FicWad

Peace

Noises from the alley drew my attention as I approached. I slowed my steps, assessing the nature of the small commotion. The sound of a scuffle, a thin feminine scream cut short by either a hand against the mouth or perhaps a blow. It was no threat to me. It was not my concern. I continued on my way, crossing the mouth of the alley, my footsteps silent against the sidewalk.

Much of Manhattan is as bright a day and lively even in the smallest hours of the night. But on certain of the side streets that branched and snaked out from the great canyons of the main thoroughfares, one found dingy, broken countries of darkness and isolation. In neighborhoods such as this, I have even witnessed women molested in broad daylight, passersby averting their gaze, as neutral as animals to the actions of a predator, so long as they are not the prey. I can even on occasion count myself among the indifferent.

I stopped abruptly, nagged by a conscience many would say I no longer possess. A flawed conscience, my father would point out. He had taken pains to impress upon me the difference between honor and indiscriminate idealism. A ninja's code of honor did not include aiding any stranger fallen by the wayside. The weak had no claims on me just because I was strong. A ninja's sense of honor, loyalty, and duty was devoted entirely to the clan. Outsiders, if neither an ally or an enemy, were negligible. Any action not specifically beneficial to the clan was inconsequential, possibly even detrimental.

Yet still...I do not like running from a fight, even one not my own, and ignoring the helpless has not always sat easily with me. Sometimes my actions, or lack of actions have followed me into bed at night. I have endlessly turned certain events over in my mind, thinking of different decisions I could have made, of things I could have done better.

The Shredder may have raised you, Karai, but you're nothing like him. You understand honor. The memory assaulted me from nowhere. I could still recall the exact timber of his voice when he said it, and the way I had been so glad when I heard it, my body suddenly flushing with pleasure. Fortunately for me, we had been on the verge of a great battle at that moment, and I don't think anyone noticed. If I am being honest with myself, I think I reacted so strongly to his admiration and approval because I had never heard such things expressed so openly and warmly to me before. Looking back, I realize had been simply hungry for them.

I turned on my heel and strode quickly back to the alley, goaded as much by my desire to escape the memory as my impulse for altruism.

I was alert and ready when I entered the alley, and unafraid. The greatest gifts I have from my father are strength and fearlessness. He has made me, with his various methods, a human fortress, vulnerable to no one, either physically or emotionally.

There were two men and a woman. One man pinned her arms above her head, the other was engaged in reaching under her skirt and tugging off her underwear and hose. She was still conscious but had ceased struggling, her eyes wide open but glazed with terror, her mind evidently trying to send itself elsewhere while her body was violated. Some women made it so easy for them. God help any man who tried that with me. No, actually - there is no god powerful enough to help any man who would try that with me.

I was armed with only a dagger under my coat, but I would not need even that with this lot, though I felt no need to show restraint. Sudden rage at the sight before me fueled me into killing blows. I gave them no warning. Twice I heard vertebrae crack as my boots connected, their heads snapping violently back. I doubt if they even saw that their killer was a woman.

I turned my attention to their victim, squatting beside her. The touch of my hand against her arm broke her from her paralysis of fear, and she suddenly jolted up. She screamed, wrenching herself away from me and staggering to her feet. She bolted barefoot from the alley, nearly tripping over the body of one of her assailants on the way. I sighed. I should probably go after her, I thought, she was very likely not coherent enough to get herself somewhere safe.

"Nicely done, Karai. You saved me the trouble."

I whirled to face the owner of the voice, the woman forgotten. He was a shadow on the fire escape a story above me, leaning casually against his elbows on the railing, the silhouettes of his katana standing out at angles from the back of his shell. Animosity churned in my stomach like boiling lead. The one person I had learned to hate more than any other. One of the very few I feared - though, if I am to be honest, for reasons more complex than the simple physical threat he represented.

"It looks like you've retained some scraps of your honor, after all." The voice, which only minutes ago I had recalled as possessing such warmth, was as hard and cold as a sheet of ice.

I narrowed my eyes at the insult. "I retain all my honor," I snarled. "It's just that my honor no longer suits your tastes, since it now demands your death."

"Keep telling yourself that," he returned bitterly, "if it helps you sleep at night."

The wail of an approaching siren interrupted us. "That was fast," he remarked. "Seems your friend has a cell phone and managed to call 911. If you don't want to answer any awkward questions, I suggest you make yourself scarce."

