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in
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Doctor Who, Midnight is Where the Day Begins, Jo Grant/Liz Shaw, PG13/R
Title: Midnight Is Where the Day Begins (thank you, U2's 'Lemon' for the title)
Author: ALC Punk!
Recipient: biichan
Fandom: Doctor Who (AU, also, oldskool)
Pairing: Elizabeth Shaw/Josephine Grant
Rating: PG13/R, though there are references to sex, though not graphic.
Word count: 2500?
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Warnings: references to sex, and to death (I was inspired a great deal by The Poisoners' Handbook)
Summary: 20's New York City, where the booze runs freely with denaturing agents, the mob makes a splash, and Josephine Grant sings in a little gin joint while Liz Grant works in the labs of a notorious crime boss. (I didn't intend to go AU, but then I did. *shrug*)
Josephine Grant was a force to be reckoned with. Blonde hair, hazel eyes, and a voice that smoked even in the dingiest clubs. It was why the Brig (as he liked to call himself) put her on stage. When she sang, customers stayed around, drinking and listening. Once off-stage, some of her poise slipped, and she was just a scared little showgirl who fell in with the wrong crowd.
But she liked the spotlight, and she liked those hours onstage where she could pretend she was in a revue on Broadway, and not working for a mobster who'd probably kill her when he was done with her.
Jo wasn't the only one chafing under the Brig's despicable rule. Dr. Elizabeth Shaw had been drafted from her work in a tiny chemist's in Brooklyn, and shoved into a factory where she was told to filter their alcohol into something that wouldn't kill ten out of every hundred people. That sort of work wasn't for a scientist of her caliber, but then, it wasn't like she was going to find a better place. With her list of requirements, she'd even scored a better lab than the one she'd trained in. She could distill the alcohol back from its poisonous state, and still do her own little projects on the side.
Didn't mean she didn't want out, or that, when slinking into a club to listen to Jo Grant sing, she didn't think of other things.
In fact, Liz's dream was a lab and a woman (society told her a man was what she wanted, but Elizabeth had other priorities) and a little house in the country with a well-stocked lab, where she could disappear for days and emerge having solved everything from the need for Prohibition, to whatever the latest health scare was.
But it all came crashing down one night. Liz had spent a fruitless day trying to remove the latest government-sanctioned poison from their stock, and finally gave up. It wasn't like her, but even she needed a break. After a long walk through streets full of dust and tired people, she'd found herself in Benton's, sitting at a back table, listening to Josephine Grant croon smokey little melodies into a microphone that didn't deserve the name. The Pianist (some idiot named Yates) kept missing notes, causing Grant to glare at him, though she remained in tune and on-time.
"There's a raid on," murmured a voice in Liz's ear.
She glanced to the side and found an unkempt little man, his eyes darting everywhere. Doc was the Brig's top chemist, but Liz had never been that fond of him and was more than grateful not to be working in his lab--they'd tried, once, it hadn't gone well. "Don't be ridiculous."
He smelled, too. "The Brig sent me. There's a raid on--Dav's men are on the move."
Everyone knew about Dav and his plans for the Brig's territory. Liz frowned, not believing it yet. But not willing to dismiss it entirely. Even though it meant the little man didn't go away, she asked, "How can you be sure it's not some trick?"
"Look, Lizzy," he gave her an unkind look, "I'm only here 'cause the boss don't want to lose his best producer, see? So c'mon with me, and we'll--"
Whatever he'd been planning to say was drowned out in a sudden shriek from the diva on stage. Josephine Grant had broken off mid-word to warn everyone in attendance of the men pouring in through the door.
Everyone in the smokey little club froze for a moment, and then erupted into chaos. Taking her chance, Liz ran for the stage, jumping onto it while Yates ran the other direction and Grant continued to scream. "Come on!" she snapped at the blonde, dragging her into the wings and aiming for the little dressing-room area that had to be back there. "Is there a back entrance?"
There had to be, the Brig would never want his songbird importuned by touching The Public.
"Yes--" recovering herself, Josephine dragged at Liz, redirecting them towards a tiny little hallway.
The door halfway down opened into the alley, and Liz was suddenly grateful to her lab work. She could smell the stench of the place, but it was nothing to certain acids poured into each other in rapid succession. She simply hoped the pungent smell wouldn't cling to her boots. They were the only footwear she possessed for the lab.
Liz ended up leading the way as they ran down one alley, crossed a street, then another. She counted streets as she tried not to huff. Josephine seemed in better shape, and Liz told herself if she got up on a stage and belted out tunes, she'd have better lung capacity, too.
