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Assistant: Title: Night Shift
        Author: ThePalerImitation ThePalerImitation 
        Chapter: 6/6 
        Summary: Abbot and Mohan, on the night shift.
        Contents: Chapter 6: Need
    

    

        
          
          
            Dinner and Dancing
          
        

      
        
          
          (See the end of the chapter for  notes.)
          
      
  

  
  
    
    There was dawny element to Samira. The day is a sprawling range, the night, a towering skyscraper. But dawn is the most fleeting of spaces.  When the sun is a crescent fingernail on the pale violet horizon, when the wasteland turns rosy and golden, when you’re not ready to lose it, dawn has already come and gone. Dawn is young. Dawn is fresh as the day it first rose.  Dawn soothes every agonizing night, dawn ends every night terror.  But dawn drifts from the lidded eye and vaults high above, too blindingly lovely to be admired.  I’m a nocturnal animal. Dawn is my goodbye. The night was young, and already I was thinking how it would end.  I glanced over at the passenger seat, where she sat, looking out the window. “You’re thinking something witty.” “Am I?” “You are.” She rested her head on her arm, “I’ve almost forgotten what the city looks like at high noon.” “Shadows,” I said, hands tightening on the wheel, “Crowds. Pigeons.” “I wouldn’t give this up,” she said, “I just wish you liked daylight more.” She sounded wistful.  Twenty year old Wisconsin enlist found a feral kitten. A giant of a little kid, giving it milk out of his cup, cradling it in his massive hand as it scratched and screeched in tiny rage. He tried his damnedest, he loved it earnestly, he loved that animal like only someone who needs desperately be loved could.  One night, I walked in on him on his hands and knees, shoving aside his bed like it was nothing, holding out a tender hand in vain. The little black ball in the corner did not hiss or spit like it usually did. It just curled its body tight, flattened its ears, and looked at him pitifully. He couldn’t convince it. He couldn’t stop himself from trying. I didn’t know why I thought of him in that moment, but I saw a little of the cat in her. “Maybe you should get out tomorrow,” I suggested, “Go explore around.” “With who?” “Friends.”  “Friends,” she said, “I don’t want to do it with friends. I want to do it with you.” She said it so casually, so careless with where she threw her captivation. I saw her guard, the wall behind her eyes with everyone she came across, a smile painted on with an expert brush. But she was playing with her gold earrings, her shawl laid across her legs, her body draped in thin cream linen that she didn’t hide from me. She sprawled in my passenger seat, speaking words so willingly given, with conversation so familiar, we’d had it a thousand times. “Go find yourself a pretty boy,” I said, slowing down before the stoplight. Rain pattered down, turning the city lights a blurry oil paint spectacle. I looked over at her, “Some practice for Greece.” “Pretty Greek boys,” she said, “What makes one?” “Youth,” I replied, “Young with a disgusting lack of ambition. A very seductive kind of laziness around him. He should have a minimal job, a massive ego, and enough obsession over you to last your trip.” “Oh, he’ll get bored of me,” she tossed her head, “Or I’ll get bored of him.” “Don’t get bored. Entertain yourself.” “And what would you want? Pretty American girls?” “I’d like to think I’d be happy with that,” I said, “Gaggle of kids, couple of dogs, and a wife who wants a house in the country.” I glanced at her, “What’s not to like?” The light turned green, washing her skin in an emerald complexion, complementing her expression. “Nothing,” she shrugged, shifting in her seat, “Nothing at all.” I drove a few blocks before speaking. “But that’s what waiting’s for,” I had one hand between us. I wanted to reach for hers. I didn’t. “To make sure. You know, if it’s,” I chuckled, “if it’s not a horrible mistake.” We parked. I turned the car off. Neither of us got out. “Jack,” she said, eyes glittering in the fluorescent night light. I turned to look at her. “I’m—“ her hand covered mine, her perfume washing over me. She spoke softly and deliberately, “I’m so glad,” she said with a smile I couldn’t place the meaning of, “that you’re taking me out tonight.” “Well…” I squeezed her hand, “you deserve it.” “Right,” she nodded, adding quickly? “so do you. You know that?” “I don’t know if I deserve to have you across my dinner table,” I said and she hid her smile by twisting away from me, “But yes…” I opened her car door for her, helping her out as she gathered her shawl to drape around her arms. “maybe I’m owed tonight.” Our table was a corner booth, nestled far back in the