of time together. She nodded in understanding.

"I've been thinking that maybe you could take this place over, run it."

Denny wasn't surprised by the offer, but as she looked into the face of her long-time friend, and one-time mentor, her mind whirled. She imaged herself owning another shop, running Mile, and maybe turning it into another DiRisio's. She imagined living in the neighborhood, maybe tearing down some walls above the shop and creating herself a nice little apartment. She imagined Buffalo, seeing the same streets for almost thirty-five years, and she imagined the same faces coming in day after day, asking for the same thing day after day.

Trapped. Denny felt like a rat in a cage, and it had nothing to do with her tiny, sparse living quarters. Something was missing, and she just wasn't sure she'd find it trying to recapture the life she'd left the moment she stepped aboard flight 1049.

Shaking her head slowly, she met Joni's eyes. "No. it's not for me anymore, Jo."

Joni was only mildly surprised by Denny's answer, but she was surprised by the elation that filled her at the rejection. A slow, wrinkly smile rolled across her lips, head nodding. Denny matched her smile.

*  *  *

"What are you thinking about out here all by yourself?"

Rachel turned from her place leaning against the balcony railing, watching as Beth shrugged into a sweater, walking toward her.

"Hmm. Nothing much."

"Oh, I don't know about that. Looked pretty serious." Beth leaned her forearms against the railing, mirroring the blonde's position.

Rachel looked down at her hands, which held something. She brought it up for Beth to see. It was a Polaroid, three deeply tanned, smiling faces. "This was Dean, Mia and I just before we left Florida." Beth took the picture from her. "I wish I had one of the others. They hadn't been rescued yet."

Beth nodded in understanding, examining the faces closely, settling on the young girl who flanked the other side of the good-looking man with dark hair. "The teenager and- I don't remember- either the Texan or the attorney."

Rachel smiled, taking the picture back. "Dean, the attorney. He'd laugh his ass off if he knew you mistook him for Michael."

"Guess we won't tell him, then."

"Nope. I was just thinking about everyone, wondering where they're all at, how their lives are going. Are they as crazy as mine started out being? Were they happy to be reunited with their families? Their lives."

Beth noted the softening of the author's voice. "Thinking of one in particular, Rachel?" she asked gently. Rachel didn't look at her, but nodded, absently running her thumb over the glossy images. "Do you want to tell me about her?"

Rachel looked over at the actress for a long moment, wondering if Reenie had spilled her secrets. As though Beth had read her thoughts, she shook her head.

"It was a guess. Reenie can't lie to me."

Rachel smiled, nodding. She knew that trait in her friend. "Denny. That's her name. The coffee shop owner," she explained before Beth could ask. "I don't know. We just- clicked somehow."

"By the look in your eyes, I'd say you more than clicked. If I'm off base or out of line, please tell me."

"No. To either." Rachel looked at the picture again, unable to help smile back at her family. She missed them deeply. She missed Mia's sweet innocence and Dean's brash, good heart. She missed Pam's no-nonsense attitude and Michael's heart of gold. "I've never in my life felt such a wonderful connection with someone, and with her it was almost instantaneous. We were pretty inseparable. Till the end," she whispered.

"Where is she?" Beth moved a bit closer, until her shoulder almost brushed Rachel's.

"At home with her partner, I assume. They live in Buffalo." She smiled, though it was incredibly sad. "Denny's probably trying to concoct some new holiday creation at her shop."

"You're going to let her go?"

"What choice have I, Beth? I can't disrupt her life. She loves Hannah." She shrugged. "I can't deny her tried and true happiness."

Beth was silent for a long time, then she inhaled the cold, night air. It would snow soon, no doubt. "Can I tell you something, Rachel? A little wisdom from my experiences."

"Sure."

"I met the one person who would change me forever, the love of my life, when I was nine years old. She lived next door to me, and we became best friends, almost right away. Somewhere, deep down inside, I knew I was in love with her from the first moment I saw her in that stupid Mickey Mouse shirt she always used to wear." She smiled, though it was painfully wistful. "We did everything together until around high school, her parents treated me like one of their own. My folks were so caught up in their own problems, and then my dad left us. She got me through it. Without her," she shrugged. "who knows. Anyway, once we hit high school, pressures started, and boys and all that. I already knew by then that I liked girls, and that I especially liked her. We, uh, we got physical one New Years. We were both drunk, but I have to admit I played far more drunk than I really was."

Rachel smiled, staring out over the railing as she listened.

"We were fifteen, I think. Anyway, things began to change. I knew then what I wanted, and who I was. She had no idea, and I think was terrified to find out. Back and forth, back and forth- Man, that was a hard time. I started getting into drugs, and she poured herself into her studies. She'd always wanted to be a lawyer." Beth smiled, pride shining in her eyes. "And she did it, too. Anyway, getting ahead of myself. Her aunt died, who she was especially close to, and I was there for her, tried to be what she needed. The day of the funereal," Beth's voice cracked, and she cleared her throat a couple times, trying to hide the obvious pain of the memory. "Things got out of hand in her room, and we almost got caught. She got angry with me and told me to never come back."

"Oh, Beth." Rachel reached over, placing a warm hand on the actress' back. The tall brunette smiled gratefully.

"I left, and then I dropped out of school. I couldn't be there anymore, couldn't be around her. God, it hurt. Well, we ran in into each other again, a year or two later. She had graduated from high school, and was set to go off to college. She'd always wanted that." Again, the smile of pride. "She said goodbye to me, and I watched her go, walking out of my life yet again. I wanted so badly to stop her, to beg her to stay with me, or at least let me go with her. I loved her so much, Rachel. But I let her go, walk out of that theater where she found me, and head up to Boulder for school."

"Why didn't you?" the blonde asked, entranced by Beth's voice and tale.

"I don't know. I guess I figured if I did, she'd not follow her dream, for me. And I couldn't do that to her. I felt it was best to let her go, as painful as it was, cut her free."

"Did it work? Have you seen her since?"

"Not done yet."

"Oh. Sorry."

"A couple years went by, and I traveled around Colorado and did some theater workshops in Utah and Arizona. Finally, for some reason, I decided to go back home, and find her. I headed up to Boulder, and by the grace of god, was accepted. I remember how bad my stomach used to lurch every time I'd walk the campus, my eyes always looking for her. I craved seeing her, and dreaded it all at the same time. Then one day it happened. She was working some sort of club table, and I saw her, talking to another student. We became friends again, then we became best friends again. I had pretty much made the decision then that nothing would ever happen between us again. Never. She was my best friend, my soul mate, but that would be all. My heart couldn't take it again, couldn't fall for her only to be ripped out again." She sighed long and heavy. "That whole thing about good intentions paving the road to hell-"

"What happened?" Rachel was almost breathless as she waited for more.

"We made love," Beth said simply. I couldn't resist her anymore. I loved her so much, and I guess needed to show her. It was truly the most amazing night of my life, Rachel. As long as I live, I'll never forget it."

"What happened?" The blonde was surprised to see tears suddenly spring to Beth's beautiful blue eyes.

"I let her go," she said, voice thick with emotion. "I had to."

"But why? You obviously love her so much. She loved you, too, right?"

Beth nodded. "You know, that was five years ago, and it's something that has haunted me ever since. I think I always looked up to her so much, always admired her drive, her ambition, who she was, that I never thought I measured up, you know? I was so afraid that someday she'd be so successful, practicing law somewhere, and she'd look at me and say, who are you? What have you done with your life? I couldn't take it if she was ashamed of me, Rachel."

"Do you really think she'd do that?" the author asked softly, now facing the actress, an arm around her shoulders. It looked as though Beth were almost in tears.

"At the time, yes. Now, no. Away from the situation and far more confident in who I am as a person, and what I've accomplished, I realize that it was simply the insecurities of a girl who had no idea who she truly was."

"It's not too late, Beth."

The actress smiled, bringing up a hand to briefly touch the author's face in appreciation of the determined fire in her eyes. "I saw her recently, you know. Well, last summer. I was doing a show, and I saw her leaving, holding the hand of another woman."

"Oh, Beth. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. The reason I'm telling you all this is because I don't want you to make the same mistake, Rachel. Don't let something that was meant to be get away."

Rachel nodded, her own tears threatening. "What's her name?"

"Emily."

*  *  *

"Got everything?" Joni asked, looking around the small space Denny had been calling home for two and a half months.

"Yep. Everything I'm taking, anyway. Hope you don't mind, but uh , well, your trash bin is preeeeety full." Denny cracked a grin at the eye roll that earned.

"Where will you go?" All amusement aside, Joni was truly concerned for her friend.

"I'm not sure. I know of one stop I'll make here before I go, but," the brunette shrugged. "Just- go. I'll just keep going until I find a place that feels like home."

"Please be careful," Joni whispered into Denny's ear as she took her into a tight hug. Denny nodded, eyes squeezed shut. She'd miss the older woman, who had been such a wonderful friend to her.

"I will. I promise." Released, Denny gave her old friend a brave smile. Joni walked her out to her packed van, a cooler filled with food and drink in the passenger seat, a box of CDs on the floor. Joni opened the door for her, Denny setting in. She could feel the older woman's eyes on her, making sure she buckled up.

"Take care, sweet girl," Joni said, leaning in through the open window to kiss the brunette on the cheek. She felt like her little girl was leaving her again, just when she'd gotten her back into her life.

Denny adjusted her rearview mirror, checking her side mirror as well. She'd never done something so crazy before, but felt good about it. Keeping an eye on the road, Denny reached over to the glove compartment, digging around for her sunglasses when she hissed, slicing her finger on something. Stopping at a red traffic light, she bent over to see what it was, surprised to see a sealed, slightly plump envelope. Plucking it from its cubby, she held it up, seeing her name printed in neat, block letter on the front. Tearing it open, she saw a note written in the same, neat writing, and a ten one hundred dollar bills. Tears came to her eyes as she began to read:

DENNY-

YOU'VE BEEN THROUGH SO MUCH, AND YOU DESERVE TO BE HAPPY.

STEVE AND I WISH YOU THE VERY BEST AND MAY YOU FIND WHAT HAS BEEN MISSING SINCE YOU CAME BACK TO US.

KNOW YOU ALWAYS HAVE A BEACON IN THE LONG, DARK NIGHT.

LOVE,
JONI & STEVE

PART 18

MIA CHEWED ON her bottom lip, flipping the page to make sure she was working on the right practice problem. She felt a hand run through her hair, and immediately leaned her head against her mother’s side. Gloria wrapped a casual arm around the girl’s shoulders.

“How’s it going?”

“Okay.”

Gloria slid her hand along her daughter’s shoulder as she sat down at the small table, leaning on her palm. She watched the yellow #2 race across the provided work space, Mia’s tongue barely peeking out from the corner of her mouth. The older Vinzetti couldn’t take her eyes off her daughter. Ever since they’d been returned to each other, their bond had grown stronger than Gloria ever thought it could be. Before they’d left for Milan, Mia had begun to show all signs of a typical teenager- apathetic and filled with attitude. Since she’d been back, Mia was filled with a focus, a determination to live a full life, learning what was important and how to survive.

