Moonlightaholics

Title: Lauds
Author: redwinter101
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don't own Moonlight or any of its characters
Note: this is the second story in the Divine Office series - there is a separate A/N here explaining a bit more - and it takes place at dawn. This story also follows on from Homecoming and Stealing Home.

The office of lauds is traditionally a service of praise and joy at the coming of a new day and that's very much the theme here.

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--- Lauds ---

The still, warm hush held Mick close as he sped towards home.

Three a.m.

His winding-down.

Another bad guy taken down; another innocent safe; job done.

His former, solo routine of home, booze, blood, patch-up, freezer, now seemed so distant, another lifetime, as he pressed a little harder on the throttle. The engine growl rose to a roar as he neared home, newly-formed muscle memory negotiating unlit curves and straights.

It was a time of day few humans saw, even fewer appreciated, lost to their dreaming. Out here, away from the polluting glow of smog-bound streetlights and the perpetual hum of the city, the night was crisp and clear, a light breeze ruffling roadside trees, the chirp of cicadas and the faint lick of the ocean against the shore.

The headlamps cast their halogen arc over cool concrete as the Benz swept up the driveway, extinguished with a flick as Mick slowed to a crawl, deadening the soft crunch of gravel beneath warm rubber. He killed the engine and coasted to a halt. No lights, no sounds, no disturbance; all was calm. Still-knitting muscle groaned as he levered himself out of the car, easing the door shut.

Keys hushed in his fist, a tiptoe to the door, over the threshold. Home.

Twin heartbeats sighed their greeting. Their pull, enticing. He wanted to run up the stairs, rush to his goal but he had matters to attend to first.

Silent steps to his bathroom, off-limits to everyone else apart from Beth. He pushed the door closed and pulled on the light, wincing at the battered reflection caught in the starkly-lit mirror. Fluorescence had a way of making everything look worse, highlighting livid pools of healing bruise, picking out the sepia streaks of dried blood across his skin. Once-vibrant, life-filled scarlet, now dried, dead, brown.

His coat had survived intact; he shrugged it off and hung it on the hook by the door. The henley hadn't been so fortunate, a bullet hole matching the smear of dried blood on his belly. It disappeared into the trash with a swish. Boots unlaced, inspected, set aside. Jeans, scuffed and bloodied but otherwise undamaged, into the laundry. Belt rinsed and wiped clean.

Stripped, he turned to complete his inspection; one shot was all the mark had got off before Mick took him down. The wound already healed, he could feel the slug working its way deeper; he'd have to wait for it to wend its slow path to the surface. No other repairs required; just a little blood to renew and revive. Unclicking the adjoining door he stepped through to the freezer room, fished a flask from the refrigerator and filled a glass. Down in two gulps, mere healing nourishment, no time to savour as other priorities beckoned.

Pulsing shower jets washed away more than blood and sweat. As the water flowed and cleansed, the Mick that belonged in the world outside, the world safely sequestered beyond the threshold, was renewed, transformed into lover, husband, father.

One final inspection. Teeth cleaned, mouthwash gargled, hair raked into some kind of order, damp tendrils curling at his neck. A brisk shave, running his hand over his now-smooth jaw. Clean tee-shirt and pyjama pants, barefoot. Glass cleaned. Work done. He ran it off like a checklist, his ritual, making himself clean, ready.

A final cast around the bathroom to ensure all was neat, orderly, and then Mick was free to climb the stairs, to rejoin his women, to become family once more.

Andi's door was open, her Peter Pan nightlight spilling Tinkerbell shadows out into the hallway. The bed was bare, covers thrown back. Mick paused, scented, listened, a sense picture forming: a nightmare's jagged shock dragging Andi from sleep, tears and fear, Beth running, holding, soothing, carrying her back to their bed. Memories of his long-ago vigils at Beth's window, the pain of watching her night terrors, the wish he could bundle Andi away, keep her safe, fight her dreaming demons.

He straightened the covers, turned off the light and headed for the master bedroom, two pulses almost indistinguishable now, as he drew near. He slipped through the doorway, wrapping himself in the captivating sensations within. Andi's breath, fast and light, even in deep sleep; Beth's smooth and regular, each other's counterpoint. A few, swift paces drew him to the bedside and he crouched down next to Andi, curled against Beth's body like an apostrophe. Serene and peaceful, he wondered what her sweet dreams held now. The gentlest caress over feather-soft curls, a kiss on her cool brow, his smile broad in the darkness. Happiness surged like an ache in the back of his throat, welcome, overwhelming. Every night the same joy, the same wonder, the same peace.

He circled to the other side of bed and peeled back the comforter, releasing a blast of warmth. Easing down, he waited as the reflected heat warmed him.

Inching closer.

Closer.

Watching, feeling, his senses filled with them. The sweet scent and lilting rhythm of peaceful sleep.

Closer.

Closer until he could sink his face into Beth's hair, splayed out across the pillow in a golden halo.

