Children of the Moon 3

continuing ....
== Choked ==
16 October 2003
From the doormat, Ken does a last scan of the flat.
Window locked? Check.
Kettle off? Check.
Bed made? Check.
Curtains shut tight? Check.
Don, asleep on the sofa, /finally? Check.
Rucksack over shoulder? Check.
Ken grunts, ducks into the hallway, locks up behind, trumps downstairs, out—
"You're back!" cheers Alli, all smiles as usual.
"I've been back since Sunday?"
"Ah! Must be my crap timing to keep missing you, then." He passes Ken a handful of post, grins. "Like I keep missing your bird."
"Uh, yea, 'bout her ... she kinda wants to move to the city—"
Alli makes a happy noise, bounces on his toes.
"—and we're wondering if your parents have any flats to let that're a better size for two people?"
"I know they /own some, but I'll have to check an' see if any are available." He sparkles at Ken. "Congratulations!"
Ken ducks his head. "It all depends on a couple things working out just right, but I, uh, figured I should look into it."
"Quality. I'll talk to my family and get back to ye. /And I'll keep my fingers crossed those things turn out how ye need 'em to."
"Th-thanks."
"See you 'round!" Alli waves, heads inside his family's flat.
Ken shakes his head, hustles to the bus stop.
He spends the ride to campus absently watching the city roll by, then the shuffle to his lecture hall trying to remember how to breathe, then the exam internally screaming.
When it's over, he drags himself to and from the bus to Elmbank Street and into Gowdie and Gray's.
Cute Andy beckons him closer to the counter.
Ken tugs his scarf loose, ambles over, guard up.
Cute Andy leans in, whispers, "There's a bloke from the Ministry in the back waiting for you. You in trouble?"
"N-not that I know about?"
"Well, if ye wanna avoid him, now's yer chance to make an escape."
Ken swallows. "I'll deal with him, but, umm, if not I'm not back for a refill in a half-hour, send help?"
"Gotcha." Cute Andy jots. "One Werewolf, extra shot, and one rescue party to-go. I'll bring it to ye in a moment."
"Thanks, mate."
Cute Andy salutes, twirls off to the espresso machine.
Ken takes a deep breath, puts his shoulders back, raises his mental defenses like Missus Hughes showed him, shuffles into the reserved section.
His rucksack /thumps to the floor next to the first table; he plops into the chair a moment later.
An unfamiliar voice says, "Mister Mackenzie Gorman?"
Ken jumps, blinks up at the South Asian man with glasses and ruffled hair watching him. "Y-yes?"
"Harry Evans," he greets, offering a hand. "I'm from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."
Ken stands, shakes—"P-pleased to m-meet you."—collapses back to his seat—"Sir."
/This isn't just a 'Ministry bloke', this's the honest-to-God—
"May I?" Evans inclines his head to the empty seat across from Ken.
"G-go ahead, please."
"Thanks." Evans folds himself into place. "I'd like to talk to you about someone I think you know? Donald Douglas?"
"Y-yea, I know him. I-is he in trouble?"
Evans smiles reassurance. "They're just routine questions. Need to check a few boxes on my paperwork." He pulls out a pad and pen.
"A-alright."
"Thanks." Evans gives the pen a nudge and it stands, ready to take notes. "Basic stuff first: your name's Mackenzie Gorman?"
"Yea, but everyone calls me 'Ken', sir."
"Okay, Ken. You're nineteen?"
"Yes, sir."
"You work in, uh, wizard quarter here?"
"You mean The Blessing?"
"Thanks. Can never remember the name. Yea, The Blessing."
"N-not really? I help my da on market weekends, but I'm mostly doing the Education course at the University of Glasgow."
Evans studies him, finally says it: "Like a Muggle?"
"Well, yea? I'm a borderline Squib, 'sides being a w-werewolf." Ken spreads his hands. "There's no hope of me getting a wizarding job, 'cept from my da, so I'm trying to make the best of it."
"But you /are a wizard."
"Just barely." Ken pulls off his scarf, works on the buttons of his coat. "Like, I failed most of my applied O.W.L.s and I didn't bother with N.E.W.T.s at all. I can't Apparate and a friend had to set the protective spells on my flat for me." Huffs. "I'm basically the worst wizard in Glasgow."
Evans chuckles.
Ken offers a weak smile.
"'scuse me~!" sings Cute Andy. "I've got your order."
Ken accepts the tall mug. "Th-thanks."
"Everything alright, Ken?"
"Yea, looks great."
"Anything else I can do for ye?"