Mia had decided two months ago to take her GED and leave high school. She said it was petty and stupid, and she felt she was beyond that. Gloria was not thrilled to say the least, but after listening to Mia’s argument for it- she could start college early, graduate by twenty-one, or even twenty if she went to summer school- she was convinced that it would be the right decision for the girl.

“What?” Mia asked, feeling her mother’s dark, penetrating eyes on her. Again.

Gloria shook her head. “Nothing. I’m just so proud of you, honey, working on your college entrance exams.”

“Yeah, well be proud when I get in.”

“You will, sweetheart. I have absolutely no doubt about that.”

Mia smiled. She truly was a beautiful young woman. “Thanks, Ma.” Mia turned back to her studied, knowing full well that her mother was still watching her, but she didn’t care. They had clung to each other after her return, both faced with the ultimate loss of losing mother or daughter, and determined to see it as a new start, a second chance, not to be squandered. Gloria could get a bit clingy at times, always having to know where Mia was going, and when she’d be back, but the girl understood, and was often the same way with her mother.

She was applying locally, figuring community college was probably a good way to start. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to do, exactly, but was somewhat leaning toward law. Dean had made a huge impact on her. One thing she knew for sure- she wanted to get her and her mom out of the tenement they were in, out of the Bronx, and for her mom to quit her jobs.

Gloria pushed back from the table at the sound of the knocker. Looking through the fisheye, she was confused. Taking a second look, she gasped, quickly working to unchain and unbolt the many locks. The door opened to a grinning Denny.

“Oh my gosh,” the dark-eyed woman grinned back. She pulled the tall woman into a warm, welcoming embrace, Denny careful to not dump her offering.

“Is she here?” she asked as the hug ended. Gloria nodded.

“Yeah. Follow me.” Gloria led their guest through the living room toward the kitchen. “Mia, honey. It’s for you.”

The girl looked up, pencil poised over the page, frozen as her eyes widened. She was stunned, struck dumb, frozen to the spot.

“I got your note,” the brunette said with a smirk, holding up the paper Mia had left for her at Duke’s. “Told you I’d bring you a mocha breve,” Denny said, holding up the paper cup she held.

“Oh my god,” Mia breathed, nearly knocking the chair over backward in her haste to get out of it. “Denny!” She ran to the tall woman, Gloria barely managing to snag the cup out of her hands before the brunette was engulfed by a very excited seventeen year old.

“Hey, kiddo,” Denny whispered, holding the teenager. She pushed her away just long enough to look at her, take in her flushed features, beautiful long hair, casual dress and bare feet. “You look so good.” She smiled, beaming from ear to ear. She felt like a small piece of her puzzle had clicked into place.

“So do you. You’re so thin, Denny,” Mia said with drawn brows, taking in the beauty before her. She was beside herself with excitement to have Denny standing in her kitchen. “I can’t believe you’re here!”

“Well, I’m on my way out of town, so figured I’d drop by and say hello.”

“On your way out of town?” Dark brows drew. “Where are you going?”

Realizing she no longer existed in the world of two of the Island Six, Gloria slipped away to her bedroom for some even television and to read Rachel Holt’s novel she was re-reading.

Denny sighed, running a hand through her hair as she followed Mia’s lead, taking a seat at the kitchen table. She watched as the girl closed a large, floppy paper text book and shove it aside.

“So where are you going? Is Hannah waiting for you?” Mia grabbed the paper coffee cup that her mother had placed on the table, lifting the lid and inhaling the strong, mocha fragrance. “I can’t believe you remembered.” Her grin was huge.

“I never forget a promise to a friend.” Denny squeezed the girl’s hand, then entwined her own fingers in front of her on the table. “No, Mia, she’s not.”

Mia sensed something had gone terribly wrong. Denny looked too thin, and like she hadn’t slept well in far too long. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“Can I ask you something, Mia? Kind of a strange question.”

“Of course.”

“When you came back, you know, back into your life, here, was it easy? I mean, did you feel - ,” Denny chewed on her lip for a moment, trying to find the words. She didn’t have to. A soft touch on her arm stopped her, blue eyes meeting understanding brown.

“I didn’t know if I was coming or going, Denny. At school, it all seemed so foolish, somehow, like all these kids could worry about was what color lipstick to wear, when there was such a bigger picture out there. Nothing felt right, tasted right, or even smelled right. I think my mom was really worried for awhile.”

“Yeah,” Denny said, relieved to hear that she wasn’t the only one. “I don’t know, Mia, I just felt so out of place, like I was a stranger in my own life.”

“But you were, Denny. I don’t think any of us came back the same people we were when we left. I know I didn’t.”

“No. Me, neither.” Denny’s eyes dropped, catching Mia sip from her drink out of the corner of her eye.

“Denny, where’s Hannah? You wanted to get home to her.” Mia wondered if maybe she had the answer to her question before she even answered it, the pain in the brunette’s eyes so powerfully expressive.

“I,” Denny swallowed, not even admitting what she was about to say to herself. “I moved on, Mia. I got back here, and I’d look at her, yes I cared, and yes I still loved her. But, my heart wasn’t there anymore.” Denny ran her hands through her hair. “I feel like I left some part of me back on that island.”

“More likely you gave that part of yourself away, and it’s probably in Oregon somewhere.” Denny was stunned as she looked into dark eyes, far too wise and aged for the youthful face they looked out of. “We all knew,” Mia continued. “Everyone saw it. But you, two.”

Denny looked at her, a smile beginning to grow. “Who made you so smart?”

“Born that way.” Mia grinned and sipped her coffee. Denny chuckled at the whipped cream mustache, grabbing a napkin from the dispenser in the middle of the table and wiping it away. For all of Mia’s too adult nature, there was still a young girl under there. “Thanks. So where are you going?”

“Not sure. I just need some new scenery, a new start somewhere.”

Mia studied the beautiful woman for a woman, looking into the tired eyes and too thin body. “I think that’s a great idea, Denny. I really hope you can find happiness. You’re such an amazing person, you deserve nothing less.”

Denny was touched by the girl’s words, and squeezed her hand in gratitude.

*  *  *

November 30 - Denny Dirisio’s Diary:

I’m not entirely sure how to do this, never writing in a journal before. Do I write to this - diary, itself? Am I writing to myself? To someone in the future? Hell, I don’t know. Guess I’ll just start.

Well, I left Mia and Gloria Vinzetti’s place today. After talking pretty late, Mia talked me into crashing on their couch, then Gloria made us the most amazing breakfast this morning. It was nice to spend some time with Mia and her mom- good people. They wished me well on my journey, which I’ve begun. I had no real direction in mind, just got on the road and drove. Right now I’m in Cherry Hill, NJ, sitting in a Barnes & Nobel, drinking a caramel macchiato. I was just chatting with the woman behind the counter. Her nametag said Debbie. Nice lady. Lived here for about 30 years, she said. Nice gal.

I have absolutely no idea where I’m headed from here- thinking Philly. Deb said I’m not too far from it, like half hour or something. Why not? Maybe I’ll stay there tonight, or keep going.

December 13- Denny Dirisio’s Diary:

Guess I’ve been a little remiss about writing. Not used to this whole diary thing. I’ve been wandering randomly. I hit the City of Brotherly love, always liked Philadelphia. Wandered around the streets a bit, visited the Liberty Bell and a few other historic sites. Did you know Philadelphia has some friggin’ awesome cemeteries in them, Diary?? Wow.

December 24- Denny Dirisio’s Diary:

It’s Christmas Eve. To be honest, I’m extremely sad, very lonely. I don’t even really want to write tonight, but it seems, Diary, you are my only companion at the moment. I’ve looked at my cell phone I don’t know how many times tonight. But who would I call? Joni? Make her worry, nah. Besides, knowing her, she’s put a tracking device in my van, and will march her ass up here to Huron, Ohio.

Earlier today I was standing at the shore of Lake Erie. Man, it was cooooold! I bet it’s beautiful during the fall. A woman there, I think she said her name was Laura, told me that during the summer, spring and fall you can watch the ships coming in, carrying iron ore. I bet that’s pretty cool to see. Sometimes, with the way technology is today, I’m surprised ships and trains are still used.

I can’t help but think to this time last year, last Christmas on the island. Rachel was making soap for all of us, and it was a difficult time, but a good one. I still feel lost, but what makes it easier this time is at least I actually am alone. It’s pretty painful to be lonely when you’re surrounded.

Alright, I’m depressing myself even worse. I’m going to bed. Night, Diary.

February 5 - Denny Dirisio’s Diary:

Winter has definitely hit the mid-west. I’ve been stuck here in Oronogo, Missouri for a month. They got hit hard this year, so I’m stuck. Somehow I don’t think a VW van was made trudging through waist-high snow. A nice lady named Vicki has actually given me some temporary work, shoveling her walk and drive when it’s possible, in exchange for a warm bed and food. I was staying in my van, but for some reason, she didn’t like that very much. Maybe it was because I got stuck in a drift in front of her house. *snicker*

I had absolutely no idea there were a bunch of mines dotting the Missouri landscape! Go figure. Vicki has been telling me all about them, and something locals call the “circle cave”. She told me I should stick around until spring and see for myself, but I think I’ll be gone by then. This just doesn’t feel like home for me. I’m actually starting to get a bit of cabin fever. I’ve been on the road for over two months, and am enjoying the trip. The holidays were tough, but they’re over now, so I’m ready to move on, see what else lay ahead.

I truly had no idea what a cool country I live in. The people I’ve met are amazing. I’m glad I bought that disposable camera back in Hershey, PA. I can’t wait to get the pictures developed and see what I got!

February 26 - Denny Dirisio’s Diary:

The snow has broken! I am so outta here. Vicki, it’s been great, but I just gotta move! I can’t even begin to tell you how much snow I shoveled in the past month. But I must admit- it’s gorgeous. I love snow, but am anxious to move into a little warmer climates, or at least different ones. I’ve never lived in any other state other than New York. Well, and some random island in the middle of the Caribbean.

I’ve figure out that people are never happy. On the island, I prayed daily for snow, knowing damn well it would never happen. Now, I’m in the middle of a winter wonderland, and I’d love to have the sun beating down on my skin.

I think I’ll head west.

March 3 - Denny Dirisio’s Diary:

You know, I haven’t quite decided yet why I keep writing that it’s Denny DiRisio’s diary. Who the hell else’s would it be??

March 7 - Denny Dirisio’s (No Shit!) Diary:

Okay, so I mean absolutely no offense to the fine people of Kansas, but JESUS! The longest eight hours of my life sitting behind the wheel of my van. Even singing show tunes didn’t help the time pass any quicker. I’ve been counting shrubbery as pass it, giggling at the little tufts atop some of the hills, thinking how much they look like nipples atop breasts. Told you I’m bored. I’m not sure where I’m headed, but I’m thinking Colorado sounds good. I’ve always wanted to see the Rockies.

