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Facile Princeps

by AC Chapin

The tall glass of orange juice tilted, rocked upright, and then rocked
down again, falling on its side and splashing juice in a sticky tidal
wave across the table.
	Benton Fraser, sleep still cloudy in his eyes, blinked down at 
the bright flower of orange on the center of his chest and muttered thanks
that he hadn't put on his uniform tunic before breakfast.
	"Oh honey, I'm *sorry*!"  Francesca wailed, quickly righting
the glass and running for the paper towels.  Fraser stood up and shrugged
his suspenders down.  By the time he had the shirt off, Francesca was
cleaning up the mess on the table.  She nearly knocked over the bright
cardboard container of milk with her elbow and winced when Fraser carefully
righted it and moved it out of the way.
	Gently he took the roll of paper towels from her hand and 
finished blotting up the orange juice from under his plate, catching
it all before any could drip to the linoleum.  He cleaned off the cereal
boxes and the sticky bottle of syrup and then gathered the soggy pile
of orange-stained towels from the middle of the table and carried them
off to the kitchen.
	"Just turn the iron back on and I'll make you some more 
waffles."  Francesca called;  he could hear water running and, faintly,
the sounds of frantic scrubbing.  Fraser did a quick calculation and
realized he wouldn't have time to eat any waffles she might start cooking
now before he had to leave for work.  He pulled out the half-loaf of
rye from the bread box and rummaged in the refrigerator for cheese. 
He filled a jelly-jar glass with milk and drank deeply.
	Francesca finally came racing back from the bedroom with his 
tunic and another shirt.  She took in the cold waffle iron and the cheese
sandwich.  "No time, huh?"
	He shook his head.
	Francesca sighed and carefully hung his clothes over the back of a chair.
"I, um, I think I got the stain out before it could set." 
She always did.  "Good."
	She already had her mascara on and it was starting to smear just a little
around her left eye.  "I'm really sorry.  I mean, I know I always
do something like this, and then you're late to work and --" 	He
stood up, chewed, swallowed carefully, and then laid two 
fingers over her lips.  "Shh."
	"I'm sorry."  She repeated behind his fingers.
	"It's alright, Francesca."  He gathered her in, feeling her
silky hair against his bare chest.  "It's fine."  She clung
to his arms. 	Her robe slipped off one shoulder, revealing a lacy strap
and the dark marking of a love bite.   Fraser dropped his head slowly
to nudge the strap out of the way and kiss her shoulder, her neck.  "It's
fine."  He was going to be late to work after all.
	Her arms wrapped tightly around him and he felt those perfectly manicured
nails rake lightly through his hair before her hands slid down his back.
He inhaled deeply -- Passion Flower perfume and strawberry shampoo and
hair spray.
	Very late.
	"Benton . . ." Francesca sighed, letting her head fall back,
"you're
	
	not listening, are you?"
	Fraser's head jerked up and he looked across the table at his 
lovely wife.  "I'm sorry, you were saying?"
	She fixed him with those clear blue eyes.  "I said I'll be in Ottawa
for six days.  Please don't forget to have the grass cut.  And see if
you can't get this rug shampooed."
	Fraser looked down at the thick pile rug under the table, it 
looked very clean to him, spotless.  "I wont forget, Meg."
"I hope not."  She lifted the glass pitcher and poured herself
orange juice, not spilling a drop.  "Hurry and eat;  we don't want
to be late."
	
"Facile Princeps" copyright 1996  by AC Chapin
Just my contribution to the run of benny&meggy stories.