by Bel-wah
Belwah82@aol.com

(See PART 1 for disclaimer and author’s note.)

Rebecca Hanson had no clear memory of how she got back to the Pensione Ausonia. Her walk was a darkened, raging blur: storming past the tightly shuttered shops of the Via Condotti, pausing once to tear off her right shoe. She could only surmise that its mate lay somewhere on the bottom of the Tiber.

Barefoot, damp, and cold, she passed blindly through the cobbled Piazza di Spagna, ignoring the frank stares of the few people gathered there for a late-night glass of wine or cappuccino. Finally, she pushed through the creaky door of the pensione.

Still furious, she chose the stairs, preferring to walk up the four flights rather than use the lift. Ha! Take THAT, Catherine Phillips! Her feet slapped on the cold tiles of the lobby as she blew past Signora Canova, sitting at her usual station behind the desk.

"Miss Hanson!" The older woman’s sigaretta tumbled from her mouth into her lap, and she leapt to her feet, brushing her hands against her colorful butterfly dress. "What happen, bella? Where Miss Phillips?" Her pince-nez popped off the bridge of her nose and were saved from hitting the floor by the safety chain around her neck.

"Good night, Signora Canova!" Becky said firmly, holding up a silencing hand as she marched up the steps. Granted, she’d never seen the Signora so animated, but the last thing she wanted to do was have a conversation about her misadventures this evening. God, the sooner she could put all this humiliation behind her, the better!

How could she have been so stupid? So wrong?

Her breathing was labored by the time she rounded the final marble landing to the fifth floor. Maybe the steps hadn’t been such a bright idea after all. She padded down the hallway and let herself into the empty, quiet room.

Becky stood there for a time in the dark, among the antique furnishings, listening to the soft noises of the square filtering through the open window. She walked over to it and, after a moment’s hesitation, slammed it shut.

She wanted to block it out. All of it. The cool night air. The sounds of people enjoying themselves. Any trace of Catherine Phillips.

A chill raced through her, and she headed towards the bathroom; stripping off her sodden blouse, kicking out of her skirt as she went. The soreness of her stiffened body matched the ache in her soul, and events of the day caught up with her in a rush, taking their toll. The young flight attendant decided a bath might help with both.

She stepped onto the cool tiles, closing the door quietly behind her, and flipped on the low lights above the gilt-edged vanity mirror. A twist of a handle later, and the great, claw-footed porcelain tub began to fill with warm, steamy water.

Becky’s gaze fell upon the basket of bath salts. Why not, she thought. She picked up a lilac-colored bottle, sniffed the flowery scent of its contents, and poured it into the water. A light layer of fragrant bubbles began to form just above the water line.

She didn’t have to worry about getting her wound wet any longer, and it wasn’t as if she’d had a choice earlier, anyway. So she peeled off the damp gauze from her shoulder, pleased that the action hadn’t hurt her too much at all. With a heavy sigh, she stepped into the tub, sat down, and eased herself cautiously against the back of it, welcoming the contrast of the cool surface against her gradually warming skin.

As bubbles continued to rise around her, Becky closed her eyes and allowed her head to droop back against the lip of the tub. Slowly, her anger seeped out from deep within her pores, pushing through her patina of embarrassment and shame, releasing into the soothing, scented waters.

Just what the hell had happened back there? A magical day had segued into an enchanted evening, and she’d been having a fantastic time on that barge – at least until the fight had broken out. But there had been Catherine Phillips, calling out to her, showing her the way, and she knew she’d be all right. She’d used the pilot’s blue eyes as her anchor as she maneuvered along the narrow deck, leaving the brawl behind her. She had almost made it – was reaching out to take the tall woman’s hand – and then she’d found herself flying noggin over teacups into the water.

She’d been disoriented for a moment until she fought her way back to the surface, and then too busy choking and sputtering out river water, to stop Kate from launching herself off the back of the barge.

By that time, Becky had found herself closer to the dock than to the floating nightspot, and so she’d stroked over to the side of it and waited there, unable to hoist herself up one-armed. The rioting on the barge had gone on unabated, and the seconds had stretched into - God – it seemed like hours, and still the pilot had not reappeared.

Becky wasn’t the strongest swimmer in the world, but she wasn’t about to… float idly by and do nothing. What if Kate had hit her head on that dive – or worse? And so she’d been about to release her hold on the low dock and strike out on her own rescue mission, when the still waters of the Tiber had parted, revealing Kate Phillips’ dark head and broad shoulders. The overwhelming relief that had flooded through Becky then, was near-indescribable.

Later, as they’d lain side-by-side on the moonlit dock, laughing, realizing they’d both survived yet another close call, Becky’s senses had been sizzling on overload. She simply couldn’t get close enough to the pilot; couldn’t resist any opportunity – no matter how contrived or unnecessary, to reach out and touch her bronze, silken skin.

She’d decided, then, to take a chance. It was worth it.

And when their laughter had faded away, when there was nothing but the soft glow of the moon and a zephyr of a breeze, Kate had turned to her with a look in her eyes that Becky knew had mirrored her own. Yearning. Desire. A painful, burning need that refused to be quenched unless… unless –

Becky groaned and slid down further in the nearly-full tub, turning off the tap with her foot.

They had kissed.

And kissed again.