So today I allowed myself to indulge a bit. I bought Willing To Conquer on audio. As it was read, the man’s voice smooth and velvety, I couldn’t help but think back to that night on our ledge, when I had my migraine, listening to Rachel talk about her story. Knowing how she sounded, her reverence for her characters and their situations, it wasn’t hard to insert her voice, allowing it to fill me, her words, her thoughts, the wonderful way her mind works.

I’m a little ashamed to admit I ended up in tears. Now that I’m totally removed from Hannah and my guilt over leaving, guilt over falling out of love with her, and guilt for falling for another woman, I’m allowing myself to think about that other woman. It hurts, but at the same time, it puts a smile on my face. I’m surprised that after all these months I’m still able to see Rachel’s face so clearly in my mind. I can still hear her voice- soft and unbelievably comforting. You know, sometimes as I lay in my van, or when I decide to indulge in a hotel room, I lay there and have the strangest thoughts: what would it be like to have coffee with her? You know, like go to some outdoor café or something, just us, sitting at one of those small, round wrought iron tables with the matching wrought iron chairs. What kinds of things would we talk about? What would be in her eyes?

Even now, sitting here in my hotel (too damn cold for the van tonight) in Sterling, Colorado, I’m staring up at the ceiling, hands behind my head. I’ve got you, dear diary, lying face down on my stomach, waiting there so I can write down all of my wonderful pearls of wisdom - er - something. I wonder what would have happened if Rachel and I had met under different circumstances- a book signing, or just in some random elevator. Would we have started to talk? Would we have noticed each other? Like, if she weren’t some famous author, and were just two regular people doing regular things. No doubt I would have noticed her. She’s gorgeous! Would I have spoken to her? Had the courage to? Would she have spoken to me?

I had caught on the radio one day while flipping through that she had basically disappeared off the radar. Rumor had it she’d moved to Europe. Did she continue on with that trip to Milan after all? What was she doing right now at - 9:37 p.m. mountain time? If she were still in Oregon, it would be, what, 8:37? Doubtful she was in bed. Was she up, fingers racing across a keyboard, working on her latest masterpiece? Was she curled up on the couch, watching TV? Did she ever think of me?

I was so grateful for the Polaroid’s we were given. Mine was still in my bag- I hadn’t dug it out tonight yet. Thought about getting up now to grab it, but I’m too tired. My butt hurts from so much sitting, but I wanted to make it through Kansas before stopping. Time for bed, I think. At least time for my brain to go to bed. Maybe I’ll watch some meaningless hours of TV. Maybe take a hot bath.

Either way, goodnight.

March 20 - Denny Dirisio’s Diary:

Man, that’s high! Today I walked across the Royal Gorge Bridge in Canon City, Colorado. It’s the tallest extension bridge in the world, at 1,053 feet. When you’re standing on those wooden planks, which I swear will break in half at any second! you can’t help but look down, seeing the itty bitty Arkansas River below, like really far below, and think morbid thoughts.

Apparently the bridge is quite the suicide spot for folks in Fremont County, or not even in the county. Some guy told me that a few years back a guy from England jumped off the bridge. Turned out he was wanted in Oklahoma for child molestation charges. Poof! He was gone, leaving his girlfriend standing there, stunned to turn around and see he was gone.

Canon City is an interesting place. I’ve been here for about three weeks. Small town, twenty thousand or so. Kind of creeped out, however, as I sit here in Mr. Ed’s- local greasy spoon. This place was the headquarters for the KKK years back. Lovely. It sure has some beautiful cathedrals, though. The one with the copper roof is gorgeous, especially when the sun hits it just right - Oh, another creep-o-meter fact- this town hosts like nine prisons! What the hell?! Think I may have to pull up stakes.

The other day I went into the prison museum, which was the old women’s prison. The cells are all still there, though each cell tells a different historical fact about a specific inmate or lynching or something. The museum is right next to Territorial Correctional Facility, which is the oldest prison in the state, and still very much in use. It was strange hearing the men talking and laughing, or the radio of a guard, when you’re at the prison museum. I keep expecting a scene from Shawshank Redemption or Bad Boys with Sean Penn, looking at those high, stucco walls, the towers, all of it. I wonder if my license plates came from there?

And what the hell is it with these western states, where it takes an entire day just to get out of the state? And where are the trees?! It’s beautiful here, but wow, so different. The dirt, rocks, and - holy shit! That was an actual tumbleweed! I thought those were just in old John Wayne movies! How crazy is that? Joni would never believe me. Wish I’d gotten a picture of it.

I’m sitting here looking at a map of this great country as I sip my very strong coffee, deciding where I want to go next. I’ve been moving a pretty general westerly route. Maybe I should shoot up north, check out Idaho, or maybe even Washington state. Hmmmm. California?

*  *  *

Carrie Tillman glanced up, not appreciative of the interruption. “Yes, Tom?”

“I brought this for you to look at, annnnd,” her assistant drawled, tossing the first test copy onto her desk, then leaning on the VP’s desk, waiting until she looked up at him again. “I’ve got an incredible idea.”

“Do you?” Carrie said, leaning back in her chair, taking the novel in hand. She examined the cover, running a finger over the raised letters f Rachel Holt’s name.

“I do.” The assistant grinned, flopping down in the chair across from his boss. “You are going to love this!”

*  *  *

Will stood in the corner, champagne flute twisting in his fingers. He couldn’t take his eyes off Dean, who was involved in an animated discussion with one of the partners in Will’s architectural firm.

“He’s changed,” a voice said from his left. Will hummed an agreement then turned to see Martin Budd, an attorney who worked in another part of Will’s building, also watching Dean. The only difference was, Martin’s nose was slightly wrinkled and a busy salt and pepper brow was raised in disdain. Will was surprised. He and Dean had spent many dinner parties with Martin and his wife. Confused, he turned to the older man, arms crossed over his suited chest.

“What do you mean by that, Martin?”

“What? Well, look at him! He leaves here a well respected attorney with one of the most prestigious firms in the city, a man on the rise in his career. And now look at him,” again, that look of disapproval. “He looks like a clown in that red jacket, and what happened to him on that island, Will? He comes back some sort of liberal tree-hugger.”

Will felt Martin’s comments hit him in the gut. He’d sensed that perhaps their friends weren’t approving of Dean’s choices and new attitude since returning, but no one had said a thing to him. He wasn’t sure what to say, instead left standing there, hand clutching the crystal flute in a steel grip.

“Listen, Will, I didn’t mean to upset-”

“Enjoy your evening, Martin.” Will handed the stunned attorney his glass and headed over to Dean. Grabbing his arm to get his attention. “Are you ready to go?”

Dean was stunned, looking around to see if there was someone around chasing his partner. Looking back into Will’s handsome face. “Uh, sure. I guess.”

“Excuse us,” Will said to the small group Dean had been talking to, and grabbed Dean’s hand, weaving their way through the crowd until they hit the cool, April night air.

“Will, where’s the fire?” Dean gushed, trying to keep up. He’d never seen the architect like that before, and was getting worried. Will didn’t answer, instead holding the door of the taxi open for Dean, then climbing in behind him. Dean remained silent, glancing over at his partner from time to time, Will staring out at the traffic they passed on their way home.

The architect stood out on the balcony off their bedroom, sipping from his beer. Suit jacket thrown over the armchair it the living room, and tie loosened, he leaned on the railing, looking down at the city below and around him. Martin had hit a nerve with him that he couldn’t shake. He hadn’t wanted to admit it to himself, but Dean’s behavior and drastic change in career had also been making Will wonder. So much had changed since last summer, when Dean had returned to him.

Will was torn. The Dean he saw now was the Dean he’d fallen in love with almost fifteen years ago- loving, carefree and true to himself. Will had always been the sensible one, the one to keep Dean’s wild whims under wraps. Then somewhere along the way, Dean had bought into the world they’d found themselves in, a world of high-priced living and pomp and pretension. Eventually all that Dean had been had died, leaving an ambitious, pompous ass in its stead. Will was swimming in the same waters with the same high-powered sharks, so hadn’t seen the beach for the grains of sand. Now, Dean had returned to his true self, the man who loved the law and it could do for people, and who loved to enjoy life, and Will was still stuck in that world of surface judgments and expensive expectations.

Martin had made Will see something within himself that night that made the architect very uncomfortable. Had he been responsible for the same judgments against Dean? Had he supported him as much as he should, in his decision to change his life?

“You okay?” Dean asked, stepping up beside the architect, wrapping chilled fingers around his coffee mug. Will was silent for a long time. “Something happened at the party, didn’t it?” Will nodded, looking down at his hands, still wrapped around the nearly empty beer bottle. “Tell me.”

Will tossed it around his brain, not sure whether to say anything or not. Looking into Dean’s concerned eyes, he diced to be honest. “People are talking. About you.”

“Okay. And what are they saying?”

“They don’t agree with what you’re doing. Your work with WorldWin, they don’t understand the drastic changes in you.” Will tipped the bottle back, draining the rest of the liquid.

“Okay,” Dean let that sink in, trying to keep his own emotions out of it. Despite the fact he didn’t agree anymore with the life he’d been leading before the crash, he had still once considered those people his friends, and it hurt. But what mattered the most, and what bothered him the most, was Will. Very little bothered the architect as he was obviously bothered tonight. “And what do you think?”

“I think I don’t understand you, either.” He held up a hand to forestall anything Dean might say, so he could explain. “What I mean by that is, how do you turn your back on all that you know? Knew? How can you look these guys in the face and raise your head high, saying you don’t give a damn what they think? I don’t understand.”

“Will, while on that island, everything was stripped from me- Gucci, Prada, 5th Avenue, all of it. It was gone,” he snapped his fingers, “just like that. I had to watch my fine, expensive clothing deteriorate, my belt and other things used for simple implements of survival. I had to find that good conversation and company meant more to me than some silly, pretentious party, where what you were wearing or the deal you’d made that week, meant whether you were the guest of honor or not. I hate to simplify things, but basically I was living with the salt of the earth over there, the bare necessities to live with and eat, and you know what one thing out of that huge closet I missed?” Will shook his head. “Not one thing. Nothing. The only thing I missed on that island was you. All of this,” Dean waved his arm out over the city. “It’s an illusion, Will. If you lost your job tomorrow, and we had to get ourselves a hovel in Queens, which one of those bastards would be there for us? To help us?”

“None of them,” Will supplied. Dean nodded.

“That’s right. Not a single one. My priorities have changed, honey. All we have is this one shot at life, and if we blow it on the stupid things, well,” Dean shrugged, “at the end of the day, we haven’t really lived at all. So you ask me, how doesn’t it bother me, how do I turn my back on the life I knew. It’s easy, Will. None of it matters. The only thing that matters is you, and what you think of me. But even if,” Dean swallowed, not even wanting to think of what he’d say next, but knowing it needed to be said. “if you didn’t approve, it would hurt like hell, but even then, I won’t change who I am, not anymore, not for anyone. I learned that I need to be true to myself first. The world can be damned.”

