*****047:

He showed up at her place in Laguna at five a.m. knowing she'd be up, and she was. The light in her upstairs bedroom shone brightly through the beach fog as he pulled up—dawn barely breaking over the ocean on the cliffs in her backyard. She was not waiting for him. He imagined she'd be working lines.

A big black dude came out of the apartment over the separate garage, yawning, and looking completely unprofessional, but he knew it was Jake the second he approached. It was clear Jake recognized him as well, and he nodded and went back inside. That was gratifying.

He tried the front door. It was locked.

But when he backed up to see the window again, she'd heard his car and maybe his knock. The window opened and her face pressed against the screen. "What are you doing here?"

"Miss me?" He lowered his voice so as not to wake Danny if he was in there with her.

"Gees, no!" She shut the window and he saw the wavering of the hall light as she hurried down the stairs and opened the door for him. He was dressed for a workout.

"I saw your gym yesterday when I toured your new place. Thought we could have a session--- or some yoga, or a run on the beach, or----." He held up his palms, showing her his surrender. He'd come because he couldn't sleep and he had to see her, it was that simple.

"I thought you might have come to retrieve your ferret." She grimaced, jerking her head in the direction of the stairs. "Come look."

He followed her curvy little behind up the carpeted steps, eyeing the view appreciatively. She went directly into her room, and there on the bed was Danny, red hair standing on end, Voltron pajamas slightly askew, the snaps undone at the waist, and beside him, curled into the blankets was the ferret.

It's sleepy eyes peered at him intently, wicked teeth bared in a warning grin for just a slight second before it stretched and yawned, arching its slinky little back, before relaxing back into its warm cocoon.

"Shit." He whispered approvingly.

Tracy pulled him by the arm out to the hall. "What are you really here for?"

"Seriously? Surfing. Yeah, I was hoping to surf with you."

"Surf with me." She repeated lamely.

"Yeah." He shrugged. "I know you surf. I saw the cover of The Star."

"Yeah, I surf, but, we've got rehearsal in three hours. I'm not----." He realized she held a script, so he pulled it out of her unresisting fingers and held it out of her reach.

"You can become Nastya Alla later, right now be Tracy." His eyes, so knowing, pierced hers. "You know, we don't have to be out there that long. Give me forty-five minutes."

"Forty-five."

"What are you a parrot? You repeat everything I say!" He smacked that cute butt, adorned only in cut off sweats, giving it a flirty squeeze to go with, so she'd scurry. She did.

He stared around, noting the up to date furnishings again, this time wondering if this was her style or if she'd had someone decorate for her. She came down dressed in this God awful bathing suit. He could have been surprised, but he'd seen it before. He shook his head.

"You know it makes you look sexy hot when you wear that vintage suit. Shows off all your curves in all the right places."

She led the way to the garage, where Kirk had unloaded her surfboards just last night when he and Coral had come to drop Danny off after his day with them.

"Um hm." She replied. "So they tell me. In words like: what is that rag you're wearing? And: how about a bikini, Tracy?" She pushed the button on the wall and the doors opened. A light came on and Richard saw her board. His was on top of his car.

"They lie to you." He stressed the word lie, and retrieved his board as they made their way down the new wooden plank steps put in for the express purpose of beach front access.

"I have mirrors, Richard." She laughed and carried her board down the steps. "And I'm warning you again, I'm a serious surfer. As serious about it as I am about religion. You will not bother me while I'm catching waves."

He glanced at the water, covered in misty swirls of fog. "Yeah, well, I won't even be able to see you let alone bother you, so no worries."

But she was right, she skimmed the surface so quickly, dodged and slipped through waves with such easy grace, he hadn't even been completely aware of her passing, as he took a face-full of salt water, and shivered, wishing he'd donned a wetsuit, as she had. Hers was a full wetsuit, and form fitting, his was a borrowed half suit, and too big. He felt the water and the rub instantly.

They didn't talk.

Richard kept his eye on her, though, watching as she waited patiently, sitting her board like it was an extension of self, laying on it, paddling closer to the cresting tunnels. She was good--- at ease in the water, more at ease than he was. The black suit did nothing to reveal her, but the black suit paired with the white surfboard, kept her somewhat silhouetted against the inky black of the water.

And eventually, she'd surfaced nearby. "I'm glad you came over."

He grunted a reply, as the sun peered through the clouds, and the gray of the water took on a bluish sheen.

"Why did you?"

"What? Come over?"

"Yeah."

"A little worried about you. Yesterday was a big day."

She nodded, staring out toward Catalina, not seeing it, or anything except the next swell.

"Tell me about Nastya."