In a purely physical sense, Becky had been rocked by her body’s response to Kate’s caress. It was as though a blast of high-voltage electricity had jolted through her body. Still, it wasn’t enough. She wanted more. Much more. And to her delight, it seemed Kate had felt the same. She would’ve sworn to it! There was no way she’d been mistaken – no way! Not when she thought back to how the pilot had responded to the contact – how her skin had thrummed in response to Becky’s own touch.

Yes, Rebecca Hanson, for once in her life, was willing to risk it all. To surrender her heart and body to this woman who’d occupied her every waking and dreaming thought, since the moment she’d first met her.

Now.

She was ready.

To her boundless, searing humiliation, Captain Catherine Phillips, evidently, was not.

Intermittent drops from the faucet plunked into the tub. The water slowly lapped against the porcelain sides at her every subtle movement; with every gentle breath. The heat of the bath was working, relaxing her muscles and taking away the coldness of her plunge into the river. Becky closed her eyes once more, and thought about the look on Kate’s face when she had slapped her. God, what had come over her? She’d never done anything like that before in her whole life. It was just that… the hurt inside – it was too much! And so she’d snapped.

She could feel it all over again now, the rejection. It was a dull pang blossoming in her chest, a tightness, gripping her there. This time, instead of striking out, Becky simply lifted a trembling hand to her head, and began to cry.

**********

When Catherine Phillips trailed through the lobby just a few moments after Rebecca Hanson, a worried Signora Canova had barely re-settled behind her desk, still reeling from Becky’s fly-by. Why, that poor little child! After all she’d been through – the Signora had read those stories in the newspapers – what had happened this night to give her such an appearance? No wonder the girl had seemed so distraught!

Now, here came her friend, that pilot. Tall, dark - and drenched, just like Miss Hanson had been. The America woman squished her way across the lobby, and Signora Canova opened her mouth as if to speak. This was her pensione, and she had a right to know what was going on! She’d always thought that big one was trouble, from the first moment her shadow had crossed the door of the Ausonia.

But no words came, for the Signora found herself impaled on two piercing, threatening blue eyes. Dio…The air whooshed from her lungs as though she’d been hit.

A fiery storm raged within that Catherine Phillips; she could see it now, a swirling deadly power behind that icy gaze. The Signora prudently determined that she’d do well to find safe harbor elsewhere.

Not wanting to give in entirely, she sniffed down her pince-nez at the younger woman, nervously fingering her bun, and then turned to retrieve some paperwork from the small office behind her desk. It needed to be done anyway, she rationalized, and now was as good a time as any. With a brusque nod, she watched sullen pilot pass. Like her friend before her, she chose the stairs.

Signora Canova knew a diavolo – ‘devil’ - when she saw one. The sooner the beast was gone, the better.

**********

Catherine Phillips was numb.

It had nothing to do with the clamminess of her skin, thanks to the river-damp clothes that clung to her. Nor was it associated with the cooling breezes of the Roman nighttime, that had been biting at her heels every step of the chilly walk back.

Rather, it was a numbness she compared to what death must be like, she thought, as she trudged up the worn marble steps of the pensione to the fifth floor. She couldn’t feel, couldn’t think, was closed off to anything and anyone around her, content to exist only in this exquisitely painful world that she alone had constructed.

Where she alone had chosen to live, without regard to what others might think. Or what others might wish for her.

In that state of emotionless isolation, she hadn’t known what else to do, but to return to the pensione. Even if she’d wanted to bolt for the airport immediately and hitch a ride somewhere… anywhere, she was a pilot – first and foremost. And pilots never left their flight kits behind. She fully intended to retrieve her case full of charts, navigational tools, and reports, then get the hell out of the Pensione Ausonia, and Rebecca Hanson’s life.

Before she did any more damage.

As if tonight hadn’t been bad enough, allowing her raging desires to trample the good common sense she’d been born with! Her life was in a power-dive to no-where, and there was no way she planned on letting the sweet… beautiful young Rebecca Hanson crash and burn along with her.

She’d just grab her kit and go. That was all there was to it.

Kate eased open the paneled door to room number two, and was surprised to find it dark.

Empty.

And warm.

Instinctively, the pilot walked to the window and flung it open. A light breeze immediately pushed its way in, billowing the curtains, cooling the room.

Kate glanced around the murky interior, but her battered soul took comfort in the dark, and so she preferred not to turn on a light. Where was Hanson? Perhaps she hadn’t even made it back to the pensione? A flutter of worry tugged at the pilot’s gut, thinking of Hanson catching pneumonia on the streets of Rome, but with some effort she managed to shove that thought aside. This way, at least, she could get what she needed and leave without another awkward encounter.

The tall woman was taking a step towards the walk-in closet, when she stumbled on something soft. In the dark, she couldn’t tell exactly what it was. She reached down, and plucked up a beige, beaded, soggy skirt.

Hanson, it appeared, had already arrived.

It was then that Catherine noticed a faint light creeping out from under the bathroom door. And then, too, when her ears pricked at the unmistakable sound of Hanson crying. Good God – how many times was this, now? As quickly as the irritation flared in Kate, it withered and died; the pilot knew well enough that this was the first time the girl had been driven to tears… because of her.

So.

She’d succeeded in doing the one thing she’d sworn to herself that she never would: hurt Rebecca Hanson.

Kate moved to just outside the bathroom, and lightly tapped on the door.

"Hanson?"

"Go away." A muffled voice.

"Hanson, please, don’t cry."

"Leave – me – alone." And with that, Becky’s weeping intensified.

