Professional Integrity

The Night We Met

She came back around in the RV and picked him up from the coffee shop. Appropriately shamed for his ridiculousness, he was quiet and gentle to her for the better part of two hours.

"Are you sure you want to go there?" She asked for the millionth time, as if he were struck with the same fear as she at the island.

"Absolutely." He slid into the driver's seat and scooted the chair back, a ritual now. "And if it isn't home for you anymore, we'll find you a new one. That's the point of your trip, isn't it?"

Her smile was sunlight incarnate, and then it wobbled on the seam of her lips and she buried her face in her hands.

"Woah now." He cupped his hand over hers. "What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry." She mumbled. "The idea of not having you around anymore was... I was more upset than you know. It broke my heart a little bit."

God, he was such an idiot.

"I'm sorry." It felt like a pathetic little cop out of an apology, but he told himself he would make it better. "I promise I won't leave you."

"You'd better not."

It was several long hours before they reached a campground in the farthest northern reach of Michigan, right near what they called Mackinaw City, confusingly enough. It sat on the edges of Lake Michigan, and there, across the water, he could see the little speck of land suspended between them and Canada. Crisp, clean air swept through her hair, sending it in long ripples around her face.

"There's a ferry you have to catch," she educated him. "It takes a bit, but that's the only way on or off the island. No cars, no bridges, just that."

"We'll go tomorrow. For today, we should just set up the RV in the campsite."

So that was what they did. They played classic rock and grilled outside in the shelter of some trees, dancing back and forth around the table after she started an impromptu game of tag. Maybe there was something to the idea of her being 'home' up here–he didn't know if it was the rush of being back by her side, within arm's reach again, but she was aglow in ways he didn't know people could be. It felt like every part of her body was glitter and gold, a dream haze like a halo around her.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" She giggled at him from the sink, scrubbing up some dishes. He crammed himself in beside her, dutifully drying them.

"Like what?"

"I dunno. It was just a nice look, is all."

Mitsuhide smiled, but had nothing to say to that.

The next day they boarded the ferry around ten AM. She shivered, but not from the cool morning air.

"Scared?" He asked.

"Ahuh."

He understood what it felt like to be so terrified of something you could love. Without commentary, he wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her in tight.

Mackinac Island was just as small as she'd claimed. The town they docked in was tiny, barely one main street and a small side offshoot for an apartment complex, a country club with golf course, a hotel, and–well, that was pretty much it. Everyone had a bike or a horse.

"It's just like I remember." The Princess sounded equally likely to laugh or cry, her eyes welling with tears regardless. "It's just, just like I remember."

"Then let's make the most of that, huh?" He motioned at her. "Let's rent some bikes and pedal around the island."

The path was smooth and even. They circled around the small mountain in the center of the island and skirted between the white rocky cliffs, their archways jutting out into the lake. They ate a small lunch in a local shop and she dove in and out of local curio stores, which bored him, but her expressions were so delightful he had entertainment regardless. Dusk was falling by the time they circled back around to the far end of the island again, settling onto a pebble beach.

"Reminds me of a song," he mumbled.

"What song?" She asked.

"Bah, it's probably only the artist name, really. Lord Huron, The Night We Met?"

The Princess blinked at him. "Never heard of it."

"Mm. It goes like this." He cleared his throat, dredging up his long unused singing voice, and quietly murmured the lyrics to her. "I am not the only traveler who has not repaid his debts, I've been searching for a trail to follow again–take me back to the night we met."

"I didn't know you could sing. Would you do the rest?"

Oh. He felt a little on the spot, but he quietly accommodated her, bringing his head in to sing more. " And then I can tell myself what the hell I'm supposed to do–And then I can tell myself not to ride along with you."

Her eyes were boring into his, holding every last inch of stray sunlight, and he tucked her hair behind her ear, murmuring the next lyrics lower than he meant. "I had all and then most of you, some and now none of you. Take me back to the night we met. I don't know what I'm supposed to do, haunted by the ghost of you. Oh, take me back to the night we met."

"Mitsuhide." She whispered, and put her hands over his cheeks. "Mitsuhide, please don't ever leave me again."

"I promise," he swore hoarsely. "I promise."

That night, another night terror. He was on his feet in the RV only shortly after it started, buoyed by the need to soothe her restless heart.

"Princess." He murmured, touching her head, and she awoke with a start.

"Mitsuhide," she choked, and grabbed his hand. "Mitsuhide."

"It's me." He answered, feeling more and more every day like a knight in service to his lady. "It's me."

"I–Would you–"

He didn't need her to finish the sentence.

Swinging himself up into the loft bed, he crawled in beside her, arranging his long body along hers. It was cramped for certain–there wasn't much clearance, not much at all, but it was enough for him to wrap an arm around her waist and pull her in tight to him. He could hear her heartbeat. Her shampoo smelled like lavender and juniper berries, and she felt so soft that he swore it had to be a crime to touch her skin.

But she didn't pull away. Instead, she rolled over to him and put her face into his chest.

"Mitsuhide," she whispered, scarcely audible in the darkness. "Would it be very inappropriate of me to ask you to kiss me?"

Oh. Shock shot so hard through his body that for a long moment, all he could hear was ringing in his ears, his fingertips knotting nervously into the sheets.

"Absolutely." He answered. "We have a bit of a power differential. I am, after all, your bodyguard."

"You're right."

But he pushed her back against the mattress and coiled his hand in her hair–her long, beautiful, perfect hair–and measured the shape of her face with his fingertips, leaving no space untouched. She gasped and writhed under him; he pinned her hip down with his.

"I almost had the idiot idea to leave," Mitsuhide hissed greedily. "You're not getting away from me now."

"I–" She sounded delighted and terrified. "I'm where I want to be."

He didn't care if he went straight to hell for it. He'd laid the pomegranate seeds on the table and she had taken them, one, two, three, like a drug, and he was only cementing that choice with his own. Casting his professional integrity to the wind, he dragged her in by her waist and kissed her as hard as he could. Oh–she tasted like air, and a million miles, and the wide expanse of the whole sky mixed with ozone and lightning, and every moment he spent locked against those sweet lips was another he fell in deeper. She wasn't just the atmosphere–she was the whole galaxy.

"Mitsuhide," she gasped, and it was so pure and honest that it nearly broke him. "Mitsuhide."

"Please," he choked against her mouth. "Please let me kiss you more."

She didn't answer him, but he took the insistent press of her lips to his as answer enough.