The net closing on Benton's missed them, and Liz breathed a sigh of relief when they paused and listened to the sounds of what were definitely sirens as they dwindled into the distance.
"My place--"
Shaking her head, Liz found herself reaching out and patting the other woman's arm. Everyone knew that the Brig's favorite songbird had a room two doors down from the club. "It's no use. If you go back there, you're rumbled."
"Probably," objected Josephine, but she didn't say anything as Liz turned them down a side-street.
"We can go to mine," Liz murmured. They walked in silence until they got to Liz's, and she felt herself judged a little as the singer took in the small tenement building, and the half-open door.
"Sorry, no doorman."
"'S all right."
They were silent again as Liz led the way up the stairs (no elevator, either). She was surprised she'd offered her apartment at such short notice. A thought worked its way through her mind that she'd wanted to bring Josephine back a time or two. But a classy dame like her--Liz shoved the thought aside and pulled her key out, expertly giving the door the extra shoulder-bump to pop the cogs into place as she turned it--probably would never have been interested.
Liz headed into the tiny kitchen, letting Josephine close the door. She heard the other woman fumble with the locks, but didn't go back to help her. Ducking down and digging behind the out of date canned goods in her lower cupboard, Liz closed her fingers around the bottle of scotch she'd bought early on. There was a lot left, and she needed it. A glance over her shoulder as Josephine joined her, looking pale and strained, told her that she needed it, too.
"It's not fancy," Liz said, no apology in her tone as she sloshed out two fingers for each of them into mis-matched glasses.
Josephine downed hers, gasping a little at the burn. Then she coughed, "Doesn't need to be. Oh, that was just what I needed." She held out the glass for more, then leaned against the doorframe.
Blocked into the small space, Liz only became conscious of it after she swallowed her own drink. Her hands weren't even shaking, and she wondered if the raid had really been the Feds, or if Dav was working a fake-out in his takeover. Either way, someone'd be looking for her come morning. She didn't know which she hoped it was.
"I've seen you before--watching me."
Josephine's words broke the silence, and Liz jerked guiltily, then chastised herself for doing so. "Everyone watches you."
"Yes. That's the point, isn't it?" With a strange smile, the blonde set her glass down. "But you... there's an intensity to it."
"Maybe I wanted to be a singer instead of a chemist," Liz offered, trying for glib.
Josephine stepped closer, and Liz didn't back into the counter as much as she suddenly wanted to. "That's not it, is it? Not just some silly pipe dream of gracing the stage and having flowers every night?"
Feeling warm, Liz tried to reply, and found she couldn't. There were so many things she could say, none of them the truth, and they all tangled up in her mouth until she was left breathless and wondering if she were cracking under the pressure. Perhaps she was hallucinating this entire thing, having breathed too many fumes while working.
They didn't train her for situations like this, she thought, just before Josephine's fingers brushed over her cheek.
Liz swallowed and leaned into them. Torn between terror and desire--if this was just a joke, she wasn't sure how she'd survive. Perhaps Dav would be kinder, she thought wildly.
"I've always liked it when you watch," Josephine whispered before her mouth brushed over Liz's.
Stepping back into the counter, Liz grabbed the edge with one hand and found her other pulling at the soft fabric of Josephine's dress. "Josephine," she managed, eyes closing, then opening again as Josephine stepped into her.
"Call me Jo, darling."
It was adrenaline, it was the scotch, frantic thoughts chased themselves around Liz's head before she kissed Jo, full on the mouth, tasting the alcohol and the bitter fear they both carried. She should have stopped, but she didn't want to.
Apparently, neither did Jo.
-=-
Josephine Grant had always known when people were interested. The way their eyes followed her movements. Men, especially, liked to caress her legs with their gaze. She'd allowed it, but she'd never really enjoyed it. Not until mousy little Liz Shaw crept into Benton's. Of course, even then, Jo hadn't let anything happen. Her career was on the rise, and the Brig would never allow her something like that. Not while she had an image to maintain.
If she didn't take the Brig to her bed, that was their business, and he was mostly fine with that. She let him talk up a storm, let him imply things she didn't want to think about, all for the sake of the stage. To not be there, to not feel the adoration and the artistry, was something she couldn't bear.
She'd tried Broadway and musicals, little plays and anything she could put her hand to. But there was a glut of actresses and singers, and no one really needed a short little blonde with a smokey voice.