Damn. "Hanson! Rebecca… please," she pressed on the door and it opened slightly. "I – I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I—" a frustrated sigh, "I… would never…."

"A little late for that now, isn’t it?" Becky’s voice was clearer, harder, through the partially opened door. "Although I don’t know why it even matters to you at all. It’s obvious

you want nothing to do with me."

"No Rebecca, that’s not it," Catherine groaned. She leaned against the door-frame, squeezing her eyes shut. The door itself edged open a bit more, and the pilot could hear the water in the tub slapping against the sides with Becky’s agitated movements. "I do care for you. Maybe too much." She lowered her head in the dark. "I’m no good for you."

"Since when do you decide what’s good for me and what’s not?" It was obvious Becky was struggling to regain some sort of control, to stem the flow of her tears.

"No, Rebecca," Kate said quietly, "You deserve better than me. Someone who will," she gritted her teeth, "love… you, the way you… deserve to be loved. The way you’ve always dreamed it could be."

A bitter laugh. "Funny. I’ve never felt worse in my life than I do right now, because the person I’ve dreamed of… I can see them now. She… is right here in front of me. And you don’t give a damn."

"Rebecca… no!" Kate couldn’t help it. She pushed the door open the rest of the way. There was Hanson, sitting in the great tub, looking so very small. She held her knees up tightly to her chest, and pieces of her shortened hair hung limp and damp in the hazy steam of the bubble-bath. Twin tear-tracks streaked down her beautiful face. Dammit, what was the matter with her? Didn’t the girl realize that Catherine Phillips was a sucker’s bet? "No," she shook her head, "You’ll see… later… that this was all for the best."

Sad, reddened eyes swung up to the pilot and glistened in the soft light. "You’re wrong. It’s you, Kate," Becky insisted. "Even though I have no idea half the time what the hell I’m talking about… thinking about… God help me, it’s you!"

The dark woman walked onto the tile floor, and knelt next to the tub. She rested an arm along the rim. "Ah, Hanson, you don’t know what you’re saying!"

"I’m telling you how I feel, Kate," she said in a trembling voice. "You ought to try it, sometime."

The pilot whipped her head away as though she’d been struck.

It was true. Who had more to lose here, anyway? Hanson was laying everything on the line, as simply and honestly as she knew how. So typical of her! And all she, Catherine could do was spout her usual bullshit of how it could never work, about how it wasn’t right that they get involved - when the pounding in her chest told her Rebecca Hanson was the one thing she desired more than life itself.

So, what was holding her back? What was her fucking problem?

Christ, maybe she should just open her own goddamned eyes and learn something for once! From Hanson.

Deep breath. "I’m scared," she said softly. There. It was out.

"Oh, Kate… what—"

"I’m fucking scared, okay?" she shouted. She closed her eyes against the pain of it all, and rested her head in her hand, determined not to stop until she’d laid it all out there, as Hanson had. "I’m not sure I even know how to love somebody," she croaked, a tear slipping from the corner of a closed eyelid. "Not… not when I hate myself so much!"

Kate took in a hitching, heaving gulp of air, sucking it deep into her gut, as she struggled to maintain her composure. Dammit, with Hanson, nothing was ever easy!

There was silence, then. Nothing save for the gentle lapping of the water against the sides of the tub.

The movement of it increased slightly, and then Kate felt a warm, wet hand hesitantly make contact with her cheek.

Oh, shit. A surge of desire raced through her like a wildfire, out of control, uncaring what destruction was left in its wake. Rebecca Hanson was hurting, Kate could tell that much, and she was the cause of it. She’d do anything to take that pain away. And it was obvious right now that Hanson needed to be held.

To be shown some affection.

Hell, if it was just about sex, Catherine Phillips could get the job done. And maybe feel a little better about herself in the process. All that other bullshit… love… well, she could worry about it later.

Eyes still closed, she turned towards the dripping hand, nuzzling it.

"Kate…."

The hand opened, dropping to cup her chin, and Kate’s breathing quickened. No! No! No! Her mind screamed, even as she grabbed the hand with her own, and licked its opened palm… kissed it.

She heard a tremulous sigh release from Rebecca Hanson.

And that was all the permission Catherine Phillips needed, to gladly shred away her last, lingering shield of self-discipline.

She swiveled around and lunged at Becky, half sweeping her up and out of the tub. She heard the younger woman gasp in shock as she ravenously began to devour her like the dangerous, wild animal she was; hands raking through her hair, lips finding every available square inch of moist, scented skin; tongue pressing and plunging into a sweet, welcoming mouth.

In one swift, smooth motion, Kate vaulted into the oversized tub, oblivious to the water sloshing over the sides, streaming down past the clawed feet and across the floor like a miniature tidal surge; uncaring of the second soaking her clothes were taking this night. She lowered Becky back down into the warm, bubbly waters, pressing her attack.

There was no hope now of restraining her cravings, no thought of engaging in a lingering, easy flirtation with the promise of a passion to come. Kate’s nerve-endings were on over-drive, and she could tell by Becky’s breathless, hot-blooded response, by the wet hands running though the pilot’s raven hair and digging into her back, that she felt the same way.

Kate kept her eyes closed for a time, unwilling to look at Becky, to open herself up to whatever rawness of feeling and honesty of emotion she might find upon the younger woman’s face… see… reflected in her eyes.