Will felt himself falling in love with Dean all over again. He took the shorter man in his arms, sighing in contented relief. “Let’s go to bed.” As they headed inside, they heard the ringing of the phone.

*  *  *

“Luke, run that into my bedroom,” Pam called out, noting her grandson running past the kitchen, arms loaded with a quilt that was almost as big as he was.

“Okay, grandma!” he called from further into the house.

Pam smiled. After talking late into the night over the Christmas holiday, Pam and Tracy had decided it would be best if the veterinarian- newly licensed in Montana, got her own space. She’d bought a pre-fabricated house and had it built on Tracy’s property. This way she was close enough for Luke, who had become a grandma’s boy, to spend time back and forth between the two houses if he wished, as well as for Pam and Tracy to see each other on a regular basis without being on top of each other.

Looking around the spacious three-bedroom, Pam couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride. The modular was more space than she’d ever had all to herself. The apartment back in New York had been tiny, but it was what she’d always had, so hadn’t seemed out of the ordinary. Now, she felt like she could have Luke and all his friends play a game of football in her living room!

“Grandma, can I stay over tonight?” Luke asked, suddenly standing next to his grandmother, who was making some finishing touches on her paintjob in the kitchen.

“Of course you can, sweetie. You need to ask your mom though, okay?” The boy nodded vigorously, then was gone like a shot. Pam chuckled. Returning to the detail work near the counter, she couldn’t help but smile at what her life had become. She never, ever thought she’d be happy in the open, cold spaces of Montana, so far from what she’d known her whole life. But now, she had her own three-bedroom home, and twelve hundred square feet all to herself. She had a relationship with her daughter, the likes of which she hadn’t had since Tracy had been in her early teens. And, most importantly, she had her grandson, who she thanked God every day for. He made her life so much better, almost as though she were given a second chance with him to do right what’s she’d done wring with Tracy. She adored the boy, and would are say he felt the same about her. Hearing his sweet little voice telling her he loved her, or asking if he could stay the night brightened her whole day.

Life was good. Pam turned when Luke burst through the front door.

“Grandma, mom says you have a phone call at our house.”

“Okay, honey.” Pam laid her hand on the boy’s shoulder, walking back across the large yard to Tracy’s house.

*  *  *

“Welcome to Lone Pine, California,” Denny read, her van passing by on its way down 395. The highway stretched out into what looked to be a small town, sprawling about six blocks in one direction and five in the other. Tiny! She had to admit, it was a nice change from the craziness that was Los Angeles. “What the hell?” Denny glanced in her rearview mirror to make sure she’d seen what she thought she’d seen. An anatomically correct horse stood sentinel on a place called Lloyd’s Shoe Store. Chuckling, she kept driving, slowing to take in her surroundings. She pulled off into Dow Villa Motel parking lot, opting to give her van a break for the day. The engine had been overheating lately, and Denny didn’t want to push it.

Walking into the office, she was greeted by the smiling face of the woman behind the counter.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

Denny noticed her nametag said her name was Dani. “Yeah, I need a room for the night.”

“Alright.”

Denny looked around the small area as the woman did what she needed to do, noticing a couple framed pictures of John Wayne. “What’s with pictures of the Duke?” she asked, leaning against the counter.

“Back in the 40s and 50s, a lot of westerns were made around here. This is where John Wayne stayed when he was in town,” Dani explained.

“No kidding? Hmm.” Denny handed over the requested amount of money, taking her room key and directions to it in exchange. “Any good places to eat?”

“Yeah. We’ve got the Mt. Whitney diner down that way, Lauten’s that way,” she offered pointing, “or Bo-Bo’s Bonanza over there.”

Denny stared at the woman, making sure she was actually serious. Not a crack of a smile. “Alright. Thank you.” With a smile, Denny shrugged her overnight bag higher onto her shoulder and headed in the direction the woman had told her the room would be.

The small room was like any of the other hundred hotel and motels Denny had stayed in throughout the winter. The single bed was covered in the typical motel-ware, TV bolted to the long dresser, and the small bathroom with a flickering light bulb. Reaching up, she screwed it in a little tighter, ridding the small space of the disco feel.

Denny was tired, she was very, very tired. Tired of driving and sitting for hours on end, tired of living out of a suitcase and cooler on the front seat. She was tired of being alone, and felt ready to start rejoining the human race once more. The heavy burden of loss and grief had slowly lifted over the months she’d been traveling, and for the first time since boarding 1049, Denny felt like there was a light at the end of the tunnel, and like her whole self was on the other side. Maybe it was time to find a place to put down some roots, to start over.

*  *  *

“Hey, sweetie. How was your day?” Gloria asked, wiping down one of the tables at the diner.

“Hey, mom. It was good.” She gave her mother a quick kiss on the cheek then sat down in a nearby booth. Like magic, a Coke and piece of apple pie appeared before the girl. “Ohhhh, you are all that is good and holy!”

Gloria chuckled. “I don’t know about that, but just for saying it, I’ll put a dollop of ice cream on top.” Returning with the promised treat, Gloria slid in the booth across from her daughter. “How’re classes going?”

Mia shrugged, unzipping her backpack and bringing out her biology text. “Good. I kicked butt on the test last week. We got our grades back today.”

“Figured you would. You studied long enough.” With a quick squeeze to the girl’s hand, Gloria got to her feet and back to work.

Mia chewed happily on her dessert, tapping a pencil against the Formica table. She had started the spring semester at Bronx Community College for the spring semester and loved it. It had been the smartest move she’d ever made. The semester would be over in less than a month and a half, and she had aced all her classes thus far. She couldn’t be happier. Her mother had gone back to work at the diner she’d been working at when Mia had returned. Gloria insisted on paying for at least part, if not all, of Mia’s tuition at the community college, not wanting the girl to start out her life with bills.

Grabbing for the workbook that went with the class, Mia stopped, unzipping a side pocket to retrieve the cell phone her mother had given her when Gloria got a new one.

“Hello?” She listened to the voice at the other end, eyes growing wide.

*  *  *

“Run!” Michael was on his feet, cheering along with his daughter, both laughing as Conrad fell ass over appetite, landing on his back. The boy held onto the ball, his friends gathering around him, helping the fourteen year old to his feet.

“Oh man, that was funny,” Jennifer chuckled, leaning back on her hands. Her boyfriend, Toby sat on one side, her father on the other.

“Kid needs to grow into those boats on the end of his legs,” Michael chuckled. He couldn’t believe his youngest would be fifteen that summer, Jennifer almost finished with high school. It was almost May, and the days were definitely heating up, indicative of the summer that was on its way.

“Dad, your phone’s ringing,” Jenny said, glancing back to their truck, parked at the curb of the park. The mechanic groaned slightly as he got to his feet, hurrying over to the open drivers side door, snatching the small phone from the car charger.

*  *  *

“Hey, Den, you need some help?” Foster Phelps asked, sitting at the counter of the new espresso shop that had opened in Lone Pine.

“Yeah, Foster. That’d be great,” the brunette said, almost breathless a she tried to keep up with the orders coming in. The kids from one of the Bishop high schools were in town to play against the local high school, and Bishop, being a larger town with more to offer, brought in the business. A lot of the locals wasn’t sure about the new coffee, or about that espresso stuff. The shop’s business depended mainly on the tourists passing through, or high school athletic events.

Denny had made Lone Pine home for the past two months, and for the most part had enjoyed it. No, it wasn’t where she wanted to stay. A closed, conservative town with more churches than taverns, and more pairs of eyes watching Denny’s every move than if she’d been a rat in a cage. She wasn’t trusted, an outsider, come to invade their number. What had finally made the decision for her was when her van officially died, coughing its last breath, three days after Denny had arrived in town.

She had decided to get a job and stay just long enough to raise the money to buy another car and move on. She was thinking perhaps of heading to the northern part of the state, maybe near San Francisco or maybe southern Oregon. Hell, maybe even Seattle. Wherever she went, she needed a bigger place, and perhaps somewhere she could settle down, buy a house and start a new career.

Lone Pine had jumped at her extensive knowledge of the coffee industry, and against the local opinion, had hired her on at the espresso shop. Denny knew that coffee and food wasn’t in her future career plans, but for the time being, it got her a quick job with a few bucks to save.

Denny flopped down on her bed, the same room she’d rented the night she arrived in town. Her cell phone was placed beside the lamp, 1 NEW VOICE MESSAGE blinked in the window. Picking up the small device, dark brows drawn as she rarely got calls. Listening to the message left, Denny felt her heart begin to pound.

*  *  *

Rachel sat in the chair, trying to be as still as possible as the girl put the last touches on her face, the blonde’s hair already coiffed to perfection. The young makeup artist took a step back, admiring her handy work.

“Are you ready, Miss Holt?” the production assistant asked, clipboard in hand.

The author nodded, feeling her palms beginning to sweat. “I’m ready.”

PART 19

“WELCOME BACK, AND thanks for joining me on Conifer Talks. I’m sitting here next to one of the hottest young authors of her generation, Rachel Holt.” The talk show hostess turned to look at her guest. “Now, Rachel, before the break, you mentioned that you’d recently bought a house.”

“Yeah. I bought a place in the north west.”

“You had disappeared for quite some time,” Maureen Conifer said, chin resting on a loose fist. “Where did you go?”

Rachel tried not to squirm in the armchair, as always, hating the intense scrutiny on her. She had initially wanted to turn down Maureen’s invite to the show to promote her new book, but her publisher wouldn’t hear of it. They insisted.

“Well, I need some time by myself. Things were pretty crazy when we got back,” Rachel explained, crossing one leg over the other, hand absently straightening her skirt as she did.

“So where did you go? Your editor, Reenie Bazilton is out of New York. And you gals are pretty good friend, right?”

“Yes,’ Rachel hedged, wondering where the line of questioning was going. One thing she hated most about interviews were all the personal questions. Rachel was a very private person, and hated having to stay on her toes for an hour. Even so, Maureen Conifer was the only journalist she’d ever allowed to interview her, trusting her ethics, and a sense of mutual respect.

“Well, I wondered if perhaps you had escaped to the Big Apple to throw off the hounds for a bit.” The talk show hostess smiled. Rachel chuckled, shaking her head.

“No. I actually rented a small cottage in Colorado for awhile. It gave me a chance to write in peace.”

“Speaking of,” Maureen took Rachel’s book from the small table placed between their armchairs. “Lost In Paradise, the name of your newest novel, which will be out on shelves Tuesday.” The hostess turned to the audience. “And everyone will be getting a signed copy today.” She waited until the crowed died down before continuing. “This novel, in my opinion, is your best work to date, Rachel.”

“Thank you.” The blonde couldn’t help but feel shy and a little overwhelmed by all the attention.

“Now, the two year anniversary of the crash is today. What are your thoughts, all this time later? I mean, this time last year, you and the other Island Six were still lost at sea.”

