Love and other Nightmares

Three years wasn't forever.

But my plan was to get my green thumb going so I could start limiting how much of the stored food I needed to eat at a time.

"You know," Watts said several hours later, drinking some of the vodka I'd stored for the obvious oblivion, but also for possible wound-care, lounging on one of the chairs on the wrap-around deck, "with a little work, this could be a great garden space. Some raised beds along the railings. Maybe build and hang some window boxes off of the railing to get more going. We're lucky we live here. We can grow shit year-round."

"We," I repeated. I meant to say it in my head, but it popped out of my mouth instead.

"Yeah, Junebug. We. We're better as a team than on our own. I have skills that you don't. You have some I don't. We can do this long term if we stick together."

That was fair.

Watts had always been good with his hands. It was one of the things I found most attractive about him. Car making a wonky noise? Watts could stop it. Wiring in your house acting wonky? Call Watts. The man had never seen a tool he didn't know how to use, or found something he couldn't fix.

"We might be able to hook up some solar," he added, taking another swig, offering me the bottle.

"I don't think lights would be a good idea," I said, shaking my head.

"No," he agreed. "But maybe some quiet music? Fuck, I miss music. Or we could power a radio, trying to put a call out to the rest of the world, see if anyone else is still alive out there, what they know about the world as a whole."

He was making a lot of sense.

"Sounds like a good plan," I agreed, yawning.

"Go on," Watts said. "Get some sleep."

"You should sleep too."

"I will. The couch is comfortable-looking enough."

The couch was built for an office, was too small for a comfortable nap for a small woman, let alone a whole night of sleep for a hulking man.

"It's out in the open," I said, wincing. All those windows. So many points of entry.

"I'll be fine Junie," he said, shaking his head, his eyes warm.

"Look, if we are going to do this for the long-haul, we need to be as safe as possible. We can share the bed. We will be secure in there."

"You did a great job with that door," he said, getting up to follow me in, watching me go through the motion of securing the place as best I could for the night.

Buffy refused to come into the room with me, something that had made me fret for weeks before I came to terms with it.

So I gave her a can of food, some fresh water, and left her to her own devices, leading Watts toward the back.

I didn't tell him that the door idea had come to me when I'd stared at it for hours before saying to myself "What would Watts do in this situation?" And just like that, the idea came to me.

"Thanks. I'm proud of it," I agreed.

"Where are you going?"

"To brush my teeth," I told him, motioning toward the bathroom.

"This right here is called a 'hooker's toothbrush'," Watts told me, taking a swig of the vodka, swishing it around his mouth.

"No, Watts. We need to be good about our dental hygiene," I told him, shaking my head. "I don't want to have to be in charge of ripping rotten teeth out of your mouth with pliers. I can stomach a lot, but I don't think I can do that."

"Well, with that visual," he said, grimacing, following me into the bathroom, brushing, flossing, rinsing with mouthwash, doing so with some gusto like he was suddenly seeing my wisdom in the matter.

"Do you object to whore's baths?" he asked, motioning toward the pitcher of water I had on the counter by the sinks.

"Not at all," I said, grabbing some washcloths, passing one to him. "I tend to lather up and then jump into the ocean to rinse off most days, but a whore's bath is necessary sometimes too. What?" I asked, brows pinching.

"That visual," he admitted, eyes going a bit heavy-lidded.

I knew that look.

Very, very well.

It was always there, right before his hands were on me, his lips were on me, before things developed from there.

Desire, something I thought all but forgotten, sizzled across my nerve endings, mind conjuring up memories of nights when our limbs would be twisted for ours, our bodies moving together, drenched in sweat, lips moaning out our releases.

"I, ah, you do your whore's bath first," I said, trying to back out of the room, slamming into the door as I went. "Then I will take my turn," I added, going out into the hall, leaning against the wall, taking a deep breath.