But finally, Kate could stand it no longer. She paused, drawing in air with heaving spurts. Blue eyes opened to green, and the pilot nearly lost herself in the slow-burning heat she discovered there. Becky’s lips were a bruised cherry-red, swollen and half-parted, yearning for more. Her normally pale features were flushed from the temperature of the water… scorched by the fire that burned within her. Kate allowed her eyes to drop down, to travel along a swanlike, delectable neck, falling farther still to where two firm, shapely breasts peeked their way between the softly hissing bubbles.

"You’re beautiful," Kate heard herself saying.

And then there was Rebecca’s own voice. Hoarse. Needful. "Love me."

With a spurred-on sense of urgency, the pilot renewed her assault. She angled herself sideways next to Becky, and her own breathing caught when she felt two small hands tugging at the sides of the sleeveless white blouse plastered to her body. Kate shifted so that the top came off, easily sliding over her head.

She never heard the fop of it hitting the soaked, tiled floor, so distracted was she by the burning touch of Becky’s hands upon the nakedness of her skin. A hot chill skipped through her, and she eagerly turned her attention to the flight attendant’s left breast, teasing the nipple with her slow, circling tongue. Eyes half closed, lost in the sensation, she leaned her left arm around Hanson and supported herself against the back of the tub, using her free hand to knead the responsive, rounded flesh on the woman’s right side.

Kate let her fingertips trace downwards, feathering over a tautly muscled abdomen, and she delighted in Rebecca’s gasp as the hand fell lower still, plunging beneath the roiling water, finding and seizing the hot center of her.

Weakly, Becky grasped for the waistband of Kate’s blue capri pants. "No," a dark head lifted, and she moved the girl’s hand away, pressing it against her wildly pumping heart, "Let me…" and she covered Becky’s mouth with her own, kissing, licking, biting, even as her hand began to awaken the smaller woman with a gentle, probing rhythm. Quickly, the motion became more forced in tempo, stroking, pressing, and Rebecca arched her back into it… ground down her hips… crying out at the exquisite torture of the pilot’s ministrations.

Catherine could feel the pressure building in the core of her young lover, and the cloth of her pants against the bottom of the tub gave her the leverage she needed to help guide Becky home. She gave no thought to her own satisfaction; her joy was in seeing the glazed look of desire on the young blonde’s face, in hearing the ragged pulls of her breath, as she took pleasure in her.

"Oh God, Kate!" Becky’s voice was strangled now, and her arms circled tightly around the taller woman’s neck.

Kate’s pulse throbbed in her veins, churning, set off merely by the simple sound of Rebecca calling her name.

Their coupling was frantic. Reckless. Water continued to spray up from the bath; the pilot was completely soaked. Kate tilted her head up and locked her eyes on Becky’s now, accelerating her fingered thrusts. Soon, the soft whimpers in the back of the girl’s throat grew into choking moans; with one final plunge, the sound exploded into a primal cry of release. Kate immediately silenced it with a heated, searing kiss; pouring all of her heart, her hopes, her dreams, into the vessel that was Rebecca Hanson.

They lay there for a time, each unwilling to break contact, and Kate worked her way around so that she semi-supported Becky from behind. With a casual possessiveness, she allowed her hands to slowly stroke Rebecca’s arms, her face, her stomach, relishing the girl’s nearness.

Gradually, the bubbles broke, the waters cooled, and their breathing began to settle and slow. Kate dipped her head down and placed a lazy kiss on the top of Becky’s wet, golden hair, and the young woman slowly turned her face up to her, and smiled. God… For a moment, Kate’s heart skipped a beat at the simple beauty of her. At the honesty of emotion, of adoration there on her face. Dammit, the pilot thought, she almost makes me feel like the woman I wish I could be!

Impulsively, Becky strained upwards to kiss away a droplet of water from the tip of the pilot’s nose. "Kate," she sighed, reaching a hand around her waist, "I want t-to--" but a shudder coursed through her, thanks to the water’s chill.

"No… ssshhh! You just relax." Displaying very little effort, Kate swept an arm under the flight attendant’s knees and swung another around her back. She easily lifted her from the tub and lightly deposited her on the slippery floor. "Careful!" Kate reached for a large, thirsty white towel, and wrapped a shivering Rebecca Hanson in it as though she were a child. A drowsy grin on the young girl’s rosy-fresh features turned into a barely stifled yawn.

"What are you doing?" Becky lifted a tired eyebrow at her.

"Bedtime for you, Hanson!" With a faint smile, Kate grabbed another towel for herself and, against Becky’s giggling protests, picked her up again and carried her out to the four-poster bed. Carefully, gently, she laid her down beneath the flowered canopy. Kate quickly shrugged off her own soaked pants, draped the towel around her long form, and climbed into bed next to Hanson.

Becky yawned again. "Mmmmm… so tired…."

Before Kate even had a chance to pull the fluffy comforter up around them, Becky squirmed close to the airline pilot, casually throwing an arm across her stomach, nudging her head into the crook of the taller woman’s shoulder.

‘G’night, Kate," she murmured. Her eyes fluttered and closed. In the moon-glow, Kate could see that a satisfied smile still lingered on her delicate face.

"Sleep well," the pilot said, softly, and she already knew by the flight attendant’s deep, even breathing, that she hadn’t heard. Kate couldn’t help it, she lowered her head and lightly kissed each of Becky’s closed eyelids, let her fingers carefully skip over the healing, stitched area of her shoulder, until at last she simply lay there, watching the steady rise and fall of Becky’s chest.