Closer.

Their points of touch, his knees tucked in behind hers, her unconscious settling against him, shoulders pressed against his chest, spine curling into him. A perfect fit. He could lie with his beloved in his arms, watch her dreams writ large, feel the strength of her body, her spirit.

Propped on one elbow, he watched them as the almost imperceptible change in the light signalled the sun breaching the horizon. Dawn. A couple of hours until they woke. Precious, peaceful time, no sights or sounds intruded; nothing else mattered. His chance to wake with them, cherished beyond measure. Their own normal, miraculous daybreak.

I'm very very happy I'm not working today, so I can cry happy tears in private.

Home. It's such a small word, but encompasses so much. People that love you, a place to be yourself, a refuge from the ugliness of the world outside your door. And now Mick has all of that, and more.

He pushed the door closed and pulled on the light, wincing at the battered reflection caught in the starkly-lit mirror.

There's still violence and darkness in Mick's world, something that the light shows him in full view - but now he can put it aside because he has something else in his life - two somethings, actually.

Twin heartbeats sighed their greeting. Their pull, enticing.

I think most people take 'normal' for granted - but not Mick.

Happiness surged like an ache in the back of his throat, welcome, overwhelming. Every night the same joy, the same wonder, the same peace.

I've always said one of my favorite parts of being married was sharing a bed with someone. You've captured that feeling to a "T" here:

Their points of touch, his knees tucked in behind hers, her unconscious settling against him, shoulders pressed against his chest, spine curling into him. A perfect fit. He could lie with his beloved in his arms, watch her dreams writ large, feel the strength of her body, her spirit.

Their own normal, miraculous daybreak.

Sometimes the biggest miracle in life is the simplest one - love.

Just so SO perfect, Red.

Oh man, now you've got me worried, PNWgal - I promised Grace faithfully that the next couple of stories in this series wouldn't make her cry - and if this got you going, she's a goner.

I love what you said about home - I think that's such a huge deal for Mick. He'd created a sanctuary for himself at the loft, and it had been his home for a long time, but it was always solitary. I think the brief references we had to Mick's family created the idea that home and family were just incredibly important to him. And that's what he's got here. Finally.

Red

Pulsing shower jets washed away more than blood and sweat. As the water flowed and cleansed, the Mick that belonged in the world outside, the world safely sequestered beyond the threshold, was renewed, transformed into lover, husband, father.

This line got me! Just beautiful Red. My family means everything to me and this line brought it all home!

You rock!!

I wish I had today off so I could cry a little at this.

Pulsing shower jets washed away more than blood and sweat. As the water flowed and cleansed, the Mick that belonged in the world outside, the world safely sequestered beyond the threshold, was renewed, transformed into lover, husband, father.

This passage is so powerful. It's true to the many faces we all wear, friend, lover, sibling, parent, child, co-worker. But with a vampire it's even more pronoounced. There is the potential "monster" and the fierce protector of those they love.

Sunrise is my favorite time of day.
Redwinter is one my favorite writers.
I love your imagery.

extinguished with a flick as Mick slowed to a crawl, deadening the soft crunch of gravel beneath warm rubber

And he’s hurt, but it doesn’t mean a thing anymore. Before having a home, he healed outwardly, but was cold inwardly. Now it’s meaningless that his body hurts.

Still-knitting muscle groaned

I love the cleansing he does in his private bathroom and adjoining freezer room. Like Superman transforming back to Clark Kent, but not as sad.

Pulsing shower jets washed away more than blood and sweat. As the water flowed and cleansed, the Mick that belonged in the world outside, the world safely sequestered beyond the threshold, was renewed, transformed into lover, husband, father.

And of course he would need such a sanctuary where Andi wouldn’t find out. I’m glad he is so happy. He earned it. Still, it’s sad that he has to leave the vampire outside, that he can’t bring it with him to his women. He’s splitting his life in two. He seems content and in peace, but I wonder if there isn’t some repercussion when he’s hiding part of himself.

Happiness surged like an ache in the back of his throat, welcome, overwhelming. Every night the same joy, the same wonder, the same peace.

I love the „closer, closer“ that is like the rhythm of breath. He is home, and he does his ritual to ensure it stays that way. Wonderful, red! Just wonderful. It didn't make me cry, but still left me breathlessly happy, with a tinge of sadness.

Oh, Red. Grace is a goner for sure, but they're very happy tears. What washes out of this story for me is Mick's immense joy in having found peace, love, acceptance, refuge. Mick's loft offered him refuge of a sort, but it was more like the lonely peace of a solitary monk. Now there's a sense of belonging to something bigger than you are. Of sinking into acceptance and love. I love the way Mick works his way methodically toward the goal of being curled around Beth, their bodies touching in the intimacy of sleep...that's just the most joyous, satisfying thing that Mick could wish for.

