"I never thought this was gonna happen again," John finally managed to say. "We're all here; we're all together."

"I wouldn't have believed it if it'd been anyone but Paul who told me you were still alive," George said, smiling through his tears. "I thought I'd lost you. We all thought we'd lost you."

"It's good to see you, mate," said Ringo. He wiped a sleeve across his face and stepped forward to embrace John again.

John held his old friend for a moment, then squeezed him and let him go.

"You too, Ring," he said softly.

He looked around at his friends and his heart seemed to swell. He had missed them. For the past eleven years, really, he had missed them.

 ***

The four men spent the rest of the afternoon catching up on one anothers' lives. It felt like a dream, something impossible that they would surely awaken from to find that it was not real at all.

Finally, George asked the question that was on all of their minds.

"So, John," he said softly, "What happens now? Are you goin' back to Harmony Island, or will you come back and rejoin the world?"

John sighed and smiled sadly.

"I don't know," he replied, lighting a cigarette. "Someone tried to kill me, didn't they--and they think they were successful. That puts me out of danger, and I have to say that I like that...it's a good place to be. Then there's Mavis. She's become precious to me, and I don't know if I would ever be able to be happy without her again. Yoko's gone on with her life, apparently, and the world seems to be gettin' along just fine without me."

He pushed himself to his feet and crossed the room to look out of the window at the windblown fields beyond the house.

"I'm happy where I am," he admitted. "I love me new life just as it is...but I miss me work and I miss me kids and all of you. If I could keep what I have now and add those things and the people that I love, it would be grand--it kinda has to be one way or the other, though, doesn't it. They say ye can't have everything, and it would appear that they're right about that."

"Can you really be happy hiding out there on the island forever, John?" asked Paul. He poured himself a drink and looked to the men seated around him for support, but their eyes were on John.

"Maybe," he replied, "I dunno. I think I have to try, though...at least for now. I don't feel ready to leave there yet. I'm dead scared, Paulie. I think I would feel better--not to mention safer--if I just stay dead for a while."

 ***

Later that night as he lay beside Mavis, safe in their bed on the island, John stayed awake long after she had gone to sleep, staring up at the ceiling, watching the shadows cast by the flickering firelight. He got up carefully, being sure not to jostle her, and added a couple pieces of wood to the fire.

As great as it had been to hear all about how his kids were doing and seeing the pictures of them his friends had given him, it just wasn't the same as being there.

He pulled the pictures from the pocket of his jacket and gazed into the open, friendly face of his youngest son. The child was obviously Eurasian, dark almond shaped eyes smiling out at him and a thick shock of dark, glossy hair.

John's heart banged hard in his chest, and his throat constricted as he looked at the boy in the picture, so changed from the child he'd held the day of the shooting, yet so unmistakably the same. Bright mischief shone from the dark eyes looking up at him, and the little mouth was slightly curved in a secretive smile very like his mothers, and John could tell from looking at the picture that his son was a happy kid.

Next there was a recent photo of Julian; Paul had taken this one himself, and the smile the boy wore was familiar to John...it was very like the smile he himself had worn in public sometimes, calculated to tell whoever saw it that the guy behind the face was happy enough, nothing to worry about, nothing to hide, but if you looked deeply enough into the eyes in this face, you could tell that the smile wasn't completely honest. The eyes of his older son held a measure of pain, and it hurt John to see it there. He knew that Cyn was a good mother to Julian and that any pain he held in his young heart was his fault, and his alone.

John hadn't been available to Julian when the boy was small; he hadn't even been there when he was born. His amazing success had taken him from his wife and child, and when he did find himself at home, there was a certain awkwardness between himself and his son. John had simply not quite known what to make of his child, so he had left the care of his son to Cyn and trusted her to do the right things. She had done a brilliant job, but Julian had ended up being raised, as John himself had, by the women in his life.

The teenager stared into the camera with the carefully crafted smile pasted across his face, his eyes haunted with a sadness his father knew all too well. The picture was hard for John to look at, made all the harder by the kids' striking resemblance to him.

John turned quickly to the next photograph.

In this one, Sean was seated on a kitchen chair, holding a kitten in his arms, looking as happy as he could be. At the edge of the picture, Yoko could be seen, beaming at her son with open pride.

