Fenny felt her body go weak, and she knew that if Brad were to let her go, she’d tumble to a heap at his feet. But, wrapped up so tightly in his arms, she was sure she wouldn’t have to worry about that; he wouldn’t let her go. For the first time in probably a year, she felt light and happy and at peace with the world as it faded from her attention. There was no one in the world but her and Brad, the man she loved. And, as she stood on the crowded street in a city thousands of miles from home, kissing him more fervently and passionately than she ever had before, she realized how painfully she had missed him.

Brad’s skin was humming, his mind was reeling, his heart was pounding as he lost himself in the feeling of Fenny’s love, astounded that she had all but thrown herself at him when he’d expected a tortured argument or more uncomfortable small talk. He felt her go a bit limp and, worried, he reluctantly pulled away and set her back on the ground.

“Fen?” he asked concernedly as she clutched him around the waist and buried her face in his chest. Was she crying?

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled into his jacket as he rubbed her back, “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you too,” Brad cooed.

“I’m so sorry for screwing everything up,” Fenny sobbed as he kissed the top of her head, “I shouldn’t have left, we could’ve, I dunno, done something. Anything would’ve been better than what happened, I hate having to live my life without you in it. And I’m turning into a bad soap opera, I can’t think when you’re holding me like this.”

“Should I let you go?” Brad asked, with no intentions of doing so.

“Never.” She reached up and kissed the underside of his jaw.

“We should get out of the middle of the street,” he declared, “it’s freezing.”

Fenny nodded. “Where’re you staying?”

“With you,” he smiled.

“Let’s go then.”

Gina watched from her perch in the café with a great deal of satisfaction as Fenny and Brad, arms still wrapped around each other, headed down the street towards their hotel. “Thank god,” she mumbled into her mug as she took a sip of her hot chocolate. At least Fenny would be bearable again, assuming she didn’t find some way to fulfill her self-fulfilling prophecy of “our relationship doesn’t work.” Gina could only pray that this time Fenny had learned her lesson. At the very least, perpetually sexually frustrated Fenny was in for a good root, and that would certainly help things along.

Gina felt her face fall into a sulk as she realized she would probably be spending the night alone. Quite possibly listening to Fenny and Brad fuck like rabbits. Maybe Paul would be feeling the pangs of longing that Gina was feeling, or, more likely, he’d feel the pulse of horniness, and come home to her.

Oh, who was she kidding, he’d be out until dawn with his friends, consuming a toxic amount of liquor and wreaking havoc on anyone or anything that should have the misfortune of stumbling across their path, before stumbling back to the hotel to collapse in bed, comatose, until he had to go to a show later that night.

Gina was glad she’d brought along a good book. Fenny and Brad would probably be shacked up until dinnertime tomorrow and Paul and Greg would be of no use to anyone with the raging hangovers they were no doubt working proudly towards. As she finished the last of her cocoa, Gina decided she may as well have another cup or two before heading back to the hotel; there was, after all, no one waiting for her there.

Fenny and Brad’s walk from the café to the hotel was spent discussing their respective adventures in getting to Edinburgh, but once in Fenny’s room, no time was wasted in making up for lost time. The door hardly had time to close before Fenny kicked off her shoes and pulled off her jacket, Brad leaning down to kiss her as he followed suit. Giggling, they collapsed onto the bed, her fingers under his shirt, reveling in the familiar contours of his back while he fiddled with the fly of her blue jeans as he searched out that cherished spot on her neck, smiling into her flesh as she gave a quiet moan in response.

“Do me you forgive me for fucking things up?” Brad asked breathlessly.

“I forgive you for everything,” Fenny smiled up at him, stroking the side of his face. “Do you forgive me for being an immature selfish bitch?”

“You never were, but I’d forgive you for anything.”

“I love you,” Fenny sighed.

“I love you,” Brad said, the sincerity and need shining in his eyes and making Fenny’s body ache for him. His lips crashed down on hers again and her fingers snaked through his hair.

“Ooh, lookit her,” Boothby chuckled, gesturing out the window with his glass, sloshing a bit of the liquid onto the table.

