((Warning, contains material of an adult nature.))

As it so happened, hitching a ride to the house on the hill hadn't proven too difficult. Thankfully, the man who'd picked them up didn't ask too many questions, though he'd caught sight of the ring on Kit's finger and had assumed they were engaged to be married. He seemed more interested in the ring than anything else, immediately recognizing it as an antique, and by the time he finally let Rand and Kit off at the house, they'd learned he was an antiques dealer, had been given his card, and had promised to contact him if they found anything in the house they wanted appraised or sold. Randal breathed a sigh of relief when the man finally drove off in his very un-antique Rolls Royce. While he appreciated the man's interest in the house for its historical value, he didn't really appreciate the man's interest in their private lives.

Taxi drivers were the same the world over, though Kit couldn't have known that herself. It had never occurred to her to take the ring off, though as attention was paid to it, she had grown uncomfortable, uncertain if Rand wanted her to continue wearing it at all. Still, it didn't hurt to have a contact if they chose to sell some of the older pieces in the house. She paused on the porch of the house, watching the car move away along the gravel driveway quietly, her keys hanging from her hand. "Chatty, wasn't he?"

The ring was a subject he'd been avoiding, as unsure about how she felt about it as she was about him. It hadn't been him who'd proposed, though he knew she'd argue that. Still, his present self hadn't quite caught up with his present self in that regard yet. "He doesn't seem to be hurting for money either," Rand remarked casually, curious if the man's interest in the house and their possessions was simply motivated by greed.

It annoyed some part of him that he didn't quite recognize as the man who'd built this house, who'd poured his heart and soul into making it what it was, and whose heart it broke to see it fall into disrepair, though he understand why that was. It took a lot of money to keep a place like this in top shape, and money wasn't something that grew on trees. "What would you think about having the house declared a Listed Building?" he mused.

She blinked in surprise, turning to look up at the house with a gentle sigh. It was beautiful, even on the cusp of decay as it was in places. She had so many happy memories of being here as a child, and now as an adult. "I'd do anything to be able to look after it properly," she admitted in a pensive tone. "Nana had people working on the house when I was a child, but for some reason, she stopped it all when Mum moved us out. And yet, all her money went into a trust that's been entailed onto me for the sole purpose of restoring and maintaining the house." She shook her head, confused by that entailment now that there was no ghost to care for. "I'm not exactly sure how she managed that, either. I'm sure it's not usual." Keys jangling, she moved to the front door, unlocking it with her usual care.

He followed her gaze up at the house, noting the signs of decay and knowing if they weren't nipped in the bud, as it were, they would only get worse. He couldn't see the summer house from where they stood at the front door, but he knew that, too, was part of the property that had fallen into disrepair. He turned quiet a moment as he considered all this. He was a lawyer, after all. Who better to sort through the legal entanglements involved in having the house declared a historical treasure" "I shall look into the matter at my earliest opportunity," he found himself saying, almost as if he was speaking with a client.

She couldn't help it - she giggled at the very formal turn of phrase that slipped from his mouth as she let them both into the old house. "Yes, your honor," she teased, laying her keys and purse down on the table just inside as she stepped in. "Will you be charging me for the wig and gown wearage, or will I be wearing them instead?"

"Sorry," he said, flushing a little as he blinked out of his thoughts and dragged himself into the house. "I was a million miles away there for a moment," he admitted, closing the door behind him once he was inside and shrugging out of his coat. Was it only a few days ago that he'd first knocked on this door, seeking shelter from the rain"

She smiled, turning to face him with a fond smile. "You are very easy to tease, you know," she warned him, a flicker of her impish humor shining in her eyes for a moment. "Shall I put the kettle on?"

Tea" He blinked a little in surprise. They were going to have tea" Well, of course they were. They were acting like polite adults again, now that they'd returned to the house that seemed to haunt them both. "Kit, I..." he started. What had happened on that short ride up the hill to cool the passion that had burned so brightly as they'd soared high above the ground in that bloody wheel? "Tea is not really what?s on my mind right now."

She blushed, easing her palms against his sides as she stepped closer. That passion hadn't dimmed, but her fear of putting him under pressure had returned with the taxi driver's obsession over her ring. "I didn't want to assume," she murmured softly, looking up at him from beneath her lashes, making no attempt to hide how she felt.

"I wish you would assume a little more often," he admitted, giving her permission to assume all she wanted as far as his feelings were concerned, as she seemed to almost always assume rightly, as if she knew him better than he knew himself. He studied her face a moment, as if trying to read her thoughts, before cupping her face in his hands and leaning close to kiss her quite thoroughly, deeper and more passionate than he ever had before.