Both of them looked to be at peace, and that made John feel a bit better.

He slipped the pictures back into the pocket of his jacket and poked at the fire a bit. The flames jumped and sent his shadow high up the wall behind him, and his face was illuminated sharply.

He turned his head and looked at Mavis lying in the bed, her hair spilling across her pillow, a gentle smile on her face as she dreamed her pleasant dreams.

He loved her deeply, and he did believe that he could be truly happy with her, but he missed his work. Sometimes at night, he couldn't sleep for the words and music tumbling through his head, spilling out onto paper and through the strings of his guitar, music that throbbed and beat its wings against his ribcage like a frustrated bird longing for escape, wanting only to soar into the air and be appreciated by others for its beauty and rarity.

John was a musician, an artist, and he felt trapped inside himself by his inability to share his art with the world. He had so much to say, so much to share with the world, but he did not dare. He had to keep silent and live his life of anonymity or risk having another attempt made on his life.

He tried to comfort himself by remembering that it had not been all peaches and roses even during the height of his fame-- as a matter of fact, that was probably the worst part.

It had been great fun at first, and very exciting as many new things are. Being recognized wherever they went, having their every whim catered to, being adored by countless girls...even being chased by teenagers had been fun--at first.

It hadn't been long, though, before the trappings of fame began to wear thin, and John had begun to feel as though he was no more than a trained animal, carefully boxed up in one cage after another, each prison masquerading as a posh hotel room, between performances and press conferences. There was little time for his family and there was little time for himself. He'd tried to fill the emptiness with drugs, alcohol, and the endless parade of willing, nubile young bodies, but even that grew dull and uninteresting in time.

He had clung to his friends, those who were trapped on the same mad, dizzying ride, and the four found comfort in their brotherhood, but it just wasn't enough.

After the group had stopped touring it got a little better for a while, but in the end the four men realized that it was time to stop and go their own ways. They realized it a while before they acted upon it, not quite willing to give up the one measure of comfort they had become to one another even though they each wanted something a little different out of life and knew that the only way they would be able to live their separate dreams was, well, to separate.

There was the inevitable rancor and finger pointing; no one wanted to be labeled as the one who had broken the group up, and the world tended to place the blame squarely upon the tiny shoulders of John's new girlfriend, much to his dismay.

To be sure, it hadn't helped ease the tension to have her sitting there in the studio with the group. She was an outsider. Besides, wives and girlfriends had traditionally been expected to remain at home and not intrude upon their mens' professional lives. It was the status quo, and Yoko was breaking the rules. What was more, John wasn't doing anything to stop it-- in fact, he was encouraging her. It was the last little straw upon the back of an already sorely overburdened camel, and everything simply blew apart.

John clung to Yoko for comfort and strength, and he felt safe with her. He no longer felt alone as he had for the past couple of years, no longer felt misunderstood. She got him, and that was something he needed.

With the Beatles behind him, John began a new life with his new love. He was enchanted with her, completely blown away. She was like no one he had ever known before. She taught him what really mattered and she challenged him as no other woman ever had. The two of them were inseparable, and whatever they did, the world took notice, so they used that to promote the world peace they dreamed of.

Like two children, they innocently put on plays of every sort to point out the things they believed in, and like children they clung together to ward off the darkness and their personal fears.

After a time, and also like children tend to do, they began to argue and things began to deteriorate.

John went to Los Angeles, taking with him at Yoko's insistence the couples' personal assistant, and Yoko, having banished him, remained in New York.

John felt lost without Yoko, and he clung to the girl he now shared his life with, a sweet Chinese girl called May. She was familiar and warm, and she loved him.

John responded to her love, and it wasn't long before he trusted her enough to allow her full access to his wounded heart.

He loved her deeply, and his love and trust was well placed; there was nothing May wanted for John more than his happiness.

It hurt him that he knew he would end up leaving her if (or when) Yoko ever asked him to return home to New York. He knew it was bound to happen sooner or later, and he knew what his response would be. He would go to her. No matter how much May meant to him or how good she was for him, he knew that when the day came and Yoko gave him the okay to come home, he would go without stopping to wonder why, and that was just what had happened.