restaurant, with a good spot near the piano player. She clasped her glass of red between her fingers and touched it to mine with the faintest ring. “Tonight,” I suggested. “Tonight,” she took a long sip, “I’m a little hungry, aren’t you?” “I could eat,” I said, but we were both starving and polite. The waiter came, some young kid who should have known better than to ask, “And how is the happy couple tonight?” She laughed, mouth open with the slightest shock in her smile. And I didn’t say anything, I was too busy looking at her. “Well…” I adjusted my silverware, “Hmm.” “Oh,” her hand covered mine and I gripped her fingers, she tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, “We’ve decided for our entrees. I’ll have your lamb gnocchi with the sage browned butter, and Jack—“ “A…” I stacked our menus, mine beneath hers, “that 16 oz ribeye.” “Yes, yes and-“ she pointed to the menu as I slid them to the end of the table, “the sundried tomato salad with the artichoke hearts and basil.” “You’re so Tuscan.” “This man,” she said to the waiter, “I mean?” “She’s got to have her salad,” the waiter said, writing down our orders. “Got to have her salad.” “And we will be having it in your most Tuscan style,” she said. “Tuscany, huh?” I said, “You sure you don’t want it Greek?” Her jaw dropped, “You—he’s teasing me. He’s teasing me, and he’s the one who insisted on a sit down swanky restaurant—“ “Did I insist?” I rubbed my temple. “Begged me,” she mouthed to the waiter. “Did I really?” “And he was so cute about it.” “Well maybe I did.” She waved her hand, “This man.” The waiter grinned down at his notepad, “I see what you mean.” “He was talking about you,” I muttered after he left with our orders. “Curmudgeon.” “Nag.” “Cynic.” “Saccharine.” “Darling,” she smiled dazzlingly, “Let’s not quarrel.” Wearing that dress, her hair in an elegant updo with pearl pins, so graceful and fluid, like she was born for nights like this, as if her arm was sculpted to intertwine with mine.  “You keep looking at me like that, I’m going to say something stupid,” I said gently. “What’s changed?” “You-“ I rubbed my eyes, “You, you, you.” “Teasing.” “Yes, you’re mocking me.” “How else do you spend your evenings?” “With a resident, apparently.” She smiled at the old joke, “And here I thought we weren’t going to have fun.” “Just stick with me,” I replied, “I’ll regale you with a guided tour of the Middle East.” “Think I’d prefer a guided tour of the scars,” she said slyly. I raised my eyebrows. She raised hers. “Are you flirting?” I tasted my wine, “This can’t be that strong…” “Why, Dr. Abbot!” She clutched invisible pearls to her chest, “I would never dream—“ “Yes you do.” She raised her hands, “Caught.” “I could never scare you off, could I?” She shook her head, “Not really.” I took a deep breath, flicked my napkin into my lap as the waiter returned with our Tuscan salad. She sat back quickly, clearing her throat and smiling at the waiter. “Night things.”  She groaned, “Don’t remind me.” “You said you wanted to have fun!” “Yes, yes,” she gave me a look, “I remember.” “Dinner and dancing,” I took her plate, giving her a generous amount of salad, “You decided our first course,” I said, “and I’m having your first dance.” “We’re going back to your apartment,” she muttered, “You get all the dances.” “Just as long as you don’t step on my toes,” I added. “And as long as you look into my eyes,” she emphasized, “my father will have a word with you, young man.” Hardly young and certainly not caring what her father thought, I toasted her again. “Here’s looking at you, kid.” The dinner seemed something from a fantasy dreamed in blood soaked dirt. A woman, a fountain of youth, talking earnestly of harmless stray dogs. Eating a ribeye while someone played the piano, because what else should a paycheck be spent on but wonderful food and beautiful women? The luxury of it, the abundance of it.  Nothing could touch it. I thought of blood and warped, splintered bone. Of patterned gray and mottled white turning rust brown with stains. Of places so far from that restaurant table they felt like distant planets twinkling above.  Just her.  Just the sound of her voice.  Samira had an element to her voice that touched like a dark blue butterfly that brushes your face at the break of dawn. A sensation to it that felt so shocking, but clear and sweet as a bell. It made me smile just to listen to her. She’d take a breath and say “and you?”