There was no more holding back from the little woman in his arms as he kissed her, no more worrying over whether or not this was what he truly wanted. He had told her as much on the pier, and now ....A soft, girlish sound of delighted passion vibrated from her to him as he kissed her, arms curling warm and tight about his waist as she breathed him in, murmuring his name against his lips. His name - Rand, not Randal, or captain. He was the one in her heart and in her arms, and she had no intention of letting him out of either.

They had hardly made it past the foyer and they were already wrapped in each other's embrace. She might have been waiting over a year for him, but he felt as though he had waited a whole lifetime, perhaps longer. He drew her close, breathing her in as his arms went around her pulling her tightly against him, heart beating hard in his chest. He kissed her with such passion, such need, such urgency as there could be no denying or mistaking his intent or desire. Just as he'd told her not so long ago, he wanted her, but it wasn't just a physical longing, but one of the heart and mind and soul.

Her hands roamed, eager to touch him, to know him, easing over the cling of his shirt. A no was not an option this time, not something she would even permit herself to consider, glad in a way that she hadn't allowed herself to fall so completely under that spell with only a part of his soul. Fingers teased into his hair, pulling him closer, wanting him so much closer than was physically possible. Breathless, she had to break that kiss or succumb to the urge to pass out, trailing her lips against his jaw with a tender sound. "Rand ..." she whispered to him. "God, Rand ....I need you."

"Oh?" She laughed, holding onto him as she found herself flipped about, drawing him into the cradle of her thighs as her hands caressed over his back. "Should I call you Elmo, then" Or Count?" Her smile deepened as she arched up, nipping tenderly at his throat. "Big Bird, maybe?"

He laughed at the idea that he might have anything in common with Muppet characters. "I don't think so," he replied, looking down on her, half straddling her hips. At least, he was smiling and laughing again. "I don't know why I'm so nervous!" he said with a laugh, that was aimed at himself. He touched his fingers against her cheek to draw her hair away from her face. It wasn't like he'd never made love to a woman before. Maybe he was taking things too seriously.

Because you love me. But she didn't say it aloud, knowing he had to come to that himself, without any interference from her. Arching up from the bed as he swept her hair from her face, she turned her cheek, pressing a nibbling kiss to his palm, her eyes on his all the while. "Stop thinking," she told him, lying back once again to draw his hands to the soft curve of her breasts. "Feel."

His eyes widened as she drew his hands to her, not because he was afraid of her, but because she seemed as eager for his touch as he was to touch her. No more talk, no more fear. They had come this far and there was no turning back now. With her encouragement, he gave in at last, letting his instincts and his experience and his desire lead the way. He smoothed his hands against her sides as he leaned in to touch his lips to her skin, leaving a soft trail of kisses from her throat to soft swell of her breasts. Trembling hands gently caressed and kneaded that soft curve of flesh while his lips drifted in slow and careful exploration.

It had been a long time since anyone had touched her like this - too long, and yet she would have waited an eternity for his hands, his touch. Shifting with gently sensual desire beneath him, she was not afraid to encourage him with her own pleasure, given voice in tender moans as her fingers traced through his hair, over the smooth line of his back. His name was always on the cusp of those moans as she rose to meet his desire, as eager for him as he was for her.

Encouraged as he was, his inhibitions fell slowly away as he gave himself over to desire. It didn't take much for his desire to deepen. She was all that he'd thought about, all that he'd wanted for days, and now that she had given herself to him, he was unable to pretend any longer. He was an experienced enough lover to know what a woman wanted, but as much as he wanted her, he wanted this first time to be slow and tender; he wanted this first time to be something she'd remember. Very slowly, he worked his way down her body, touching and tasting her, pausing a moment to touch his lips to the spattering of freckles that seemed to form the shape of a butterfly against the plane of her stomach. He moved ever downward, easing his hands against her legs beneath that skirt and teasing the warm of her womanhood with a mere touch of fingers.

Any hesitation she might have felt was long gone as he plied her with lips and hands, seeming to know just where to linger, where to touch, how to tease even the most innocuous place on her skin to bring his name to her lips all over again. Breathless, Kit could have sworn she had already reached that pinnacle, and yet he had hardly even begun with her, aching to touch the way she was being touched but barely able to form the thought, much less the words, to beg for it. She'd almost forgotten she was still only half-undressed, until she felt the smooth slip of his hands beneath her skirt, the barrier of pink satin between his intention and her desire. If he wanted to make this memorable, he already had.