With quiet grace and dignity, May had let him go without making a scene; she knew that it was what he must do, and John had been grateful for that. He was thankful to have been spared the scene that most women would have caused, and he loved the girl even more for not putting him through any hysterics.

Afterwards, he had kept in touch with her, calling her from time to time as well as checking up on her to make sure she was okay through mutual friends. He had thought about her often after he reunited with Yoko, and she remained in his heart always...whenever he thought of her, it was with a tug of longing for what might have been. He felt it even now as he stared into the fire thinking about the past.

When Sean had been born, John's life had been transformed.

Unwilling to miss out on the babyhood of his new child, John stayed at home to take care of the infant, leaving the recording studio behind. He had retired from his professional life, and for five years, that was enough for him.

The day did come, however, when things changed. The music began to want to come out of John again, and he had returned to the studio to make a new record.

It had been good to work again, letting the music flow from his heart and his fingers, eyes closed, the words pouring from his soul because there was no way he could stop it. Making music was like having a baby to John...he mulled over the words and thought of the melodies as he was doing even now, but eventually, when it was fully developed and ready to emerge, the music, like the child inside of a pregnant woman, refused to remain inside and he would be unable to contain it. The time would come for it to be brought forth, and he was feeling the pressure now.

 ***

Mavis turned in her sleep, sighing softly, and John turned his head to look at her. His face softened and he allowed himself a smile; just seeing her there made him feel a little better.

He put another piece of wood on the fire, banked the coals, and went back to bed, taking her into his arms carefully so as not to wake her.

She snuggled closer, her smooth cheek warm on his chest, and he rested his chin against her head and closed his eyes to wait for the morning.

*** 

"Mavis, I want to make music again," John said at breakfast the next morning.

The girl stopped pouring coffee into his cup and looked into his earnest face, her heart fluttering in her chest.

"What do you mean?" she asked, putting the pot on the table with shaking hands. "John, are you going away?"

"No, don't be daft," he replied. "Of course not. It's just that I've been givin' it a lot o' thought, and I think I need to do some work. I feel like I'll go mad if I don't let some o' th' pressure off meself."

"But how can you do that without giving yourself away?" Mavis asked, placing John's breakfast in front of him. "Everyone is bound to know it's you."

"I've thought o' that," he replied, his eyes shining with excitement, "And I think I've got th' perfect idea. I'll record some of the stuff I've been workin' on and give it over to Paul. He can say he found it in his attic or summat, and he can release it for me."

John pulled the girl into his lap and put his face in her hair, and Mavis wrapped her arms tightly around his neck.

"This really means a lot to you, doesn't it, my love," she said quietly.

He looked up into her face.

"It does," he replied.

"Then you should do it," Mavis told him, "It's obviously something you need to do. I just want you to be happy."

"I'm goin' back to see him in a couple weeks," John told her. "I'm really lookin' forward to this!"

 ***

It was cold down in the common room, so John got a fire roaring in the hearth while Mavis set about making breakfast and prepared to open the door to the public. She was cooking a big skillet of bacon and sausage when John came up behind her and put his arms around her waist, kissing her neck.

"Almost time to let the teeming hordes enter," he whispered. "Care to pay a bit of attention to me first?"

Mavis smiled and took the sizzling pan of meat off the fire.

"Well, all right," she said, turning in his arms and lifting her hands to caress his strong, square jaw. "But make sure it only takes a few minutes."

She kissed him deeply, her tongue exploring his warm, inviting mouth, lazily at first, then with rising urgency.

John broke the kiss and swept her up into his arms, kicking the kitchen door open to carry her to the hearthside.

"After a kiss like that one," he told her, "It'll probably take less than a minute all told."

Mavis stretched herself out on the warm stones and John grabbed an afghan from the nearest chair and spread it out beside her. She rolled onto the blanket and reached for him, and he eagerly covered her body with his own, taking her mouth once more, a soft moan escaping him as she tightened her hold on him and urged him on, grinding her hips suggestively against him.

"Now," she whispered, "Please--oh, God, baby, I just can't wait, please, now!"