Rachel nodded, sipping from the glass of water provided by the props man. “It’s very strange. It’s funny you mentioned, that, because I was actually thinking about this very same thing this morning when I arrived in LA. So much has changed since I boarded that plane. My life has certainly changed,” she said, placing a hand to her upper chest, mindful of the microphone clipped to her shirt there. It’s been a time of growth and healing for me.”

“Well, I certainly think that shines through in your writing, Rachel. This novel, I’m assuming, is a fictitious account of your time with, what you’ve been quoted as calling, your ‘island family’. So tell me,” Maureen said, a twinkle shining in her blue eyes, “what parts are true?”

“Oh, no, no, no!” Rachel laughed, sitting back in her seat. “I am not going to tell you that.”

“Oh, come on!” the talk show hostess baited. “The kite made with fig leaves? The masher? What is real and what came from your imagination?”

“My lips are sealed.” Rachel grinned.

“Okay, okay. I see I’m not going to get anywhere with that. Tell me a little about your time there, Rachel. Was it paradise, or more like hell?”

“Which day?” A round of chuckles arose through the crowd. “We had our days where it was amazing, the most beautiful place in the world. And,” she shrugged, “we had our days where it was really hard. The day you got a skull-splitting headache and there wasn’t a thing you could do about it. Or days when you missed your family so bad you could taste it. Especially those with us who had children back home, thinking their parent was dead. It was really hard on them.”

“No doubt. Why the title, why Lost In Paradise?”

“I don’t know,” Rachel’s voice turned somewhat wistful, thinking back to her state of mind during the writing of the novel. “I guess because I felt like I did lose parts of myself those fourteen months. When I got back, I just wasn’t quite sure who I was anymore.”

“And it must have had a harsh effect on your life. Not long after you returned, you and your husband, Matt Frazier.”

Rachel cleared her throat. “I refuse to talk about that, Maureen. That part of my life is over, and it’s a private matter.”

“Fair enough. Alright, well, let me ask you one thing,”

Rachel nodded, a little nervous at what the talk show hostess would ask. She tried to steel herself.

“What do you miss most about the island? If anything.”

The blonde smiled, her answer automatic, no thought required. “The Island Six. I miss my island family.”

“We miss you, too, darlin’.”

Rachel’s eyes widened, the deep twang resonating through the studio over a loud speaker. She turned in her chair, looking desperately for the owner of the voice. The crowd’s uproar finally made Rachel turn to her right, her hand going to her mouth. Michael walked out onto the stage, a grin on his face and single red rose in his hand. Dressed in Wranglers, flannel shirt and Stetson, the handsome Texan opened his arms wide, the blonde flying into them.

“Oh my god, I’ve missed you!” she exclaimed, voice muffled against his chest, which she swore had gotten bigger. She started, feeling a tap on her shoulder. Pulling slightly away from Michael’s embrace, Rachel’s eyes filled even more when Mia, grinning, handed her a second rose. Engulfed by the girl, Rachel became overwhelmed as Dean sauntered onto the stage, rose between his perfect teeth. The author laughed through her tears, taking the flower from him, and accepting a kiss and hug. Pam walked out, arms already opened wide, ready to accept one of her other children into her arms. Rachel cried against her shoulder, unable to get herself under control.

“Hello, sweetheart,” the veterinarian said into her ear, the blonde barely able to hear above the cheers from the audience. Rachel pulled away, trying to clear the tears from her eyes as she sobbed. Her breath caught as she spotted her over Pam’s shoulder.

“Denny,”

Denny couldn’t take her eyes off the author, her own rose twisting between her thumb and forefinger. She watched as Rachel hurried over to her, almost knocking the breath out of her with the force of her embrace.

“Oh, god, Denny,” Rachel whispered, burying her face in the brunette’s neck. Denny held her, feeling her world righted for the first time since the day she’d watched Rachel climb into that plane and fly out of her world. The rest of the word disappeared, only Denny’s warmth against her existing, for five straight minutes. Finally the blonde pulled away, looking up into Denny’s own tear-streaked face. She reached up, briefly touching her cheek, dimly aware that Maureen was sending them to a commercial break.

“And, we’re clear!” a crew member announced.

Rachel turned on the hostess. “I can’t believe you did this to me!” she accused, tears still flowing down her face. Maureen’s face couldn’t have been more alive with her smile, having to hold her own emotion back. It had been a gamble, not entirely certainly how Rachel would react, but it couldn’t have been better. Ratings were going to be through the roof!

Rachel found herself surrounded by her family as prop people quickly took away the two armchairs, replacing them with a long couch and five more glasses of water, microphones waiting for them.

“Hey, baby girl,” Dean said, taking Rachel in another hug, careful to not smash the roses she held. She hugged Dean back, then looked at everyone, her face about to split wide open with the grin. She noticed that everyone had been crying, too. It took everything she had to not bat the makeup girl away as she touched up her artwork.

“I can’t believe you guys are all here. My god, I’m so stunned.” Rachel found herself the middle of an Island Six sandwich, the group hug lasting until they were told to take their places.

Everyone was fitted with a microphone, Rachel flanked by Dean and Mia, Dean immediately taking the blonde’s hand. He squeezed it, leaning down to whisper in her ear. “You look beautiful.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek, then wrapped his other hand around Denny’s who sat on the other side of him. She grinned, ever grateful to get that call from him on a lonely May night.

The Island Six stayed for the rest of the show, telling amusing stories about their time on the island, as well as sharing details of their current lives. Rachel couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so happy. Denny was on the other side of Dean, and she swore she could feel her presence there, and had to fight against leaning forward to look at her. But all in all, she felt giddy.

Dean smiled out at Will, who had been planted out in the audience, along with everyone else’s families. He was thrilled to be amongst his faux family again. He loved every single one of them, and though his life was a happy one, nothing made him feel so completely happy as to have Will and the Island Six all in the same room. He couldn’t wait to introduce them all.

Mia could feel fresh emotion in her throat, ready to burst the first moment she was allowed. It felt so amazingly right sitting there next to Rachel and Michael, the big Texan’s arm around her shoulders, Rachel’s hand wrapped around her own. She was nervous to be on national TV, but it just didn’t seem to matter.

Michael felt like a proud father all over again. Beautiful Mia sitting next to him, his protective nature immediately kicking in. He kept glancing down the line, seeing all the familiar faces, yet everyone looked so different. Even still, the camaraderie and bond was still there, still as strong as ever.

Pam, sitting on the other end of the couch, rested her hand on Denny’s shoulder, feeling the warm strength beneath the gorgeous brunette’s shirt. Their thighs were touching along their length, and Pam couldn’t keep the smile from her lips. She couldn’t wait to introduce Tracy and Luke to everyone, and vice versa.

Denny sighed in contentment for about the third time. Everything she’d been searching for clicked into place the moment everyone began to file into the Green Room, put through makeup and hair. It had been emotional for all of them, not much said, just tight hugs and meaningful kisses. Denny had been so excited to see the blonde for the first time, yet nervous. She was afraid she’d feel the same way, and afraid she wouldn’t. Not having any clue what to expect, Denny had held onto the rose she’d been given and had awaited her cue. She had actually been slated to go on after Michael, but Dean had insisted she trade places with him and bump Mia up. He said she should make a ‘dramatic entrance’. So, she had.

When she’d felt Rachel against her, their bodies melding together, Denny had wanted to cry just from the sheer bliss of it all. It was like nothing she had ever felt before, never knowing anything to wonderful or right in her life.

The show was brought to the end, and as the audience members milled about, talking to the Island Six, and swarmed Rachel, Michael walked over to Dean, who stood with a tall man with a handsome face and sandy-colored hair. He put a large hand to the attorney’s shoulder.

“Hey, Dean, come with me fer a minute. I want y’all ta meet my kids.” Dean followed the mechanic to a group of three, still sitting in their seats. Dean smiled at all of them- a very pretty teenaged girl, a young boy and good-looking twenty-something. “Dean, this here is my eldest boy, Alan, my little angel, Jennifer, and my youngest, Conrad.”

“I’ve heard so much about you three,” Dean said, giving them his biggest smile.

“Kids, this here is Dean.”

“It’s so nice to meet you, Dean,” Alan said, taking the attorney’s proffered hand. Jennifer smiled and gave him a quick hug, remembering how fondly her father had talked about the handsome man. Conrad, somewhat shy, shook his hand, nodding acknowledgment.

Will, who had followed behind, was quickly introduced to the big man, then his kids.

“It is an absolute pleasure, Will,” Michael said, taking the architect’s hand in both of his. “Dean sure loves you an awful lot.”

Will smiled. “It’s very mutual. I’m so sorry about your wife.”

“Thank you.” Michael tipped his hat.

“Hey, we’re all talking about getting together for dinner,” Mia said, walking up to the small group. Dean put his arm around the girl’s shoulders, pulling her into his side. Her arm automatically went around his waist.

“Hell, yeah!” Michael said, nodding.

Denny stood off to the side, watching as the studio began to clear, the Island Six standing in a small group, Rachel cornered by the producer of Maureen Conifer’s show. The blonde glanced up, nodding at the something the man was saying, her gaze meeting that of Denny’s. They shared a smile, then the author gave her full attention back to the man.

“So we’re talking about dinner, everyone catching up. You in?”

Denny turned to see Pam standing next to her. The brunette gave Rachel one last look, then nodded. “Yeah. That would be good.”

“It’s so good to see you, Denny. I’ve really missed everyone.”

Denny gave the veterinarian her full attention, giving the her a tight hug. “I’ve missed everyone, too. It’s been a helluva year.” She grinned, the older woman nodding in agreement.

“Amen to that!” Suddenly Pam squeezed Denny’s shoulder then walked away. Confused, the brunette realized that Rachel was walking toward her. Taking a deep breath, she turned toward her.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” Rachel looked up into the blue eyes that had haunted her for so long. She reached out, briefly touching the brunette’s arm. She wanted to hug her again so badly, but dozens of eyes were on her, and she didn’t feel comfortable.

“We’re all talking about going out for dinner, catching up. You interested?”

“Definitely.” Rachel looked into Denny’s face. She looked good, her eyes bright and alive. Skin smooth and much softer than the deeply tanned, almost leathery appearance the last time she’d seen her. She looked casual in jeans and a capped sleeved tee shirt. “You look good.”

Denny smiled, making her face all the more beautiful in the blonde’s eyes. “Thank you, Denny.”

“Congratulations on your book. I’m so proud of you.” Denny gave the blonde a quick hug, knowing they had to be careful. What she really wanted to do was take Rachel in her arms and never let her go again.

“Listen, I’ve got a better idea. I’ve got a suite downtown. Why don’t you all come over?”

Denny smiled with a nod. “Sounds great. I’ll tell everyone.”

*  *  *

The Ambassador Suite on the fourteenth floor at the Regent Beverly Wilshire was more than any of the remaining Island Three could take in one look. Rachel was used to it, as her publisher had put her up there many times over the years. All eyes were open wide as they took in the 1800 sq. ft. space, the rich, luxurious appointments and huge marble bathroom. Will and Dean were also used to such luxuries.