It was not only his goal to make this first time memorable, but to show her without words what he could not quite bring himself to say. As he made slow and deliberate love to her, it seemed another part of him came forward, making him feel things he hadn't quite felt before. There was a bond between them he could not deny, a bond that had been in place since before he had met her, since before he had knocked on her front door to escape the storm. This was what he wanted to show her and tell her and share with her - this love and desire that burned deeply in his heart and soul and that he was barely aware of, until this very moment. Perhaps it was only desire, but he had never wanted any woman before the way he wanted her and suddenly, he couldn't help himself, unable to wait any longer. He drew that barrier of pink satin away from her only to ply her further with not only fingers but mouth and lips and tongue, tasting and teasing, exploring and memorizing, until neither one of them could stand it much longer.

She melted to his every touch, aware in the furthest confines of her mind that something had changed, something was different, but unable to spare a thought to examine just what that might be. It was his name on her lips - Rand - not the name of the captain who had won her for him, primed her to fall so hopelessly that she couldn't imagine another day without this wonderful man in her life. This man, no other. He held her heart in a way no one ever had or ever would, be they ghost or man, and under his teasing loving, she felt no glimmer of shame or embarrassment in the eager sound of her own voice as she rose in crescendo under his touch, begging at the last for the teasing to end. She wanted him, more than she had wanted anything, anyone, every fiber of her being crying out to love and be loved and never let go.

Suddenly, he couldn't wait any longer, something deep inside him that he could not name or was even barely aware of crying out for fulfillment. He had waited a very long time to make her his and he couldn't bear to wait any longer. He drew back just long enough to shed his pants, all the while watching her with eyes dark and bright with desire, Whether she joined him or not in shedding that last layer, the skirt posed no barrier. He bared himself to her completely, letting her judge for herself at long last whether she found him desirable or repugnant.

It was the work of a moment to wriggle out of her skirt, baring herself to him as he bared himself to her, finally revealing the little blue monster that rested on the sharp point of her right hip with the barest of embarrassed smiles for the silly little tattoo. There was not even the merest hint that she found him anything but perfect, rising up onto her knees on the bed to pull him onto the soft covers with her, lips hungry for kisses, hands eager to touch as much as he would allow. They shared an impatience that seemed so much greater than they were, warm and eager to fulfill each other's desires as limbs tangled in a loving fall to the bed.

He couldn't help but notice the little blue monster, but he made no mention of it at present, not wanting to distract either of them or ruin the mood. He went to her eagerly, more than ready to finish what they'd started. It wasn't long before they were tangled together in that age-old dance of lovers, giving as much as he was taking, hearts beating together as their bodies rose to the pinnacle of passion only to go crashing over the edge.

There was no thought for the other part of him in her at all now, every nuance, every part of her given over to the man who held her so tightly, loved her so tenderly, who moved with her until she could barely breathe with the need to give him the sign of her own passion in a glorious explosion that belonged only to him. And give it to him, she did, in a writhing tangle of flexing limbs and arching back, his name yelled rather joyously to the house that had watched over every part of their odd, precious courtship.

"Kit, I..." He trailed off, as she pressed the ring into his hand, frowning sadly at her. He found her touch, her kisses and caresses, soothing, comforting, reassuring, but then there was that ring in the palm of his hand and he wasn't quite sure what to do with it. "I wish you would keep it," he told her quietly, though he understood why she was giving it back, until such time as he was willing to give it to her again. He laid back on the bed with a sigh and slid that ring onto his pinky finger, where it just barely fit. "I wish I was him," he said quietly. "Things would be easier if I was him, if I could remember everything you shared." Or so he thought.

"You are him," she murmured, rolling to rest against his chest, unwilling to break the intimacy of contact, skin to skin, even for a short while. "Or rather, he is you. He taught me how to love you, Rand. Life wouldn't be worth living if everything came easily." Her fingers trailed against his jaw as she looked down at him. "I wish I could help."

"Perhaps you can," he said, turning his head toward her, some infinite and unexplained sadness reflected in those blue-green eyes of his. "What is the summer house?" he asked, curiously. "I keep having these strange dreams. Someone telling me not to go to the summer house. What happened there" I can't seem to remember."

Of all the questions he could have asked her, she never expected that one. The breath left her lungs in a rush, shocked by the question as much by the way it threw her mind back to April, to what she had witnessed for herself. She never wanted to relive those moments of watching someone she loved in such awful, inconsolable pain. But hadn't she promised she would do everything she could to help Rand understand what was happening here"

She rolled onto her back, staring up at the ceiling through eyes blurry with tearful distress. "He killed himself there," she whispered, with all the horror of someone who had been unable to do anything but stand by and watch. "After he was sent home from the front during World War One, he was so vulnerable, suffering with P.T.S.D. and survivor's guilt. The one person he thought he could lean on - his wife - wasn't waiting for him. She'd left him for another man. And on his birthday, I think she sent him back her wedding ring." As she spoke, silent tears rolled from her eyes, her fingers clenched in the sheet. "It was too much. He went out to the summer house, and he shot himself through the temple."