I could already see the blue lights flashing intermittently off the surroundings beyond the alley. I would be seen if I left that way, and I didn't relish the thought of being pursued down the street by the police, even if I could escape them. A mountain of garbage and refuse piled up against a tall wooden fence blockaded the far end of the alley.

There was no choice but to go up. I leapt for the fire escape of the building across from my enemy, glancing over to see if he would follow. But he had already vanished.

He was waiting for me when I arrived on the roof, and I had nowhere to run to, if I were inclined to run. I had not even seen him leap across. The building was on a corner. Two sides offered a leap of eight stories to the sidewalk, and a third side - /how convenient /- faced an empty lot that seemed to have become an impromptu garbage dump. The only escape was to jump across the alley now inhabited by police, and risk being seen. I was effectively trapped up here with him until the police finished their business in the alley below. And after that...I did not know. I prepared myself for what would be my last fight, if things came to fighting. He had grown more skilled since that last, terrible battle in space, and more ruthless, as much a predator as my father ever was. Without my katana, I hadn't a hope against him.

I watched him size me up, taking note of my lack of visible weapons. He strode a few paces toward me to within a comfortable speaking distance, his stance relaxed, supremely confident in his own abilities. I eyed him warily and, in a small part of my being that I hadn't yet been able to banish, with admiration. Even now, immune to the pull that once drew me to him (so I told myself), I still found him startlingly beautiful; beautiful in a way that I had once thought stemmed more from a quality of his spirit than his finely honed muscle. I have never thought any of his brothers possessed beauty, though they were nearly the same in appearance.

"So," he said, breaking he silence, "I take it you haven't tired of your vendetta yet?"

Our last encounter had ended with me on my knees before him and his katana against my neck. The memory of that moment, the humiliation, rose livid in my mind. One way or another, I vowed it would not happen again. I felt suddenly sickened with animosity, and strangely elated, reckless. If I was meant to go down here, let it be in a blaze of defiance, standing my ground. "Will you kill me if I give you an honest answer?"

"I won't kill you unless you try to harm my family again," he replied evenly. "I gave you one more chance. You haven't blown it yet."

How kind of him. Presumptuous, is he not? I may be willing to accept him as my eventual executioner, but never as my judge, and certainly not as some benevolent jury of one for whose mercy I should be grateful. And people called my father arrogant.

"You always were a naive fool," I shot back. "Do you really think I won't avenge my father just because you were too weak to finish me when you had the chance?"

"Don't confuse mercy with weakness."

"Fuck your mercy!" I hissed.

He closed the distance between us in a flash, his expression murderous. "Push me, Karai, go near my family, and I will kill you."

I refused to back away, and met his furious gaze with equal venom. I, too, know something of fury. "You had better kill me now, then, because I will not rest until I take from you everything you have taken from me."

"The Shredder brought his fate upon himself," he said heatedly. "Don't blame me for his crimes."

My own anger rose like an inferno. "No!" I growled. "You hunted him. You hounded him to his end. He is better off dead where he is now! He would have left you in peace, but you-"

He cut me off. "Left us in peace and killed how many more thousands, millions? God! Wake up, Karai!" He actually seized my arms as if he was about to shake me, but my body reacted instinctively the instant I felt his hands. I broke the hold and a moment later he ducked quickly, barely avoiding the kind of kick that had already snapped two necks tonight. We fell back a few paces from each other, each of us moving into a defensive stance. I reached into my jacket and unsheathed my dagger, ready for him, but he did not go on the offensive. Instead, after a moment, he broke his stance and crossed his arms across his plastron. He shook his head at me, his expression just shy of disgust. "What happened to you? You used to care about innocent lives." He glanced in the direction of the alley. "From what I've seen tonight," he added more quietly, "you still do."

"But you are not innocent." I said. Why should I need to remind him of this? "You're the enemy of my clan. I was wrong to ever befriend my clan's enemy. Because of you, my father's last words to me were ones of contempt. Because of you, his last gesture towards me was to strike me across my face."

"Because of me," he repeated skeptically. "What did I do? I don't even know what you're talking about."

"On the starship, after you fell." I muttered, looking away. For some reason I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment. I was not sure I really wanted to tell him this. "He would have killed you. I prevented him." I met his eyes again and finished firmly, "I was an idiot."

