Disclaimer: "Beauty and the Beast" and the character Pascal and all the rest belong to Republic Pictures. No infringement is intended. That and all the rest of the legal stuff. Max and her ilk belong to me. 'Nuff said

Blanket for a Sail

©2001 by Kayla Rigney

[email protected]

Vincent was gifted in the art of sneaking up on people. Or at least he thought he was. He crept into the pipe chamber and watched his friend work. It seemed to him that it was like a dance the way Pascal worked the pipes.

"I wish you wouldn’t stare at me like that," Pascal growled. "Someday, I’m going to fall, and it will be all your fault. And then you’ll have to answer to my wife. Remember that."

"I will," Vincent said. "Sorry."

"You should be," the pipemaster replied, laughing. "Now, what can I do for you?" He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. The pipes were alive this morning…

"Nothing. I just wanted the company." He was in a good mood and it came through in his voice. "Your company."

Pascal grinned from ear to ear. Although he never talked about it, he truly missed spending time with Vincent. The two men were both now focused on things other than their friendship. "All right Vincent," he said, laughing. "What’s up?"

"Mr. Petrovsky wants us to do some work at the theater."

Pascal caught and relayed a message to Father from Narcissa. "What sort of work?" he asked.

"He said to tell you restoration work," Vincent replied. "In quotes."

"As I recall, the last time he wanted restoration work—in quotes—all we did was drink incredibly strong Irish coffee." The pipemaster reached above his head and sent a relay downtown. "I ended playing Bach on the Wurlitzer until three A.M. while the two of recited Shakespeare and Donne from memory."

"Yes; but wasn’t it fun?"

"Until Father caught us drunk at breakfast."

Vincent roared with laughter. "Catherine still doesn’t believe that part of the story."

"She obviously doesn’t know you as well as she thinks she does," Pascal replied, wryly.

"And does Maxine know you?"

Pascal pretended to be absorbed in a sentry report.

Vincent pounced. "You haven’t told her the story, have you?"

The sentry report was very interesting.

"You haven’t."

"No."

"And why not?"

"Because," said Pascal. "If I did, she’d completely ignore the drunk-at-breakfast part and bat her eyes at me and suddenly Petrovsky would want actual work done. I happen to like getting blitzed on Irish coffee."

"So what you’re saying is that while Maxine wouldn’t object to drunken revelry," Vincent replied, in his best raised-eyebrows voice, "theatrical decrepitude is a cardinal offense?"

"Something like that." As much as he loved his wife, there were just some things that he needed to remain his. "What time did you want to leave?"

"I was thinking eleven o’clock," Vincent said. " That should give us time to finish up after the council meeting. And Petrovsky’s message said to come after the seven-thirty show. What will you tell Maxine?"

"I’ll tell her I’m going to hang out with you," he replied. "She’s always needling at me to do that, anyway."

"Eleven o’clock, then," said Vincent.

"Sounds like a plan." Pascal was tired and little unsteady on his feet. He reached for the nearest pipe without thinking.

"Heads up!" Vincent roared.

The pipemaster didn’t hear the telltale sound of the pipe breaking loose from its moorings; or he didn’t remember it, if he had. The fall, however, was crystal clear in his mind, as was the intense pain that came in its wake. He looked up into Vincent’s deeply concerned face and said, mildly: "I think I’ve broken myself."

They talked around him as though he wasn’t there. "Please keep your visit brief," Father said, in hushed tones. "I’ve given him an injection for the pain; but with old nerve damage compounding his injuries, it probably won’t help much."

"Will he be all right?" That was Max. He’d never heard her sound so afraid.

"Of course, he will," Father replied. "Thank God the man knows the proper way to fall."

"He fell?" Max yelled. "I thought you said he was hit by a pipe!"

"Please keep your voice down. There are other patients here,"

"I don’t give a flying fuck about other patients. I want to know what happened to Pascal. Now."

"Maxine, he lost his balance." A third voice. It was Vincent. "He tried to right himself and the pipe pulled away from the wall."

"Did you see it happen?" Her voice was now too controlled. This was bad. Max was reckless when she was angry.

"Yes, I did," Vincent replied. "There was nothing I could do."

"Of course there wasn’t," she said, curtly. "What are his injuries, exactly?"

"Dislocated shoulder, sprained left wrist, and a very badly bruised back." Vincent’s voice was controlled as well, which meant the Beast was close to the surface.

Don’t do this! Pascal thought. It wasn’t anybody’s fault.

There was a stretch of time completely devoid of sound. The infirmary suddenly seemed very vast and full of dangerous rage. Then, Max broke the silence the way the fall had broken him.

"How is this going to affect his Post Polio Syndrome?"

She knew!

"Pascal is very strong, Maxine," Father replied. "I’m counting on that to keep him from losing ground."

"You didn’t answer my question."

"The answer is, I don’t know." The old man’s voice was kind and low. "Go and see your husband. We’ll talk later."

Pascal didn’t open his eyes until he felt her cool touch against his cheek. When he did, he saw tears streaming down her face. Max rarely cried. His heart seized.

"Hello, Ben," she said, as though they were alone together.

"Hello."

"How are you?"

"I’m afraid, Max," he whispered.

"So am I," she said. Her voice was very low and warm. Her fingertips smiled against his skin. May I kiss you? she coded.

He wanted to crawl inside her smiling touch. "Please."

When Max leaned over the bed, her hair rained down on him like a silk curtain. She moistened his parched lips with the tip of her tongue.

"Sorry," he said. "They’ve only given me ice chips to drink."

Shhh.

She gave him a kiss as soft as breath. Dulled by medication and by pain, Pascal found he could barely respond. No part of his body seemed capable of working the way he wanted it to. The pipemaster ached all over and especially in his heart. He willed his lips to part and one ache, at least, was soothed.

"I love you, Pascal, " she whispered, her tongue gently caressing his.

His hand found hers. Tell me everything will be all right.

Max broke their kiss and smiled into his eyes. "Everything will be all right," she said.

"I was going to tell you," he said.

"I know you were," she replied, smiling. "But I was concerned about the amount of deep muscle pain you have on a daily basis, so I asked Vincent. He told me that you’d been diagnosed with Post Polio Syndrome."

"Did he tell you about the Irish coffee, too?" Pascal asked.

She shook her head and looked confused. "Should he have?"

"No."

In spite of his injuries, the pipemaster felt a great wave of relief. Now, he didn’t have to find a way to tell her he was a polio. And if he could just let go of this new pain, he’d be able to rest… He’d get well.

She carefully sat down on the bed and took his hand in both of hers. "The baby’s kicking," she told him. "Would you like to feel?"

Pascal nodded; and she guided his hand down to her rounded stomach. There was a distinct rhythm to the kicks, but he couldn’t place it. The kicks slowed and settled into a kind of dance when Max pressed his hand into them. Pascal’s battered body began to relax. At first he couldn’t decide whether it was the drugs or the baby or just being with Max. He came to the conclusion that it was just being with Max.

I’m in love with my wife, the pipemaster thought with sudden clarity. Somebody told him that people often fell out of love after they got married; but Pascal hadn’t. In fact, he found his wife to be… delicious. In his mind, he was making love to her. She was sitting in the chair in the pipe chamber and he was kneeling between her legs. He pushed her skirt aside and leaned in to drink her wetness. She was so ready for him. He attacked her with his mouth. He devoured her. He fed on her aching pleasure. Delicious. His tongue was –

Pascal brutally shoved the thought from his mind. Whatever was in shot Father gave him had stripped him of his defenses. Suddenly ashamed, he called out to her.

"Moxie," he moaned. He sounded like a drowning man.

"I’m not going anywhere, Pascal." The assurance in her voice meant everything.

The beautiful images came flooding back to him. Somehow this lovemaking was very real. Max made it real. She was as hungry as he was, as wanting as he was.

There’s nothing shameful about being in love with my wife, Pascal thought.

"Everything will be all right," Max said, softly. "We’ll work through this together."

In his mind, she begged him to take her. Now. Here. And he pulled her to him. Pulled her down until she was straddling him and he was so deep inside her he could no longer tell where he ended and she began. Take me, Pascal. Take me. No, Max, he thought. Take me.

How many times had they done this? How many times had they looked into each other’s eyes and quietly made love without touching? Pascal couldn’t begin to count…

Oh, yes, gently, my sweet Pascal. Her voice was like music.