God, how this sweet, loving woman had given herself up to her this night, without a moment’s hesitation, without recrimination, without judgment! And Catherine Phillips had welcomed every blessed bit of it, and come surging back for more. She let her thoughts idly shift towards what a life with Rebecca Hanson might have been like, and allowed herself to revel, for a time, in that fleeting moment of joy. To catch a tantalizing glimpse of a happiness she would never know.

For who did she think she was kidding? She didn’t deserve the likes of Rebecca. Sure, she’d taken away the young woman’s pain, at least for tonight. But in the long run, Hanson would see she’d been right… that she’d be better off, much better off, without her. The flight attendant might be hurt, for a while, but tall, blonde ‘somebodies’ like Alan Ross, would be only too eager to help her heal, she was sure of it.

Kate softly nuzzled Becky’s hair, breathing in deeply of the light, flowered scent. It would have to do her for a lifetime, she sadly thought. Cautiously, she disentangled herself from the exhausted woman, and Becky did not stir, so soundly did she sleep.

The pilot moved like a silent ghost about the room, dressing in her Orbis Airlines uniform, pulling back her damp hair in a clip, packing her things. She knew Orbis had an early-morning flight out of Fiumicino, back to New York, and she was determined to be on it.

Finished.

Kate’s hand was on the ancient, brass doorknob, when she hesitated. She carefully lowered her flight kit and bag to the floor, and then walked over to the writing desk near the window. There, by the light of the moon and the morning stars, she scribbled a few lines to Hanson.

She was doing the right thing, she knew it! So why did it feel as though an invisible monster were squeezing the very life out of her chest? Why did her stomach feel as though she had a fist twisting in it? God, how her pulse was racing! If she closed her eyes, she could still feel the hot breath of Rebecca Hanson against her face, begging, pleading for more….

No! Hanson didn’t deserve such damaged goods. Time to run away. Again.

Guiltily, selfishly, Kate paused by the side of the bed, and studied Hanson for a moment. This woman who might’ve been her future, if only she’d had the guts. This woman who, though she’d only known her for a few days, felt as familiar to her as the sum of her own past. Kate pressed two fingers to her lips, and then reached down and touched them to Hanson’s. In her sleep, the young woman lightly puckered at the contact, and then resumed her peaceful repose.

Kate gulped, hard, and tore herself away.

Ah well, she sighed, picking up her bags and reaching a shaking hand for the doorknob. Fuck. Fuck me. She dared not look back at Hanson now, or else she might never leave.

A creaking click of the door, a sliver of light, and she was gone.

**********

It took a lot of training, to not feel. It took concentration, commitment, and practice to make one’s self utterly immune to caring, and Catherine Phillips had been toiling away at it for years.

And just when the pilot thought she’d had it down cold, Rebecca Hanson had blown into her life like a summer squall, catching her by surprise, leaving her exposed to forces of nature she’d had no intention of ever dealing with again.

Affection.

Desire.

Love.

Some part of Catherine actually flirted for a time with the thought that there just might be something to it. For there were moments when she’d gazed upon Hanson, when the smaller woman wasn’t looking, and found herself viewing the world through her eyes. Eyes eager, wide-open and without guile. And Kate would half-consider, then, that any and all things were possible in the face of such innocence.

But no. A cold blast of a wind shear had slammed her back down to earth. Rudely awakened her. Shattered her blue-sky dreaming.

Don’t feel. Don’t care. Don’t think! That was her mantra during the taxi ride all the way back to Fiumicino. Dawn was just breaking when she’d stormed through the empty lobby of the pensione; even the ubiquitous Signora Canova had to sleep sometime, the pilot thought. She hadn’t bothered to ring a cab from the lobby, knowing there was a taxi-stand at the edge of the Piazza di Spagna. Not to mention which, she just want to get the hell out of the building before anyone was the wiser.

Shit, she thought, I’m a grown woman! So why do I feel like I’m running away from home?

Sure enough, even at that early hour, a lone Fiat Punta sat at the stand. As Kate had approached, the lights winked on, cutting through the foggy air, and the engine growled to life.

"Fiumicino," Kate had barked, throwing her kit and bag into the back seat with her. She’d noticed immediately that the cab was meterless. He was probably a gypsy driver, taking advantage of the off-hours fares. When she had asked him the cost to the airport, he’d quoted her 120,000 Lire – an outrageous sum. But he could’ve quoted triple that number, and the pilot still would not have complained. The ends justified the means.

Although…. A slow smile crept onto her face as she considered how Hanson would’ve been scandalized at the price, and haggled the driver down or to his death, whichever came first! But Hanson wasn’t here. Kate was alone.

In silence, they drove on the expressway out of the city, racing away from the rising sun, leaving Rome, and Hanson, behind. As jumbled buildings gave way to open space and umbrella pines, it seemed to Kate that the last few days of her holiday were simply re-winding – as though they had never happened. In time, maybe she’d come to believe it herself. Don’t feel. Don’t think.

Kate ignored the surprised looks thrown her way when she checked in at Fiumicino’s Orbis lounge. For the flight attendants, agents, and pilots scattered about the facility, stories of the hijacking still had to be hot news.

No matter. She wasn’t interested in discussing any of it.

And so, after flashing her I.D. and volunteering as a flight crew alternate on the 7:05 a.m. departure to JFK, she’d grabbed a newspaper and espresso, and settled down in a far-away corner of the lounge.