"N-no, I should be good."
"Anything for you, sir?"
"I'm fine," replies Evans.
"Quality." Cute Andy bobs his head. "Give a shout if ye need something."
"Will do."
Cute Andy skips off.
Ken takes a deep drink of his coffee, swallows, sighs as its warmth spreads through him.
"Mind if we get back to the questions?" prompts Evans.
Ken controls a startle. "S-sure. No problem."
"Alright, so ... when'd you first meet Douglas?"
"Uh, nineteen-ninety-six ... I think? Wasn't too long after I got Turned."
"You know what he is?"
"A vampire? Yea."
"Do you know what /kind of vampire he is?"
"There's more than one?"
"Not really," chuckles Evans, "but Douglas is Glasgow's vampire king. All the others answer to him."
Ken raises an eyebrow. "Didn't know that. He really doesn't seem the kingly type?"
"Maybe not, but it's true."
"Huh." Ken sips more coffee.
"It actually seems like it's tough to do anything as a magical being in Glasgow without crossing paths with him or one of his friends."
Ken kinda scoffs. "'course it is, right? He's been around forever?"
"True enough, but he certainly has some interesting friends, like Rory Fegan."
"Yeaaa, he's a total mad rocket." Ken snorts a laugh. "Everyone 'round here has their 'Mad Rory' story, seems like."
Evans smiles. "What's yours?"
"Oh, um, he once brought this stack of semi-sentient leather-bound grimoires for my da to repair? And they were all beat up and scruffy and they were nipping us /constantly. So we couldn't get any work done and we finally got sick of it and took 'em to an animal Healer. Turns out they had mange."
"You're kidding."
"Nah. We got 'em treated and asked Rory how the heck his books caught mange. He said he'd lent them to some sheep to read."
"You're /kidding."
"And Da's like, 'sheep? since when do sheep /read?' and Rory's all, 'since I taught 'em how when I was a wee lad.' Da says 'well you better have those sheep looked at!' Rory laughs, tells him 'the sheep're fine: they must've used the health spells I showed 'em to put the bugs on the books.'"
Evans laughs.
Ken smiles into his mug.
"Have you heard the latest Mad Rory story?"
"I don't think so?"
Evans scoots his chair closer, leans across the table. "Get this: a week ago, there's this /huge fire in Belfast harbour. By the time the fire brigade gets there, this freighter—the /Avery's Fancy—'s burned to the waterline. Nobody's hurt, but the boat's a /total loss. That same /night, Fegan's at his local telling everyone who'll listen how he'd been tipped off about something 'naughty' and'd taken care of it /and made Belfast's evening a little brighter."
"He /admitted he started the fire?"
"Near enough." Evans moves even closer. "Thing is, the people who owned the /Avery's Fancy really were up to no good. Fegan actually did help some folks out."
"In a kinda stupid and dramatic way."
Evans snorts. "But you wanna hear the weird bit?"
The hairs on the back of Ken's neck twitch
"Miss Lefèvre—you met her, right?"
Ken nods. "Yea, I talked with Valerie a couple times."
"She worked for the same group of people who owned the boat."
Ken chokes on his drink—
"Which has me wondering about why she was killed right afterward. Did she say something she shouldn't have to Fegan, maybe?"
—and his blood runs ice cold.
Evans sits back. "I'm probably jumping to conclusions, though."
"P-p-probably, but it's s-still a weird coincidence." Ken swallows another big mouthful, wills the caffeine to restart his heart.
It obliges.
"If I'm onto something, though ... Fegan could be in danger."
"F-from what?"
"They wouldn't be the first people in Douglas' way to die."
Ken sits straighter. "He wouldn't hurt Valerie." Makes a pleading gesture. "He /quit /smoking for her."
"Ken, I know you think he's your friend, but vampires aren't /anyone's friends. They—"
"S-sorry to interrupt, sir, but've you met a vampire before?"
"Only in passing."
"I've only met a handful, but they're at least as human as me." Ken takes a deep breath. "Sir."
Evans blinks at him.
Ken's stomach lurches; he tugs at his too-tight jumper collar. "S-sorry, sir. I just—" He gulps another mouthful of coffee.
"I understand it's been hard for you. You've probably lost a lot of friends."
"I've a few stood by me. Trust them with my life, no matter what folks say 'bout 'em."
Evans shifts like he's realized something.
Ken's heart sinks; he quavers, "Is everything alright, sir?"
Evans rubs his neck, clears his throat. "Yea, you just reminded me of someone I used to know. So, umm, when's the last time you saw Douglas?"
