Shaken

 

“What if she isn’t dead? What if she really did survive? Oh, God, what if there’s a next time?”

 

            Rachel came back and sat beside me on the bed. She didn’t hug me. Rachel’s not a hugger. But she sat there with me.

 

            “One battle at a time, Marco. One battle at a time.”

           

            Not much of an answer. But the only answer I had.

 

            “Try the movie channel,” Rachel said.

 

            I aimed the remote control. Turned on the TV; a James Bond movie. And Pierce Brosnan was just about to deliver the classic line. “Bond. James Bon—“

 

            “Marco, do you think Tobias…” Rachel stopped. I turned slightly.

 

            “Do I think Tobias what?”

 

            “Do you think he’ll ever…he won’t give up flying, will he?”

 

            I blinked. When did Rachel ever ask me anything Bird-boy related? I shrugged. “Would you?”

 

            A frown. “Yeah. I would.”

 

            “What about the grizzly? The elephant? Those, too?”

 

            Obvious hesitation. She sighed. “I know what you’re getting at, Marco. I would. For Tobias, I would.”

 

            “What about shopping? And your house? Walking? Could you give up being human?”

 

            Silence. Except for the gun shot rounds Brosnan was firing off at the bad guys. Man. James Bond has no idea. No idea. I could do that in my sleep.

 

            “He is human, though.”

 

            “And he’s a hawk. Rachel, his idea of small talk is whether there are thermals or not. He eats mice for breakfast. Not toaster strudels.”

 

            I could see her biting her lip. Not a normal Rachel facial expression.

 

            “Look, if you wanted the happily ever after answer, you should’ve asked Cassie.”

 

            Another sigh. “Yeah. I did. She said he might. Someday.” An unconvinced smile. She looked back at the TV. Turned back to me. “Would you?”

 

            I raised an eyebrow. “Would I what? Give up being a hawk? Sure.”

 

            “Funny.”

 

            “That’s what everyone says. But they usually include ‘cute, amazing, and manly,’ too.”

 

            “Manly? Since when are you ‘manly?’ “ Rachel asked, poking me.

 

            “For awhile now, Xena.” I stood up and lifted my shirt up over my head. Tossed it to the floor. She stared.

 

             “When did you get muscles?”

 

            “I don’t always morph gorilla to go lift weights.”

 

            “So I see,” she said, eyeing me. I sat back down on the bed.

 

“I would, though,” I muttered.

 

“Would what?”

 

“If I were Tobias. For you—I’d do it.”

 

There was a moment, a brief moment, and our eyes met.  And then she reached over. Put her hand on my lap, and tried to pull down my sweatpants. The drawstring was tied—I wasn’t sure if that bad or good at this point. “Xena…are you sure you—oh.”

 

            “Shh.” Her hands were unfastening things now. Things like that drawstring.

 

“I mean, I’m not objecting or anything. This…oh. This is just a little—sudden.  Are you sure you’re not delusional?” I held up two fingers. “How many fingers? Seriously.”

 

            “Marco.”

 

            “Yes?” God. This was some cruel joke. Had to be. Any second, she was going to walk out. No way this happened this fast…was she drunk? “Rachel, I mean it. Are you okay?”

 

            “Shut. Up.” She kissed me. Lemonade. She must’ve had lemonade on her way over or something. Just lemonade. She wasn’t drunk. Thank God. I helped her get her shirt off.

 

            “Don’t tell Cassie. She’ll be jealous.” I kissed her this time, before she could retort. Her hands were on my shoulders, my back. Rachel’s hands stroking me.  Not Jake’s, not Tobias’s, and definitely not Ax’s many-fingered blue hands. I pulled back as she unbuckled her belt. Long blonde hair. Black leotard top. Jeans. Blue eyes.

 

Definitely Rachel.

 

            “What?” she noticed me staring.

 

            “Are you sure you’re not Ax in morph?”

 

            She stared back. Her jeans were off now. “Marco…”

 

            “I just had this weird nightmare once, and…well, it was really weird.”

 

            “Do you not want to do this?” she asked, edging away slightly.

 

            “No! I mean, yes! I mean—“

 

            “I’m not morphing Ax.”

 

            “Gah, no! I don’t want you to!”

 

            “Then shut up and help me get this leotard off.” I looked at Rachel in the leotard and realized something important. Leotards are a little more complicated than normal girls’ underwear. And I wasn’t exactly experienced there, either. But she wanted me to help, so I tugged at a sleeve while kissing her fiercely. That’s how you describe it, after all. Kissing fiercely is one of those Harlequin standbys. A Nora Roberts speciality.

 

            Not that I’d know or anything.

 

            Rachel almost had the leotard off now. Then…POP!

 

            “Aaargh!” I clutched my cheek.

 

            “Are you okay?”

 

            “Spandex isn’t supposed to do that!”

 

As she stepped out of it, the fabric had caught on one of her toes. She’d yanked it. And it snapped like a rubber band, hitting me on the cheek. That was the POP. “You’ll live,” she said. I muttered something about getting smited. Smote. Smoted? And then I got a full glimpse of her. She really was...and she wanted me. Me.

 

            Right?

 

            We started kissing again. I didn’t know what else to do—I knew what I wanted to do, and Rachel wasn’t blind—she had to see what I wanted, or at least feel it, but God, it was Rachel. I couldn’t make the first move. It had to be her. And she couldn’t want this.

 

            Did it even matter who she wanted?

 

            She had my boxers off now. I tried not to wonder how she’d managed to get those off without my noticing. Tried not to wonder if she’d done this before. Who she’d done it with.

 

            Doesn’t matter.

 

            I was on top, but only briefly. We rolled on the bed, and she ended up above me, her hair draping around me, a canopy of blonde. “Rach…” I started to say, but we were gasping between kisses, both of us. She moved, leaning over to straddle me now, her tongue still in my mouth, and I shoved upward.

 

Our chests bumped painfully. We weren’t experts at this, obviously. She stopped kissing me, and I looked up at her. Her eyes were closed.

 

A piece of her hair fell into my mouth. I had to spit to get it out. Not the easiest thing to do when you’re rocking back and forth like a pushme-pullyou doing the twist. Which is what we probably looked like. Minus Rex Harrison as Dr. Doolittle and that Irish guy with the kid. Of course, on the TV, James Bond and Sophie Marceau were just slightly more graceful than the two of us. But surely with practice…we rolled again, and now I was looking down at her. Kissing her shoulders, her neck. She grasped at me, pushed up, and we flipped again. She was in charge of this round, obviously.

 

This was unbelievable. No way this was for real. God, this was Xena. Rachel. And I was definitely not Bird-boy. I pushed up, and she moved with me. We were moving in perfect time to the James Bond theme, so it was kind of an erratic rhythm, but it didn’t matter. A few moments later, it was over, almost a quickly as it had started. “Rachel, I…I—“

 

            “Tobias.” Soft. Simple. A whisper.

 

Wait. Tobias? Oh God. God no. Not after…

 

            She opened her eyes. Pulled back. “Marco, I—”

 

I stared up at those blue eyes. Spit out another piece of hair. I knew what she’d say next. And I didn’t want to hear it. We’d both let our guard down too long. There was really only one way to face this now.

 

“So, Rachel, how much does the next hour cost?”