He thrust upwards, upwards, wanting like a starving animal.

Now, my love. Now.

Pascal let go of the pain.

Their baby danced beneath his touch.

Better than any medicine, Max coded on the back of his hand.

"You know me so well," Pascal mumbled thickly.

"And you know me." She smiled reached up and ran her fingertips through the hair above his ears. "Do you think you’ll be able to rest now?"

"Yes," he replied. "Will you stay here with me?"

She nodded; and for a brief instant, the light caught the tracks of her tears. "Of course, I will," she said.

Max sat with Pascal and held his hand pressed against her dancing stomach until he fell asleep.

PART 2

When Pascal awoke, every inch of his small body ached. He hoped that his injuries weren’t as bad as they felt. He was afraid that they were.

The pipemaster forced himself to remain calm by straining to hear what was being relayed down the line. It was an impossible task. The infirmary was where it was because the pipes were muffled. He’d chosen the location himself. Pascal felt naked without the sound of pipes. He felt naked, anyway. He smelled of medicine and had an I.V. stuck into his good hand.

"Everything will be all right," he assured himself.

"Of course, it will," Vincent replied. "How are you feeling?"

Pascal’s eyes flew open. He hadn’t realized he’d spoken aloud. He was so shaken, it took him a while to find his voice. "I think I’m all right."

"Good. That’s Good." His friend shifted his weight a little in a too-small wooden chair and a book fell out of his lap.

"What are you reading?"

"Beastly Buildings," Vincent replied, showing him the cover. "It’s about monuments people build for their animals. Catherine bought it when she visited London last summer."

The pipemaster wanted to say something ironic, but his brain refused to cooperate.

Vincent shifted again. "Pascal, may I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Was it my fault?"

Memories of the fall came crashing down on Pascal. They replayed like a movie in his mind. A single misstep over and over. "It wasn’t anybody’s fault," he said, dully. "I lost my balance. That’s all."

"Pascal, I didn’t have time to react," Vincent told him, quietly. He had tears in his clear blue eyes. "I’d never do anything to hurt you. If I could intervened I would have."

"I know that," Pascal said. He stretched his hand towards his friend, who gently took it. The pipemaster always felt perfect and safe next to Vincent. He traced one of his friend’s claws with his fingernail. "How long have I been asleep?"

"About four hours."

"Where’s my wife?" he asked. Pascal found it completely out of character that she would leave his side, while he was incapacitated.

Vincent laughed softly and with a smile motioned to the end of the hospital bed.

Max was curled up in a chair, fast asleep. She’d pressed her shoulder flat against the footboard, as though she was listening for code.

"So even this small bed sleeps two," Pascal said, under his breath.

"Kip was here for a while as well," Vincent told him. "But he left to work your afternoon shift."

The pipemaster loosened his hand from Vincent’s grip and started to tap out Max’s name on the metal guardrail.

Vincent stopped him. "Don’t," he said, shaking his head. "She’s been ill most of the afternoon. She fell asleep only about thirty minutes ago. Let her rest a little longer."

"Morning sickness?"

"All day," Vincent replied. "She doesn’t handle stress well."

Pascal nodded, which brought on new pain. "How badly am I hurt, Vincent?"

"Well, you did a number on your back; and dislocated your shoulder – in fact I’d say entire your left arm is down for the count," he replied, "But otherwise you’re in damned fine shape for a man who fell twenty feet."

"How long will I have to stay in the infirmary?"

"Father wants to keep you here at least a few days." Vincent shifted in his chair again and it made a pathetic groaning noise. "He won’t release you until you can function on your own."

"I understand," Pascal said.

"We’ll start hotpacks on your back tomorrow morning," Vincent went on. "That should help with the nerve pain."

Max shifted in her sleep and the bed moved slightly. The pipemaster was shocked by his body’s reaction. A burst of uncontrollable muscle spasms tore through his back and quite literally knocked the breath out of him. "That hurt," he hissed through clenched teeth.

Vincent put a comforting hand on his arm. "Hang on, Pascal," he said. "I’ll be right back."

In a matter of moments, he returned with Father, who injected something into his I.V.

"That should do it," Father said, briskly. He nodded towards Max, who was now snoring softly. "Vincent, I suggest you find her a cot. There’s plenty of room for one on the other side of Pascal’s bed."

"Yes, of course."

A cot was found and Max duly deposited into it. "She doesn’t weigh anything," Vincent said, softly. "If I didn’t know she was seven months along, I wouldn’t believe it."

"She’s built more for speed than for pregnancy," Pascal murmured, thickly. By just turning his head a little, he could watch Max sleep. That was nice; and the injection was doing good work. "You two aren’t angry with each other anymore, right?"

"Of course, not," Vincent replied. "Wherever did you get the idea that we were?"

Pascal raised his eyebrows. He couldn’t make his mouth work. Max blamed you for my fall, he thought. I heard it. And you blamed you. I heard that, too.

"You rest now, my friend," Vincent said, gently. "We’ll be here when you wake up." He settled back into the too small chair, picked up his book and started to read again.

Pascal shifted his weight, so his shoulder didn’t ache so much. In spite of his injuries, the pipemaster was content. The two people he loved most in the world were here with him. They were waiting with him by choice. He turned his head and looked at Max again. She was singing in her sleep – or rather her fingers were flying through lyrics.

Desmond Dekker and the Aces, Pascal thought or said or thought. "Israelites."

"You got that right," Vincent Wells replied; and he laughed aloud.

PART 3

The pipemaster hated being confined to the infirmary with a passion. His day started at 5 a.m. with breakfast and was broken down into interminable intervals, as though one could schedule the business of getting well. Breakfast, bathroom, hot packs, physical therapy, snack, bathroom, rest, lunch, rest, bathroom, more hot packs… Every part of the day seemed to last longer than the one before. And on top of everything else, there was absolutely no privacy. That wouldn’t have been so bad, but patients weren’t supposed to talk with each other. It was like living in a room crowded with mute, desperate ghosts.

"You are recovering from a serious injury, Pascal," Father told him. "Your job right now is to be still and heal."

The trouble was that Pascal wasn’t used to being still. Quiet, yes; still no. No matter how many times Father or Mary or Vincent told him to Rest, he felt anxious and tense. Every time he closed his eyes, his mind raced through the tunnels at the speed of light; and it always ended up in the same place. Pascal missed the sounds of his beloved pipes. He longed for the touch and feel and smell of them. Mostly, he wanted to be in the pipe chamber surrounded by their presence.

Both Vincent and Max saw it in his eyes and offered what comfort they could.

"I know this isn’t easy for you, Pascal," Vincent said, as he carefully positioned hot packs on the examination table. "But it’s necessary. If we sent you home too soon, you’d just go out and re-injure yourself." With extraordinary gentleness, he helped the smaller man up and eased him down on to the moist hot packs.

"In other words, I’m being a shit," Pascal snapped.

"Yes, you are." Vincent grinned, placed a pillow under Pascal’s injured left arm and covered him with a blanket. He set the timer for twenty-five minutes and just to be annoying, put it where neither of them could see it. "In fact, you’re being a monumental shit. But I love you, anyway."

The examination room was small and private, so the men were able to talk freely.

"I’m going nuts," Pascal said. "I can’t hear the pipes. I can’t make love to my wife. And I can’t get used to being…" His voice trailed off.

"Dependent?" Vincent finished.

"Exactly," the pipemaster replied, with a great sense of simpatico.

"Things would be a lot easier if you’d just go with the flow."

"Well, I’m trying."

Vincent pulled up a stool and sat down next to his friend. "I know you are," he said. "Truthfully, if Maxine weren’t pregnant, Father would have sent you home days ago."

Pascal’s heart skipped a beat. "What do you mean?" he asked. "Is there something wrong?"

"No. Not at all," Vincent replied. "She’s just very small and needs every calorie to take care of herself, if you know what I mean."

The pipemaster understood. "But she’s strong, Vincent," he said. "And she has the most amazing hands. Have you ever stopped and really looked at them?"

Vincent allowed that Maxine had beautiful hands; but that he wasn’t so sure about the strong part.

"Trust me. My wife isn’t as fragile as she looks." Pascal closed his eyes and imagined Max in the pipe chamber relaying. She could out-last Kip, who had the stamina of a stone.

