Pairing: Phileas/Jules
Rating: PG-13
Category: Angst, POV, Slash
Summary: After the events of "Dust to Dust," Jules tries to reason out where all this is going.
Disclaimer: I don't own anyone, much less these fine characters (if you know where I could buy them, please let me know *g*). I refuse to make any money off them in any event, so please don't sue me.
Notes: This goes along with "Difficult Paths", "Should I Stay or Should I Go?", "Waking up to Reality" and "Indecision." I think any of them can be read alone and still make sense, but it's turning into more and more of a series. Many thanks to the very wonderful beta readers who shall remain nameless, lest they be blamed. *g*
Spoilers: For the past stories in the fic series, as well as spoilers for "Dust to Dust."


~~~~~

Before Morning Breaks
by Nicole D'Annais
Copyright 2001



We have made no promises.

I keep reminding myself of this fact, even as I thump my pillow and turn over for the hundredth time. No promises. We were simply two people who had a somewhat unwanted attraction to each other and ended up together. The fact that there is a friendly affection there complicated things in my mind, but now that I have had time to think rationally, I understand it all.

Everything would be perfect if only I believed any of that.

I tried to tell myself all these things as I watched Fogg with that 'woman.' I'd seen him flirt with countless women, but only Saratoga Brown had ever made him act differently. And even his actions with her couldn't match the way he seemed so besotted with Adriana Locke. If she had told him to jump from the Aurora mid-flight, I truly believe he would have. Interesting though the sarcophagus was, I'm not sure it was worth the price we all paid to see it.

Nothing that man does ever makes sense. Since that night of the golem incident, we've been together three times. Twice in my room, and once in the cloakroom of a deserted opera house after Baron von Nebel's attempt to kill the Prime Minister ended with me at the point of his gun. I was never in any serious danger, not with Phileas there to protect me--a job which, I might add, he takes entirely too much to heart at times. But when the evening's excitement was over, he didn't even wait to get back to the Aurora. He dragged me into the cloakroom near the entrance and had his way with me.

Not that I complained. Every time he puts himself on the line to protect me...well, the odds that he might die are in reality higher than the odds of my own demise, in my opinion. I am as anxious as he to prove we are both still in one piece. To feel his skin against mine, his hands and lips everywhere, his short, soft hair under my fingertips....

I confess I have begun to search out danger.

Only when he is around to save me, of course. It is not the danger I truly want; it is the relief that follows. Danger is one nearly certain way to get Phileas Fogg into my bed, and I find the more that happens, the more I crave the next time. This is madness. And I know it can't go on forever.

I fear the outcome when it ends.

I turn over again, the wounds on my neck scraping against the pillow, causing discomfort, but not as much pain as the night before. At this rate, they shall heal in a matter of days. Much faster than I would have thought possible. The thought is not entirely comforting.

It does, however, bring me back to the danger aspect of what happened with Adriana Locke. By the time we all returned to the Aurora, it was morning, and we were all asleep on our feet. Still, I was a little surprised not to have received any kind of visit from Fogg. My life was in danger; I expected comfort. I should have known better than to come to expect anything from him.

Once more, I turn onto my other side, facing the bedside table. The watch lying there taunts me, moonlight glinting off its surface, making it impossible to ignore. Such an interesting gift. Leave it to Phileas Fogg to give me a quote for my birthday. A random, obscure quote that even in context could mean nearly anything.

A soft knock on my door draws my attention away from the watch. Only one person is likely to be knocking at this hour. I push away the rush of excitement that shoots through me as I open the door and confirm it is Fogg standing there.

"May I come in?"

I pull back the door as an answer. Part of me half-expects him to grab me as soon as I close the door, but he doesn't. Instead, he stands in the middle of the room as if he's suddenly forgotten what to do with his hands. Once he decides on crossing his arms until his hands are tucked safely away, he meets my eyes. "I'm sorry. I hope I didn't wake you."

"Not at all. Was there something you wanted?"

"I--I came to see how you were doing after...after everything that happened."

"You mean after your girlfriend gave me this lovely neck decoration? I'm fine, thank you."

He stares at me for a moment before speaking again. "She wasn't--that is--I mean--she's not my, never was my 'girlfriend' as you put it. And may I say I despise that newfangled word?" He moves a step closer, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off his body. "Had she not had me under a spell, I doubt she would have held more than a fleeting interest for me. If that."

"I'm glad to hear it. At least you haven't completely lost your senses."

Whatever I was about to say next is gone as he reaches out, and those long, sensuous fingers graze my neck. "These seem to be healing nicely," he says distractedly, his fingers caressing the marks left there by that woman. "Are they causing you any pain?"

"A very little."

"Good." His hands linger, fingertips tracing each mark carefully. I am mesmerized, unable to move a muscle as he leans down and traces them again, this time with his tongue. One by one, he covers each mark thoroughly until all ten have been suitably catalogued, and I am ready to throw him on the bed. But I know better. He has to be the one to make the first move. For all my fear when it comes to bullets and knives, he is the one with the greater terror here.

Thankfully, he seems to have decided to forgo fear tonight in favor of what we both want. His hands rest on my waist as he pulls on my nightshirt, bunching the fabric bit by bit, his tongue still seeking out new spots on my neck. All I can manage to do is grab his shoulders and hold on. I am too dazed at the moment to do anything else.

He pulls back long enough to yank the nightshirt over my head, and then his mouth returns to my neck, then to my shoulders. His movements grow more urgent as he pushes me, none too gently, to the bed, and then I am too lost in a haze to notice anything else clearly.