"Well, seeing as how I was unconscious, how is it - " He cut himself off as a new thought occurred to him. "Wait, he struck you?"

I could barely refrain from rolling my eyes. Everything he had seen and experienced in his life, yet he was still oddly naive at times. "What do you think? Every time I defied him for your sake, I paid. And he always knew. Every time."

I could see from his expression he had never considered /that/, the razor's edge I had walked between my regard for him and my father's capricious temper. He softened just the slightest bit, his hard façade dropping to reveal a glimpse of the kindness I had more than once relied on. I hardened myself against it. I didn't want to see this part of him again. I wanted - needed - him to be the monster for me that my father was for him. "Did he hit you a lot?" he asked.

I didn't bother answering the question. "He was wiser than I," I said. "He knew how wrong it was for me to play both sides against the middle. All I achieved was disaster and disgrace."

"How often did he hit you?" he asked again, his tone becoming actually angry on my behalf. It was almost funny. Always so chivalrous, this one. So instinctively protective. Even of me, after all I have done and tried to do to his family.

"It doesn't matter," I said impatiently. "Did your father never strike you?"

That pulled him up short for a moment. "That...is different."

"How is it different?"

"My father was never cruel. The Shredder was never anything but cruel."

"He was my father," I said simply. "He cared for me."

It was his turn to become impatient. "The Shredder used you. He lied to you your whole life and used you for his own ends."

"How did a four year old child serve his ends?" I cried. "How could he have known if I would ever be of any use to him? You simply want to think of him as a monster because that makes it easier for you. He was no more a monster than the parents who left me to die."

He thought about that, turning my words over in his mind. "Even if that were true," he eventually said, "one life doesn't make up for the all the death and suffering he caused."

Why was this so difficult for him to understand? Everything I was was because of Oroku Saki. My father had been everything...

"I would have died as a child if not for him," I tried to explain, "Just as you would have without your father. Would you turn your back on your father, who took you in and cared for you, even if he did things that were wrong?"

"If my father turned to murdering innocents - "

"No one is innocent." I said bitterly.

"Bullshit, Karai! That - being - you call your father did torture, and maim, and murder countless innocents! And if my father ever turned to /that/, I'd run him through. It would break my heart, but I'd run him through."

"Not if he was all you had!" I shouted this at the top of my voice, forgetting the need for quiet. And to my utter horror, I felt tears forming in my eyes. I ruthlessly fought to suppress them, swearing that if I, Karai, did not get them under control this instant, then I, Karai, in the very next instant was going to commit seppuku on this roof. I would rather be on my knees to him with his blade at my throat than weeping in front of him. No tears escaped my eyes, but he nevertheless noticed.

"He wasn't all you had," he said quietly. He shifted about uncomfortably. "Karai..."

"Spare me your pity," I snapped. I was furious again, though more at myself than at him.

"I'm not giving you pity."

"Is someone up there?" a masculine voice called from below. The police had heard us.

We looked toward the fire escape and back at each other, wide eyed, like two children about to be caught stealing cookies. I heard footsteps clumping up the fire escape.

I sheathed my dagger. Suddenly allies in our need to keep ourselves a secret, we looked about for somewhere to hide. We didn't have many options or much time. Strange, I was prepared to end his life, yet I would not ever consider betraying him to other humans. An air conditioning unit on the roof, and a heating vent, perhaps we could go over the side and cling to a rain pipe, or...

"That's out best bet," I said. We moved quickly and silently to the access door leading to the building's stairs. On the other side, I found myself on a small landing with a light socket in the ceiling, but no bulb. There was also no lock on the door. He crowded in behind me and shut the door, plunging us into complete darkness.

My hands were suddenly seized and my body pushed chest first against the door, my hands pinned just above shoulder height. I felt his hard plastron pressing against my back.

"What are you doing?" I demanded in a hissing whisper.

"Sorry Karai," he whispered from behind me, his breath brushing my ear. "I need to know where you hands are. I wouldn't put it past you to try and knife me in the dark."

I don't believe this. "Get. Off. Me. Now!"

"I'm not that big a fool. I'll let you go when we get out of here, so just relax."

"I will kill you." I said through gritted teeth.

"You don't say."