"A while ago—I don't remember exactly. I-I don't see him often."
"Even though you both live in Glasgow?"
Ken shrugs. "It's a pretty big city and I spend most of my time in lectures or studying my flat."
"Ah. Where do you think Douglas is now?"
"He's not at home?"
"Not that we've been able to find. If you had to guess ....?"
"Uh ... probably in Spain with his daughter, then."
Evans sighs. "That seems to be the consensus guess. Suppose I'll have to take a trip to the coast." Looks up, smiles. "Darn."
Ken forces a chuckle.
"Anything else you want to tell me?"
"No, sir."
"Then I won't take up any more of your time." Evans tucks away the pen and pad, stands, offers a hand. "Thanks for talking with me."
Ken scrambles to his feet, shakes. "Y-you're welcome, sir."
Evans bobs his head, smiles. "Good luck with your studies."
"Th-thank you, sir."
Another tilt of the head and Evans strides toward the fireplace room.
Ken slumps back into his chair, digs—freezes.
Takes five deep, deep breaths through his noise.
Gets up, grabs his rucksack, slings it over his shoulder, marches into the main room.
"Everything alright?" calls Cute Andy.
"Y-yea. I'm headed home t'study, but I, uh, might be back this evening."
"Got'ye~!"
Ken sketches a wave, steps into some nigh-miraculous autumn sunshine, hustles to the bus stop.
Tap-tap-taps his foot on the ride to Govanhill.
Then he's out onto the pavement, shtumping for his building, through the doors, up the stairs, into his flat.
Don's still out cold on the sofa.
Ken yanks his blanket away.
Don groans, blinks slowly.
"Get up."
"Wha's goin' on?"
"You need t'hear this."
Don sits up, rubbing his eyes. "Wha'time's it?"
"Thirteen-hundred-ish."
Don whines.
"/Listen. What do you know about that boat Mad Rory torched?"
"Nothin'." Don yawns. "First I heard of it was when Lesley called him for sanctuary. Still all I know."
"Valerie's bosses owned it."
Don sits straighter, suddenly much more awake. "They wha?"
"Her firm owned the boat. The Aurors think you had a share of the business and killed Valerie when she let slip to Rory—"
"Those /bastarts," snarls Don.
"It's the other way 'round, aye? She said something to you and you—"
"/No. We had a deal not t'talk about work. I knew /nothin' about any boat. Rory must've got intel from one of his gang of bandits."
"Then—"
"Her people fucked up big-style."
"They killed her?"
"Aye. Must've done."
Ken slumps onto the sofa, croaks, "What d'we do now?"
Don takes a deep breath, rolls his shoulders. "First, we prove it, then we ruin 'em and kill the specific bastard gave the order."
Ken swallows.
"I won't ask ye to help with that last bit."
"Th-thanks. 'preciate it." Ken swallows again. "You should know, they sent /Harry /Potter to talk to me."
"That the bloke who ended the Dark Lord?"
"Yea."
"I'm more important than I thought."
"This's bloody serious."
"So'm I. Wizard or not, ye don't fuck around in my city."
Ken side-eyes. "You're really the vampire king?"
"The title's 'laird' and, yea, I am."
"Since when?"
"Since I killed Malina, before ye were born."
"Then why're they coming after you /now?"
"Th'fuck knows how these eejits think." Don snorts. "Somebody in middle management probably wants the feather of taking down the 'King of Glasgow' in their cap and thinks they can pull it off this time."
"Can they?"
"They're messin' with the wrong vampire," smugs Don.
.
== Taste the Last Girl ==
xx October 2003
Ken twists the doorknob. "I'm—"
""Yer not going out like that,"" drawls Don.
Ken looks down at himself. "What's wrong with—"
"First off, yer collar—" Don spins him around by the shoulders, tugs at the points. "—is crooked. Second, what'd you comb yer hair with, a fork?"
"What is it with everyone and my hair?" whines Ken.
"C'mere." Don grabs his upper arm in a vise grip, tows him to the washroom, parks him in front of the mirror.
"I can totally take care of—"
"If yer not gonna style it properly, cut it shorter, yea?" Don applies the hairbrush.
"Why do you know so much about hair?"
"This's /nothing, mate. I could put it in a Dutch braid if ye asked."
"What? /Why?"
"'cos it's stylish."
"No no no. Why do you know how?"
"Worked as a woman's houseboy for a couple decades, then helped raise a daughter."
"Oookaaay."
"I'm a man of many talents." 