But the raid had changed all that. Stretched out next to Liz as the morning slowly happened around them, Jo thought of the things that could happen in her future. If she just reached out and followed her dreams. The change in Liz's breathing told her the other woman was awake, but she didn't open her eyes just yet.
She wanted to savor this, to savor Liz's surprise and passion during the night. Jo had almost stopped with kisses, but the adrenaline had still been too high, their hands shaking as they undressed each other, touching and stroking, kissing until Jo was crying out and Liz was so pleased with herself. Jo had pulled them both down to the bed, then, tangling their fingers and legs, wanting to return the favor before the night slid into day.
Right now, she could guess at Liz's thoughts. The worry that the FBI would track her down and break in her door. Jo had similar thoughts, but she also knew ways to change the worry for something else. "Don't drown before you jump," she murmured.
Liz didn't jump, though her fingers did flex where they lay on Jo's hip. "The Brig will finger me," she answered, her voice low and bitter.
"Yes." Feeling almost giddy, Jo rolled away and sat up, stretching before she smiled down at Liz. "That's why we're going to Hollywood. No one can touch us there."
For a moment Liz looked blankly at her, then she shook her head, "I'm not sure I want to know how your head works."
Jo stretched and then flopped backwards, "With my talents, who wouldn't hire me in the land of dreams?"
"You're mad," was Liz's dry assertion.
"Possibly. Oh, look, do be supportive. Or at least interested. When I'm glamorous and famous, I'll be able to support you in any style I feel. And I'd imagine they need your sort out there, too."
"What, hanger's-on?"
"Chemists." Jo corrected, pleased with the thought of her idea. "We just need to work our way cross-country. I have some money that the Brig doesn't know about. With that, and luck, we could be in California inside a week."
"And what if I don't want to go?" Liz asked, her tone sharp.
But her eyes... Jo recognized the fear in them and reached out to touch the chemist's shoulder. "Did I ever thank you for pulling me off the stage last night?"
"That has nothing to do with this."
"I know, but--"
"Don't." Abruptly, Liz got to her feet. Half-naked, a shirt thrown on as a sop to decency before they slept, Elizabeth Shaw was magnificent. Her hair was tousled by sleep, her lips still swollen with kisses, and Jo thought about pulling her back down, marking her skin with nails and mouth. "This is nothing to you, Josephine Grant. I'm just another rung on your ladder."
"Now you're the one who's nuts," following Liz's lead, Jo stood up. She hadn't bothered putting a shirt on when offered the night before, and didn't feel self-conscious. Yet. "Liz--"
"You're just being grateful."
"No." Jo was quiet, her tone forceful as she began picking up her clothing, "But you don't believe me."
"I--"
They were silent as Jo found her under-things and bundled them onto the bed. She sighed, wondering why this was important, if perhaps Liz was simply something to cling to with the world upside-down. "Look, Liz. I want you to go with me. I mean it."
"What if there's nothing for either of us out there?"
"I'll go back to waiting tables," Jo shrugged, even as she loathed the idea. "We'll get by. I just know it."
"You just know it."
Jo made an exasperated sound, "Have a little faith, Liz. If nothing else, there have to be factories that will take us."
"So we can slowly die of a poison no one understands yet?" asked Liz, her tone bleak. Then she shook her head, eyes sad, "I'm sorry, that was pointless."
Even Jo had heard of the factory workers in New Jersey. Women old before their time, bones falling to pieces. She shuddered. "That won't happen to us."
"All right."
"Then you'll come with me?" Jo tried not to feel excited, even as she still wondered at the way she was hounding the other woman. Then again, she always had been one to go after the obstinate things in life.
"Yes. There's nothing for me here. I have one condition."
"Name it."
"If I find something before then, will you let me go?"
Josephine Grant smiled, the sort of smile she'd learned over the years that worked best when you weren't telling the complete truth. "If you find something before Hollywood, I will let you go. I might come back, though. If I get bored."
"Then I'll pack and we can start making plans."
Stepping forwards, Jo brushed a hand over Liz's hip, making her eyes widen, "Not just yet. I think packing should be done in the afternoon. I doubt anyone will come looking for you just yet."
"Oh?"
"Yes." Nodding firmly, Jo leaned in and kissed Liz gently, "Unless you have an objection."
Liz swallowed, her fingers shaking when they brushed over Jo's cheeks, "I wouldn't, but I'd rather be on the road before they look for us."
"What if they already are? An hour won't change things."
"I suppose not." Liz essayed a sigh, then looked down, eyes stroking over Jo's naked skin, "And it would be a pity to miss this one more time."