He was far stronger than I was, and with my body pinned flat from shoulders to knees, I could not get any leverage to use against him. I resigned myself to musing about all the slow, painful ways I could end his life the minute he released me, and tried to ignore the feel of his body pressed firmly against mine.

I snorted quietly after a few minutes. "You're probably enjoying this."

"Trust me," he said dryly, "I'm enjoying this about as much as you are."

That was the problem. In all the time I had known him, we had never been in such complete and prolonged physical contact. Against my better judgment, I found myself savoring the feel of him. His large, strong hands, palms and thick fingers covered with calluses from years of weapons training. His muscled forearms covering mine, the texture of the skin tougher than my own, and warmer to the touch than I would have guessed. I felt my hair behind my ear move the slightest bit as he caressed his cheek against it in the most delicate of touches, barely brushing my hair, as if he were afraid of me noticing. I refused to acknowledge the way my breath caught in my throat at the small gesture.

I tried to distract myself by focusing on the muffled voices of the two officers outside. Someone approached and tried the knob, and my hands and body were suddenly nearly crushed as the turtle behind me pushed all his weight against the door. It didn't budge as the officer tried to push it open.

"Must be dead bolted from the inside. Let's go around the front and start knocking on doors. Maybe someone..." The voice receded.

"Sorry about that," he said a little sheepishly. He relaxed most of his weight off me but did not release me. Instead, he started caressing my hands, gently rubbing out the sore spots from gripping them a moment ago. One of his thighs, muscles nearly rock hard, had settled between my legs. He shifted slightly - I could not even say if it was intentional or not - and the muscle flexed and pressed briefly against my sex. My vaginal walls suddenly clenched then yawned open, aching and seeking.

Not this. Not now. My sudden lust was so insistent it took all my will not to grind back against him, but the effort caused a tremor to run through my whole body, and he undoubtedly felt it. I was sure he knew very well how aroused I was. It is nothing, I told myself. It is only your earlier, intense emotions searching for some release, and choosing the wrong avenue. That is all it is. I leaned my forehead against the door, despair, lust, fading animosity, too many things to label, much less control, battling inside me. My professed hatred for him an increasingly flimsy shield straining against something much greater, and more urgent, something that had been building in me since I first laid eyes on him.

Wouldn't my father be proud of me now? First I had nearly wept in front of him, and now I stood so weakened that I was on the verge of offering my body to my enemy. I was on the verge of begging him to take it. He slid his hands under mine, interlocking our fingers, and rested his brow against my shoulder, taking slow deep breaths. It occurred to me that he, too, was struggling to hold back something overpowering.

"Please," I managed.

"What?" he said softly. "It's okay," he went on when I didn't respond. "Tell me." And his voice.../Father, help me./ His voice so warm, and full of passion. Oh, God, help me.
So loving. I have never felt in so much danger in my life.

"I am shamed enough," I said, barely whispering. "Please do not make it worse."

He froze. There was silence for a long moment. I don't think he even breathed. Then his voice came, flat and void of emotion. "I won't."

He released my hands and I found the doorknob, nearly stumbling out onto the roof. The night air washed over me like a frigid blast against my feverish, sweating skin. I turned to face him, unsure of what to say, unsure of everything. I could read nothing in his expression.

"If it means anything to you," I finally tried, "I have often wished that things were different."

His gaze locked on mine, his eyes inscrutable. "Just tell me one thing," he said. "Do you feel shame because I'm your enemy, or because I'm a -"

I was moving before he finished the word "or". I could guess what he had been about to say. I had heard the words used often enough about him in my home. Freak. Animal. I could not bear to hear him ask if I, too, felt that way. And, I must admit, the desire I felt was looking for an excuse, any excuse, to be unleashed. This would do. My mouth was hard on his before my rational brain had a chance to catch up and inquire of my body what the hell it thought it was doing.

He was immobile with shock for an instant, and then he opened to me, parting his lips to accept my probing tongue. He wrapped his arms around me and swung me around, pushing me once more hard against the door. He returned my kiss hungrily, crushing my lips against my teeth as his broad, muscular tongue slid alongside mine. My nails dug into his neck, raked across his shoulder, marking him. A low, helpless moan rose in the back of my throat as need and lust coiled tightly together in my womb.

He broke off the kiss and met my gaze, his dark eyes laden with desire barely held in check. "Are you sure?" he asked.