"Pascal, I think the problem at hand is that you are as fragile as you look."

"Is this supposed to make me feel better?"

"No." Vincent broke into one of his slow grins. "You’re many things, my friend, but a masochist isn’t one of them."

Pascal laughed. He really laughed for the first time since his accident. As he laughed, the muscles in his abused back loosened and relaxed. "I miss the pipes," he choked. "I miss sex."

"At least, you have sex," Vincent replied, roaring with laughter. "I wouldn’t complain about it, if I were you."

Pascal looked at his friend in amazement. "You mean you and Catherine haven’t –"

"No."

"I’m not blind, Vincent. As a matter of fact, I’ve walked in on the two of you in the baths and only the words ‘hot and heavy’ come to mind!" The idea that his hunky friend could be a virgin simply fell outside the realm of belief.

Vincent looked embarrassed and mumbled something about pleasure without penetration.

"Oh," said the Pascal, stunned. "Well… That counts as sex."

"It does?" Vincent asked, hopefully.

"Of course, it does." Doesn’t it?

"Catherine wants more."

As close as the two friends were, they’d never spoken about this before. Pascal instinctively tread very carefully. He knew what he wanted to say – what he should say – but he also knew he had to be cautious. Finally he decided on: "Do you want more?"

"Yes," Vincent whispered.

"So what’s stopping you?" Pascal asked.

"I’m afraid I’ll hurt her."

Now, it was obvious to every one who knew them that Vincent and Catherine were deeply in love. It was obvious, too, that Father did every thing he could to undermine the physical aspect of that love. The idea that Vincent might hurt Cathy was ludicrous.

"What makes you think you would hurt her?" the pipemaster asked softy.

Vincent winced. "The Beast," he said.

"The Beast has never hurt me – or anyone else who loves him," Pascal replied. "He’s a part of you, after all."

"Sex is different."

"Yes, it is."

For a while, Vincent just sat balefully regarding Pascal from under his golden mane. Then he asked, "How did you know when the time was right with Maxine?"

The pipemaster smiled. There was no way in hell he was going to tell Vincent he’d slept with Max on their second ‘date.’ "I knew the first time I kissed her," he said.

"How?"

"She kisses like I do," Pascal replied.

"But how?" he asked again.

Why is talking about this making me so uncomfortable? "Max is like I am, Vincent. She’s…. Gentle." There, he’d said it.

"I have a confession to make," Vincent said, softly. "I’ve walked in on the two of you, as well."

"When?"

"I stopped by your chamber late at night a couple of times."

Pascal closed his eyes. This conversation was getting weird.

"I think I’m a little jealous of you."

"What?"

"Okay," Vincent said. "I’m a lot jealous."

"Why?"

"Because you have everything I don’t," he replied. "And I want it."

Pascal reached over and rested his hand on Vincent’s broad shoulder. He didn’t know what to say.

"What do I do, Pascal?"

"Talk to Catherine. Find out what she wants."

"If only it were that simple," Vincent sighed.

"I happen to think it is," Pascal told him.

"I want more."

"Well, in that case, give more."

That seemed to soothe Vincent, who said: "I never thought of it that way."

"Thinking about it that way works," Pascal said. "At least, it does for me." At this point, the timer went off and the pipemaster laughed. "Talk about timing."

Vincent laughed, too, and went about the business of helping Pascal dress. When he had not one but two hospital gowns tied firmly in place, he helped the little pipemaster down from the examination table and said: "Do you think you can make it back to your bed on your own?"

"Yes," Pascal replied. "I’ll just go slow."

"That works, too," Vincent replied, thoughtfully.

Max was stretched out on Pascal’s bed waiting for him. She grinned from ear to ear, when she saw that he was walking unaided. "Oh, Ben!" Her voice was full of joy; it sounded like a song. "How are you?"

"Profoundly relaxed," he replied, smiling back.

She slid off the bed and pulled back the covers for him. Her smile was so warm and open. She was very obviously up to something.

Pascal slipped into the chilly bed and sighed. "I want to go home," he told her. "I want to be alone with you."

Max stood next to the bed and rested her cool hand against his open palm. I know, she coded. Father says maybe Saturday. "I have a present for you," she said.

"What is it?"

"I think you’ll really like it."

"I’m sure I will," Pascal replied.

Max reached inside the waistband of her skirt and pulled out a long package. She handed it to him with the most beautiful laugh.

Pascal opened the strange felt case. "Drumsticks!"

"They’re counter balanced and very light weight," she told him. "Now you can code without injuring yourself."

"Oh, Max, thank you!"

The pipemaster opened his arms and she fell into them. He fell into kissing her open smile.

Now you can code, Max said into his palm.

"Yes," Pascal said, softly. "Now I can code." He found one of the drumsticks and carefully tapped: Thank you for understanding.

Max kissed the tip of his nose. "You’re welcome," she replied. "Just promise me you won’t drive Father and Mary too crazy."

"I promise."

Max reached over and picked up the other drumstick. "Talk to me," she said, leaning in to his kiss. Talk to me.

"I am," Pascal replied, laughing. He made his words caress her lips. He found the small of her back and said, Vincent is jealous of us.

What?

He’s jealous of us.

"Whatever for?" Max asked aloud. He has everything we do.

Pascal reached up and pushed her auburn curls out of her face. He replied with his fingertips. He’s afraid.

Max’s eyes deepened to royal violet. She thought for a long time before she spoke. In other words, to quote Sheila E: Real love is real scary.

Something like that, Pascal said, shrugging.

"Maybe he needs to listen to the rest of the song." Max put her drumstick on the bedside table and settled into the crook of his arm. She ran her fingertips over his lips, coding:

Pascal kissed her palm. "Not everyone is as brave as you are," he said.

"I’m not brave," she replied, laughing. "I just know a good thing when I see it."

Mary walked by and sushed them, which only made Max blush and laugh even harder.

"So I’m a good thing?" Pascal whispered.

Yes.

That’s funny. I always thought you were.

Max smiled and let Pascal code endless drivel on the small of her back.

PART 4

In spite of his promise to Max, Pascal immediately drove Father and Mary crazy with his persistent drumming. From the moment he woke up in the morning, the pipemaster coded along with any and all conversation, the same way he did when he used sign language with Laura. At first, he did it unconsciously. (Pipe talk was, after all, second nature to him.) Then, his drumsticks became implements of blatant civil disobedience. The great thing was that nobody had the heart to confiscate them, so sweet little Pascal used them to vent his very unsweet frustrations.

He counted on the fact that only a handful of people knew enough code to understand what he was actually saying ; so he pretty much fell into the habit of publicly venting to his heart’s content. This lasted until Max walked in unexpectedly and heard him reciting a litany of The 87 Medical Things They’ve Stuck Into My Body – Orifices Included.

After she stopped laughing, she leaned in very close, smiled way too sweetly and purred: "I did not sell my tenth anniversary company ring, so you could spend your time being hateful. If you continue this behavior, I will personally take those drumsticks and insert them into a the most painful orifice humanly imaginable."

As Max never said anything she didn’t mean, Pascal tried for damage control.

I’m sorry, he coded.

"I’m not in the mood," she snapped. "Use your voice."

"I’m sorry," Pascal said. He put down the offending drumstick and buried his fingers in her thick hair. "I really am."

Max glared at him and for a long moment he was afraid she wouldn’t accept his apology. Then her expression softened and she lightly touched his hand. "No, you’re not," she said.

"Pardon me?"

"You’re not sorry. In fact, I think you’re angry." She gently threaded her fingers through his.

For the pipemaster, this gesture was one of total honesty. He blushed and looked away. What could he say? She was right.

"Well, at least we all know how much hate being stuck here," Max replied. And she smiled at him the way she did late at night, when they were alone.

Pascal smiled back but his heart wasn’t in it.

"Tell me," she said.

He shifted, so his braced hand was on top of hers. "I miss pipes," he said, simply. I miss my life, he coded.

"That’s all I really needed to hear," Max replied.

"That’s good," Pascal said. "Because I think that’s all I really needed to say."

Then as difficult as it was for him, the pipemaster slowly gave voice to what he considered to be shameful feelings. He drew his wife very close and told her how guilty he felt sitting around doing nothing.