"Whatever you say."
Don sniffs, cocks his head. "Yer acceptable."
"Great. Thanks. Can I go now?"
"Yea. Try not to get mussed on the trip."
"Sure, whatever, gran-da." Ken pushes past, aims for the door.
"Leave a psych textbook or two."
"I'm not bringing—" Ken twists around, hand still on the doorknob. "Wait, why do you want those?"
"Figure I might as well learn something while I'm trapped in here."
"They're all on the shelf."
"Much obliged."
"Can I /go?"
Don shoos him. "Off with ye."
Ken rolls his eyes, heads down the stairs, out to the street, hustles the few blocks to the Queen's Park station, arriving in plenty of time for his train.
Ken absently stares out the window at the familiar scenery for the hour it takes for Port Glasgow to sprout up around him.
He shuffles out with the handful of other commuters, /straight into Murron's arms.
She squeezes him tight.
"H-hey," he breathes, "I made it."
"I'm glad."
"Is ... is everything alright?"
Murron pulls away. "I'm scared. 'bout getting my sealskin back."
"Y-yea, I can understand that, I think. Everything feels all up in the air."
"Mmhm." Murron links their arms, presses against his side. "I wish we knew what was going to happen."
"Me, too." Ken starts them strolling up the hill toward his parents' building. "Well, um, if—" Deep breath. "I talked to Alli and his parents've found a flat which might work if you need to move to the city." 
She brightens. "Already?"
"Yea, they 'parently just bought it. It's one bedroom, with a small kitchen and access to a garden. 'bout a block from a bus stop and a couple from the train. They'll let us have it for another twenty-five pounds a month."
Murron frowns. "What's wrong with it?"
"They, uh, said they'd make up the loss by not having to do many repairs when we leave."
Murron beams. "Because they like you!"
"Because I'm not a complete asshole. What kinda person trashes a flat, 'specially one they don't own?"
"People are weird."
"Got that right."
Murron laughs, but they make the rest of the walk in silence.
"They left it open for us," says Murron, pushing open the door.
Everyone—Mum, Da, Caoimhe, and Suibhne—is crowded into the reception, sipping tea from Mum's good china.
"You made it!" cheers Mum, stand—
"Stay where you are!" yelps Ken. "I mean, you're comfy and I'll be here all afternoon so."
Mum flutters back to the cushions. "Hurry up and settle in. Murron's parents were just telling us about their new business."
"Uh, cool." Ken helps Murron out of her layers. "Uh, you can go on talking?" Gets her kit into the closet, works on his own. "Please?"
Da clears his throat. "So, Caoimhe, you said you've finished mapping your first ship?"
Ken and Murron squish in side-by-side on the love-seat.
"Yes, an old trading vessel sunk where Loch Ruail joins An Caolas Branndanach." Murron's mum smiles. "We thought we should start in the waters we know best."
"Any buried treasure?" prompts Mum.
"A pair of silver trinkets we felt worth keeping for ourselves; quite a bit more silver, some bronze, walrus ivory, and rusted steel we left," says Suibhne. "There may be other items buried more deeply and the timber of the ship itself has some worth."
"Our concern was the chart, not the material goods."
"Sorry for—I missed the first bit—what're you gonna do with the map?"
"We will give it to our partners: the crew of a salvage ship. We locate and chart wrecks, they raise items of value to sell, and we share the profit."
"Oh, cool." Ken rubs the back of his neck. "Have plans for the money?"
Caoimhe sits back, smug. "We plan to purchase a boat."
Murron hops up. "What?! Why didn't you say so before?!"
"We wanted it to be a surprise, daughter."
"But—"
"We desire a comfortable home of our own in which to visit all of our family, including yours."
Ken cringes.
Murron takes his hand, squeezes.
He squeezes back.
Mum blurts, "I thought you were getting your sealskin back—"
Murron winces.
"—Murron-sweetheart? So you could go back to the water?"
Ken squeezes her hand again, scootches closer. "She /might be. If the person who says they fixed it really has." Lowers his voice, "Which doesn't change the fact I can't swim like a seal."
"What happened to it again? My memory—I'm sorry—" Mum bites her lip, looks to Da for reassurance.
He smiles.
"Please don't worry, Missus Gorman," assures Murron, glancing at her mum. "We can tell the story."
"We can, yes." Caoimhe takes a deep breath. "In her fifth summer, Murron went ashore with her brothers near Cnoc an t-Sabhai on Jura. They decided to play on the hills and so hid their sealskins among the rocks."