Was I sure? At the moment I was sure of nothing else but the need to lose myself in him, to follow my desire into oblivion. I would not let him pull back from me now. I took his face in my hands and kissed him again, running my tongue around his mouth before drawing back. "Yes," I breathed against his lips. I nipped at his lower lip, then his upper one. "Yes," I said again. I continued on, nipping and kissing along his jaw, down his neck.

He released me and stepped back, and I nearly cried out at the sudden loss of his body against mine. It nearly felt as if something had torn from within my own body. I thought for one terrifying moment that he was going to refuse me. But he only unstrapped the katana from his back, placing them carefully on the ground, and returned to me.

I shrugged quickly out of my jacket and kicked off my boots. I unbelted my dagger and threw it carelessly to the side. He helped me wrestle down my pants. I have never been one to linger over sex. I almost always preferred it fast and ferocious, satiating the raw, animal need as quickly as possible. I felt the dampness in the crotch of my underwear as I pulled them off. I was more than ready for him.

But he, it seemed, was not yet ready to take me. He kissed me, this time his tongue exploring my mouth in a more leisurely fashion. I allowed myself to follow his lead, to slow down. This may never happen again, I thought. Why not take our time? My tongue mingled with his, licking and caressing. I swept my tongue across the top of his, then along the side, thrusting slowly, sensually. It became a rhythm, our tongues mimicking the action of another part of his anatomy. His fingers stole into my hair, thumbs caressing my temples.

My pelvis pummeled gently into his, almost involuntarily, guided by the tempo of the pulsing need still growing between my legs. The kiss became more intense, his tongue thrusting more fiercely into my mouth. He suddenly broke it off and moved his lips to my forehead, my temple, my cheek. "God, you're so beautiful," he breather into my ear, a world of emotion in his voice. Something in my chest contracted and expanded painfully at his words. So, it is not just romantic hyperbole, then. The heart really does ache. He placed moist kisses along my jaw, down my neck, while his hands ran under my shirt - that and my bra the only things I was still wearing. He fondled my breasts, his fingers teasing my nipples through the silky fabric.

I grabbed the hem of my shirt and pulled it over my head. He reached around my back to unhook my bra. He slid the straps down and off my arms, then lowered his head to kiss and nip along my shoulder and down one breast until he came to my nipple and took it in his mouth. One arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me tightly to him, his other hand slid down my back and to my buttocks, squeezing and caressing. I arched against his arm, jutting my breasts out as he sucked eagerly on my nipple, the sensations igniting a fire along my nerves. He shifted his mouth to my other breast, now aching and jealous for the same attention given to its mate.

I traced my fingers along his wide jaw as he worked, and down his neck. I smoothed my hands over his powerful shoulders until my fingertips came to the juncture where his back met his shell. The skin here was delicate compared to the rest of him, and, I discovered, very sensitive as well. He gasped and shivered against my hands when I touched him there. I brushed my fingers again at this spot, one hand at either shoulder, teasing the sensitive nerves all along the fine skin. He shuddered and clasped me tighter, groaning deep in his throat.

I felt something brush against my thigh. He had released his erection. I shifted my legs, eagerly trying to position my slick, ready opening over the head. His mouth released my nipple as he brought his hands to my shoulders, applying gentle pressure. "No, don't," he said huskily. "Suck on me." His tone was as much a plea as a command.

I complied, lowering to my knees and running my hands down his plastron and sides as I went. His scent, pleasantly musky, overwhelmingly male and uniquely him filled my senses. I wrapped a hand around the thick shaft, noting with some satisfaction that in this respect, too, he was superior to most other men. I eased back the foreskin, fully exposing the emerging head. I licked along the groove under the head to the tip, then swirled my tongue over the head, taking in the taste, the slightly spongy texture. I found, somewhat to my surprise, that my mouth was actually watering with eagerness for more.

Drawing the tip of his shaft into my mouth, I sucked and licked around the head. I took a breath and started bobbing my head, easing his cock deeper into my mouth, first one inch, then another, my jaw stretching to accommodate him. "Oh, God Karai," he groaned above me. I glanced up. He was leaning slightly forward, his hands braced against the door, his expression transported in pleasure. I occurred to me how very, very vulnerable he was right now, with the most sensitive part of his anatomy between my teeth. I impatiently pushed the thought away. I would sooner cut my own throat than hurt him now.