“Good god almighty,” Michael breathed, “And I thought the Blue Room was nice!”

“That’s the Green Room, there, Red,” Dean smirked.

“Well, them walls was painted blue.”

Rachel chuckled, walking over to the phone. “Who’s hungry?” A round of agreement, she ordered ten large pizzas to accommodate the six islanders, as well as Will and Gloria. She remembered the appetite Michael had. “Make yourselves comfortable, guys. Please, enjoy all this opulence, cause I know I certainly won’t.”

She saw Denny open the French doors leading to the balcony and followed.

“Hey.”

Denny was surprised to hear the soft voice, but it put an instant smile on her face. “How are you?”

“I’m okay. And you?” the brunette asked, crossing her arms over her chest. She wasn’t sure what to do, how to act, what to say. Her wonderings about if she’d feel the same way the next time she saw Rachel flew out the window. Not a thing had changed. In fact, if anything, time and distance had made the feelings more acute.

“I’m good.” Rachel walked over to her, taking her arms and pulling them open, stepping into the space she’d created. Denny held the blonde tight, resting her cheek against the soft, blonde hair, shorter than it had been last time she’d seen Rachel. It reached to just about her shoulders, one side tucked behind an ear. Rachel could hear Denny’s heart beating, and wondered if it mirrored the rhythm of her own. “I’ve missed you,” she finally allowed herself to say. Eyes closed, Rachel inhaled the scent that she could never forget, now just enhanced with clean clothing and the slightest hint of perfume.

“I missed you, too.”

“Let’s not lose contact again, okay?” Rachel asked, not lifting her head from where it rested on a strong shoulder. She felt Denny’s nod, and whispered okay.

“Ladies, want to join us?” Will asked, feeling sheepish and shy, interrupting what was obviously a very personal moment. Dean had filled him in on Denny and Rachel, and the attorney’s thoughts that the two women belonged tighter. Seeing them, he couldn’t say he disagreed.

Denny looked up, nodding. “Yeah. What’s up?”

“Dean brought some champagne. He wants to celebrate the reunion.”

“Sounds wonderful,” Rachel said, giving the brunette one final squeeze before letting her go, following Will inside, just before the popping of a cork.

Dean handed out glasses of the bubbly, then held up his own. “I have to admit, over the last ten months, I’ve missed all of you more than I ever thought possible. My life, though full and wonderful, just hasn’t been the same without my island family.” He turned to the author. “Rachel, the best of luck with your newest venture, as I’ve heard it’s wonderful and can’t wait to delve into its pages. Denny, good luck on your recent move into the northwest, I know it’s been a long road for you. Literally.” He winked, Denny chuckling. “Michael, to you and your beautiful children, which I noticed are absent. Pam, I’m so proud of you.” He leaned over to the woman, who was standing next to him, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “Way to go, mom,” he said softly. “And finally to my Sweets, Mia. Here’s to a beautiful young girl, her whole life ahead of her.”

“Here, here!”

Glasses were raised.

Michael sat on the couch, Mia sitting next to him, head on his shoulder. Pam had snagged Rachel to sit next to her on the loveseat, showing her the photo album she’d brought with her, and made the other four look at in the Green Room at the studio before they’d gone on. She showed her pictures of Luke and Tracy, things they’d done over the past year, her new house and home state.

Denny lay on the floor, her head on a couch pillow, hands tucked behind her head. She was listening to Dean talk about his tenure with WorldWin, his voice filled with the pride of shutting down a company who had been illegally logging in Maine. His eyes were lit up, his face flushed. Will, who’s lap Dean’s head rested in, was smiling down at the attorney, his fingers running through his partner’s thick hair.

“That’s wonderful Dean. I’m so proud of you.” She heard Rachel’s lilting laughter, and blue eyes flickered over to see the blonde pointing at something in the album, Pam explaining. Denny didn’t care what was being said. She couldn’t take her eyes off Rachel, visually caressing her face, the soft skin of her neck, the lush softness of her hair. Even as Rachel asked the veterinarian questions, green eyes met Denny’s, holding her gaze. Denny felt her stomach flop, heart pound and breath catch. The pull that had led her to the author on the island had returned, and it was strong. In the hours since she’d first walked out onto the stage on the talk show, until now- in a hotel suite surrounded by the people who mattered most in her life, and half-eaten pizzas scattered around- she felt an overwhelming longing grip her. Somewhere inside she knew that the people surrounding her would be in her life for the rest of her life, but that Rachel would play a starring role.

The thought both comforted and scared her. Though it had been through no fault of their own, what had happened with Hannah had devastated Denny in its complicated confusion, and she felt partially responsible for it. Her guilt had slowly melted away, leaving her with a sense of emptiness. The time alone on the road had helped to heal that, now filled with a sense of who she was at a core level again, as well as a new life in Hermiston, Oregon, where she’d been for just over a month. She liked the area, liked the job she had as the manager of a bookstore, and most importantly, liked herself.

She’d spoken with Hannah a few times since she’d left the east coast, happy to hear Hannah had moved on with her life for a second time, as well. They’d spoken about the money situation, and Denny had been stunned a week ago when she’d received a check in the mail for thirty-seven thousand dollars. Hannah had broken the account she’d put the money in from the sale of DiRisio’s, explaining in her note that the money belonged with Denny, and she no longer wanted it. Denny had used it to buy a small, yet very cute house in her new town, indicative that she was indeed, ready to finally find a place to call home.

It had taken her almost a year to find peace within herself, and find out who she was again. Now, once again complete and happy, could she possibly allow her heart to feel what it was trying to? There wasn’t even anything stating that Rachel had any room in her life for anything other than the wonderful feelings they were both obviously feeling. She could see it in Rachel’s eyes, every time the blonde looked at her.

Or maybe Denny was simply chicken shit and trying to talk herself out of it. Over her journey, she had kept to herself, even in the towns she visited and worked in. She had made few friends, preferring to observe and absorb, and wanting no women in her life. It had been so long, she was almost afraid to make room in what had become a safe, secure life, for someone else.

As she looked over at Rachel while lying on the floor of the blonde’s hotel suite, she was surprised to feel much of the fear fading. In its place, she felt good old fashioned, simple love.

“What’s on your mind?” Dean asked, noting the soft, serene smile that had graced his beautiful friend’s lips. He followed her gaze, not surprised in the least to find he was looking at the beautiful author, sitting next to Pam. Denny glared at him, knowing all too well how that devilish mind of his worked. “So, Rach?”

“Dean,” Denny growled, warning in her tone. Dena, of course, ignored her.

“Yes, Dean?” the blonde said, looking up from the snapshot of Pam’s new house.

“Are you dating anyone?” the attorney asked, feeling a steely gaze on him.

“Why, you interested?” Rachel asked, a brow quirked.

“Not exactly,” the attorney drawled, nodding toward the woman on the floor, who had shot up to a sitting position. “But I know someone who is.”

“Do you, now.” Rachel’s eyes snapped to Denny, seeing the fury and embarrassment in her eyes, which made Rachel’s heart soar.

“Dean, I am warning you,” Denny hissed between clinched teeth. Dean got the message, shutting up, confident in the fact that he’d gotten his own point across. He smiled prettily, amused by Denny’s bared teeth. “Well, as fun, and humiliating, as this has been, I have a plane to catch.”

“Oh, no, Denny. You have to leave?” the blonde asked, all humor vanishing, leaving her feeling suddenly devastated. She jumped up from the couch, as did everyone else.

“Don’t you dare be a stranger, Denny,” Michael said, walking over to the brunette.

“You, either, big guy.” She accepted his tight embrace, returning it with vigor. In the Green Room, the five had exchanged phone numbers and promises to never allow another year to go by without contact. Mia was next in line, the girl wanting to cry as she knew Denny’s leaving was the beginning of the end of the most wonderful day she’d had in a year. Dean and Will nearly broke ribs with their enthusiastic hugs, and Pam and Gloria wished her well.

“I’ll walk you to the door,” Rachel said, taking Denny’s hand. In the small alcove at the door to the room away from the others, Rachel looked up into Denny’s eyes. She brought her hands up, resting them on Denny’s shoulders. “I can’t believe you have to leave so soon.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I was only able to get today off from work. New job, you know…”

“Yeah, I know.” Looking up into sad blue eyes, Rachel smiled, resting her palm against Denny’s cheek. “Please, please stay in touch, Denny.”

The brunette nodded. “I will.”

“Hang on a sec,” the blonde hurried into the bedroom, scribbling her phone number and address down on a piece of hotel stationary. She folded it, tucking it into Denny’s hand. Leaning up, she pressed her lips to Denny’s in a lingering kiss. Backing away, she tried to smile bravely, feeling as though her heart were breaking all over again, just as it had the day she’d had to leave Denny on the island. “Take care of yourself.”

“You, too.” Denny could feel her throat tighten with unshed emotion, which she knew would catch up to her on the plane. She grabbed the blonde in a tight hug, quickly turning away and leaving the suite. Rachel closed the door behind her, resting her forehead against the cool wood.

“You okay, honey?” Dean asked softly, placing a gentle hand on the blonde’s shoulder. Rachel said nothing, just turned and buried her face in his neck.

*  *  *

Denny enjoyed her job, working with books and back in a position of management. She was good at it, and loved it. And, it had nothing to do with coffee or food! It was a nice change.

The day was long, Denny putting in some overtime to help out when one of the girls was a no call/no show. She didn’t mind, as it had kept her mind busy, not giving her a minute to think about anything or anyone. But now, the warm, early June night facing her as she walked out to her car, the brunette glanced up into the sky, noticing the stars winking down at her. Digging her keys from her pocket, she walked over to her Dodge Dakota, unlocking the black truck and climbing inside.

Sitting behind the wheel, Denny sighed, her body tired, but her mind still whirring. She folded down the sun visor, smiling at the picture of the Island Six, taken behind the studio four days ago. Reaching up, she plucked the snapshot from the paperclip that was holding it to the visor, running a fingertip over everyone’s face. Her gaze settled on Rachel. Every day she’d looked at the blonde’s number and address, long ago memorized, wanting so badly to call. She had no idea what had stopped her. She hadn’t heard anything from the author, either.

Putting the picture back in its place, Denny revved the engine to life and pulled out of the parking lot. Deciding she wasn’t ready to go home yet, she drove around the are, taking in the sights of her new hometown. She loved Oregon, the beauty of the state was incredible. It was so different than New York, and a very nice change.

Deciding she was hungry, Denny stopped at a fast food restaurant drive through, then decided to go for a drive. Window down, she loved the feel of the wind in her hair, and the freedom of the road before her. She drove for about twenty minutes before she realized she was on I-84 West, and alone on the road. Denny squeezed the steering wheel, feeling her palms begin to sweat as she made up her mind. Glancing at the clock on the dashboard, she saw that it was after ten at night. It was crazy, it was outright mad, but she wasn’t going to stop this time.