John lifted her skirt quickly and easily slipped into her, his breath stopping for a moment as always at the sudden heat and the pleasure of being fully enfolded by her warm, hungry body.

Mavis sighed and pushed herself up to take him in yet more deeply, and the two of them found their perfect rhythm almost immediately.

Mavis watched him as they moved together, loving the fierce urgency and the burning passion in his arresting eyes, which were gazing into hers as the heat rose in her belly. The pulse in his long, graceful throat pounded wildly, and he let out a deep groan, almost doubling his speed as his pleasure mounted.

Mavis' body was slamming against his with complete abandon, the room now filled with their soft cries and the sound of their frantic, labored breathing. The rest of the world no longer existed for either of them, so lost were they in one anothers' eyes and the sensations that threatened to overtake them at any moment. The feelings rose in Mavis until she felt sure that if they became any stronger she would die, and immediately they did, but she did not.

"Are ye ready for it, baby?" John rasped, his breath hot against her ear, his thrusting becoming almost unbearably hard, fast, and overpowering. He could wait no longer.

Unable to speak, Mavis nodded her head and clung to him, allowing the feelings to rise, peak, and hold her in the grip of an earth shattering climax as John let himself go and filled her with his essence, a sound that was half a wail and half a groan exploding from deep inside of him.

It seemed like a long time had passed by the time Mavis came to herself once more. She was still panting slightly, and her eyes fluttered open as she sighed happily, the warmth still throbbing in her belly, gentle pulses still coming irregularly from deep inside of her as John grew soft and finally slipped from her body. She looked into his eyes.

He was still lying on top of her, supporting himself on his elbows, smiling down at her like a naughty child.

"I think ye woke up the whole bloody village," he said happily, kissing her gently and rolling off of her. He fumbled for a cigarette and lit it, a thoughtful look on his handsome face.

"You're not so quiet yourself," she countered, sitting up and smoothing her skirt primly. She smiled contentedly and grabbed a couple of tissues from a box on the table beside her rocking chair, trying to be discreet about cleaning up the mess.

"Besides," she added, "Look at the awful mess you've made of me, and me just fresh from the shower. Now I'm going to be like this all morning."

"Just a little something to remember me by," he said casually, taking a deep drag on his cigarette and smiling up at her. She grinned and shook her head. He looked for all the world like a happy cat who had just eaten an innocent but delicious canary.

Leaning down for a last quick kiss, Mavis got to her feet and went back to the kitchen to finish getting breakfast ready. John turned his attention back to the fire and poked it back into full flame, then adjusted his clothing and went to open the heavy green drapes over the front window and unlock the door.

There were a couple of fishermen waiting for their breakfast, and as soon as John opened the door, they came in, stamping their feet and rubbing their hands together, their cheeks ruddy with cold.

"Jesus, John, took ya long enough to open the door," said one of the men. He was Desert Sky MacMillan, who was currently living with a girl called Butterfly Simonson, one of John's former conquests.

"Sorry," John replied. "I was just a bit preoccupied, didn't notice the time."

"Right," the other guest interjected, "We heard ya bein' preoccupied. Sounded like nice work, by the way."

The second man gave John a knowing nod and clapped him on the shoulder. His name was David Fuller, one of the few denizens of Harmony Island with what most would consider a traditional name.

John blushed and gave the men a wink and a smile.

"She's very distractin', is Mavis," he said innocently. "And there's a lot to do before we can open."

"Desi wanted to give the both of ya a bit of applause," David confided, "But I talked him out of it."

"Thanks for that," replied John. "It'd be hard for me to get her to relax here in the front room if she knew we'd been heard in the street. Ye know how women are. Mavis can be just a little--"

"Mavis can be just a little what?" asked the girl, throwing the kitchen door open with a thrust of her hip as she came in with a big pot of coffee in one hand and a couple of heavy mugs in the other.

"Oh, I was just tellin' the fellas here that you could be a little slow sometimes in gettin' our breakfast ready," John replied, all innocence and smiles.

"It'd go quicker if you'd give a girl a hand," she told him, pouting prettily. "Go on into the kitchen, John, and make sure the eggs don't scorch, if you please. I've put your breakfast on a plate by the stove, and a big cup of coffee."