Suibhne exhales shakily. "I made the mistake of remaining in the sea, fishing, while they wandered inland."
Caoimhe strokes his hand. "The land seemed abandoned, husband. None of us suspected anyone was watching."
"But someone was?"
"There must have been, because when the young ones returned, Murron's skin was missing. We searched until darkness began to fall, then my husband summoned our distant relatives who maintain the Ruadh Sgeir light to help."
"It was /so /cold," mumbles Murron, shivering.
Ken tucks her closer.
"We spent the night at Ruadh Sgeir and, in the morning, accompanied her to Loch Tay to place her in the care of the wizards there."
"I've been living there ever since."
"That's such a sad story."
"It's been /much happier since I met Ken." Murron leans into him.
"When are you supposed to be getting your skin back?" asks Da, voice gentle.
"Wednesday evening."
"Mister Fairbairn, Miss Seppänen, and Lessie will be there to make sure nothing bad happens."
"As will I," adds Suibhne.
Da's eyebrow creeps up and he asks, "It's that risky?"
"Any time a human holds a selkie's sealskin, there is a risk they make Take the selkie," growls Suibhne. "Until it is in her hands and she is among friends, Murron is in danger."
"'Take'? Like, 'kidnap'?"
"Taking a selkie is very similar to kidnapping a human, but a selkie is completely unable to escape without their sealskin. They will stay, enduring whatever abuse their captor inflicts, until their skin is returned."
"Why don't they run away? Or fight back?" wails Mum.
"Our kind resist as best they can, never stop searching for what they've lost, never stop looking to the sea for aid, but we simply /cannot leave." Caoimhe sighs. "It is the price we pay for living in two worlds."
"But—"
"Mum, think about it like your anxiety, yea? You don't /want to worry all the time, you just /do because it's how yer brain works." Ken takes a shaky breath. "A selkie /wants to go more than anything, but /can't."
Mum processes that, eyebrows twitching in the way which says she won't quite understand.
"Despite the risk at the point of exchange, we are eager to welcome Murron back to the sea."
"It /will be good to go home, won't it, Murron-dear?"
Murron makes a sad, breathy noise, buries her face in Ken's shoulder.
Ken nuzzles her temple.
"I believe my daughter is most at home with your son, Aileen."
"I don't think he's ever been happier, either," adds Da.
Suibhne and Caoimhe exchange a look.
"Ken, maybe I speak to you in private a moment?" Caoimhe tilts her head toward the bedrooms.
"S-sure. Just a—" He gives Murron a quick hug, peels himself loose, follows Caoimhe to his old room, sits on the mattress.
Caoimhe closes the door, pulls the desk chair in front of him, settles down gracefully.
Ken shifts, waits.
"There is no need to be so nervous."
"S-sorry. My mum's not the only with an anxious brain." Ken laughs weakly.
Caoimhe smiles. "It is a good thing I wish to share. Suibhne and I want you to have those silver trinkets he mentioned." She offers—
Ken accepts the thick curls of metal—rings, the kind designed to be pinched to the right size—and squints at inscriptions in an unfamiliar script.
"It is a wish for a long life and good health."
"Wow, but I can't—they must be worth—"
"They are gifts from the sea and Suibhne and I."
"Th-then they belong in a museum."
"Cease your worrying, Ken. They are neither old enough to belong to your government nor does anyone living have a claim to them. They are ours to give and yours to accept."
"O-okay. Th-thank you." He swallows, clears his throat. "They're beautiful."
Caoimhe fixes him with a Look. "They are also yours to give, Ken."
An 'oh' squeaks out.
"My daughter needs stability amid all the upheaval in her life. She needs /you."
"I can't—I'm not—"
"Mackenzie." Caoimhe closes his hand over the rings. "I am an excellent judge of males. My mother did not approve of Suibhne when I chose him, but he has proven the best hunter and protector brought into our Song this generation."
"But he couldn't keep Murron—"
"She only survived that first freezing night because he remained calm and found the aid she needed." Caoimhe hangs her head. "To my shame, I was useless because of my panic."
"Y-you can't blame yerself. Things were pretty awful."
Caoimhe sighs.
Ken shifts again. "You—you're not the only one telling me to marry her right away. Our friend ... he's been after me for /years to." He fills his lungs. "He just lost his ... the woman he loves was killed—m-murdered—"
Caoimhe hisses.
"—and it's made me think and I really wanna make the most of our time." Looks up through his eyelashes. "I know I might not l-live all that long and I don't wanna regret /anything."