"H- hi, Captain… Phillips, is it? How are you?"

A pair of icy blue eyes lifted up from behind the newspaper, to take in a young sandy-haired steward. He looked vaguely familiar, and Kate imagined she must’ve served with him somewhere along the line, in her Orbis travels.

"Hi." Her voice was flat. Uninterested.

"Wow," he laughed excitedly, holding out his hand, "I thought it was you! I’m Josh. Josh Peters."

Kate ignored the outstretched hand. Maybe if she ignored him, the kid would go way.

He stuffed the hand into his pocket, as though he didn’t quite know to whom it belonged. Still, he pressed ahead, his morbid curiosity outweighing his fear. "Man, I read all about that hijacking! You and Becky Hanson and—"

"Look, Josh," Kate’s eyes glittered and narrowed, "I do want to read my newspaper, I don’t want to talk about the hijacking and, most of all, I don’t want to talk to you. Capisce?"

Josh Peters blushed deeply, down to the roots of his fair hair. His mouth bobbed open once or twice like a fish out of water, before he finally mumbled a "Sorry, lady," and turned on his heel, stalking away.

‘Captain Frosty the Snow-Bitch,’ they all called her – even Hanson. She knew that. She knew why. Fuck ‘em. She didn’t care. Don’t think! Don’t feel!

Catherine took another sip of the black, bitter espresso, idly considering how it matched her mood, and she let her eyes run across the lines of the newspaper, not reading a goddamned word of it.

**********

It was just a dream, it had to be! The same one she’d been having for days, now. So why couldn’t she wake herself up? It was so dark, so cold, and just where the heck was she anyway? She was so lost… so far away from home! How would she ever make it back?

The darkness grew deeper, the cold, more numbing, and she was scared now, really scared. She wanted to run, but she didn’t know in which direction to go. And she was frozen now, anyway. Unable to move! Unable to think clearly!

With a convulsed start, Rebecca Hanson realized she was awake. She could feel the flutter of her heart in her chest, even as her breath hitched in shallow gasps. Damn, that was some dream! she thought, rubbing her hands on her arms. Yes, she was awake. But still cold, and still alone.

Definitely, alone.

A deep shudder rolled through her body. "Kate?" The silence that greeted her told her the answer she already knew. Feared.

Pushing the blankets aside, she wrapped a slightly-damp towel about her as she eased out of bed and padded over to the bathroom. The door was open, and in the low lights from the vanity, Becky could see shimmering puddles of water drying on the floor.

She smiled. So, it hadn’t been a dream. That, and the fading, pleasant ache she felt in her nether regions, confirmed it.

Now, where the heck was Catherine Phillips?

The young blonde traded her damp towel for a fresh one, and stepped out into the main room. God, it was cold!

"Kate," she called out again, feeling slightly silly as she did so. It was obvious the pilot wasn’t there. She sighed, and walked over to the open window. A cool breeze pushed through the curtains, and Becky coughed, drawing the window closed. She paused, looking out over the piazza.

The cobbled stones were still dark-wet from an early morning mist that had nearly lifted. Atop the Spanish Steps, the promise of a morning sun was beginning to bloom and glow from behind the twin spires of the Franciscan Church of Trinità dei Monti. Birdsong filled the air, though Becky couldn’t even see the little creatures yet, still huddled as they were in their nests.

A small tan and white terrier trotted across the square, unescorted, snuffling at the doorways and lampposts along its way. Entranced, Becky watched the animal until it rounded a corner and disappeared. Only then did she allow her eyes to drop to the writing desk next to her.

To see the ivory parchment paper lying mutely on the table-top, with the few lines of a strong, firm script flowing across the center of it.

Becky felt her body begin to tremble uncontrollably. She had to force her eyes to read the words she found there, just visible in the dim light of dawn.

Rebecca -

You saved my life, in more ways than one.
I can’t take away yours.
Forget about me, and live!
Sincerely,

Catherine

No! It couldn’t be! A single tear fell upon the page, smearing Catherine’s signature. This was a nightmare, all right, Becky thought, lifting her eyes from the damnable letter to the empty, tumbled poster bed.

If only she were dreaming.

**********

Catherine Phillips ignored the dull pounding that started at the base of her skull. It crept halfway up the back of her head, before it plunged through the middle of her brain, stabbing at the back of her eyes. Aspirin. She knew right where they were in Hanson’s backpack. That kid was prepared for anything, she thought, remembering the collapsible little umbrella, the band-aids, the sunscreen. In any event, the pilot wished she had a few of those little white tablets right now.

No matter. She’d be on Orbis Flight 360 to New York soon enough. Certainly, she’d be able to grab a few painkillers on board. Typically, the 7:05 a.m. departure was never a full flight and, even with the strike, Kate doubted it would be now. Perfect. She planned on sleeping her way back to the states. Escaping in her dreams. She was good at that.

The dark-haired pilot, looking tall and trim in her indigo Orbis slacks and blazer, white blouse, and overcoat, moved swiftly along the international concourse, nodding a greeting to the people at the security checkpoint. It was still some distance to gate venti – 20 – where an Orbis Boeing 757 was preparing for take-off, but Kate’s long legs carried her quickly through the walkway. She’d been given an open first-class seat, no doubt in deference to her so-called heroics earlier in the week, and she intended on waiting until the last minute to board the big jet. She preferred the open air of the terminal to the restricted spaces of the passenger cabin. The pilot always felt out of sorts anyway when she was on a plane she wasn’t captaining… losing just that little bit of control.