John disappeared into the kitchen, and Mavis poured coffee for the two customers.

"Now," John heard her say as the door swung closed behind him, "What will you gentlemen be having this morning?"

 *** 

It was about a month later when John found himself standing in the hayfield below Paul's farmhouse once again, the plane moving away from him. He watched as it bumped along for a moment, then began to walk towards the house.

The field was becoming green, and up near the house, a small flock of sheep were grazing. They watched John as he passed them, chewing thoughtfully as they followed him with their eyes. Paul's dog lay nearby, and she got to her feet and loped to him, barking with excitement as she recognized her master's friend.

Paul emerged from the house, followed by the rest of the former Beatles.

"Yer finally here," he said as he grasped John's hand and pulled him close for a hug.

"Every time I see you, John, I'm more thankful that you're still with us," he added, releasing his friend.

The others hugged him too, and the four went around the side of the house and headed for a small barn which Paul had converted to serve as a home studio.

Once the four were inside, John looked around and gave a low whistle of appreciation.

"This is the best home studio I've ever seen," he said, shrugging out of his coat.

"Ye've thought of everything, haven't ye, Paulie."

"As far as I know," replied the bass player, crossing the room to a small bar and reaching behind it to collect some bottles of stout to pass around.

"If ya think of anything I may have forgotten, please feel free to mention it, won't ya, John?"

"That I will," replied John. Accepting one of the bottles and twisting off the cap, he positioned it between his fingers and flicked it into a waste bin across the room with admirable skill. He took a long pull on the bottle, sighed contentedly, and looked around some more.

"I never thought this was gonna happen again," said John, lighting a cigarette and taking a deep drag. He looked thoughtfully at his three old friends and smiled. "Enough of this standin' around," he added, his eyes sparkling. "Let's do somethin'--let's make some fuckin' music!"

The next ten hours were productive; the four men seemed to have never been apart. Forgotten were the petty disagreements and gone was the boredom and apathy which had preceded their original breakup. They were together, they were full of ideas and feeling lucky to be working with one another again after so many years.

"There were so many times," George remarked when at last they sat down together on the large sofa at the back of the room to relax, "When I saw something or heard something and I would think, 'John would just love this', and I would remember that you weren't there any longer for me to share it with. Those were the times I missed ya most."

John stretched and laced his fingers behind his neck, arching his back and wincing at the crackling that this action produced.

"I've felt the same way, plenty o' times," he replied, regarding his friends contentedly. "I wanted to let ye all know that I was all right, but I was worried about the word gettin' out. I wish I'd done things differently, but there ye have it. It took Mavis to put me back together with the people I loved an' missed so much and for so long." He lit a cigarette and looked at Paul.

"Now," he continued, "How about another drink? A man could die o' thirst around here."

"I'll get 'em," Ringo volunteered, rising to his feet.

He got the bottles and passed them around, the smile on his lips as always at odds with the sadness that seemed to be forever in his eyes.

"Here's to us," he said, seating himself once more and raising his bottle in salute to the others, "Together again after a long, long time. I've missed ya, John, and I'm glad we've gotten ya back in one piece."

"To us!" chorused the others, raising their drinks.

John took a drink and surreptitiously brushed away a tear.

"To us," he said again, his voice uncharacteristically small. "To all of us."

He swallowed the stout past the lump in his throat and smiled again.

"It's almost time for me ride to come for me," he said after a moment, "So we'd better get back to the house. We won't hear the plane from in here. Shall we take a little walk, me lads?"

As the four rose to their feet, there were a great deal of noises that they hadn't ever made before when they got up after sitting. The chorus of groans and sighs made them all look at one another and break into uncontrollable laughter.

"My God, we're gettin' old, aren't we," said George, stretching with another sigh.

"Maybe we should rethink all this."

"Speak for yerself," replied John. "I personally am happy to feel a little arthritic discomfort. Lets me know I'm still alive, and I'm still grateful every day for that."

*** 

Once the plane had landed once again in the meadow near the village on Harmony Island, John caught sight of Mavis waiting near the stone wall at the edge of the field. Her dark cape swirled around her in the wind, and her hair was whipping across her face. She waved to him as he stepped off the plane and ran to embrace him. He caught her to himself and kissed her deeply, his heart swelling with love for her.