"Many more times," said Jo firmly before she drew Liz back to the bed and worked at making her forget everything.
-f-
Author: ALC Punk!
Recipient: biichan
Fandom: Doctor Who (AU, also, oldskool)
Pairing: Elizabeth Shaw/Josephine Grant
Rating: PG13/R, though there are references to sex, though not graphic.
Word count: 2500?
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Warnings: references to sex, and to death (I was inspired a great deal by The Poisoners' Handbook)
Summary: 20's New York City, where the booze runs freely with denaturing agents, the mob makes a splash, and Josephine Grant sings in a little gin joint while Liz Grant works in the labs of a notorious crime boss. (I didn't intend to go AU, but then I did. *shrug*)
Josephine Grant was a force to be reckoned with. Blonde hair, hazel eyes, and a voice that smoked even in the dingiest clubs. It was why the Brig (as he liked to call himself) put her on stage. When she sang, customers stayed around, drinking and listening. Once off-stage, some of her poise slipped, and she was just a scared little showgirl who fell in with the wrong crowd.
But she liked the spotlight, and she liked those hours onstage where she could pretend she was in a revue on Broadway, and not working for a mobster who'd probably kill her when he was done with her.
Jo wasn't the only one chafing under the Brig's despicable rule. Dr. Elizabeth Shaw had been drafted from her work in a tiny chemist's in Brooklyn, and shoved into a factory where she was told to filter their alcohol into something that wouldn't kill ten out of every hundred people. That sort of work wasn't for a scientist of her caliber, but then, it wasn't like she was going to find a better place. With her list of requirements, she'd even scored a better lab than the one she'd trained in. She could distill the alcohol back from its poisonous state, and still do her own little projects on the side.
Didn't mean she didn't want out, or that, when slinking into a club to listen to Jo Grant sing, she didn't think of other things.
In fact, Liz's dream was a lab and a woman (society told her a man was what she wanted, but Elizabeth had other priorities) and a little house in the country with a well-stocked lab, where she could disappear for days and emerge having solved everything from the need for Prohibition, to whatever the latest health scare was.
But it all came crashing down one night. Liz had spent a fruitless day trying to remove the latest government-sanctioned poison from their stock, and finally gave up. It wasn't like her, but even she needed a break. After a long walk through streets full of dust and tired people, she'd found herself in Benton's, sitting at a back table, listening to Josephine Grant croon smokey little melodies into a microphone that didn't deserve the name. The Pianist (some idiot named Yates) kept missing notes, causing Grant to glare at him, though she remained in tune and on-time.
"There's a raid on," murmured a voice in Liz's ear.
She glanced to the side and found an unkempt little man, his eyes darting everywhere. Doc was the Brig's top chemist, but Liz had never been that fond of him and was more than grateful not to be working in his lab--they'd tried, once, it hadn't gone well. "Don't be ridiculous."
He smelled, too. "The Brig sent me. There's a raid on--Dav's men are on the move."
Everyone knew about Dav and his plans for the Brig's territory. Liz frowned, not believing it yet. But not willing to dismiss it entirely. Even though it meant the little man didn't go away, she asked, "How can you be sure it's not some trick?"
"Look, Lizzy," he gave her an unkind look, "I'm only here 'cause the boss don't want to lose his best producer, see? So c'mon with me, and we'll--"
Whatever he'd been planning to say was drowned out in a sudden shriek from the diva on stage. Josephine Grant had broken off mid-word to warn everyone in attendance of the men pouring in through the door.
Everyone in the smokey little club froze for a moment, and then erupted into chaos. Taking her chance, Liz ran for the stage, jumping onto it while Yates ran the other direction and Grant continued to scream. "Come on!" she snapped at the blonde, dragging her into the wings and aiming for the little dressing-room area that had to be back there. "Is there a back entrance?"
There had to be, the Brig would never want his songbird importuned by touching The Public.
"Yes--" recovering herself, Josephine dragged at Liz, redirecting them towards a tiny little hallway.
The door halfway down opened into the alley, and Liz was suddenly grateful to her lab work. She could smell the stench of the place, but it was nothing to certain acids poured into each other in rapid succession. She simply hoped the pungent smell wouldn't cling to her boots. They were the only footwear she possessed for the lab.
Liz ended up leading the way as they ran down one alley, crossed a street, then another. She counted streets as she tried not to huff. Josephine seemed in better shape, and Liz told herself if she got up on a stage and belted out tunes, she'd have better lung capacity, too.