"I’ve worked all of my life," he said. "The longer I sit here, the more useless I feel."

Max sat down on the bed close beside him and carefully stroked his injured arm. "You’re not useless," she said, quietly.

"I didn’t say I am useless," Pascal snapped. "I said I feel useless. Tell me what to do to stop feeling this way, Max, and I’ll do it."

She reached up and touched his face. Her cool fingertips felt wonderful. "You want to know what I think?" she asked.

"Yes."

"I think that for you, getting well is the most difficult job in the world," Max replied. "And you’re not very good at it."

Pascal felt like saying ‘well, duh’ and biting her. Hard.

"And what’s more, you’re not about to forgive yourself."

"Forgive myself?" the pipemaster asked, bitterly. "For what?"

"For falling," Max replied. Then she seemed to catch herself and she smiled and said: "No, not for falling. You won’t forgive yourself for being human."

It would have been easy for Pascal to lose himself behind her calm and loving eyes. He desperately wanted to shut down and Not Feel.

"Exactly how angry are you, Just Pascal?"

"Very."

Max didn’t judge him. She told him the truth. "You made a mistake," she said. "You’re afraid of heights, you lost your balance and you fell."

"I was stupid," Pascal hissed.

"That’s your father speaking," Max said, calmly. "What does your own voice have to say?"

"It says, I screwed up." All the anger and regret he’d been feeling for the past week welled upside him and it came out through his hands. Pascal reached for his wife and yanked her into his arms; and he held her so tightly that his fingers went numb.

Instead of struggling, Max held him very gently; and she comforted him. "Everything will be all right," she said.

"We’ll work through this together," he finished.

Gradually the surge of emotion passed. Pascal’s body remembered how to relax again. He loosened his grip and let his hand rest over her pounding heart.

I’m going nuts, he coded.

Max settled down on the bed beside him. Her hand found his heart and she pressed her palm flat against it.

You’re going human, she coded with her most tender touch.

"I can come back later," a warm voice said.

Mary was standing over them holding a tray laden with two lunches.

Max sat up so quickly, she nearly fell off the bed.

"No, Mary. Lunch sounds wonderful," Pascal replied, leaning back to make room for the tray.

Mary gave Max a gentle pat on the shoulder. "I thought you might want to eat here with Pascal."

Max looked up at her and smiled. "Thank you," she said. "I really would."

Lunch was simple—just grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup; but it was hot and it was good. Pascal managed to eat without spilling too much. What he did spill, he didn’t mind.

Once they’d finished eating, Max removed the tray and placed it on the floor. She reached across the bed and picked up the drumstick. She looked at it intently for a moment, and then she handed it back to Pascal.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"No," he replied. "But I’m better. I just don’t fit inside my skin very well at the moment."

"I think that’s all right," Max said.

I do, too, he coded.

Pascal couldn’t explain it; he just knew that was the exact moment he found his Voice.

PART 5

For the first time in his adult life, Pascal felt stillness – stillness in his mind and stillness in his body. He let go of his longings and suddenly found peace. It was as if the two things he longed for most – the pipes and physical contact with his wife – had somehow become part of him. He no longer wanted because he had. When Pascal told Max about his new way of being, she smiled and said it was called Living In the Moment.

"I like that," he said. He traced her smile with his fingertips. "I like that it has a name."

Max shifted uncomfortably.

"What’s the matter?" Pascal asked.

"My back hurts and the baby seems intent upon stretching out lengthwise," she replied. "And frankly, it’s longer than I am wide."

The pipemaster encircled her waist and instinctively massaged the small of her back. He loved the pleasure of feeling her relax.

"Father says walking will help," Max said, leaning into Pascal’s touch.

"Does it?"

"No," she replied. "But you do."

"I’m glad."

Pascal continued his gentle explorations. He was careful not to jar or hurt her. Without speaking, he shared her discomfort. He let it filter in through his fingertips as though Max were a lead pipe and he simply relaying the message.

I ache and my skin doesn’t fit, he thought.

"I ache and my skin doesn’t fit," she said.

I want this to be over.

"I want this to be over." Max caught herself and pulled away. "I didn’t mean that the way it sounded, Pascal," she said. "I really didn’t."

He laughed softly and said, "I know that."

"I’m not like this."

"Like what?" he asked.

"A complainer."

"I know that, too."

She hung her head and sighed.

I’m just so miserable right now.

"You’re miserable," Pascal told her. He pulled her a little closer and let his hands rest against her hips. "I think you’ve earned the right to be a little miserable."

Max looked up at him and smiled. The pipemaster felt the warmth behind the smile and genuinely, honestly wished they were in their own chamber.

"Father says I’ll probably have the baby sooner rather than later," she said. "He tells me: ‘Maxine, you’re a small woman carrying a large baby. Now, go walk.’"

Pascal drew her into a kiss. "At least he doesn’t tell you ‘No pain, no gain.’"

Max returned the kiss, smiling. She softly caressed his lips with hers. And she made her words dance against his tongue when she replied: "He’s obviously saving that moldy adage for labor."

It took a long moment for Pascal to remember where he was, and that what they were doing Just Wasn’t Done. Reluctantly, he broke the kiss and looked into her smiling eyes.

"No pain, no gain," Pascal said, meaning something else entirely.

"Yes, exactly," Max replied. Her was voice low and she trembled as she spoke.

I must remember this moment, he told himself.

"Rub my back again, please?" she asked, softly.

"Of course." Pascal smiled and enjoyed doing as she asked. For an instant, he saw pain in her eyes. It was a pain he didn’t understand and probably couldn’t understand.

"That’s nice," Max said, leaning again into his touch.

It’s like you were made for my hands, he thought.

"Thank you," she said.

You’re welcome, he coded.

Pascal discovered his newfound Voice traveled freely through his fingers, just like code.

She stayed lost inside his touch until Father abruptly appeared and barked: "Therapy time, Pascal."

The old man turned to Max and said, "You should be walking, young lady."

"Yes, sir." She slid off the bed and prepared to leave. "Walking helps."

"That’s a good girl," Father said, dotingly. "You be on your way now."

After Max was gone, he yanked Pascal out of bed by his good arm. "You could learn a thing or two from your wife," he said. "Maxine listens. She does as she is told. And as a result, she feels better."

"Yes, Father," the pipemaster agreed, knowing full well it wasn’t true.

"Now, let’s go into the treatment room and measure your grip strength and do some stretching."

Father walked so briskly that the younger man had difficulty keeping up. "Some time today, Pascal!" he barked.

Deep down, Pascal was more than a little afraid of Dr. Jacob Wells. The old man was an efficient and probably even a talented physician, but he tended to bark out orders like a Marine. Vincent made excuses for this behavior and said Father was That Way because he performed his residency in a polio ward; where he’d been lucky enough to train with Sister Kenny. From everything Pascal had heard or read, Sister Kenny was kind to patients and reserved barking for doctors; but he kept his own counsel on the subject. Everybody knew that disagreeing with a Wells was an exercise in futility.

"Move it or lose it."

Pascal lifted himself up on to the exam table and settled into his routine of therapy. It was slow and mostly boring. The pipemaster found that if did everything he was told in exactly the way he was told to do it, Mary would come by and give him an aspirin before bed. Some nights, he lived for that aspirin.

"Did you ache very much after yesterday’s session?" Father asked, although he obviously knew the answer and probably didn’t care.

"Yes," Pascal replied, meaningfully.

"That’s good," Father told him. "The trick is not to work so hard as to exhaust the muscles yet at the same time hard enough so they won’t forget how to move. No pain, no gain."

Times like these made Pascal long for the days just after his fall, when pain was a Bad Thing.

"Try to relax!" Father barked. "Let’s see if we can get a little more mobility out of this shoulder."

The pipemaster gritted his teeth and relaxed the best he could.

Father’s regimen of Marine tough love worked, though. Pascal tracked his progress by the day; and soon he would strong enough to go home.

PART 6

As soon as Pascal was able to sit up, his friends began stopping by to visit after dinner. Winslow and Vincent usually showed up first and stayed longest. Then, the teenage apprentices filed through owing to much "encouragement" from Kip, who by all accounts had turned into a pipe monster. Once, Cullen dropped in for a game of cards. Max spent most evenings curled up on the foot of his bed — sometimes awake, sometimes not. These visits lessened Pascal’s longing for the pipes; and it made him appreciate the obvious warmth that his friends felt for him. He’d never allowed himself to truly experience that before.

