Best Man

With the new year already in progress and the winter weather still very much in full swing, the only refuge from the cold, bitter air seemed to be holing one's self up in their home with blankets and furnaces jacked up to the point that their next heating bill would be through the roof.

In Mike and Caroline's case, they found other means to keep warm.

There was naught a sound throughout the downstairs; not even the howling of the chilling wind outside seemed to reach the indoors through the drafty areas of the house.

The only sound that seemed to insinuate that any form of life went on was the occasional sloshing of water hitting the porcelain sides of a bathtub. That and the sedated murmurs from Mike's lips as he reclined back against Caroline's chest while she brought a sudsy washcloth to his shoulders and squeezed it so that the hot water ran down his chest.

As he tilted his head back onto her left collarbone, Caroline brought her head down so that her temple could rest against his while she gently scrubbed his chest.

Lifting her right leg, the hot water fell from her skin in a torrent of droplets as she wrapped it around his right leg. And then she just couldn't bring herself to wash her man anymore, despite how sensual it had been. She just wanted to cuddle him now.

Dropping the washcloth at her side, she ran her sudsy fingers through his platinum dyed hair, which was getting longer with every month that passed, and then wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

"How long are you gonna grow your hair?"

Caroline felt the shrug Mike made with his shoulders as he turned his head slightly in such a way that his nose brushed against her jawline.

"You don't like it?" he wondered.

"No, just the opposite. I love it. It's just that your hair is always pretty short. I was just wondering how long before you chop it all off and go back to your usual style."

"My usual style?" he repeated. "I don't have a certain style. I wear what I want, when I want...how I want."

"Don't get defensive."

"I'm not," he insisted. "Just sayin'..."

"Well, whatever. I still love your hair no matter how you wear it."

"But you like it longer?"

"I like that it's longer. It's a nice change, and it helps that you look like Tarzan when it's wet and you have only a towel around your waist," Caroline replied with a grin. "It's like I got my very own Jungle Man."

Mike turned his head back away from her so that he was staring at the opposite end of the tub, at the faucet and its knobs, as he let out a chuckle.

Raising his right hand to his chest, he held it there as he muttered, "Me Tarzan, you Jane."

"Have I ever told you what a dork you are?"

"About once a day," Mike answered as silence fell between them for a few moments.

The two of them just remained reclined in that position for a few minutes; finding no need for talking. Enjoying the quiet together was something they did on occasion anyway. They would sometimes just sit on the couch in the living room, without the television on or music, and just lean into one another.

Because sometimes saying nothing said more.

"Care?" Mike muttered after a while.

"Hmm?"

"If I had died on Thanksgiving, what would you have done?"

Caroline was stunned by the question. It seemed to come out of the blue and she wasn't prepared for it, even though she'd thought about it so often.

What would she do?

"You didn't die," she evaded.

"I almost did. Again." He then repeated, "What would you have done?"

"Cried endlessly for days on end. Holed myself up and refused visitors. Thrown myself off a cliff."

"Be serious."

"I am being serious, Mike," Caroline insisted. "If you had died, I...couldn't go on. If you'd died, I would've died. You're my world. You're my one true love and we only get one and I don't wanna live without mine. Without you."

"That's not a happy answer."

"What do you mean 'a happy answer?'" she questioned, moving her right hand to his right shoulder, causing him to turn his head and look back at her. "Did you want me to say that if you'd died, I would've thrown your corpse a party instead of a funeral? That I would've waved you goodbye and gone out bar hopping to meet the next Mr. Right?"

Mike and Caroline held each other's gaze for a few moments until Mike crossed his left arm over his chest to come up and cup the side of Caroline's face. He could see the tears brimming at her eyes and he frowned.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it that way. I just didn't want to hear how depressed and suicidal you would've got over my demise." Shifting his position, the water sloshed back and forth until he was sitting up in front of her, drawing her into his lap and wrapping his arms around her as tightly as possible. "If something had happened, and I'd died, I know you'd grieve. I would appreciate the grieving, as morbid as that sounds, because it'd let me know I was loved. But I wouldn't want you to cry endlessly or hole yourself up. I'd want you to move on and find happiness."

As he spoke, it came out in a hushed tone; warm against her ear as she rested her chin on his shoulder.

"I'd want you to love someone else, because God knows this world can use all it can get."

"I'm sorry, Mike. But no one else could replace you."

"I'm not asking to be replaced. I'm asking you to find someone who could fill the vacancy and make you happy, and who could love you the way I love you."