I cupped his balls as I sucked on him, kneading them gently, his cock swelling in my mouth as I did so. His balls were hairless, and weighty in my hand. My other hand pumped the base of his shaft in time to the rocking of my head. I felt his balls draw up and tighten under my fingers. He was very close...

His hands were suddenly on my head. "Stop," he said in a gasping whisper. "Stop, I don't want to come yet." He grasped my upper arms and pulled me up, dropping to his knees himself. Evidently he was going to return the favor. Leaning back against the door, I raised a leg and draped it over his shoulder, allowing him better access. His fingers spread my nether lips wide open. The cool night air wafted around my wet, heated sex. Reaching with his tongue as far as he could, he gave me a long, slow lick from the back of my cunt to the front, my pelvis bucking in response when he brushed my clitoris, then with the underside of his tongue he swept back down.

He returned to my clit, the tip of his tongue pushing back the hood, teasing me, tickling the exposed little bundle of nerves with the lightest of touches. A thick finger probed into my sheath, coating itself with my juices, exploring my inner walls. I couldn't bear any more. I seized the back of his head in my hands and pushed the center of my sex hard into his mouth, commanding him, begging him. "Harder...lick me harder, oh, God, please...please..." He obliged me, covering my clit with his mouth and massaging in all directions with his tongue. My inner muscles clamped down around his questing finger. Oh, God yes. Yes! This is what I wanted.

Before I could ride the mighty waves of pleasure coursing through me to release, he paused, and giving my clit one last, warm kiss, he pulled me down to him, my legs straddling his thighs. I think I was even more eager than he was. With both our hands on his cock, we guided it together to my entrance, and in a swift, ardent plunge, I impaled myself on him.

I gasped and my body spasmed as he drove into me. I had never before been stretched so wide or filled so completely. He waited a moment, patiently, letting my body adjust to his size. He kissed me, tasting himself in me as I tasted myself in him, and started to move gently inside me. I answered his movements, rocking my hips in the rhythm of his thrusts. Ah, God, the delicious friction as I felt his shaft stroking inside me. The sensation of it, and of my clit brushing against the edge of his plastron as I met each thrust, began to send me over the edge.

Our pace quickened. We broke off the kiss, unable to maintain it any longer, our lungs gasping for air as we ascended. There was some pain as he thrust into me harder and harder, driving into my very womb. But it was pain accompanied by such astonishing pleasure I ached for more of it. I pounded myself on him, and each beat of his cock in me, each graze of sensation against my clit, rocketed me upwards - exalted, flying.

I soared impossibly high. I felt if I could put just a little more force behind it, a little more power, I could leave behind this world forever. On my next downward plunge I stayed there, clutching him tightly. Inhuman noises came from my throat. Snarling, mewling, I ground into him, rubbing my clit hard against his plastron. His hands wrapped around my shoulders and he pulled me down on himself even more firmly, striving with me. I hovered a last few, unbelievable moments on the very edge of release, and then my orgasm detonated and exploded through me. I lost awareness of my world, of myself, of everything except his presence inside me, and his name. I threw my head back and screamed it to the night sky.

"Leonardo!"

My cries urged him to his own completion while my body and soul blew apart in ecstasy.
He started thrusting again with renewed force, his hands lifting me and slamming me back down in time with his upward thrusts. He did not pause or slow even as his body tightened and he, too, came, his cock driving into me in a few last, wild spasms. I heard as if from a great distance his hoarse cries mingling with my own.

I returned to myself to find him still inside me, his arms embracing me. I wrapped my arms around his neck and rested my head on his shoulder, listening to us breath together, our bodies slowly easing down. One of his hands came up and cradled my head against his shoulder, his fingers playing gently in my hair. I decided I liked very much his hands in my hair. I relaxed against his body, simply enjoying the feel of him.

Neither of us spoke. I think we were both afraid to break the spell. Neither of us wanted to be the first to ask, "What happens now?" His family would be no more pleased than my father would. After all, I had sworn and tried to destroy them all. He was as cast adrift and lost right now as I was. And so we clung to each other, delaying as long as we could our inevitable return to our lives and obligations, where what we had just done was so utterly wrong.

No. This was right. This was how it should be. I was comfortable and comforted in his arms...for once in my life completely at peace.