"Let's do something fun," she said, jumping to her feet and latching onto his hand with the determination of a woman on a mission.

He allowed himself to be pulled up and fell in step next to her as she strode down the corridor, boot heels clicking on the tile.

It wasn't until they stood beneath the evergreen in the garden that he finally asked, "And what, exactly, do you suggest we do?"

There was none of the sexual innuendo he'd have injected into his voice with almost any other woman prior to meeting Marie, because she was with him in the garden of the home they shared, and the sun had brushed her hair with hot strokes of gold and amber.

She smiled, quick and bright and hot, then placed her hands on his shoulders and stepped close to him. "Dance with me."

"Here?" he looked around, a little surprised at her choice of locale, though he shouldn't have been, because she was Marie, and she never did what he expected. "There's no music."

He thought she'd say something about hearing the music inside yourself, or to tell him to just imagine it, but of course she didn't.

"I know. That's why this is the best place to dance. People say that music helps you keep the rhythm, but I don't believe that. It distracts you from the moves, forces you to think when you should be feeling."

"Feeling, huh? I thought dancing was just... dancing."

She said nothing, merely twisted around to place his gloved hand on her back, then looped her cotton-covered arms behind his neck. He wrapped his free arm around her shoulders briefly, hugged her to him, then drew back slightly and slid his hand to her shoulder-bone.

He glanced down at her, patiently waiting for the next step of the dance. She closed her eyes and began to move her feet to a rhythm only she could sense, then her hips swayed and she bumped into him as he stood still, watching her. Her eyes slowly opened and she tapped her fingers against his nape playfully.

"You have to move with me, Logan," she whispered.

"How can I? I don't know the steps," he whispered back, reluctant to speak out and shatter the dreamy reverence that halo-ed the garden.

She gazed up at him then said, quietly, "The steps don't matter. It isn't about perfect choreography, or even being in synch with your partner, it's just about dancing. Close your eyes and feel, that's all there is to it."

He closed his eyes and could've told her that at that moment he just felt foolish and a little skeptical, but instead asked, "What do you feel when you dance?"

She began to move again, and her hips brushed his briefly, creating a gentle friction that, for the moment, was all warmth without the consuming blaze of the flames. "The heat of the sun on my skin and the cool of the leaves above us, but mostly, I feel content that I'm here with you. I feel... like my heart is full, and it's a good feeling, to be truly happy. Even if it is just for now, I'll always have this, this time of true joy."

He let her words flood him, trickle over his skin and down his throat and settle with perfect accuracy over his heart, lightening the burden of being a man with abilities that weren't normal, softening the blow of being different.

He slid a leg between hers and tugged her closer so that he could hold her and press his face into her hair, and he felt -- as he always seemed to when he was with her, but even more so right then -- fulfilled, at peace.

The scent of her beauty flowed through him, and he kissed the top of her head and realized for the first time, that his movements matched hers perfectly.

That he was in the garden on a calm spring day, with Marie, and they were dancing.

end