He nodded, glad for the break. She looked too lovely, too perfect this morning, the fresh bloom of exercise, the golden clarity of unblemished skin, the way her hair slicked back in messy waves, artfully coiling around each other like his vision of a mermaid.

So he told her about their character. Nastya Alla, a seventeen-year-old Russian Inuit, second generation Alaskan. Set in the 1870's, Alaska was still claimed by the Russians, who invaded regularly and took captives, Nastya's mother had been one such. Yet, the girl had escaped her father's people, and returned to her native land, bringing with her a love of music, skill with hunting and weapons, and a deep hatred for war. Her story was part of the liberation of the Inuit Tribes, her story was heartbreaking and heart warming. She belonged to Alaska and needed expression.

Tracy listened with rapt attention, having recently read all she could about the history, now she heard the character she was to portray from one who'd been captivated by her conception. She began to understand Richard and Austin's infatuation with the film. It really would be epic.

But he'd gone on.

"We bought some land there, Austin and I. Two parcels, in the outback. Accessible only by plane."

"And I'm a pilot."

"Yes, a huge draw, but not the only draw. It's a perk, that's all."

"What will you do with your land?"

"Build."

"Build what?"

"Cabins. We plan to have summer family reunions there someday. Our two families."

"Do you--- have a family?"

"Not yet. But I plan to, someday."

"Complete with children, Richard?"

"Yes."

She blew out her breath and it fogged in the early chill. "Then why the heck do you use drugs?"

He stared out to sea again, watched a gull fly overhead, clenched the board in mounting annoyance.

"Not something you ask people, Trace. It should be obvious. Don't make me defend my right to use whatever gets me through the day."

"Do you have so much to escape from, Richard? Really? Isn't life without drugs meaningful?"

He felt very defensive. Her little moral diatribe irked him immediately. He paddled into the next swell and let himself drift farther away.

"Are you kidding?" She yelled over the roar of the breakers. "You can't answer me? Coward, Richard! Be a man, answer me."

"I like the drugs!" He yelled back and then paddled faster into the breaking thrust.

Tracy caught the same wave, further up the swell, practically in the white water, but reined herself in as Richard got munched.

"Drugs alter your perceptions, change your personality. Why is that so appealing? Tell me. I'd really like to know."

"You helped Jules, I know you understand, so why are you pushing this?"

"Jules had an incredibly awful childhood filled with a manic father and depressed mother, and little or no guidance, coupled with abuse. He had a reason to try and escape it all."

"You defend him, and make allowances?" Richard pulled up closer to her and flung his hair out so that droplets scoured the calm swells.

"I understand his reason. I defend nobody. I personally hate being out of control of myself, my mind or my body. I'll never take drugs. I get high on life." She flung her own hair out, up and down fast, and settled it down her back, eyeing the next action.

"I have my reasons."

"What? A terrible childhood?"

"It's not something I care to talk about with you."

"Oh." She seemed disappointed, and instantly laid flat again and paddled out further to catch a different set.

Richard rolled his eyes. "Dammit, Tracy! Come back here."

She paddled expertly, faster, and pulled up just in time to catch another breaker.

He waited in the slower surf. "Tracy! It's not like that. I want to tell you. I do. I think we have become close enough friends, but----."

"It's okay. I don't need to know."

"No, you do. But---."

"Forget I asked Richard."

"Trace---."

"Seriously. Forget it." She flung her hair again, refused to look at him and paddled into one last wave.

With a drawn out angry sigh he caught her as she carried her board up the sand.

"I've gotta get back." She flung her arm out of his grasp as he tried to stop her heading up the dry sand quickly.

"Not before I explain myself. I have that right." His eyes held hers now as the sunlight penetrated the last of the burn off leaving sparkles and glistens.

She stood still, at the foot of the stairs, staring straight ahead.

"I'm not proud of my past." He gritted, biting his lips. "I wish I could take it all back. There are things I've done that are beyond unspeakable. And I'm not ready to share."

"You're ready to bury it all in alcohol and cocaine? What? Do you hope it will kill enough brain cells----."

"Oh, shut up with the moral judgments, I've had enough of it! You stand there judging me, cowering under the banner of your holier than thou religious rationale, without even knowing where I've been or what I've done. I'm here for you. I've been here for you, taking the brunt of your indecision, your immature inability to cope with even the smallest of deviations, your pop diva eccentricity. I'm here. I'm still here. I'm available."

Her eyes scrunched up. "Who asked you to be? Me? No!"

"Our friendship doesn't give you the right to judge me."