The net closing on Benton's missed them, and Liz breathed a sigh of relief when they paused and listened to the sounds of what were definitely sirens as they dwindled into the distance.
"My place--"
Shaking her head, Liz found herself reaching out and patting the other woman's arm. Everyone knew that the Brig's favorite songbird had a room two doors down from the club. "It's no use. If you go back there, you're rumbled."
"Probably," objected Josephine, but she didn't say anything as Liz turned them down a side-street.
"We can go to mine," Liz murmured. They walked in silence until they got to Liz's, and she felt herself judged a little as the singer took in the small tenement building, and the half-open door.
"Sorry, no doorman."
"'S all right."
They were silent again as Liz led the way up the stairs (no elevator, either). She was surprised she'd offered her apartment at such short notice. A thought worked its way through her mind that she'd wanted to bring Josephine back a time or two. But a classy dame like her--Liz shoved the thought aside and pulled her key out, expertly giving the door the extra shoulder-bump to pop the cogs into place as she turned it--probably would never have been interested.
Liz headed into the tiny kitchen, letting Josephine close the door. She heard the other woman fumble with the locks, but didn't go back to help her. Ducking down and digging behind the out of date canned goods in her lower cupboard, Liz closed her fingers around the bottle of scotch she'd bought early on. There was a lot left, and she needed it. A glance over her shoulder as Josephine joined her, looking pale and strained, told her that she needed it, too.
"It's not fancy," Liz said, no apology in her tone as she sloshed out two fingers for each of them into mis-matched glasses.
Josephine downed hers, gasping a little at the burn. Then she coughed, "Doesn't need to be. Oh, that was just what I needed." She held out the glass for more, then leaned against the doorframe.
Blocked into the small space, Liz only became conscious of it after she swallowed her own drink. Her hands weren't even shaking, and she wondered if the raid had really been the Feds, or if Dav was working a fake-out in his takeover. Either way, someone'd be looking for her come morning. She didn't know which she hoped it was.
"I've seen you before--watching me."
Josephine's words broke the silence, and Liz jerked guiltily, then chastised herself for doing so. "Everyone watches you."
"Yes. That's the point, isn't it?" With a strange smile, the blonde set her glass down. "But you... there's an intensity to it."
"Maybe I wanted to be a singer instead of a chemist," Liz offered, trying for glib.
Josephine stepped closer, and Liz didn't back into the counter as much as she suddenly wanted to. "That's not it, is it? Not just some silly pipe dream of gracing the stage and having flowers every night?"
Feeling warm, Liz tried to reply, and found she couldn't. There were so many things she could say, none of them the truth, and they all tangled up in her mouth until she was left breathless and wondering if she were cracking under the pressure. Perhaps she was hallucinating this entire thing, having breathed too many fumes while working.
They didn't train her for situations like this, she thought, just before Josephine's fingers brushed over her cheek.
Liz swallowed and leaned into them. Torn between terror and desire--if this was just a joke, she wasn't sure how she'd survive. Perhaps Dav would be kinder, she thought wildly.
"I've always liked it when you watch," Josephine whispered before her mouth brushed over Liz's.
Stepping back into the counter, Liz grabbed the edge with one hand and found her other pulling at the soft fabric of Josephine's dress. "Josephine," she managed, eyes closing, then opening again as Josephine stepped into her.
"Call me Jo, darling."
It was adrenaline, it was the scotch, frantic thoughts chased themselves around Liz's head before she kissed Jo, full on the mouth, tasting the alcohol and the bitter fear they both carried. She should have stopped, but she didn't want to.
Apparently, neither did Jo.
-=-
Josephine Grant had always known when people were interested. The way their eyes followed her movements. Men, especially, liked to caress her legs with their gaze. She'd allowed it, but she'd never really enjoyed it. Not until mousy little Liz Shaw crept into Benton's. Of course, even then, Jo hadn't let anything happen. Her career was on the rise, and the Brig would never allow her something like that. Not while she had an image to maintain.
If she didn't take the Brig to her bed, that was their business, and he was mostly fine with that. She let him talk up a storm, let him imply things she didn't want to think about, all for the sake of the stage. To not be there, to not feel the adoration and the artistry, was something she couldn't bear.
She'd tried Broadway and musicals, little plays and anything she could put her hand to. But there was a glut of actresses and singers, and no one really needed a short little blonde with a smokey voice.
But the raid had changed all that. Stretched out next to Liz as the morning slowly happened around them, Jo thought of the things that could happen in her future. If she just reached out and followed her dreams. The change in Liz's breathing told her the other woman was awake, but she didn't open her eyes just yet.
