The Leaf

Touch

Raymond

Raymond would not be able to sleep through the night. He knew that, long before he sensed Claire Wesley crying, the history logs not mentioning anything about it.

It was too warm, he finally understood why Tony Wesley always slept shirtless. He used to think it was to parade the impressive muscles that he worked on daily. It was impossible to stay covered through the night otherwise, Raymond discovered, sweating under thick covers.

Each Wesley had their own set of sheets - black, like all the interior design accents in the master bedroom. The hourglass-shaped vase that would die unused, set on the lone minimalist shelf that decorated the walls. The TV that would never be watched by both Wesleys at the same time. The square pillows, too many for a family, let alone for a couple that would never have children spend one night under their roof.

March 16, 2019 was a night recorded as silent, with few to no words exchanged, followed by an eight-hour sleep, backs turned to each other.

Claire Wesley crying was a deviation.

She was trying to hide it by being still and keeping her breath silent, but the bed trembled in an unmistakable rhythm. Actually, if the scene were muted it could still resemble that saved night: they stood like the couple always did, with space for two more people between them. It was exactly as the logs showed. The Great Blackout had ensured that Claire Wesley's crying would be erased from history. To be erased again, if only Raymond would let her cry. Do not interfere.

There was something about living the life of Tony Wesley exactly like he would that made it worth less to Raymond. He would live as close to the logs as possible, but not at the expense of someone else.

The Ethics classes were the first any new cadet took, on their way to becoming a field agent. The oath was clear, its priorities three:

Do not interfere with the timeline.

Execute your mission.

Take care of The Leaf.

Raymond wasn't an agent, so he hadn't sworn anything to anyone. And if it were his choice he would only abide by the third.

His speech was ready, he had hoped to use it during the next glitch -- thirty-four hours long. Set to start the night of the dinner party that the Wesleys would be invited to, the next day.

Claire

Tony's hand on her stomach confirmed that he had indeed turned to shift closer to her. In the complete darkness of the room, it seemed like a dream to Claire. That he would ever react by feeling her skin to pull her into him.

"I have something to tell you."

His voice was low. It was bad. Claire forgot her sadness and replaced it with anger. It felt easier when communicating with Tony. Their bodies touched, and she was sad again.

"A new affair?"

"An old one," he said. Claire could not stop the pain coming back. "It's over," his arms tightened around her body, not rushing to reach between her thighs, already tense in anticipation, prepared for an unwanted advance.

"I want to start over," he made them tense even more.

Fear washed over in waves. He would hurt her again, only his purpose was not obvious this time. He had never admitted his infidelity, preferring to call her crazy. Claire stayed silent.

"I know you don't believe me," he said into her hair. "But I mean it. I understand you are hurt and might need time to evaluate your feelings for me. I am willing to give you all the time you need."

Speechless, Claire used her next defense, turning to face him, kissing his cheek, her body half-climbing him, arms going around him, only to come back again. Feeling the pattern of his chest, harsher than she remembered it, made of wider bricks of muscles.

Vodka had a way of altering memories, so it only made Claire want to touch more of her husband's skin, to reacquaint. They hadn't been so close to each other in months. They still had sex, always on his terms, but he liked to keep his clothes on, not caring if she took off hers if he could enter where he wanted to enter.

Encouraged, Claire joked, "You must really want that thing you asked me to do," she ran her lips down his chest, her tongue following a well-marked path down, his hair not much of an opposition. "You're pulling out all the stops."

His arms trapped her, her descent foiled too soon. She surrendered for a moment. "Fine, I'll do it," she kissed the closest square inch of dark skin available, stiffening under her lips. She liked the effect she had on him, he rarely showed it. Gaining confidence, her fingers took their time on edges her lips wanted to make theirs again.

Tony was too calm, like he'd been many times just before he would explode in anger. But he liked her touching him so Claire wasn't afraid. His grip grew tighter, forcing her into obedience as his hand kept her on him, her cheek stopped just above the line of his boxers, peeking white letters on black. Claire found a new game, unnecessarily rearranging his waistband layers.

"Don't rush into this, maybe take at least the night. I was awful to you," he put his hand on hers, ending her quest. "Maybe we're too far gone to be saved. But we'll only know if we try on a clean slate. Just make sure you can, after everything."

Claire focused on his stomach, carved into portions that were all she wanted to investigate. Instead of the meaning behind his words. They screamed the truth at Claire, louder than her husband's suddenly increased frame, and newfound gentle touch.

There was no way the man spread under her, holding her to stop her descent into his pants, where she would be responding to the obvious interest inside them, was Tony.

"Let's both think about what we want from our marriage, and talk again in the morning, or whenever you are ready," the stranger said. "I am prepared to do whatever it takes."

Tony's black eyes stared at her, their white the only thing about him visible in the night, because he never smiled. Claire's mind circled with possibilities, all impossible.

Hot air burned her throat, every new breath adding to its fire.