. I’d never recall exactly what she was saying, but we managed. She didn’t seem to mind how my nods and hums of agreement always seemed to fade off into a fixed stare. At her, of course. There was nothing else worth looking at. Which wasn’t an insult to the restaurant, but…you know. “You’re not paying attention.” “I’m looking at you.” “Repeat what I just said.” I smiled and she rolled her eyes. “What am I going to do with you?” She asked. “Repeat what you said,” I replied, “but this time, with a hand in mine, one on my shoulder, and looking very deeply into my eyes.” “You’d like that, would you?” “Yes, I would,” I said simply, “Very much so.” She stood, “If I go and leave my card with the waiter for the bill, will you mind?” “I’ll be horrifically insulted.” “In that case,” she left her purse on the table, “I’m going to the bathroom. Feel free to look through there and steal my credit card information.” “You’ll get a call from your bank.” There was an old sort of silence between us, well-worn from how many times we’d used it. The hum of the car, her slow exhale as she traced the seam of my cuff. The ding of the door opening, the sound of her coming out with her hand securely resting in mine. The fumble of my keys.  I pulled her across the threshold a little faster than I had wanted—I had to be so gentle with her—and she stumbled slightly, falling against my waiting body. “Hey you,” I murmured.” “Hey,” she kicked off her sandals without looking away, “Put the music on.” I cleared my throat, untangling myself, “Right, right.” I draped my suit jacket over the couch, rolling up my sleeves to consult my records, “you know you’re—“ my voice trailed off as she shook her hair down her shoulders. I paused to look at her, “you’re sure you’re not some kind of…” “Kind of what?” She asked, resting her hands on her hips, cream dress blowing gently in the night breeze. The window was open, and I suddenly wondered if she would dart out of it, one more sparrow I tried to lure.  “Angel,” I said simply, “you’ve got the wings for it.” “Don’t give me hope,” she said, “I’ll only compel you if I have a halo.” “Let’s talk it over sometime. For now, dancing,” I said, setting the record down and placing the needle carefully. “Strangers In the Night” began. The music began, twice as lovely as I had remembered it, and yet only half as beautiful as she looked, smiling radiantly as I came towards her and put my hand on her waist. “What if I’m awful?” She asked. “You’re ever awful,” I said, “only endearing.” “Don’t tell me if it’s failing,” she whispered. I pulled her closer, “Don’t tell me either.” Her bare feet beside my shoes, following as I lead, with Sinatra in the background, I was sure he sang it about us. The way her spine fit against my palm. The way I cradled her hand in mine.  “I’ve never been led in a dance,” she said softly. “You’re happy with it.” “I am,” she rested her head on my shoulder, “Very much.” “Maybe that’s why you miss the daylight,” I swayed slowly, “The night is lonelier.” “You could say that.” “But we’re nocturnal,” I said and could feel her smile, “We can dance until the sun comes up.” “To see your eyes in the sun…” she sighed. “And yours—“ I leaned back, and she tilted her head up to look at me. My hand gently stroked away one of her curls, “are best in starlight.” “There’s no stars,” she said, smile spreading slowly. “They’ve been put in your eyes,” I said, “Diamonds glitter less, and are worth not nearly as much as you.” “Flirt.” “You started it.” “I did, didn’t I?” “Yes,” my thumb rubbed her cheek, “Yes you did.” She leaned into my touch, eyes closing, “Oh, Jack.” “I know,” I said, rocking her gently, “I know.” The song ended and a new one began. “The World We Knew”. “How can you tell the difference between wanting and needing?” She asked. The wanting is mine. The needing I have is you. Only you. Always you.  “Can you stop yourself?” My hands were tracing the path of her spine, counting the vertebrae of her body. I had to know her. I had to comprehend her like a poet understands the sea. “Can you even hesitate?” If I loved an entire woman as much as I loved her scent, I would have died in her arms. “Does it hurt?” I asked her, my shaking hands on her trembling body. But I had Samira. I had her whole body somewhere between my hands and my mouth, and I wanted more. I couldn’t dream of easy things.  “Are you afraid of it?” I breathed in the moonlight, looking into those starry eyes, glossy with diamonds. I could faint from her. I could taste her and live on it.  “Does it have a name?”   “Yes.” She said, “yes of course.”  I was aching for something I had never had. I had been wanting, I had learned to deny it. But I couldn’t deny myself this. Not when her eyes were saying please, please in cosmic adoration, and her mouth was saying my name. I dipped lower, taking her mouth roughly against mine, pressing her body to mine like a coveted thing. There was a mortal wound inside my soul, and I gave it everything I had. It asked for her and I told it no.  There was a need in me, and I called it by her name.
  
  

    
      
        
        
          You thought I wouldn’t.'
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