“Great rack,” Greg chimed, nodding appreciatively, his glasses slipping down his nose.

“Nah, too thin,” Paul countered. “What good’s an anorexic, her ribs’ll keep poking you in the stomach…ouch.”

“Can anyone understand what the Scot is saying?” Rich asked as he leaned his elbows on the table, glancing at Phil who seemed to be muttering crude things about the woman in question.

“Hell, he was unintelligible before,” Fleety giggled, “with this much booze in him it’s a miracle his grunts actually are able still to be fucking described as speech.”

“You’ve stopped making sense too,” Adam announced.

“Fuck you.”

“Not if I have the first go,” Adam countered.

“Oh, there’s the one,” Greg cheered, face pressed to the window as he ogled an approaching figure. “What a babe!”

“Put your glasses back on you blind bastard,” Boothby chuckled, “that babe’s a bloke!”

“Shit,” Greg hissed, fumbling for his specs on the table and nearly knocking over Adam’s beer in the process.

“Not a bad looking bloke though,” Paul chuckled, “want me to bring him in? You could buy him a drink, looks a decent enough fellow.”

“Go to hell,” Greg grumbled.

“I’ll save you a seat,” Paul grinned.

“There’s one good looking woman,” Boothby said in a sultry, slightly slurred voice.

“Oh yeah,” Phil growled, or at least that’s what it sounded like.

“Woohoo,” Fleety said appreciatively.

“Let’s invite her in,” Rich suggested. “Buy her a drink.”

“So long as there’s no Adam’s apple,” Greg grumbled, taking another swig at his drink.

Boothby jumped up and headed for the door, followed by Adam as the others looked on from the window. “Hey there,” Adam called, trying his best to look suave and debonair through his alcoholic haze as the blonde woman tried to step past him. “Let us buy you a drink, hey? There’s a bunch of us in here, I’m sure there’s one or two of us you could get on with.”

“I’m sure there would be,” the woman smiled cautiously.

“Look at her tits,” Fleety whispered from just inside the door, and a flurry of laughter followed.

“Great body,” Greg declared from further inside, leaning against the grimy window. “I bet she’d be a stallion under the sheets.”

“Why’d you want a male horse in bed?” Rich asked.

“Like she’d ever bed with you,” Paul laughed.

“Oh, and you’re Prince Charming, hey?” Greg countered.

“Better than you, Genie and Fen even said so.”

“You never slept with Fen.”

“But she said you were bad anyway.”

“Ok, you wouldn’t like those two,” Fleety grinned, sticking his head out into the street, “they’re fuckheads. But I like to use other parts of my body…”

“Hey,” Adam interrupted, “this is a classy lady, no need to be like that. Look at those boots, those are the boots of a classy lady. Those are the boots I’d like to have wrapped around my waist by the end of the evening.”

“Don’t press your luck, pal,” the woman replied.

“She’d probably be singing a different tune if she had a belly full of booze,” Boothby grinned.

“There’s not enough alcohol in the northern hemisphere,” she sighed.

“Hey, wait a second,” Phil chirped, regaining a bit of comprehensive skill, “is the whole bloody country being invaded by the fucking Australians?”

“Fuck,” Paul grumbled as he made his way out to where the action was happening. “Lay off fellas, it’s the wife.”

“Wife?” everyone but Greg gasped.

“Hey Gina,” he waved.

“What a bunch of dickheads,” she muttered to herself.

“Guess we’re losing McDermott,” Phil sighed.

“Go on,” Rich smiled, “drag him home by the ear.”

“I should,” Gina nodded.

Boothby went into a coughing fit in which every other cough sounded suspiciously like “whipped.”

“Aw, you don’t mind if Pauly stays and plays a while longer, do you Mrs. McDermott?” Fleety whined. “Promise he’ll be home before breakfast.”

“No, go back with the wife,” Greg suggested, patting Paul harshly on the shoulder. “It’ll be worth it in the end. They teach you that in counseling, your wife is always right.”

Gina merely looked at him, waiting for his decision. It was an important decision, but she got the feeling Paul didn’t know that. “You don’t mind if I stay a little longer, do you? Didn’t think so, I haven’t seen these guys in like forever.”