His best memory was of a gentle evening spent talking with Vincent, Winslow and Max, when Max reached up and coded into his palm: This is being human. Do you like it?

Yes, he replied. Oh, yes.

That wasn’t entirely true. Pascal liked being less broken and more whole.

Inevitably, Mary shooed everybody out at nine.

He dreaded that part. A lot.

The infirmary was at its worst an hour after lights out. Pascal was the lone adult in a sea of hurting children. He read aloud to them; and soothed the sickest with songs and assurances that Mary would return soon with lights and breakfast. Most heartbreaking were the ones recovering from abuse suffered Above. They were new to the Tunnels and very afraid — and soon learned that the little pipemaster was a soft touch.

"Pascal, tell me a story. Please."

He never said, No. It wasn’t unusual for Vincent to wander in at midnight and find half a dozen children crammed into Pascal’s bed listening wide-eyed to made up stories of dragons and kings.

"And did the tailor win the princess?"

"Or did she stay with the cruel prince?"

"The princess was no fool," Vincent growled. "She went with the tailor to America, where she lived happily ever after. Now, let the poor man sleep!"

All it took was one growl from Vincent to send the whole lot of them running back to their assigned beds.

Tonight, Vincent was obviously a man with a Mission. He shooed the children away with such force, a small boy named Drew starting crying.

"Oh, bother!" said Vincent. "I didn’t mean anything by it. I just want to borrow your friend for a while."

Drew sniveled from the center of his bed but smiled gamely.

"You up for some trouble?" Vincent asked.

"I guess so," Pascal replied, shrugging.

The pipemaster knew then that he wouldn’t be getting any sleep . He was going to be shanghaied.

"You need to learn to say ‘no,’" Vincent grumbled, once they were out of earshot of the infirmary. "It’s easy. ‘No.’"

"No, Vincent," Pascal said, grinning. "No."

His friend cuffed him good-naturedly. "Come on," he said. "I have a surprise."

The pipemaster followed good-naturedly because he’d learned long ago that Vincent’s surprises were often very interesting. Thankfully, he didn’t have far to walk.

Vincent turned into his chamber and motioned Pascal to follow.

"You’re not on any pain medication, are you?" he asked.

"No."

"When was your last dose?"

"Two days ago," Pascal replied, suddenly very tired. He crawled into Vincent’s overstuffed easy chair. "Why?"

"Because…"

With a grin and a flourish Vincent produced a bottle of Coconut Rum. "Baccardi," he said. "The best."

Pascal raised his eyebrows. "What on earth does one put in Coconut Rum? Coca Cola’s definitely out…"

Vincent smiled wickedly and quoted a song of which he was inexplicably fond:

Put the lime in the coconut and drink em both together

Put the lime in the coconut and then you’ll feel better. ²

"Oh, God, no," said Pascal. "I’m going back to bed." He tried to get up but was restrained by Vincent’s clawed hand against his chest. "No, Vincent. No."

Vincent just laughed and knelt down and pulled a bottle of vile strawberry daiquiri mix out from under the chair.

"I suppose you have fresh limes, a knife and salt secreted somewhere in this room, too," Pascal said.

"Mais oui!"

"I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?"

Vincent raised one eyebrow and replied: "Probably."

"We’re going to show up drunk at breakfast, aren’t we?"

"Definitely!"

Pascal settled back in the chair and thought, Well, at least, I’m comfortable.

Limes appeared from out of nowhere, and soon the two partners in crime were knocking back drinks known in the Tunnels as Strawberry Cave-Ins. After one Cave-In most people could no longer feel their feet. After two, their lips Went Away. And after three… Nobody knew what came after three — except for Vincent and Pascal, and they never shared with outsiders. Devin knew but out of loyalty refused to discuss it.

"Vincent, I don’t feel well," Pascal said. He was sprawled out lengthwise in the chair and was using his wrist brace as a handy drink holder.

Vincent, who was stretched out on the floor, grew serious. "But can you feel your ass?"

"I’m pretty sure."

"Then you’re fine." He grew contemplative.

"I know that look," Pascal said. "And no. I won’t do it. No."

"Do what?" asked Vincent innocently.

"You want me to sing Hootie and the Blowfish," he replied. "And I categorically refuse to sing Hootie and the Blowfish."

"Why? What have you got against Hootie?"

Pascal drew a marquee in the air in front of him and framed the words in sign: "Hootie and the Blowfish, Music for Virgins."

"I am a virgin," Vincent replied. "Technically."

"Technically." Pascal busted out laughing. "Unofficially, you have more sex than anybody else in the Tunnels."

"Do not."

"Do, too."

Pascal rolled out of the chair and on to the floor beside Vincent. "This is me, Pascal, you’re talking to," he said, threatening him with a desecrated looking piece of lime. "I know things."

"You don’t know everything." Vincent batted at the lime, playfully like a cat would.

"I know enough."

"Like what?"

"Like that night you and Devin and I stole a bottle of wine from the kitchen and got caught looking at The Kama Sutra." Pascal was unsteady and the memory made him more so because it was just so funny. "I swear I thought Father was going to spontaneously combust!"

Vincent let out a roar of laughter, and his hand slipped. He batted Pascal across the room. Instantly sober, he ran over to him.

As sotted as he was, the pipemaster knew he couldn’t react. Nothing hurts. Nothing’s broken. You’re just surprised. "I’m fine, Vincent," he said, quietly. "I was just caught off guard."

"I am so sorry." Vincent was very gentle for so large a man. He hated the part of himself that was simply too strong. He looked out at the world from eyes full of hurt and fear. Father fed that fear over time until it grew into a staggering weight.

Pascal let Vincent help him to his feet. Too drunk to stand unaided, he then allowed himself to be bundled back into the safe easy chair. He watched helplessly as Vincent quickly straightened up the room. Pascal knew his friend was ashamed and was getting rid of the evidence.

"I’m fine, Vincent," he said, thickly.

"Leave him be," said the Beast. "He loves you too much."

Pascal cowered in the chair, uncertain of what to do.

He was surprised when the Beast walked over, laid his cupped palm over his bald scalp and said: "Pipemaster, there’s only one other who loves me as much as you do — and he doesn’t believe her either."

At this point, shock and alcohol over-ran his system, and Pascal passed out.

He woke up back in his bed in the infirmary, as if nothing had happened; but nobody saw Vincent for days.

PART 7

By Sunday morning, Vincent still hadn’t returned. Nobody seemed overly concerned — not even Catherine, who just smiled and said, knowingly: "Give him time."

Father sent for Pascal directly after breakfast.

"We need to talk," he said.

The pipemaster sat down across from Father at the long council table. The Great Hall was deserted at this time of day. Only sounds of the pipes echoed around them. Without anything to occupy his hands, Pascal crossed his arms and made the conscious effort not to drum his fingers. He was afraid Father was going to say something about that night— or worse, ask him what had happened to make Vincent disappear. He didn’t.

"Mary and I think you’re ready to go home."

"Finally!" Pascal jumped to his feet and started for the door.

"Not so fast," Father said. He glared at him from over his glasses. "There are some things we must discuss first."

"Yes?"

"You’re not going back to work in the pipe chamber."

Pascal’s world fell out from under him. He barely made it back to the bench. "Why?" The word escaped his mouth like a wail.

"Because the council decided you cannot," Father told him, evenly. "Your balance is getting worse by degrees. If you go back to working the pipes, you will fall again. The next one could be fatal. This is not an acceptable risk."

The room reeled disjointedly. Pascal fought to maintain some sort of composure. His fingers drummed wildly upon the tabletop.

"The decision is final."

"What have I done?" the pipemaster asked, his voice tight and jagged. "Please tell me."

Father reached across the table and stilled the tapping hands. "You have done nothing," he said, gently. "You are an asset to this community — one that we cannot afford to lose. And you have a wife and child to consider."

Pascal didn’t bother to wipe away the tears. He rocked back and forth against the restraint of Father’s touch. "What will I do?" he whispered.