She wanted to savor this, to savor Liz's surprise and passion during the night. Jo had almost stopped with kisses, but the adrenaline had still been too high, their hands shaking as they undressed each other, touching and stroking, kissing until Jo was crying out and Liz was so pleased with herself. Jo had pulled them both down to the bed, then, tangling their fingers and legs, wanting to return the favor before the night slid into day.
Right now, she could guess at Liz's thoughts. The worry that the FBI would track her down and break in her door. Jo had similar thoughts, but she also knew ways to change the worry for something else. "Don't drown before you jump," she murmured.
Liz didn't jump, though her fingers did flex where they lay on Jo's hip. "The Brig will finger me," she answered, her voice low and bitter.
"Yes." Feeling almost giddy, Jo rolled away and sat up, stretching before she smiled down at Liz. "That's why we're going to Hollywood. No one can touch us there."
For a moment Liz looked blankly at her, then she shook her head, "I'm not sure I want to know how your head works."
Jo stretched and then flopped backwards, "With my talents, who wouldn't hire me in the land of dreams?"
"You're mad," was Liz's dry assertion.
"Possibly. Oh, look, do be supportive. Or at least interested. When I'm glamorous and famous, I'll be able to support you in any style I feel. And I'd imagine they need your sort out there, too."
"What, hanger's-on?"
"Chemists." Jo corrected, pleased with the thought of her idea. "We just need to work our way cross-country. I have some money that the Brig doesn't know about. With that, and luck, we could be in California inside a week."
"And what if I don't want to go?" Liz asked, her tone sharp.
But her eyes... Jo recognized the fear in them and reached out to touch the chemist's shoulder. "Did I ever thank you for pulling me off the stage last night?"
"That has nothing to do with this."
"I know, but--"
"Don't." Abruptly, Liz got to her feet. Half-naked, a shirt thrown on as a sop to decency before they slept, Elizabeth Shaw was magnificent. Her hair was tousled by sleep, her lips still swollen with kisses, and Jo thought about pulling her back down, marking her skin with nails and mouth. "This is nothing to you, Josephine Grant. I'm just another rung on your ladder."
"Now you're the one who's nuts," following Liz's lead, Jo stood up. She hadn't bothered putting a shirt on when offered the night before, and didn't feel self-conscious. Yet. "Liz--"
"You're just being grateful."
"No." Jo was quiet, her tone forceful as she began picking up her clothing, "But you don't believe me."
"I--"
They were silent as Jo found her under-things and bundled them onto the bed. She sighed, wondering why this was important, if perhaps Liz was simply something to cling to with the world upside-down. "Look, Liz. I want you to go with me. I mean it."
"What if there's nothing for either of us out there?"
"I'll go back to waiting tables," Jo shrugged, even as she loathed the idea. "We'll get by. I just know it."
"You just know it."
Jo made an exasperated sound, "Have a little faith, Liz. If nothing else, there have to be factories that will take us."
"So we can slowly die of a poison no one understands yet?" asked Liz, her tone bleak. Then she shook her head, eyes sad, "I'm sorry, that was pointless."
Even Jo had heard of the factory workers in New Jersey. Women old before their time, bones falling to pieces. She shuddered. "That won't happen to us."
"All right."
"Then you'll come with me?" Jo tried not to feel excited, even as she still wondered at the way she was hounding the other woman. Then again, she always had been one to go after the obstinate things in life.
"Yes. There's nothing for me here. I have one condition."
"Name it."
"If I find something before then, will you let me go?"
Josephine Grant smiled, the sort of smile she'd learned over the years that worked best when you weren't telling the complete truth. "If you find something before Hollywood, I will let you go. I might come back, though. If I get bored."
"Then I'll pack and we can start making plans."
Stepping forwards, Jo brushed a hand over Liz's hip, making her eyes widen, "Not just yet. I think packing should be done in the afternoon. I doubt anyone will come looking for you just yet."
"Oh?"
"Yes." Nodding firmly, Jo leaned in and kissed Liz gently, "Unless you have an objection."
Liz swallowed, her fingers shaking when they brushed over Jo's cheeks, "I wouldn't, but I'd rather be on the road before they look for us."
"What if they already are? An hour won't change things."
"I suppose not." Liz essayed a sigh, then looked down, eyes stroking over Jo's naked skin, "And it would be a pity to miss this one more time."
"Many more times," said Jo firmly before she drew Liz back to the bed and worked at making her forget everything.
-f-