“Won’t remember seeing them in the morning,” Gina grumbled under her breath.

“Thanks darling,” Paul cooed, pecking her on the cheek, “love you. See you later.”

“If you’re lucky,” Gina hissed, but her voice was drowned out by the chorus of, “Goodbye, Mrs. McDermott,” coming from the crowd of thoroughly wasted comedians.

Fenny, still trembling from the intensity of their love making, lay a hand on Brad’s sweat-slick neck and kissed him tenderly. He responded quickly and moved his hand up her back until she pulled away. “Will it work this time?” she asked cautiously. “I mean us?”

“We’ll make it work,” Brad smiled.

“Do you think we can? I mean, we’ve tried before, what if we’re just screwed, destined to be unhappy, not meant to be together?”

“Fen, don’t say that,” he chastised. “After all the shit we’ve been through, I can’t think of anything that could tear us apart again. We both know now we can’t stand being apart. If you were half as miserable as I was, I’m surprised you’ve managed as well as you have.”

“Twice as miserable as you were,” Fenny countered, smiling drowsily at him. “Just ask Gina, I drove her nuts with my whining and my moping and my constant trying not to let her and Paul be happy near me. She kept threatening my life because I was crying.”

“You were crying?” Brad asked, stroking her cheek.

“I was confused and lonely, and I felt bad for what I did to you, what you did to me…”

“Would you believe me if I said I cried, for all the same reasons?”

“Probably not,” Fenny sniggered.

“It’s true,” he assured her.

“I’m sorry,” she said through a yawn. “Not the best apology probably. But I am. I never would’ve wanted to make my manly stud cry.” She smiled a sad smile.

“I know,” he said, mirroring her smile. “I’m sorry too.”

“Let’s stop with the apologizing and go back to being disturbingly happy,” Fenny suggested.

“I can work with that,” Brad nodded as she curled up next to him, one hand resting purposefully on the tattoo that still bore her name, cheek pressed to his chest, and he thought back to the countless other nights that had ended with them in this exact same position. He dropped his hand to cover hers, and both fell asleep with the ease of contentment for the first time in months.

Paul slipped into bed behind Gina in what he considered a nonchalant manner and tried pulling her into his arms.

“You’re back,” she announced gruffly.

“No, this is your back,” he giggled, dropping a sloppy kiss on the bit of bare skin her pajamas exposed.

“You’re not funny when you’re shit faced.”

“I’m not shit faced,” he countered as she wriggled out of his grip to face him.

“It’s dawn,” Gina chided, “you’ve been out drinking since sunset. You should probably be on dialysis by this point.”

“I’m sorry Genie,” Paul pouted, leaning in to kiss her.

“For god’s sake,” she yelped, slipping out of bed, “like kissing a distillery.” She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. He pulled out the heavy artillery, but she wasn’t going to give in to his puppy dog eyes, not this time. “Do you realize what time it is?” she demanded.

He looked at his wrist, realized it was the wrong hand, then checked his other hand. “Nine seventeen.”

“Your watch is still set on California time you idiot,” she sighed.

“Oh,” he said softly, then rolled across the bed to investigate the digital alarm clock on the bedside table. “Five twenty-four.”

“And?” Gina prompted.

“What?” he gasped innocently.

“I can handle a lot, Paul,” she hissed, “but I will not come second to alcohol.”

“Oh, I’m not touching that,” he giggled.

“You spent all night getting pissed, even though I asked you not to and you had ample opportunity to come home with me, and now you’re making jokes.”

“I’m a comedian, Genie, it’s the Fringe, it’s what I’m supposed to do, tell jokes and get drunk.”

“You’re also supposed to be my husband,” Gina spat.

“I can be both,” Paul declared, nodding resolutely, though he was obviously losing the fight against unconsciousness.

“You’re doing a real bang up job of combining the two,” Gina grumbled, but it was no use, he was comatose. “Stupid man,” she sighed as she tossed the covers over him.

Gina had spent two hours in the lobby of the hotel with her book, getting more and more agitated. How was she supposed to keep herself amused for the rest of the day when her husband and closest friends were all snuggled up in bed? It had to be put to a stop.