"You will teach. You will nurture new apprentices in pipe craft. You will develop better code. You will raise your family." Father paused for a moment to allow what he’d said to sink in. Then, he continued: "You will announce your retirement as pipemaster at lunch today; and name your successors. And then, you will never speak of this again." The old man’s voice was very stern. "Not even to Maxine."

Pascal’s head jerked up. "What?"

Father didn’t miss a beat. " Maxine loves you beyond reason," he said. "She is capable of destroying both her world and mine, if it were to mean your happiness. Even if you believe you are dying inside, you are not to discuss this with her. Ever."

What do you mean: her world and mine? The code welled inside his tears.

"Do I have your word?" Father asked. His hand clamped down hard on Pascal’s still-injured arm. "Do I have your word, sir?"

Somewhere from behind the fog of tears and pain, Pascal heard himself agree. "Yes," he said, dully. "You have my word."

"Well, then," Father said. "I suggest you pull yourself together and go home to your wife."

Pascal sat alone in the Great Hall. He listened to the call of the pipes — a call he was sworn not to answer. He tried not to think about it, but Father’s demands weighed heavily upon his heart.

I knew this time would come, he thought. I just didn’t think it would be today.

Pascal felt wholly, as Max would say: ""And then they came for me.³’"

He sat; and time passed as if through a haze. People began to trickle in for lunch. Mary congratulated him on his freedom. Cullen patted him on the back.

Pascal stared at his hands.

It occurred to him that they were small.

He wasn’t expecting to hear her voice.

"Oh, Pascal, there you are!" Max came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his neck. "I’m so happy." Her breath against his ear felt like an invitation. "Father tells me you’re coming home today."

The Voice inside him reached for her hands and he smiled as he laced his dancing fingers through hers.

"Yes," Pascal replied, softly. "I am."

Max sat down on the bench next to him; and beneath the table, her foot snaked around his welcoming leg. She leaned against him and rested her head on his shoulder. Pascal was both touched and surprised when he heard her shuddering sigh. He turned to her and cradled his face in his hand.

"Max," he whispered, softly. "It’s all right."

She lifted her head and her eyes met his. He fell willingly into their violet depths and understood what Father had meant by her world and mine.

"I’ve just missed you so much," she said. "I’ve missed this."

Pascal knew that all eyes were on him, and he leaned in and kissed her, anyway. It made her smile; and he needed that smile.

The entire council was now seated at the table eating sandwiches and drinking cider or beer. Only Vincent’s place was empty. Pascal looked across the table at Father, who looked back at him expectantly.

So he did it.

" Effective immediately, I’m officially retired," Pascal announced. "Kip and Zach will be acting pipemasters."

There was a moment of dead silence, then a round of applause and congratulations rang out. Max threw her arms around his neck and actually sobbed with joy. Pascal was stunned. This was not the reaction he expected. Until that moment, he did not understand the difference his one life made — to his community. He looked at his friends’ faces and knew true meaning of the words ‘unconditional love.’ Until that moment, he hadn’t realized that he had been killing himself by degrees.

Oh, Ben, Max coded. Welcome home.

Welcome home.

"Three cheers for Pascal!" Winslow called.

"The pipemaster is dead! Long live the pipemaster!"

Throughout the meal, Pascal maintained a façade of controlled happiness. He smiled and laughed in all the right places, but his thoughts were only of the pipes. Strangely, he wasn’t sad. He was somehow relieved — and very anxious to go home to his chamber and be alone with Max. He inched closer to her, until he was almost sitting in her lap. Several times, he caught her hand and kissed her palm.

One life is an entire world, Pascal thought, watching the blush spread across his wife’s nose. Yours; mine; theirs. All of ours.

"Did you say something?" Max asked, under the din.

Pascal nodded. "Yes," he replied. "I did. I said: "I’m happy.’"

Her smile deepened into a conspiratorial grin. That’s not what you said, she coded into his open palm. But it can wait.

He leaned in and whispered, "Moxie, I feel like I’m falling into a vast ocean of air."

She lightly touched his cheek with her fingertips. "I know," she said, in a voice as soft as breath. "But that’s why God made time."

"Yes," Pascal agreed. "I need time. I’m suddenly so tired, I can hardly lift my head."

"Don’t worry, Ben. It’s like the song says: there will be ‘Sleep for the weary,’" Max quoted, smiling.

"’And dreams for us all,’" Vincent finished.

The mood at the council table was so inclusive, nobody noticed Vincent’s silent return. It was as if he’d been there all along.

"Congratulations, Pascal," he said. "May you never fail. ‘Just use your heart for a rudder, your faith as a compass and a blanket for a sail.’"

Later that afternoon, lying spent in his wife’s embrace, Pascal asked: "Do you know the whole song, Max?"
She pushed a stray curl out of her eyes. She was half-asleep. "What song?"

The one from lunch. Her skin was so smooth and giving beneath his touch. Pascal ran his fingertips down the length of her arm.

"I think so," Max replied.

She stretched and her body moved lovingly against is. He felt the baby kick.

"Is this it?"

Her voice was very, very soft:

Sleep for the weary

"Yes!" said he said. "That’s the one."

Max drew him close and coded the lyrics on his naked back.

Way out on the ocean

Pascal sighed and melted against her. Max was able to touch a part of him that no one else could reach. She touched his fear, and it responded to her with honesty.

He pulled the blanket up tight around them. "I need this," he thought or said. "To navigate the ocean of air."

Laughter washed over him. "It’s only a song, Pascal," she said, kissing him. "And that’s all it is."

Yeah. Right.

PART 8

Pascal knew that he had a lot of adjustments to make; but on that first walk back home, he simply lost himself inside Maxine’s leading touch. Her hand was so gentle; and she had a way of brushing her shoulder against his as she walked.

Max made it easy to ignore the voice inside that kept screaming nothing will ever be the same.

Almost.

She stopped in front of the pipe chamber and said, "Ben, go inside."

He shook his head. "I don’t think I can," he said.

Cool hands framed his face and forced him to look into the singing room. "Then just look," Max told him. "You can do that." Her voice was kind enough but her touch was unforgiving.

By sheer effort of will, Pascal allowed his eyes to adjust to the light. Zach and one of the younger apprentices, Travis, were working the line. He watched as they relayed a run of afternoon messages. As always, Zach hurried too much and transposed entire sentences.

Not my problem, Pascal thought, bitterly.

"You must remember to counsel Zach against paraphrasing and tell him to slow down," Max said, touching her smile to his cheek. "A good teacher sets the tone for his students."

He turned to face her and put his hands on her shoulders. He noticed for the first time that she was wearing a sweater he particularly liked — the one that sloped off her shoulders and exposed the delicate line of her clavicles. Drawing her close, Pascal asked, "What am I?"

"You’re pipemaster," she replied, smiling.

But how? His fingers trembled against her soft skin.

"Because, my love, you earned it."

Suddenly, a hunger consumed him, and Pascal the pipemaster turned and went inside.

Max was curled up under the covers reading, when Pascal finally returned to their chamber. She looked up and smiled. "Was it too awful?" she asked.

He sat down heavily and pulled off his boots. "What?"

Listening, she coded.

Pascal sighed and nodded.

She pressed her palm flat against the base of his spine, until the wave of sadness passed.

He shook with relief.

"Now," Max said, warmly. "Get undressed and come to bed."

Pascal stood and undressed without looking at her. He knew she was smiling, and he couldn’t bear seeing the acceptance of it just now. He sat down on the edge of the bed and leaned into her embrace; and he felt the covers fall away. New curves welcomed him.

"You’ll have to adjust to me, too," she told him. "A lot can happen in two weeks."

Because she sounded more than a little uncertain, he twisted around and looked into her eyes. "What is it, Max?"

"It’s just that, well…"

"Well?"

"I’m so sensitive," she replied, tears welling up in her eyes. "My skin’s sensitive. My body’s sensitive. And I’m so sensitive, I thought you were never coming home."

Pascal smiled in spite of himself. "Never?" he asked, gently, and kissed her.

"Never," Max replied. Her lips trembled dangerously. "What were you doing all that time, anyway?"

"You really want to know?"

She nodded.

"I was pouting," Pascal said, truthfully. "I was sitting in the dark pouting."

"Well, so was I."

Whatever you do, don’t laugh.

Max wrapped her arms around his neck. "I honestly thought you weren’t coming back," she whispered.