Caroline didn't reply, and Mike didn't press the subject any further. Nearly two months had passed since his heart attack and it was clearly still a sore subject to talk about. So, they needed a change in subject.

"How's recording going for you and the guys?" Mike asked, pulling his face back. He placed his index finger and thumb to Caroline's chin and made her look at him.

Her eyes were red. He hadn't even realized she'd been subtly crying on his shoulder the entire time he was talking. And as he cupped both sides of her face with his hands, he smiled a hearty smile and kissed her softly.

"I'm gonna write a song for you someday soon," he whispered against her lips; letting it drift away and echo into the cavern of her mouth. "I'm gonna write you a song that you can take with you no matter where you go, and no matter if I'm there with you or not. And when you get sad, I want you to sing it."

A tiny smile forming on her lips and in her eyes, Caroline felt her heart swell at how she had to be, undoubtedly, the luckiest woman that ever lived.

"I promise you I'll do just that," she assured.

"Thank you," he murmured as she wiped the corner of her eye with the back of her hand which was dry, and then reached both hands up to run through his dark hair; pulling his head back in the process.

Leaning forward, she kissed his Adam's apple and worked her way up the underside of his jaw and chin, then trailing little kisses along his jawline to bite at his earlobe.

When a small groan reverberated from his chest, she laughed quietly.

"You were asking me about how recording was going?"



From the mountains and to the prairies, to the oceans white with foam, life on one end of the country was going on just the same as the other.

In the midst of the rainy winter the Bay area was having, Tre somehow found it amusing to go swimming in his pool, despite the rainstorm outside.

Giselle stood under the verandah with her arms folded and shaking her head at his insanity while he tried to egg her on so that she'd join him in the water.

"Come on, you know you wanna," he spoke, dipping his chin into the chlorine-laced water and blowing bubbles while looking up at his girlfriend through his eyebrows.

"Actually, no. I don't. And I'm very, very sure of it, too," she replied. "And I have many reasons why I won't and I'd be more than happy to share a few."

"Be my very happy guest..." he grinned, sloshing his arms around to keep himself afloat.

"One; it's as if Hurricane Katrina: The Second Coming has dropped itself over the San Francisco Bay and outer areas and should a bolt of lightning find its way to this very pool, we'd be toast. Two, I have trouble enough as it is when I get out of the shower or the pool under normal circumstances with this rat's nest on my head," she gestured to her hair which was frizzing from the damp weather. "Three..."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Save your breath, spankybuns." Swimming up to the edge, Tre lifted his muscled arms up to rest on the concrete as he rest his chin on his wrist; just looking at Giselle.

"What?"

"I like your hair when it's frizzy."

"I don't."

"Doesn't my opinion count?"

"Not when my hair is involved."

"Aw," he faux-whined. "But you look like such a wanton sex kitten when it's frizzy and, though you can't see it, I totally have a boner right now."

Giselle laughed. "And what am I supposed to do about it? I gotta leave for work in twenty minutes."

"Good, good lovin' only has to take four minutes."

Shaking her head again, Giselle turned to walk away, sliding the glass door open to step into the house, just as Tre's jaw dropped and he scowled.

"Hey! What about my boner?"

"Take care of it yourself," she called back, having disappeared indoors. "I gotta get ready."

"Ready my ass," Tre growled; hoisting himself up out of the water and not minding the rain which was beating down hard on his skin like fucking needles.

His bare feet slapping against the stone ground of the verandah, he dashed inside the house, absolutely sopping wet, and dripping every-goddamn-where; his head turning from side to side to figure out which way Giselle had gone.

And then he spotted her at the kitchen sink, dumping out the cup of coffee she hadn't finished and must've gone cold from its obvious abandonment.

And his heart stopped.

Tilting his head to one side, Tre watched as she stood there, unaware he was watching her at the moment; brushing a stray hair from the corner of her mouth and clearing her throat of some phlegm.

His blue eyes followed the shape of her profile; the curve of her jaw, the slight glimpse of her neck that her curly hair blocked, the slant of her nose and slight puff of her bottom lip.

All thoughts of joking and wanting to get a quickie in before she left for work had left his mind and now all he could think about was how he'd never before, truly taken notice of how beautiful Giselle was.

She had this...ethereal air to her. A natural beauty. Pure.

And if Tre knew how to read auras, he'd say hers had to be something like a pale blue or light tan color; calming like water and soothing like the sands of any shore.

Finally his daze was interrupted when she finally discovered him standing in the doorway.

She blushed a little. "What?"

The corners of Tre's mouth twitched upward as he shrugged slightly. And then muttered, "I love you, Giselle."