Kate arrived at the gate just as a herd of passengers were being shepherded towards the jetway by half-awake flight agents. Taking tickets, checking the sizes of carry-ons, calling out rows, the pilot had seen and heard it all countless times. Sounds of the crowd were fairly subdued; many passengers were exhausted returning vacationers, business people, school kids. Everyone with a face, everyone with a name, just like those aboard Flight 2240, her plane that had almost fallen into the sea. Kate would never take these routine actions, these living, breathing souls, for granted again.

The pilot moved over to a large, tinted window, separating herself from the people gathered at the gate. There, in the far corner, it was quieter. And more secluded. Also, it gave her the best angle to look out at the plane. Painted in bold swaths of blue and gold, the signature colors of the Orbis fleet, the aircraft was a newer model, Kate could tell. Through the cabin windows, she could see passengers milling about, taking their seats. She shifted her eyes to the tarmac. There wasn’t a lot of activity at this time of day; only the green, orange, and white markings of an Alitalia Airbus A-321 at a gate a few slots down. Just in from abroad, Kate surmised.

In the distance, Kate could see the big runway she’d landed on just a few days earlier. It stretched down the opposite side of the airport, near a grassy wetland whose sheaves of reeds rolled and rippled under the caress of a light, western breeze. The air was bright and clear, with ocean-blue skies overhead, and the chill of the early morning was beginning to dissipate. It would be a lovely day in Italy. A day she would leave far behind, although, as she squinted out the window, she could not help but wonder how Hanson would spend it.

Sure, she was bound to be upset at first when she found the note. But it was the only way, Kate knew, of sparing young blonde the pain of her having to do it later… after she’d realized the terrible mistake she’d made. And Rebecca Hanson was such a kind-hearted soul, she might not be willing to walk away and leave Kate, out of some misguided sense of… pity. There was no way the pilot could endure that. No way.

‘Ladies and Gentlemen, may I have your attention, please?! This is the final boarding call for Orbis Flight 360, flying non-stop from Rome to New York, now boarding at gate 20. Signore e signori, posso avere vostra attenzione, prego…."

Catherine sighed heavily, and reached down to pick up her bags.

"‘Sincerely?’"

A voice, raw and ragged, and as familiar to her as her own. The pilot slowly straightened and turned around, but not before catching a flash of golden hair reflected in the tinted window.

Kate gulped, hard. "Rebecca."

"‘Sincerely?’" she repeated, shaking her head in disbelief. She crumpled Kate’s note in her small fist and then dropped it to the floor. Both women silently watched it fall.

The young flight attendant looked terrible. Her face was puffy, as though she’d been crying. Her feathered hair was sticking out at odd angles from her head, and she wore an oversized, wrinkled bugs-bunny t-shirt and jeans, beneath a dark-blue, regulation Orbis trench coat. Kate wasn’t sure, but at first glance it looked as though the young woman’s shoes didn’t match.

"Kate," Becky took a faltering step closer, "Don’t. Don’t do this."

A dark head turned away. "Not here, Hanson."

"If not here, when?" Becky’s voice turned demanding. Insistent. She was fighting for her life here, with this infuriating, impossible pilot, and she knew it. "When you decide it’s okay? Just when would that be? Next week? Next month?" A choking pause, "Never?"

Kate closed her eyes against the truth of Rebecca’s words. Dammit, because of this woman, she felt the worst she ever had in her entire life!

And the best.

Rebecca had openly, honestly offered herself to her… loved her. She had awakened from deep within the pilot the capacity to think… to feel emotions she’d thought were long since dead, and it scared the hell out of her.

She struggled to maintain her balance, to rein in her galloping heart, even as she breathed in the sweet, flowery scent of the smaller woman standing so close to her now. She swung her gaze back to Becky. Flaps up. "I have to go," she said tersely.

‘This is the last call for Orbis Flight 360…."

Kate reached for her bags.

"NO!" Becky cried out, physically putting herself between the pilot and her luggage.

"Get out of my way, Hanson," Kate’s voice was hard. Dammit, why wouldn’t the girl just leave it alone?

"I won’t!" Becky grabbed the pilot’s arm. "I—I love you, Kate," her voice was desperate, pleading. And now the tears began to fall, streaming down her face. "Tell me you don’t feel the same way."

The pilot stiffened, and glared at her. "I don’t." Unsuccessfully, she tried to free herself of Becky’s hand.

"You’re lying!" Becky’s green eyes flashed. "After last night—"

"Last night meant nothing," Kate said coldly, steeling her heart. "I felt sorry for you, that’s all."

"No!" Hurt beyond all reason, the air burst from Becky in a stunned gasp. "No…" she said weakly, dropping her arm to her side, "…you don’t mean that."

Kate slung her travel bag over her shoulder. "Get over yourself, Hanson," she said brusquely, tearing her own soul apart. She was almost there. She’d almost gotten Rebecca to hate her, like all the rest. It was for her own good, after all. "Do you think you’re the only cute little flight attendant I’ve ever fucked?"

Here we go again, Kate thought. She could see the slap coming from a mile away, but she did nothing to stop it.