"Yes, it does! It implies trust and concern and caring, and yeah--- I have the right to ask you hard questions. And I deserve answers. Even if the answers are simply, Tracy, I like drugs, they give me pleasure and I don't care if they kill my brain cells, I hope they do as a matter of fact." She swung her board and mounted the stairs.

"Tracy, I like drugs. They give me pleasure. They dull the ache of rejection and stop the flow of the unwanted guilty stream of thought accusations that plague me day and night. And they kill the damn pain of seeing you with your fiancé, and knowing that I want you."

She froze on the stairs just five up, and swung her board around, as he stood at the bottom staring up at her, vulnerable and exposed.

The board slipped in her hands, and she readjusted it awkwardly. "What did you say?" Her voice trembled, her eyes were wide and shocked.

But she had to have known, he thought. He'd paid her more attention in the last month than anyone else, ever. His biggest fear was that she was beginning to consider him like she did Jules, like a brother. He didn't want that from her.

"I said, I want you." The words left his heart unprotected, a thing he tried never to do.

Her mouth dropped open slightly, the breeze blew her hair across her face and she didn't move it.

"You can't."

"I can--- I do."

"I'm engaged."

"Engaged isn't married."

"It implies marriage."

"It's not set in stone."

"It implies commitment. I'm not willing to entertain."

"You have--- you do." He cocked his head at her, deeply inside holding his breath, praying---if he knew how to pray--- that she'd see what he saw. They already had something--- he knew it. Just needed to explore it.

"We shouldn't see each other anymore. I'm sorry----." She shook herself, visibly relegating him to a spot outside of her realm.

He dumped the board and took the steps, grabbing her gently by the shoulders, looking into her eyes. "Trace--- it's here for us, can't you feel it? Burning inside us? I know you care for Raine, and he's a great guy, but he's not your guy. He can't relate to you the way I can. I feel you. I see you. I want you."

She jerked out of his grip. "Richard, you can't be saying these things. I'm really sorry you feel this----."

"It's not just me. I know you feel it too." He let her go, realizing she wasn't ready to acknowledge her feelings, or make any changes. Tracy was nothing if not stubbornly loyal to whatever decisions she'd already made. Like being Danny's mother, nothing could make her back down, once she'd committed to it.

She sniffed forcefully, her eyes reflecting the morning sun. "Richard, it's very flattering, but we hardly know----."

"Oh my God, Trace, we do know each other. We've spent practically every moment in each other's presence for the last two months. You can't deny we've built this amazing relationship."

"I don't deny it!" She snapped. "It is amazing, and fun and great, and yeah--- there's nothing wrong with our friendship. But that's all it is. You're friends with Raine too. How could you even think of doing this to him?"

Richard stepped back. "All I'm asking is that you think about it. Give us a chance. Put me in a different perspective in your brain. Can you do that? I don't want to see you make a terrible mistake."

"Raine is not a terrible mistake! He's everything I want in my husband. He's clean, and strong, and a member of my church, for Pete's sake, Richard. The foundation we built is already based on shared beliefs. You and I----."

"Teach me about your beliefs then. I'm willing."

She scoffed. "No, you're not. Just out there, you basically told me you didn't trust me, and couldn't confide in me because you feel I am too religiously judgmental. Just out there, may I remind you? You just said those words."

He rubbed the back of his head. "Yeah, I know I did. I know it, but there are things I'm just not ready----."

"I get it. That's true, but it means we are not going to have this conversation."

"What?! Wait!" He leaped back up to her and took her by the shoulders again. "Tracy, please!"

She stared into his determined, but desperate expression, his eyes pleading with her to understand him--- where he was coming from, and why. And she could--- she wanted to, dang it--- she wanted to. The crashing of waves and the crashing of his music was startling in intensity and stark beauty. There was something about being with Richard that lifted her--- as if he got her on a level that wasn't possible with anyone else.

But there was also this gulf between them.

A huge, wide, unfathomable gulf!

She jerked her head to the side, negating his claim on her. Richard's palms splayed against her face, cupping her cheeks as he crowded her on the stair. Her heart beat frantically.

His thumbs smoothed her cheeks, her chin, his finger laid solemnly against her nose and lips. This was Richard--- fervent, profound, impassioned. A part of her craved this--- the cutting power of him with her. Her desire was to submit—and feel his strength claim her, heighten her, and absorb her.

She closed her eyes, waiting--- knowing--- he would take--- he would give---

His lips came--- but not against hers, on her forehead, slowly, lingering there, pressing as if impressing on her his own battles. Then he let her go and turned back to the beach. His shoulders were not slumped, not defeated, but empowered---

She swallowed, shaking off the sudden stirring arousal. Her whole body shivered.

I have to go.

He has to go.

I have to think.

*******