"I missed ye, gurrl," he whispered into her hair.

"I missed you, too," she told him. "Let's go home. I'm freezing and supper is waiting for you. Did you have a good time with your friends, did you get a lot of work done?"

"Let's do that, good, I'm starving, yes I did, and yes we did," he replied, walking towards the road with her to the wagon she'd borrowed to ride home in.

They climbed aboard and waved to the pilot before John took the reins and called to the old horse to 'get along an' get us fuckin' home'.

Mavis sighed and leaned against him. He put an arm around her shoulders to help warm her as well as to reassure himself with her closeness. It never failed to amaze him that he missed her so much whenever they were apart. Now that they were together again, he felt as though he could breathe more easily, that his heart had regained its proper rhythm. He flicked the reins again and watched the muscles twitch beneath the old mare's skin as she picked up her pace a bit. It would be good to get home again, and back to his life, he thought, then it hit him that nowhere else would ever seem like home to him again now. New York City and his old life seemed a million miles away, like a lifetime ago. It saddened him a bit, but when Mavis slipped her hand into his and lifted her head to kiss his cheek tenderly, the sadness dissolved and his heart throbbed with love for her and for the life they had built together here on the tiny island he had bought on a whim so many years ago. He fe! lt as though he had awakened from a long sleep to find himself back home, and he had never been happier to be anywhere in all of his life before.

They rolled into the village and John did not have to prompt the old horse to pull the wagon behind the general store and stop in front of the barn door where warmth and supper awaited her as well. He jumped to the ground and lifted Mavis down from her perch, then undid the harness and opened the barn door, giving the horse an affectionate slap on the rump as she went inside.

"Thanks, Daisy," he said, closing the door behind the animal and grabbing his guitar from the back of the wagon. He took Mavis' hand and they hurried back to the pub. Mavis fumbled with the key.

"My hands are a little numb," she said. "I should have worn mittens, but I was in too much of a rush to see you and I forgot them."

John unlocked the door and they went inside. The fire had died down to embers, and a bit of chill was creeping into the room. He took off his coat and tossed it onto a chair, then set about getting the fire roaring once again.

Mavis went to the kitchen. It was still warm in there, and she took John's supper from the warming oven and put it on the table for him.

A moment later, he came into the room and sat down, pulling her into his lap to hug her fiercely.

"It's good to be home," he told her, nuzzling her ear until she turned her head to get a real kiss. Her closeness affected him as it always did, and when she felt his desire, she jumped to her feet.

"Now, you just get some hot food inside of you before you go getting all excited," she told him, seating herself on the other side of the table with a smile.

"Too late," he said, but he began to eat and with the first mouthful he realized just how hungry he really was.

Mavis watched him and thought of how important he had become to her. She was glad that he was working with his friends again. He seemed so happy after he'd seen them.

At the same time, she was a little afraid of how reconnecting with his past might affect his relationship with her. Would seeing them eventually make him want to return fully to his old life? Did she really offer enough for him to make him forget his wife in America? She knew he missed his children, and he spoke of them often, but he seldom mentioned Yoko since he had told Mavis that his wife was now living with another man. Mavis knew that John was a very jealous man; it was obvious by the way his jaw muscles tightened and his eyes flashed angrily whenever a customer flirted with her. He watched her carefully for any sign of reciprocation, relaxing only slightly when he saw none-- he still kept an eye on her admirers until they left and he had her to himself once again.

John finished eating and rose to his feet, heading into the common room to sit beside the fire and smoke for a while as he always did. Mavis washed his dishes and flatware quickly, dried her hands, and followed him. She closed the heavy green drapes and stroked the rich fabric lovingly, remembering the smile on his face when he had presented them to her. When she turned around, she saw that he was watching her, a gentle smile on his face. She went to him and settled herself in his lap, planting gentle little kisses all over his face.

He pulled back a bit to study her expression, concern clouding his eyes slightly.

"Whist, Mavis, love," he said softly, "What is it? Ye look to be on the verge o' tears--are ye okay, gurrl?"

"I'm fine," she replied, burying her face in the warm flannel shirt he was wearing.