Music blaring, Denny felt her heart pounding with every mile, her need almost overwhelming. It was amazingly peaceful, the weekday traffic lessening the further she went, passing town after town, only to find herself on another lonely stretch of road. It was very much like the journey she’d just completed, though this time she knew where this drive would end.

*  *  *

Rubbing her eyes, Rachel closed her laptop, finished for the night. Setting the computer aside, she decided it was time to hit the sheets. Walking around the beachfront cottage, she made sure all doors and windows were locked, the sound of the incoming waves comforting in the small beachfront town of Seaside, Oregon. Flipping off the lights as she went, she stripped out of her tank top and shorts, readying for bed in the nude. With a heavy sigh, she slid between the sheets. The rain was beginning to fall, the sound as beloved and comforting as that of the ocean.

*  *  *

Denny turned the windshield wipers to a faster speed, amazed at how the Heavens just seemed to open up and let the angels cry. Glancing at the dashboard clock, she saw that it was almost two in the morning. She was exhausted, and hoped she was doing the right thing. She turned up the radio, Pink Floyd’s The Wall filling the truck’s cab. Her head bobbed along with the music, letting it fill her with confidence and assurance.

Denny looked at the directions she’d printed out from the internet two days ago, making sure she was in the right neighborhood. Seeing a house number, she saw that she was heading in the right direction. Pulling up to a single-story beachfront house, she pulled the break and cut the engine.

*  *  *

Rachel started, something pulling her from a deep sleep. Looking around her dark bedroom, she tried to figure out what it had been. Hearing the rain still pelting down around her house, she thought maybe that was it. Maybe the rain had increased, tugging at her subconscious. Then she heard the slam of a car door.

Looking at her bedside alarm clock, she saw that it was almost a quarter of three. Lying her head back to the pillow, the blonde figured it was the neighbors, knowing they came and went at odd hours. That thought was dashed when she heard footsteps hurrying up the walk toward her front door. Sitting up, the author flicked on the lamp, then shoved the covers aside, tugging on her shorts and tank top. Listening, sure enough footfalls on the deck that stared at the front door and wrapped its way around the cottage.

Padding her way toward the front door, Rachel glanced out the window, noting a dark-colored vehicle, which looked like a truck or SUV. A knock sounded on the door, making the blonde’s heart jump. Pushing aside the filmy curtains that covered the flanking windows of the front door, Rachel cried out in surprise and concern. With trembling fingers, she unlocked her door, pulling it open. Denny stood on the other side, her clothing and hair plastered to her body and head, just from the short walk to the door.

Denny didn’t know what to say, torn between feeling bad and elated. From the look of the blonde woman, she’d been asleep, and who wouldn’t be at such a ridiculous time of morning?

“I’m sorry,” she said, bringing a hand up to push her bangs out of her eyes. “I had to see you.”

Rachel looked the brunette over, noting Denny’s nametag still penned to her shirt, khaki pants clinging to her legs and polo shirt emblazoned with the name of a popular bookstore almost black from the saturation.

“Oh, Denny,” Rachel breathed, reaching out and taking her hand, tugging her into the house. She said nothing as she led her inside, closing and locking the front door behind them before leading her back through the house to her bedroom. She got her towels and a tee shirt, instructing that she take a hot shower so she didn’t die of pneumonia.

Denny did as she was told, feeling foolish. Even so, it felt amazing to be standing in a shower stall in Rachel’s house, in her very presence. She smiled, eyes closing, as she could smell Rachel’s shampoo as it was lathered through her own hair, knowing that probably not long before, Rachel had been standing in the very spot where she was.

Rachel could feel her heart pounding, taken off guard by the arrival of Denny at her doorstep in the middle of the night, just because the brunette had to see her. It had been almost five days since they’d seen each other last, since Denny had walked out of Rachel’s hotel suite in Los Angeles. She had wanted to call so many times, once actually had the phone in hand, Denny’s phone number at the tips of her fingers, but she’d chickened out. Would Denny want to hear from her?

Rachel had heard about Hannah, Dean filling her in on what he knew, which wasn’t a great deal. Just that things hadn’t worked out, and Denny had left, setting out on her cross country journey. She wasn’t sure how Denny felt, considering the blonde knew how much Denny loved Hannah, and how much she had tried to stay true to her while they were on the island. Rachel had felt guilty about that for a long time before realizing she had to let it all go. By that point, Denny was very much out of her life, so couldn’t let it hurt anymore.

The shower turned off and Rachel felt her heart lurch again. Swallowing, she leaned back against the pillows, trying to act and feel as casual as possible. Yeah right. Denny entered the ring of light created by the single bedside lamp. The tee shirt fit her, which was good, since it was huge on the blonde. She was using Rachel’s brush to comeback back her long, dark hair.

“Feel better?” Rachel asked, at a loss for anything else to say. The brunette nodded.

“Yeah. Thank you.” She sat shyly on the side of the bed, looking down at her bare legs. She felt strange, sitting on Rachel’s bed in the blonde’s own shirt, and panties. “I’m really sorry, Rachel. I shouldn’t have-“

“Hush.” The blonde’s voice was soft, soothing as she pulled the covers back, patting the space on the mattress. “Come here.”

Swallowing nervously, Denny set the brush aside and did as she was told. She slid down into the cool sheets, softly instructed to lie on her side, back to Rachel, which she did.

“Sleep now, Denny. We’ll talk later.” Rachel leaned up, placing a soft kiss on the back of the brunette’s neck, then wrapped her arm tightly around Denny’s middle, holding her protectively against her.

*  *  *

Denny opened her eyes, disoriented. Mild light poured into the room in slanted bars from the louvers on the windows. She felt another presence with her, immediately knowing who it was. Turning her head to the side, she saw Rachel sleeping next to her, on her side and facing the brunette. Denny turned to her own side, feeling the blonde’s gentle, even breathing on her face. She studied her face, the smooth skin, gently arched brows relaxed. Dark blonde lashes caught some of the light that managed to come in. Denny’s gaze fell to Rachel’s mouth, the lips curled into the slightest smile. She had wondered if maybe she’d put that smile there. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t hope.

Bringing a hand up, Denny lightly traced Rachel’s brow, fingers running along the side of the blonde’s face, barely brushing the blonde strands that rested there. Suddenly green eyes were looking into her own, searching, visually exploring. Denny met her gaze, fingers brushing along Rachel’s jaw until she finally cupped the blonde’s cheek.

Rachel was getting lost in the blue of Denny’s eyes, her pulse about to burst out of her veins. She needed to be touched so badly, needed for Denny to touch her so badly. She could only pray this wasn’t a dream.

Denny wanted to tell Rachel everything that she felt, everything that she’d been feeling since the moment she’d laid eyes on her as she’d passed her in First Class. She wanted to tell her she loved her, needed her, wanted her. Her throat was so dry, not allowing anything to pass, not allowing her to utter a sound. Staring into the blonde’s beautiful gaze, she thought that perhaps she saw everything she wanted to say reflected back at her.

Rachel scooted closer, Denny’s body heat nearly burning her. She needed contact so desperately. She pushed Denny to her back, settling her body atop hers and resting her head on the brunette’s upper chest. Denny’s eyes squeezed shut as she wrapped her arms around the author, holding her close. She could feel hot breath almost burning her through the thin material of her shirt. She could feel the softness of Rachel’s breasts against her, the wonder of the bare skin of her arms and legs against her own. She could smell her hair, smell her skin, and smell… her arousal?

Rachel thought a hug was what she wanted, but as she felt Denny against her, her mind began to cloud, breath catch. Opening her eyes, she saw the inviting skin of Denny’s neck before her eyes. She heard a soft sigh as she placed a soft kiss at the juncture where neck met shoulder. Liking the subtle reaction, she decided to do it again. Again, Denny sighed, her arms tightening around Rachel’s neck, the hand that had been cupping the back of her head releasing it, fingers running through the strands instead.

Denny could feel her heart picking up, Rachel’s lips moving up her neck in a slow trail, the barest hint of a tongue at her earlobe. The brunette guided Rachel to her, needing so desperately to feel her mouth.

Rachel whimpered softly into the kiss, the softness of Denny’s lips, the feel of a warm hand moving down her tank top-clad back, coming dangerously close to the hem. She pushed herself up slightly so their bodies were a better fit, both gasping at the feel of breast against breast, only two thin layers of clothing separating them. Denny teased Rachel with her tongue, the blonde sighing as she responded, a hand coming up to caress the skin of Denny’s face and the side of her neck. Denny, for her part, slid her hand up under the tank top, feeling the heat radiating from the skin of the blonde’s back. She luxuriated in the smoothness of the expanse of skin, running her fingers up the length of her spine, feeling the delicate bones and muscles in her shoulder blades as Rachel adjusted herself, pushing herself up to her forearms so she could have better leverage as the kiss deepened.

Denny accepted Rachel’s tongue, her other hand joining that under the blonde’s shirt, both hands running down her sides, Rachel sighing into her mouth as they ran along the sides of her breasts. Never in her life had Denny wanted to make love to someone so badly. She felt like her very life depended on being with Rachel, sharing that part of herself with her, showing her how she felt.

Rachel raised herself slightly, a silent invitation, which Denny gladly accepted. The blonde broke the kiss, eyes closed as she rested her forehead against Denny’s shoulder as gentle hands cupped her breasts, fingers squeezing, palms rubbing across her erect nipples.

“Oh, Denny,” she gasped, finding the brunette’s mouth again. She gladly went as Denny pushed her to her back, rolling on top of her. Wrapping her arms around the brunette’s neck, Rachel pulled her close, parting her legs when she felt an insistent leg press against them. They both moaned as Denny’s thigh made contact with the saturated panties that covered Rachel’s need.

Denny left Rachel’s mouth, lips and tongue exploring her neck, teeth tugging playfully at the neckline of the tank top. Rachel ran her fingers through the soft, thick hair at he back of Denny’s head, her head rolling to the side as she allowed herself to absorb all the sensations. Suddenly a very hot mouth enclosed over her cotton-covered breast. She cried out softly, arching her back as Denny flicked at her nipple, then tugged playfully before leaving it. The sudden loss made her groan, the cool, rain-scented morning air cool against the wet spot made on the shirt.

Denny reached down, lifting the tank top as her hand ran up Rachel’s side, kissing all the newly exposed skin. Rachel helped her remove the shirt, baring the gorgeous breasts Denny remembered so well.

“Gorgeous,” she whispered before taking the other nipple into her mouth, batting at it with her tongue.

Rachel couldn’t stay still, her body alive and on fire. She pressed her hips up into Denny, who’s thigh was still pressing against her. She tried to fin purchase against her, but the brunette removed her leg. Concentrating on Rachel’s breasts with her mouth, Denny ran her hand back down over the blonde’s stomach, feeling the satiny material of her panties. Rachel’s legs parted in invitation, Denny reaching her hand down to cup her through the almost non-existent material of her soaked panties.

“Oh, god, Denny. Oh yes, touch me,” Rachel almost panted, crying out when Denny used a single finger to run along her sex, stroking her engorged clit.