It's very interesting to me that he doesn't just snuggle right next to Beth once he's clean and ready for bed. He has to work his way there in stages, not wanting to disturb the peacefulness of their slumber. He sloooooooowly moves closer and closer until finally, finally, he's where he needs to be. And he can share their rest with them without jarring them out of it. I think he's still a little afraid that if he moves too fast it'll break...that it's that fragile. At this point, my hope is that he'll have a chance to discover how strong it really is, and that he'll grow more bold, and snuggle in to Beth (and Andi, if she's there) more easily. But this is a wonderful stage too, the stage of reverent joy--where everything gets noticed and appreciated, and every moment is savored.

Oh RED! This is amazing... so very sweet!

lorig, thank you. Family means everything to Mick too, I think.

cassysj, I'm sorry you're having to work today (me too ) and I love your comment - Mick has lots of different roles, even more than the rest of us.

francis, you're so sweet, thank you. I think Mick created a separation - to protect Andi from his work, his vampire, and everything that entails. I think she'll creep in though, little by little..

alle, joy indeed. The simple joy of being together. For Mick, what could possibly be better?

jen, thank you. Delighted you enjoyed it.

Red

Now see, I did not cry at this... it felt very peaceful to me, from beginning to end...

I love the juxtaposition of his job, his "dirty", messy, bloody outside world, and the clean and peace of what he has now found with his family. I love writing that phrase "his family" just there, actually.

Tho that juxtaposition is probably not just his alone. Yes, he's a vamp, so what waits him on the outside, and the amount of "cleansing" that he feels he's gotta go thru before he can take his place under the covers with his family ( ) is certainly extraordinary, but still, I would guess policemen and firemen sometimes feel kinda this way (without the blood drinking, but then when they get shot they also don't get to come home), coming home from a really bad night, a really gory crime, a really horrific fire... so I kinda identify, even as a human, with his sensory experience walking into that house. Past a kid's bedroom with Tinkerbell in it, of all the symbols there could be!

But that whole cleansing ritual seemed peaceful to me. Mick is very disciplined and programmed. He would have this ritual down to a science after just a few nights of it... so it's not a hardship for him, just the last little bit he's gotta go thru, once he coasts the Benz (LOVE that he coasts the Benz) up to the house and tiptoes into the door... just the last little bit of his "work"... then he's free.

And like Alle, I LOVE how he snuggles in, bit by bit, inch by inch, not wanting to move too fast or breathe too loud or do anything to break the spell of his girls' slumber. He's all purified now, and he can snuggle in, forget the dirty and the blood, and just BE with his girls until they wake up and leave him to his freezer or whatever comes next. What an extraordinary image! Mick and his two girls... you can just FEEL the joy that would be emanating from the vamp.

HOW different from the night he came home after LeeJay, to an empty house, sick and hurt and guzzling blood filled with guilt and regret. This is the kind of memory that someone like Mick would build a lifetime around. Whatever happens in his life, this would imprint forever.

Thanks, Grace. This was intended as a joyful, peaceful story, so I'm delighted that's what you felt. And I love the comparison with regular folk who do difficult, dangerous jobs and how they leave that at the door when they get home - because home means sanctuary. And sometimes protecting the people you love means keeping the world outside.

wpgrace wrote:HOW different from the night he came home after LeeJay, to an empty house, sick and hurt and guzzling blood filled with guilt and regret. This is the kind of memory that someone like Mick would build a lifetime around. Whatever happens in his life, this would imprint forever.

(That's me, grinning like a fool.)

Red

red,

this is a beautiful counterpoint to 'Vigil'

In 'Lauds', there is a sense of new beginning, a new life, in a word, family....

Even in the darkest part of the night, Mick can now sense beauty in the cool, clean air, the peace broken only by the cicadas...while he appreciates it, there is something he appreciates more, something that he needs to reconnect with. The cadence that you provide in this lovely piece gives you the feeling that the closer he gets to home, the faster he wants to get there.

What I like is that you've kept Mick true to his character....he's still a vamp, he's still a PI and he still has dirty work to do. Yet when he comes home now, there is a ritual cleansing that removes any trace of the night's activities from his body and his soul. He is home now, a place of safety for Andi and Beth, but also a place of renewal for himself.

A place of peace.

Oh, Red! This filled me with such peace and warmth. Mick's job is a dangerous one and as a vampire he pushes his limits. But it looks like he's found a balance. The warmth of home and 'normal' is always there for him. *sigh* Just.....*sigh*

sigh, sigh, sigh.....

.. it's interesting that you've entitled these the hours that monks keep.. because reading stealing home and then this, I just get the strongest impression that the loft was Mick's monk's cell - bare, almost sterile with its stainless steel and leather - and that he's now left his monastic life behind, embraced the other roles he'd given up as dust. Beautiful, beautiful stuff, Red.

Every time you write about Mick, I get the strongest feeling the words are his. He describes all his hopes, fears and joys to you and you dutifully report them to us. He is so real, he is so here, his voice is so true....