"It's just that I'm so happy that you've come back."

John laughed gently.

"Where else would I go?" he asked, kissing her hair, causing her skin to break into gooseflesh with the feel of his hot breath on the nape of her neck. "Me home is here now, and yer the one I love. No matter what ever happens, it's always gonna be that way now. Don't ye know that, darlin'? I don't even feel as though I'm complete unless yer where I can lay me hands upon ye, Mavis. Now, come on an' let's get upstairs to bed. I'm gettin' sleepy, and there's somethin' else I wanna do first."

Mavis stood up and watched as he expertly banked the fire, something he'd had no idea of how to do when he'd first shown up on the island. Now he moved as though he'd been doing such things all his life. Once the task was finished, John kissed her deeply and took her hand, drawing her up the stairs behind him.

In their bedroom, John undressed quickly and watched as Mavis shed her clothes. She opened a drawer and pulled out a nightgown, and he laughed at her.

"Don't be botherin' with that," he told her softly. "I'd only have ye out of it as soon as ye'd gotten it on. Just come as ye are, an' if yer still of a mind to, ye can put that thing on later. I'll keep ye warm enough."

Mavis dropped the nightgown to the floor and slipped into his arms, her heart hammering wildly. It astonished her that he was always able to elicit such a strong desire from her with no more than a touch of his hand. She shivered, not with the cold but with pleasure, as he drew her close and began kissing her. The world fell away and ceased to exist for her, so lost was she in his passionate embrace. His skin felt hot and his hands set little fires all over her body as he caressed her, running his fingers unerringly over the places he knew would draw the deepest responses from her.

At last he found that he could not wait any longer, and he mounted her quickly, easily slipping himself into her body. Both of them caught their breath when he penetrated her, the sensation was so intense. Mavis cried out his name and he began to move, swift, strong, deep strokes driving her completely out of her mind.

Mavis opened her eyes and watched his face as he drove himself into her body again and again, meeting his every thrust with equal force. His eyes seemed unfocused at first, but as he neared his climax he fixed his eyes upon hers, and she could see the naked desire in them so plainly that it took her breath away.

His eyes suddenly closed, and she could see that he was making an effort to hold himself back. His movements hesitated and slowed, and he took a deep breath.

"I'm ready," she whispered, her voice tight, her body trembling, every nerve singing. "Don't hold back, baby, give it to me--I need you now!"

Releasing his breath explosively, John slammed into her several more times, his eyes looking deeply into hers, his mouth a tight, firm line. Her eyes closed involuntarily then, and her body arched against his as the wave of pleasure caught her up and carried her tumbling through nothingness, held her still and pulsing, then retreating slightly so that she could open her eyes again. His were closed now, and he let out a deep, hoarse groan as he emptied himself into her welcoming warmth, his hips bucking convulsively a few more times. At last, he collapsed on top of her, unable to support himself any longer, and lay there breathing heavily into her hair.

Once he could move again, he rolled off her body and took her into his arms tenderly. Mavis settled her head on his shoulder and looked out the window at the stars sparkling in the clear, black sky. She opened her mouth to speak to him again, but a soft snore stopped her...he was asleep. She closed her eyes and cuddled close to him, closing her eyes and waiting for sleep to take her away to wait for morning. She had never felt more filled with happiness.

*** 

In the morning, Mavis disentangled herself gently from John's arms and stumbled to the bathroom, feeling very ill. She knelt on the floor beside the toilet and vomited, her body seemingly trying to expel every organ inside of it, until she was weak and trembling. She sat there on the floor and laid her cheek against the cool tile wall, breathing heavily, trying to collect her thoughts.

Her eyes flew open and her hand fluttered to her throat as it hit her-- it had been nearly six weeks since she'd had her last period.

She got slowly to her feet and went back into the bedroom. She stood looking down at John, watching him sleep, for a few moments, then pulled her robe on and went downstairs to make an appointment with the village doctor. It was quite early, but she wanted to find out as soon as possible if what she suspected was true, and if that meant that she had to wake the doctor, then that was what she would do. If she was lucky, he would be able to see her first this morning and she would have her answer before the end of the day.

 Part Four Coming Soon!

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