Denny couldn’t believe how ready Rachel was for her. She left the most perfect breasts she’d ever seen, loathe to do so, but she knew her attention was needed further south. Getting to her knees, she looked down at the woman who had stolen her heart so long ago, marveling at how beautiful she was, how perfect she was, and how amazingly in love with her the brunette still was. Rachel met her gaze, seeing the love in her eyes. She sat up, cupping Denny’s cheek. Rachel’s kiss was so soft, so gentle, so filled with what neither of them had been able to say, it almost made Denny cry. She lifted her arms as she felt her tee shirt raised, the garment tossed to the floor. She closed her eyes, head falling back as Rachel pulled back, taking in what was revealed to her.

Rachel thought she would have been shy or embarrassed, never making love with a woman, nor touching one as intimately as she longed to touch Denny. Her eyes were hungry for the brunette’s body, mouth watering to taste her, to touch her. She cupped Denny’s breasts, feeling their weight and unbelievable softness. They felt wonderful.

Denny was taken over by the need to taste the blonde. Her eyes opened, and the look in them made Rachel gasp. Gently pushed back to the bed, Rachel lay down, lifting her hips as Denny tugged her panties down over her legs. Freed, she opened her legs once again in invitation, not sure what Denny would do. It didn’t matter, as long as she touched her.

The brunette pushed her own panties down, kicking them off onto the floor, not caring where they landed. She slid down the bed, nudging Rachel’s legs further apart with her shoulders so she fit better between them. Rachel’s head fell back, a long breath escaping her lungs as realization of what Denny was about to do entered into her sensual haze. Never had anyone’s mouth been on her before, and at the first touch of Denny’s tongue swiping through her sex, Rachel released a long, guttural groan. She was lost in a world of pleasure as Denny feasted, the blonde’s hands pressing on a dark head, eyes closing and breathing becoming ragged and harsh.

Denny hummed, the feel and taste of Rachel against her mouth was wonderful. She wrapped her arms around the blonde’s hips as she strengthened her strokes, entering her with her tongue. She heard Rachel cry out, so continued until she replaced her tongue with two fingers, moving her mouth up to Rachel’s clit, suckling her.

Rachel was on sensation overload, her entire body becoming taut as her orgasm began, Denny sensing she was close, so increasing her attention. Finally the author cried out, burying her fingers into Denny’s hair, pressing her down into her. The waves of pleasure crashed over her, seemingly endless. Finally Rachel’s body fell back to the bed, limp, little whimpers escaping her throat as she tried to calm down. Denny climbed back up her body, lavishing the flesh she found with kisses and small licks until she was cradling the blonde against her, whispering soft words to her and caressing the side of her face.

Rachel’s eyes opened, and looking into Denny’s, seeing her need, the blonde felt a second wind take her over. She pushed Denny to her back, claiming the brunette’s mouth in her own. Denny was surprised by the sudden aggression, but welcomed it. She felt a tentative hand on her breast and arched up into the touch, her body begging to be released. Rachel left her mouth and began to explore her neck and upper chest, tracing her collarbones with her tongue.

“Oh, baby,” Denny gasped, her nipple tugged between two fingers. “Oh, yes.”

Rachel wanted to taste and feel every part of this wonderful woman’s body, a woman who had made her feel, both physically and emotionally, when no one had ever been able to do that before. She wanted so badly to return the favor and tell Denny what words couldn’t express.

The feel of Denny’s skin was incredible, softer and more wonderful than Rachel ever fantasized it would be. She used her mouth and hands to explore, making the brunette shiver when she ran her nails over the inside of one thigh. The heat that was pouring from Denny was incredible, and it drew the blonde in, her hand feeling the slick insides of her thighs.

Denny gasped, not expecting to feel Rachel’s fingers flitting dangerously close to her sex. Her clit jumped in anticipation. “Please touch me, Rachel. Oh, god, I need you to touch me.”

Rachel was surprised by the desperate plea in the brunette’s voice. She kissed her, slow and sensual, seducing her all over again, even as her fingers began to trail through the dark patch of hair, which was saturated by Denny’s need. Her fingers pushed passed the swollen lips of Denny’s sex, suddenly engulfed in a liquid inferno.

“Ohh,” she breathed, feeling her own arousal rise once again. “God, you’re so wet, Denny. Feels so good.”

Denny couldn’t respond to the words that had been whispered against her mouth, her legs spreading and hips beginning to move with the rhythm Rachel set. She reached down, guiding the blonde inside her, both moaning at the sensation. Denny grabbed the back of Rachel’s head, holding their mouths together as Rachel thrust into her. Soon the brunette was breathing too hard to kiss, but Rachel stayed with her, their panting mingling as Denny neared her release. She cried out with a gasp, thighs closing in around Rachel’s hand.

Rachel felt a sense of wonder and awe flow through her as she watched Denny’s face as she climaxed, eyes squeezed tightly shut, mouth open in an almost pleasure/pain grimace, every muscle in her body straining. She peppered kisses all along her face and neck, brushing damp hair away from her face.

“You are so unbelievably beautiful,” she whispered, kissing her softly on the lips. Denny returned the kiss as best she could, her entire being seeming to have seeped out with her pleasure. She had just enough strength left to pull Rachel to her, cradling her head against her shoulder. Rachel wrapped an arm over the brunette’s middle, her thigh nestling between Denny’s. She needed to be as close as possible. “I love you, Denny. I really wanted to tell you that in LA. I just didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know what?” the brunette asked, fingers playing with soft, blonde hair.

“How you felt. If what you felt on the island was real.”

“Yes, it was very real. I wanted to tell you the same thing. I felt like so much of me was missing when I watched you get into the plane and fly out of my life.” Denny met Rachel’s gaze as the blonde propped her head up on a hand. She traced the brunette’s facial features with a finger.

“It tore me apart. I’ve been so lost.” Blonde brows drew as she remembered.

“I love you, Rachel. Always have.”

The author smiled, feeling like her entire world had clicked into place. “We have a lot to talk about, don’t we?”

“Yeah. We do.” Denny leaned up, placing a soft kiss on waiting lips. “I can’t lose you again, Rachel,” she said, shaking her head. “I denied myself for too long out of some sense of guilt. When I got back to Hannah,” she sighed, marveling at how amazingly right it felt to be in Rachel’s bed. “it was wrong. From the very start, it was wrong. She tried, and I know I hurt her, but I knew that it just wasn’t her anymore. I fell in love with you on that island, but I tried to deny that, knew I had to move on with my life. The funny thing is,” she chuckled ruefully, “it had moved on without me.”

“I’m sorry, Denny,” Rachel whispered, seeing old hurts still reflected in those blue eyes.

“Don’t be. It’s over. It’s all over. I’m right where I want to be.”

“Do you? Want to be here? With me?”

Denny smiled, reaching up to cup Rachel’s face, nodding slightly. “Very much so. You’re the part of me I left on that island. I finally feel whole again.”

Rachel blew out a small cry, taking Denny into an almost painful hug. “I need you, Denny. God, I need you.”

“I’m here, baby. I’m not going anywhere.”

*  *  *

The tree was decorated, the lights lit. The rain had finally stopped, though it was still cold. The house smelled of turkey and freshly baked bread. Laughter filled the living room, gifts opened by the fire.

Rachel sat against the corner of the couch, where the back and arm met, Denny tucked between her legs. The author had an arm wrapped lightly over her stomach. They watched as Rachel’s nephews opened their gifts from their aunts, Rachel and Denny. The blonde rested her chin against the top of Denny’s head, contentment making her spine tingle. Never had she knew happiness and love like she did that Christmas, her two sisters and their families deciding to go to their house this year. Reenie had flown in two days ago to share in the joyous holiday spirit. Life was good.

They’d decided to move into Denny’s house in Hermiston, saving Rachel’s Seaside home for weekend getaways. Denny still managed the bookstore, loving every moment of it. Rachel had even held a book signing there. Denny’s raise that year reflected the owner’s gratitude.

*  *  *

Tracy was laughing as her new boyfriend, Taylor, was trying to keep up with Luke’s sign language lesson. The man’s hands waved less than gracefully as he tired to mimic the boy, Pam chuckling in the corner, where she was waiting on the pies to finish baking.

It had been a crazy year, but the veterinarian had never had such a productive one. Her house was decorated just perfect, and she was finally situated in a small animal clinic just outside their small town. She even had her eye on a man who’s Great Dane was a patient of hers. She watched her grandson grow more every single day, and often wondered just what drug she’d been on, not wanting to be part of that. And knowing the true, pure acceptance and love of her daughter was a greater Christmas gift than the snowblower outside with the red bow wrapped around it. She knew Tracy had no ideas she’d seen it, but she had, and was forever appreciative for the chance she’d gotten, the second chance she’d gotten. She’d never blow it again.

*  *  *

The kids had made out good, new clothes and stereos and them crazy little MP3 players that Michael would never understand. Good thing for the helpful lady at the store or he’d still be standing there, trying to figure out just what in hell Conrad had been going on and on about.

He stood back, a smile of pride on his face as he watched his three kids, and Alan’s new wife, all comparing what they’d gotten, trying to swap maybe a little less desirable gifts with the others. It was a good thing, a real, real good thing. Michael Dupree was a happy man. There was only one thing missing.

The big Texan glanced up out the window into the clear, Texas sky. He saw a star wink at him, and could swear he heard the laughter of his Melissa.

*  *  *

Dean never thought he’d see the day that he and Will would leave the city, but they had, and it was a wonderful move. Warwick was a wonderful place, and Keller and Garrison had been more than helpful in leading them toward good real estate, and giving them an instant social circle. The gals and the attorney got along famously, just as Will knew they would.

He sat across from Parker, watching as the seventeen year old kicked his butt at a friendly game of chess. She was smart, and oozed a certain charm that made Dean want to lay down his queen to her. They’d all just come back in from a brutal snowball fight, and the attorney was still trying to unthaw. He watched as Will walked toward him, mischief in his eyes.

Holding up a small sprig of mistletoe over is head, Will leaned down and placed a soft kiss on Dean’s lips.

“Merry Christmas, baby,” he whispered. Dean smiled.

“Merry Christmas.”

*  *  *

Milan was such a wonderful place, and Mia would never forget her trip there for Christmas. She was surrounded by every family member she’d ever heard about, plus some! They just seemed to come out of the woodwork to spend the holiday with their American family.

She’d received her Christmas present from Denny and Rachel just before her and her mom had left for Italy- a plane ticket to go visit them. She was beside herself with anticipation, the trip set for after the new year, before classes started up again.

The teen glanced at her mother, who was enraptured by something one of the cousins was telling her, gray colored back to Gloria’s former black wonder. She looked twenty years younger, and was so alive and full of life. Mia loved watching her mother come back to life since her return. From what her Nonna had said, Gloria had all but died when she thought her daughter was dead. Alive and well, that’s what both of them were.

It was a good time, a real good time.

THE END