She felt the impact of Becky’s hand on her face, and dammit, it was the same side she’d nailed her on earlier; the same side, too, that hijacker had gotten a few days before. Her tonsils rattled in the back of her throat. She heard the smack echo through the terminal, saw faces swing towards them and then quickly turn away. She had a headache now, all right.

"You are some bitch," Becky’s voice shook as she wiped at her tears with the sleeve of her coat.

"Yeah, that’s right," Kate said bitterly. "That’s me."

"Captain Phillips, we need to seal the jetway!"

Kate turned to a rather embarrassed looking Orbis agent, standing at the doorway with a member of the ground crew.

"Coming!"

The pilot turned back to Rebecca Hanson one last time, and that was her mistake.

Because Becky chose that moment to push past her own shock and hurt, and look up into the fathomless blue eyes of the noble, complex woman who stood before her.

So damned imposing, so closed off… and Becky saw the flickering emotions upon the golden, sculpted features that the pilot so desperately tried to hide. Fear. A raw, inner pain that refused to heal. And defiance, too, in the face of it all. The sum of it reached out, across the chasm, and tugged at the younger woman’s heart.

And in an other-worldly burst of clarity, Becky at last understood. Dammit, this was one decision she was making for herself. She was not going to let Catherine Phillips get away!

"Okay, go ahead," Becky said with as much calmness as she could muster, stepping aside.

"Thanks," Kate grumbled, mollified. She reached for her flight kit and began to walk towards the gate.

"After all," the young blonde continued, "I can understand why you have to run out. Being so scared… and all."

"What?" Kate stopped. Blue, stony eyes turned to lock on warm green.

"You’re scared!" There was a triumphant gleam on Becky’s face, "Scared of loving someone. Scared of letting yourself be loved. You said it yourself!"

"You’re crazy," Kate worked her jaw, frowning.

"Captain Phillips, please…." the harried voice of the Orbis agent.

"Go on, shoo!" Becky flicked her hands at the pilot, waving her towards the gate. "You big, bad, scaredy-cat! Run away!" she stuck her tongue firmly in her cheek, as though it mattered not at all whether the pilot stayed or left.

Dammit, now why did Hanson have to put it that way? Kate thought. As if it were a challenge. A battle to be fought and won.

Catherine Phillips never backed down from a fight.

"You’re wrong," Kate growled, her face darkening, clenching her fists. She took a step back towards the disheveled flight attendant.

"I am not," Becky crossed her arms in front of her chest.

"You – are – wrong," Kate’s voice was a low, threatening, rumble.

But Rebecca Hanson wasn’t scared. Not by a long shot. "Prove it."

In the blink of an eye, the pilot covered the remaining distance between herself and Hanson. She stood as close to her as she possibly could, and Becky could feel Kate’s hot, shallow breath on her face as the tall woman’s stare bored into her. Slowly, deliberately, the pilot reached for Hanson’s right hand, brought it to her lips, and lightly kissed its open palm.

Becky rocked back on her heels at the electric sensation of it, sparking through her, drilling down to her toes. God, was that a flicker of a tongue there, too?

At last, Kate drew away, examining Becky’s hand curiously. "Did anyone ever tell you you have a mean right hook?" she smiled a little.

"Look," Becky swallowed, reeling at this sudden turn of events, "I am not a morning person, see? And there’s a cabby waiting for me outside this terminal who – I think – is charging me my life savings in Lire."

"Well, that doesn’t sound too good," Kate said, raising an eyebrow in mock deliberation.

"And—and I wake up this morning," the words tumbled out in a rush, "to find that someone who I didn’t even know I’d been waiting for all my life, intends on leaving me." She boldly put her arms around Kate’s waist. "Just when I’ve found them."

"They must’ve panicked," Kate said thoughtfully, pulling Rebecca closer.

"Don’t leave me, Kate. You deserve to be loved. We both… deserve it." Becky searched the pilot’s face for the answer she needed to see. "Give us that chance!" A lone tear slipped out of the corner of her eye, and the pilot thumbed it away.

"Ah… Rebecca…." Dammit, there Hanson was, crying again.

Well, there would be no more tears for the girl, Kate would see to that. What the hell, the young woman did have a point. It seemed that her whole life had been spent running, searching. Desperately looking for answers, for meaning.

Maybe, just maybe, in Rebecca Hanson, she’d found them.

"Kate, please," Becky cried, burying her head in the taller woman’s chest.

Nope. No more tears. None of that bullshit. Kate decided to stop them the only way she knew how.

A fingertip… lifting a quivering chin, a dark head dipping low, and lips meeting in a soft, gentle kiss.

Kate held the younger woman close, relishing the nearness of her, the rightness of it all. "Sssh… she moved her lips to the side and whispered in Becky’s ear, "Don’t cry."

"Captain…" The Orbis agent was desperate now. Torn between facing the wrath of the pilot on the plane or the fury of the notorious pilot at the gate. "I must insist—"

Kate finally pulled away, and let an easy grin over-spread her face. She looked down at Hanson’s bloodshot eyes, her puffy face, her mis-matched shoes.

God, she was beautiful!

With a quick, reassuring squeeze of Becky’s arms, the pilot turned towards the anxious Orbis agent.

"Ahem!" As she cleared her throat, she could do nothing to prevent a slow, crimson blush from rising to her cheeks, "You can seal the jetway." She swung her gaze back to Rebecca. "I’m staying."

Continued...Part 4 (Conclusion)

Comments welcomed at: Belwah82@aol.com

Return to The Bard's Corner