~~~

My breathing has scarcely returned to normal when Fogg decides to spring a question on me. "So, how did you *really* overpower Adriana?"

"What?" I try not to squirm, but I can't help shifting a little against his side, so I cover the movement by making myself more comfortable--no easy feat with my head on his arm and my leg linked over one of his. It may not be the most comfortable of positions for sleep, but I'm quite happy where I am.

"I'm not debating your virility, Jules--I would be hard pressed to do so at this point and still consider myself an honorable man." The derisive tone he uses for the word 'honorable' bothers me somewhat. I know he worries about whatever this is between us, and I suspect he feels dishonorable about pulling me into such a situation. That it would do no good to tell him I came into this of my own free will does nothing to stop me from wanting to say it.

I shift again, this time onto my back, his arm still supporting my neck. "But?"

"I can't help feeling there was more to it."

Telling him would do no good. Telling him would accomplish nothing. It would do him good to wonder about the answer to something for once in his life.

And yet I can't stop myself from telling him anyway.

"Priests and 'pure' men are immune to her power."

"'Pure'? But...well surely...I mean, I can attest to an utter lack of purity in your case."

His skin warms against my neck, and if I did not know better, I would swear he was blushing. But Phileas Fogg never blushes. "Apparently the rule only applies to those who have never known the touch of a woman. Rebecca and Passepartout simply assumed...."

"Ah." The understanding in his voice quickly changes back to confusion. "You've never been with a woman?"

I'm not sure whether to be flattered or annoyed by the incredulous tone. "No. Though if you'd given me a few more weeks with Angelique...."

The sudden tension in every muscle of his body warns me to leave off the teasing, so I fall silent instead. After a few moments, he asks, "Have you ever been with another man?"

"Have you?"

He glances at me with a little amusement, but does not call me on the evasion. "Once, a long time ago."

That surprises me. I had expected the answer to be no. "Who was he?"

"A classmate at Eton. No one you know."

"Then it will not hurt to tell me his name."

"Edgar Percival." He turns his head to look at me. "Are you happy now?" he asks with a trace of annoyance.

The question sobers me in a way most other comments would not, but I don't answer truthfully. I don't dare. "What happened to Mr. Percival?"

His silence goes on so long that I'm sure he's not going to answer when he finally says, "I don't know. It was one time. But by all conventional thinking...it is wrong. So it never happened again."

"It won't be like that forever." As usual, he looks skeptical as I talk about my vision of things to come. "In the future it will be acceptable, even considered natural, for men to be with men. And women with women."

"Really?" There is little conviction in his voice, and I find myself with the sudden urge to pull the blanket up for warmth. "In all your visions, did it tell you just how far off this Utopian future of yours is?"

The bleakness in his tone is offset by an almost wistful look on his face. Or perhaps that's just my wishful eye seeing what I want to see. Either way, the conversation has affected us both. We lie there in silence, waiting for the sky to begin to lighten, when he will have to go back to his own room, and both of us will go back to denying everything. To pretending there is nothing here, nothing between us, nothing that draws us together.

I never thought the day would come where I would dread the dawn.

---

END



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