She entered her room to find Paul sprawled face down on the bed, sheets a tangle around him, hair disheveled and aroma less than appealing. How could one man make such a mess of himself in only a couple hours? She looked around the room for weapons. First off were the curtains, “Time to shed some light on the situation,” she said to herself as she pulled them back. Then the television was turned on to a moderately painful volume, and the sheets pulled off him. That would have been enough under normal circumstances, but Paul had obviously drunk himself into a stupor again.

Shrugging to herself, Gina stepped out into the hallway and returned a minute later with the bucket full of ice, to which she added a liberal amount of water before positioning herself at the foot of the bed, regarding her boxer-clad husband.

Reaching into the bucket, she pulled out an ice cube and ran it along the bottom of his foot. It twitched in protest, but she got no other response. She moved it up his leg as she crawled onto the bed, letting it rest on the inner part of his thigh until it melted. It certainly wasn’t getting the response she desired.

Another ice cube made its way up his back to rest on the sensitive nerve center at the base of his neck. His head jerked a bit. “Good, at least you’re not dead,” Gina grumbled over the volume of the television. “Fuck subtlety,” she announced as she stood up on the bed, giving it a couple good bounces as a warning.

The contents of the bucket spilled out across Paul’s face, back, and rear, ice cubes bouncing and sliding off his flesh, and the blood curdling scream he gave in response was probably enough to wake the neighbors, who, luckily, were Fenny and Brad.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing woman, you could’ve killed me! What did I ever do to you to deserve such fucking treatment? Jesus, that’s freezing!” he screeched as he leapt up, staring accusingly at her as she hopped off the bed. “God, will you close the curtains, I’m going blind here, do you want me to die? And why do they even make televisions that fucking loud?”

“Get up,” Gina demanded.

“I got back two hours ago, I need to sleep,” Paul whined.

“Should’ve thought about that before you went out with the boys,” Gina said, eyebrow raised. “We’re going sight seeing in half an hour. Take a shower, you smell like rotting cadavers.”

“I love you too,” he grumbled, watching as she marched from the room.

Fenny woke to the almost forgotten feeling of arms wrapped around her, and she snuggled further back into Brad, her head leaning back against his shoulder as his chin rested against the top of her head. Eyes squinted against the hideous morning light, she rubbed his arm gently, and he pulled her closer.

“Morning,” he breathed.

“Good morning,” she said sleepily, smiling at the way his voice rumbled from his chest into her back.

“What time is it?”

She opened one eye cautiously and peered at the somewhat blurry digital numbers on the night stand. “Eight.”

“Damn.”

“Jet lag sucks.”

“In LA it’s midnight.”

“I’m still tired.”

“Me too, it’s too early,” Brad mumbled.

“And we stayed up awful late last night,” Fenny sighed.

“I’m not complaining.”

“Didn’t think you would.”

“Should we get up?”

“The others are probably glad to be rid of me.”

“Then we can stay in bed a little longer?”

“Best idea ever.”

Fenny rolled over and smiled at Brad before dropping a few light kisses on his chest. “No, this is the best idea ever,” he laughed, but, before he could reciprocate the gesture, there was a painfully harsh, intrusive knock at the door. “If it’s the maid, you have my permission to kill her,” Brad sighed, reluctantly letting go of Fenny and watching with a quiet smile as she struggled into her panties and the clothes wrinkled from spending all night on the carpet.

“Gina,” she grumbled as she carefully pulled back the door.

“We’re going sight seeing in half an hour,” she announced. “You coming?”

“Not if we’re going with you,” Fenny smirked, but Gina didn’t look very amused.

“We have two options. We go sight seeing, or I kill Paul. Take your pick.”

“You know how fond I am of Paul,” Fenny said, rubbing her eyes and wondering where her glasses had gotten to, “but I’m rather partial to the idea of staying here in bed for the next week.”

She turned back to Brad, who shrugged. “How often to we get to Scotland?” he grinned. “We can screw each other senseless any time.”

“And probably will,” Fenny giggled.

“For fuck’s sake,” Gina moaned and retreated back into the hallway.