Caoimhe smiles, tears pooling at the corners of her eyes. "My daughter has chosen well."
"I sure hope so," croaks Ken. "I'm gonna, uh—" Gestures vaguely. "Thanks for ...."
"You are most welcome, son."
Ken wobbles to standing, floats to the reception.
Murron gives him a funny look.
He tries for a smile as he sinks to his knees in front of her.
"What's—"
"Marry me. Please." Ken offers up the smaller ring. "Peggy t'my Steve?"
Murron squeals, lunges—
Ken squeaks!
—pins him to the floor, sobbing against his neck.
He holds her close, blinks away tears.
After that, everything—getting off the floor, congratulations, conversations, dinner, walking to the station, the train, strolling to his building, climbing the stairs—is a bit of a blur.
Ken works the locks on his flat door, bows Murron in.
She steps—squeaks, claps both hands over her mouth—
Ken plows into her back, gets his balance sorted, peers around her.
Don waves from the bed—from /under Lessie.
"What the /fuck're you /doing?" hisses Ken, stomping over. 
"/Nothin'."
"That's my /bed!"
Don wiggles out—
Lessie makes a sad sound.
—stands, re-aligns his clothes (apparently all there, thank Goodness), growls, "Nothing. Happened. She's a cuddler when she's drugged up."
"Drugged?" Ken blinks rapidly. "That's somehow /better?!"
Don gestures for calm. "There's a sedative in my spit, yea? She kissed me outta nowhere and it put her under. She'll wake up in a few hours, no worse for wear."
"'cept she'll wanna kill you for not reminding her."
"I /would've if she'd let me get a word out," he grumps.
Ken .... "Why's she tryin' to kiss you anyway?"
Don shrugs. "Said she's bored waiting for you to get back."
"She's had a crush on you for /years," adds Murron. "Ever since she started noticing boys, really."
Ken feels as confused as Don looks.
"You didn't notice?"
"Never looked at her that way." Don shuffles his feet. "Thought she—she's a—yer all bloody /children."
"We're adults!" protests Murron.
"Add yer ages together and I'm /still older." 
"Age doesn't have to mean—"
Don's eyes go wide; he shudders.
"What's wrong?"
"Valerie's not been dead a fortnight—Lesley could probably /taste her on me."
"I thought you said—"
"There's an antidote if I get enough warning to swallow some."
"That's kinda inconvenient—"
Murron yawns behind her hand.
"We can talk about the challenges of my lifestyle after ye've slept off /your excitement." Don tilts his head toward Murron's hand—and new ring—smiles. "Congratulations."
"Thank you~!" Murron wraps herself around Ken. "We're so /happy!" 
"If there's something I can do t'help you get started on life together, ask."
Murron's eyes go shiny and her lower lip trembles.
Ken ducks his head.
"'least I can do since he /finally took my advice."
"'course, by my parents' Tradition, we've /been married since we first had sex."
Ken squeaks, blushes.
"'spose they can really exchange rings, what with the flippers an' all."
"Exactly!"
"Alright, alright," huffs Ken. "How 'bout you start helping by letting us sleep?" 
"Pretty sure I can manage that," smugs Don.
"Murron can share the bed with Lessie and I'll take the sofa."
"Nah, let's not do that. I'll shift Lesley to the sofa so you two can take the bed."
"What about—"
"Don't worry 'bout me. I'm just starting my day, so I'll be reading quietly in a corner." Don plucks a hardcover from the couch.
"Is that one of Ken's textbooks?"
"Turns out this psychology stuff might just be applicable to my life and work."
"I've created a monster," mutters Ken.
"Don't give yourself so much credit, yea? Best case, you're /educating a monster."
"Whatever." Ken rolls his eyes, accepts the book.
Murron fluffs the spare pillow, pulls the blanket from the back of the couch.
Don gathers Lessie—
She mumbles wordlessly, nestles against him.
—huffs, eases her to the cushions.
Murron floats the blanket over her.
Ken passes the textbook to Don, then digs in the wardrobe, comes up with his spare pajamas, and offers them to Murron.
She beams, patters off to the washroom to change.
"You did the right thing today an' I'm proud of ye," says Don, low.
"Thanks." Ken finishes stripping. "That, uh, that means a lot, comin' from you."
Don ducks his head, shuffles to the corner near the door, slides to the floor, opens the book.
Ken sighs, finishes climbing into his sleepwear, shakes his head.
Murron reappears, absolutely swimming in Ken's clothes—and gorgeous.
He swallows, takes her hand, lets her lead him to bed.