He furrowed his brows as she told him the story of the horror that had happened in the summer house, which had caused the subsequent damning of his house. "Bloody hell," he whispered under his breath, closing his eyes and seeing it all play out before his eyes, just as she described it, though he was unsure if it was only his imagination or his memory that brought it to mind and made it look so real. He could see it all playing out in his head, up until the part where he pulled the trigger. There was no more after that, all of it fading to black. "Why would she do that?" he asked, opening his eyes and turning his head toward her again, only then noticing her tears. "Didn't she know how it would destroy him?" Me, not him. A part of myself I don't remember.

Kit let out a low, shaken breath. "I don't know," she told him truthfully, one trembling hand rising to try and brush the wetness from her skin. "She had her reasons, and at the time, they must have seemed right. She went out of her way to try and put things right for him." There was a long pause as she struggled with herself, finally admitting to how she knew. "I saw it happen," she confessed, troubled by the memory of the replayed memory she had witnessed. "It replays every April 14th. I couldn't stop myself going there, and I couldn't make myself look away. The only reason I didn't see the shot was because he wouldn't let me."

He rolled over to gape at her, a shocked horrified look on his face. "You saw it' Didn't he warn you to stay away' Good lord, Kit. I'm so sorry," he said, unsure why he was apologizing exactly, except that it must have been horrible for her, and if he'd known, he'd never have asked her about it. He leaned close to brush the tears from her face with a tender touch, his heart aching for her, more than for himself. It was a tragedy he didn't remember, though if he was going to be whole, he was going to have to remember it.

"He warned me," she nodded, looking up at him as he brushed the tears from her cheeks. "He told me never to go near, but ....I don't know. The house was so sad, and so angry, all day, and I had to get out. But when I was in the garden, I saw someone moving in the summer house, and ..." She shook her head, rolling into him, pressing her face into the crook of his neck for a long moment. "It isn't your fault," she told him softly. "It's no one's fault but mine. I should never have left the house."

"No," he disagreed, as he took her into his arms, wrapping her in his embrace, heart to heart, warm flesh to warm flesh, soul to soul. "It was no one's fault," he said, not even blaming Isabelle. Too much time had passed, and there had been enough tragedy. The time for blame had passed; it was time now for forgiveness and healing and faith. He drew his fingers through her hair, letting her cry if she wanted to, his heart aching for her, for them both, and for Isabelle, too. It seemed it was up to him to make sense of all this and to finally put it to rest, to save all their souls. "I swear it will never happen again. I will never take my life again, so long as you are with me." They were words that could have been said by her captain, that had been said by her captain, nearly word for word, though he didn't remember saying it.

She shuddered just a little in his embrace, no more tears but aching in her own way for the knowledge that if he was truly going to reclaim all of himself, he would have to relive that horrific moment from his own point of view. "I will always be with you," she promised him in return, raising her head to look into his eyes, fierce with fervent certainty.

He cupped her face between his slender fingers, pushing the tangle of chestnut hair back from her face. "Promise," he said, though he thought he shouldn't ask this of her. You promised him once, now promise me. Love me the way you loved him. Not just words, but true love.

"I just did," she told him, feeling her heart break just a little for the desperate need in him to be so reassured of her love. Her palm pressed over his heart as she looked into his eyes. "I promise you, Rand, I will be with you for as long as you need me, as long as you want me. And even if you walk away, I'll still be here, in case you change your mind. I'm nothing without you."

"Then you should keep this," he told her, tugging the ring from his pinky and placing it once again on her finger, where it truly belonged. "Part of me already loves you, Kit. The other half just needs to catch up."

He could have made her cry in that instant, if her heart hadn't leaped at this partway acknowledgement of his own feelings. "I'll wait," she promised him fondly, drawing her fingers through his hair as she nestled closer, brushing her lips to his. "As long as it takes."

His thumb brushed against her cheek, tenderly, affectionately, as he returned that kiss with equal warmth. He didn't think she'd have to wait long, not if they kept going like this. "I haven't told you this because I didn't want to frighten you or pressure you, but I've never felt like this before, Kit. Never. Not even once. I've been alone for so long. I don't think I can live without you anymore."

"You won't have to." The kiss she pressed to his lips sealed that promise tight, soft and longing as her arms curled about him once again. They would have to get out of bed to eat at some point, but right now she could see no reason to let him out of her arms at all.

Though he hadn't said the words directly, if that wasn't a declaration of love, he didn't know what was. He curled his arms around her, pulling her closer, turning so that their bodies fit tightly together, his body warming to her again, wanting her. He didn't care if they spent the entire day in bed. All he wanted was to hold her safe in his arms for as long as time allowed, be that all day or the rest of their lives.

((Well, they made it! One giant leap for Randal-kind!))