"I’m so sorry," Pascal told her. He eased her into his embrace and buried his face in her soft hair. "I should have sent word."

"Yes; then I could have come and pouted with you."

"As opposed to against me?"

"Vincent’s right," she said.

"About what?"

"About the fact that you’re a monumental shit," Max replied, laughing.

For the moment, her laughter was enough for him; and Pascal decided it was time to find out just how sensitive she really was. He ran his hand down her side and gently traced the outline of her breast with his fingertips.

She rewarded him with a startled little gasp.

"Sensitive can be nice, Moxie," Pascal said. I ache for you, he coded. "I’ll be gentle."

Max smiled and softly touched her lips to his. "You always are," she said. The tip of her tongue burned like fire.

The pipemaster was having trouble controlling himself. He really did ache. His body felt like a raw, open wound. All he wanted was to push her down on the bed and take her as deeply as humanly possible. His mouth and his tongue and his hands groped for her warmth; and for the first time in his life, he was afraid of what he wanted to do.

She welcomed him with her lips and her tongue and her breath. She pulled him to her fearlessly. Could she possibly know what she was doing?

Please… Wait.

Blind with desire, Pascal let her do whatever she pleased. The trouble was that what pleased her filled him with pure animalistic need.

I’m so hungry.

He couldn’t get enough of her taste, her scent, her shuddering pleasures. Max was only being honest when she told him she was sensitive.

Unable to speak or code, Pascal could only show her what he needed. No longer able to hold back, he gently turned her on her side and entered her in one smooth motion. Her cries only aroused him further. He wrapped himself around her and pinned her hard against the bed. Blind, raw, terrified, he felt his body lock into its jagged rhythm of release.

Amazingly, Max joined him.

Her hand snaked up his arm and came to rest against his shoulder. I love you, she said.

Unable to answer her words, Pascal thrust into her desperately. He needed to lose himself inside her warmth, inside her endless waves of passion.

How can you love me? he wondered. I’m nothing. I’m nobody.

Suddenly, his mind stilled and his body fragmented into a million pieces. He came uncontrollably, tears and cries falling upon her hair.

"I love you. I love you, too."

Max twisted around and with a grace she alone possessed, kissed him.

Somehow, Pascal recovered his voice. "Did I hurt you, Max?" he asked, roughly. He was still trying to catch his breath.

She looked surprised. "Of course, not," she replied. "Why on earth would you ask me that?"

"I thought… I…"

Max smiled softly and settled her head back down against their shared pillow. "Don’t think so much, Pascal," she said, pulling him close. "Just hold me."

"That I can do," he whispered. That I can do.

Still inside her, and still very aroused, Pascal began to make love to her again. Slowly.

This I can do for you, he thought. And this I will do.

He felt her smile. As usual, she’d been listening all along.

Pascal awoke with a start. It was late, almost time for dinner. The sound of his tunnel world was that of a far away tide rolling in and out — calm and enticing and familiar all at once. The pipemaster softly rocked with its rhythm and hugged the feeling close. All around him, the air was warm with the scent of candlelight.

Max sighed contently in her sleep.

He locked his hands behind his head and watched the shadows play across the ceiling. Sometime during the last year, the shadows and the sounds of the pipes and his wife’s music had morphed together to become the natural way of things. Pascal longed to awaken her and express exactly how content he was, but he didn’t have the heart to disturb her.

She’d be awake soon enough.

After their lovemaking, Max became suddenly and miserably sick. Pascal didn’t take it personally. He knew there was simply no way to predict if or when morning sickness would hit. She slept curled up in a tight ball to ward off nausea. Pascal carefully rolled over and pressed himself against her rounded body. The pipemaster, who almost always slept on his back, discovered that he enjoyed sleeping like spoons — almost as much as he enjoyed making love that way. Max melted into him.

I hate to wake you, he thought. But we both know, if you don’t eat now, it’ll be even worse later.

Pascal coded her name into her open palm, over and over, like a song. After what seemed like a very long while, she stirred.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, softly.

Max rolled onto her back and smiled at him. "Better," she replied. "Much better."

Pascal smoothed her tangled curls away from her face. "It’s nearly time for dinner," he said.

She shut her eyes against the thought and groaned. "Oh, God, no."

Smiling, Pascal gave her a loving shake. "I really think you should eat."

"Must you?"

"Must I what?"

Max looked Innocent.

What? he coded down the bridge of her nose.

"Smile at me like that," she said, grinning wickedly.

She wanted him as much as he wanted her. And it was delightful. Pascal burst out laughing. "I’m just smiling," he gasped. "It doesn’t mean anything. Geeze, Maxine Louise, sometimes, a song is only a song."

Max pulled the thin thermal blanket up around their shoulders. "But, on the other hand," she said. "This, I suppose, is a sail."

"I really don’t want to leave our chamber right now," he said, meaningfully.

"And I really don’t want to eat," Max replied. "But sometimes one must do unappealing things."

Pascal leaned in and kissed her open smile. She still tasted minty, like toothpaste. "But you’re so very appealing," he whispered.

Her tongue danced tender swirls around his; and she caressed him with her lips and her breath.

And you are so very beautiful, she coded.

"We’d better get dressed," he told her.

"Oh, if you insist."

Reluctantly, Pascal got out of bed and retrieved their clothing from floor where they’d thrown it. They dressed slowly and in comfortable silence, finding every excuse to touch each other. The day had been so long and so incredibly hard; and yet in that moment, Pascal was completely at peace.

"Max," he said, quietly. "Everything is going to be all right. I mean that with all that I am."

Her whole face lit up; and her smile warmed him to his very soul.

He took her hand and started leading her slowly toward the door. Then, for some reason he was never able to explain, Pascal stopped in mid-stride, turned and gently pressed his hand against her stomach.

The baby was dancing.

"May I tell you something?" he asked.

"Of course," Max replied.

"Being in the pipe chamber today was the worst experience of my life." Pascal reached for words. Code came in their place. I felt powerless. I felt like a dead man walking.

Her violet eyes showed nothing but calm when she said: "You could go back."

No, Moxie, I can’t, he replied.

Max reached out and cradled his coding hand in both of hers. He watched helplessly as tears of understanding tracked down her face.

"Ben," she said, quietly. "I lied to you earlier. It’s not just a song."

Pascal hung onto her words like the lifeline he instinctively understood them to be.

On the pipes, someone, maybe it was Catherine — it sounded like Catherine — was telling the story of The Pipemaster’s Homecoming. He listened as Kip parsed it and recoded it and relayed the reconstructed message on down the line.

Together, the pipemaster and his wife softly coded:

Max waited until the message had faded completely before she spoke aloud. "Come on, Pascal," she said, smiling. "I’m starving. Let’s go get some dinner."

PART 9

Pascal found that the best way — the only way — he could deal with his new life was to take it one day at a time. He kept busy. He taught. He met with Kip and Zach. He sat in the back of the pipe chamber with his knees pulled up under his chin and silently streamlined code in his head. Most days, he even managed to get through without crying. To the rest of his world, Pascal was still pipemaster; but he called himself Ben and listened carefully for the voice inside to tell him what came next.

" A penny for your thoughts," Vincent said.

Pascal nearly jumped out of his skin.

"I can come back another time if you wish."

"No, Vincent," he said. "Please stay."

Pascal scrambled to make room for his friend at the writing table. Books and papers were piled everywhere. "I’m working on a new code," he said, trying to make some order out of his mess.

"Mind if I take a look?" Vincent asked. He carefully eased his bulk into a small chair.

"Oh, course not."

Vincent slowly thumbed through the papers. "This is good," he said finally. "And very creative."

"Thank you."

"It will be certainly be easier for people to learn."

Pascal’s mood brightened. "Do you really think so?" he asked. "I’m trying to further simplify the day-to-day basics." He pointed out a change of which he was particularly proud. "Max says it takes away from the beauty of the sound, but I don’t think so. Clarity has a beauty all its own."

Vincent tapped the new code out on the table. His claws made a strange, grating sound against the wood. "Yes, Pascal," he said. "I can hear what you mean. Very nice."

The pipemaster smiled.

Vincent put down the papers and looked at him with his piercing blue eyes. "How are you, my friend?"

"I’m doing better," he replied, carefully.

"Do you miss it?"

"Every moment of every day," Pascal said. He let out a deep sigh. It was good to talk about his loss with someone who truly understood the meaning of denial. "Sometimes, it hurts so much only physical release can dull it."

Vincent nodded with an understanding that went beyond the surface. "It’s a good thing that you have such an accommodating wife," he said, wryly.

Pascal blushed to very top of his scalp. When he was comfortable, he often spoke without thinking; and when he did this around Vincent he usually regretted it. "It’s… It’s not like that," Pascal stammered. "I love her."

"I can see that," Vincent said, gently. "It’s simply that I can see, too, that you both are extremely physically attracted to one another. That’s all I meant."

Pascal ran his hands over the top of his head. "She understands me, Vincent," he said, trying to explain. "She moves inside my world of codes and pipes as easily as I do. No woman has ever done that before."

Vincent closed the spiral notebook and handed it back to the little pipemaster. "So what else have you been up to?" he asked.

"I’ve been working on a refit for the pipe chamber."

"May I see?" Vincent asked.

Pascal reached under a pile of books and gently pulled out the elevations. He handed the folded sheet to Vincent, who opened it and studied it intently.

"This design reminds me of something," he said. "I can’t quite place it."

The pipemaster called Vincent’s attention to a new u-shaped slope." Everything in just two levels and no drop more than three feet." In his mind, the refitted lead pipes already disappeared into the ceiling and he was dancing back and forth in front of a keyboard of relays. "I could do this, Vincent," Pascal said.

Vincent ignored him. "This is so familiar."

"Think: Irish coffee," Pascal replied, grinning.

"What?"

The smaller man now rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. His body involuntarily swayed with the prospect of a possible return to his work. "I got the idea from the pipe organ at the Rija Grand. Play at ground level, sound at all levels." His fists reached for imagined words. He his fingers played the air to the disciplined rhythm of Bach’s Little Fugue in G Minor.

"We don’t have the resources for such a huge project, Pascal," Vincent cautioned. "Surely you realize this."

The world did not crash down around him. "I know," the pipemaster said. "But the point is that it’s doable."

Vincent refolded the plans and handed them back to him. "Has Maxine seen these?" he asked.

"No," Pascal replied, softly. "And I’m not showing them to her, either."

"Why not?"

"Because, to my wife, doable is not enough."

Vincent’s whole being seemed as glacial as his blue eyes. "Is doable enough for you?" he asked.

"Yes," Pascal replied, smiling. "It is."

For now.

The pipemaster understood what Max and Vincent could not. "Resources" weren’t the factor; they’d take care of themselves. It was all about acceptance, and it was all about time.

He slid the plans back under the pile of papers, where there was little risk of Max finding them. She learned code by ear and not by rote. She couldn’t read written parsing. This deficit embarrassed her, but Pascal really enjoyed teaching her new codes. Truth be told, she was the most willing student he’d ever had.

Vincent absently picked up another spiral, flipped through it and quickly put it down again. "Sorry," he said.

"That’s all right, Vincent," Pascal said. "You’re welcome to look at it, if you want It’s just something Max and I are writing for the baby."

"What a wonderful idea," Vincent said. He opened the notebook and turned the pages. "The pen and ink drawings are lovely."

"I wanted to tell the story of our home; and of our lives here. And of how we met."

Vincent laughed aloud as he looked at one entry. It was a scale drawing of the pipe chamber, softly tinted with colored pencil. Underneath, Max had penned in the caption: Proactive Denial-- the rare ability to turn trash into music and ride it to the stars.

Pascal grinned.

More pages turned to reveal sketches of friends and maps and closely printed pages of stories. Vincent savored each one, and when he was finished, said: "You and Maxine have such distinct voices. She’s the engineer and you’re the dreamer."

"You’d never know it, but Maxine’s degree is in something called temporal mechanics," he said, proudly. Pascal took the spiral and carefully placed it inside the top shelf of his toolbox. He intended to work on it some more tomorrow, while he listened to Kip implement the new codes. Then, he looked up at his friend and asked, "Vincent, do you think I’ll be a good father?"

"I think you’ll be an excellent father," Vincent replied, meaningfully.

"What if I’m not? What if I’m like my old man?" Pascal closed his eyes against the images that involuntarily skimmed the surface of his memory.

"You’re not wired that way, Pascal. You would never force your will upon another." He put a gentle hand on the pipemaster’s shoulder. "You are your own person and always have been."

"Not always," Pascal whispered. He hung his head in shame. He couldn’t bring himself to tell Vincent that he had hurt Max once–and that she still flinched if he unexpectedly ran his hands over her shoulders.

"But mostly," Vincent said.

"Yeah."

"Pascal," he said. "Listen to me. You’re a good friend and a good husband and you’ll be a good father."

"Thank you, Vincent," Pascal replied, softly. "I truly hope I’m all those things. I want to be."

"You are," Vincent replied, knowingly. "Accept it."

After that, Pascal worked very hard at acceptance. He liked hard work. He found he was good at it.

The baby’s book had been finished for two weeks. It was carefully set aside along with the lovely quilt Brooke had given them. The Pascals quietly relocated to a larger chamber — one with three rooms and a little privacy. Before they moved in, the pipemaster added a relay here and there for improved resonance.

"That’s so much better," Max said, when the project was finished. Her ears were keen. "Any child would be happy growing up with such music."

"Did the sound of the pipes ever bother you?" he asked.

She smiled. "At first, they bothered me a little. But now I can’t sleep without them." She touched his arm lightly. I can’t live without them.

Pascal slid his arm around her shoulders and drew her into a half embrace. "Neither can I," he told her. He knew that she could feel his contentment because she leaned up and kissed him deeply. He moaned with pleasure as her hands explored his needy body. Even standing as he was, he arched to meet her touch and had to fight to keep from grabbing her hand and pushing it down lower. Pascal ached for release — and for the indefinable something that only Max gave him.

Soul mate, he thought. How you love me…

I’ll be gentle, he coded against her pounding heart. I won’t hurt you. I won’t hurt the baby.

But she was seducing him. Almost without moving, her fingertips played his building erection. She slipped her hand inside the waistband of his jeans and burned him with her cool skin.

Pascal’s mouth found hers again and he drank of her scent and her breath and his tongue moved into a frenzied, hungry dance.

The way Max touched him was intensely erotic. Every breath and every nuance left him shaking. Her time was very close, and they were extremely tender with each other. Pascal loved that. He loved the feel of her beautiful pregnant body and he loved the feel of their child straining to grow.

"We haven’t made love in our new bedroom," Max whispered softly, her lips caressing his tender ear.

Pascal didn’t have to be asked twice. He let her lead him to their familiar bed. The line between love and want blurred, but it didn’t matter. He joined her in his seduction. The enhanced pipes sang around them. Almost instantly, their soft cries became part of the pipe’s song. That drove Pascal to the brink.

They pleasured each other for a long time, not caring where the pleasure led — or if it led anywhere at all. They didn’t need words or code. They just needed each other. Their act of satiation built until the pipemaster was certain that his cries had been carried to the ends of the earth. (In fact, while he could still think, he wondered if perhaps he shouldn’t run so open a relay above their bed.)

Pascal held back until Max was writhing beneath his touch, begging him.

Oh, please. Take me.

Gently, my sweet Moxie, he coded. He looked into her eyes and soothed her, before he finally allowed himself to lose control.

It wasn’t until later, when Max was spent and sleeping curled up in his arms that Pascal realized I’m happy.

But he wasn’t. Not completely. He quietly slipped out of bed and dug around until he found his plans for the pipe chamber. He tacked them to the bedroom wall and studied them.

"Resources be damned," he said, decidedly. He left the plans hanging where he could look at them.

Pascal carefully returned to bed and wrapped himself around his sleeping wife. "We’ll work through this together, right?"

Max frowned a little and nodded in her sleep. It was precisely the same motion she made to punctuate Of course, right.

Then, he was happy.

Max had the baby on the same day the council voted to go ahead with the pipe chamber refit. Like her father, Hannah understood that it had nothing to do with resources and everything to do with the acceptance of time.

~THE END~

1. The Glamorous Life, by Shelia E. Published by Girlsongs ASCAP.

2 Coconut by Harry Nilsson.

3Martin Niemoeller, Pastor, German Evangelical (Lutheran) Church

4 Blanket for a Sail by Harry Nilsson.

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