By the time he reached New York, he was feeling decidedly unwell. At first Jeff Hunsiker had thought he was coming down with a cold, brought on after being sneezed on by that guy prowling around his neighbors' property the other day, except most sneezes didn't splatter blood. For once he was glad he had a faster turnaround in New York of ten hours rather than the afternoon flight the next day, taking advantage of the time to grab a few hours sleep in the hope that he might feel better when he awoke. He arrived back at JFK feeling even more miserable, and certain it was the flu. His limbs felt a little achy, his head was pounding and he'd had another nose bleed but he took a few painkillers. The Red Eye to San Francisco would take five hours, and he would grab a cab home and be curled up in his own bed soon after.
"Captain? You okay?"
He gave a reassuring smile as Teresa, his head stewardess, eyed him carefully. "I'm fine. Think I'll avoid the chicken though," he joked before noticing her pale complexion. "Are you okay?"
"Think I'm coming down with something, but I just want to get home."
He gave a wry grin, squeezing her arm as he moved by her and entered the cockpit. He was not the only one on the regular crew that used San Francisco as their home base. He paused, confused when he saw a dark rather than a blond-haired man sitting in the copilot seat. His copilot glanced over his shoulder and grinned.
Jeff recognized him. "Harmon?"
Captain Scott Harmon was an experienced pilot--former Israeli Air Force--who usually took the international, long-haul flight between New York and Tel Aviv. Before Jeff could ask, Harmon gave an explanation.
"Noakes reported in sick, and as I've never seen the Golden Gate Bridge, I figured I'd take his place."
"Well, I'm pleased to have you on-board. Seems to be a lot of sickness going around."
They went through the pre-flight checks swiftly, and Jeff went into the smooth patter of informing the passengers about the flight before passing them over to Teresa for the safety instructions. Once they had taxied to the runway, he and Harmon concentrated on the final take-off procedure. They waited patiently for the Tower to give them permission, and then together they pushed the throttle and the plane started to build up speed. Jeff loved this moment, feeling all the power of the plane beneath him as the plane sped along the runway, humming happily when he felt the wheels leave the ground. He grinned across at Harmon, knowing Harmon felt that same exhilaration. They climbed steadily, slowly banking at the same time until they were on the correct flight plan for San Francisco. Once they had leveled out, Jeff flipped the switched that turned off the seat belt sign.
In five hours they would be landing in San Francisco and as much as he loved flying, Jeff couldn't wait to put the wheels down.
"So how did you hurt that?" Harmon nodded towards the splinted finger.
"I got bitten...by a chimpanzee. Damn thing nearly killed me!"
"That have anything to do with all that ape trouble down in Frisco the other day?"
Jeff frowned. "Ape trouble?"
"Yeah. Big group of them went rampaging through the city, across the bridge and into the national park."
"I've...not been paying much attention to the news." In truth he'd been feeling too unwell to be bothered.
"Yeah, well they caused a lot of damage at some pharmaceutical research center, and killed a couple of cops on the bridge."
"What research center?"
Harmon shook his head. "I don't really recall." He scrunched up his face in a way that Jeff would call cute, causing Jeff a pang of guilt for the number of times he had cheated on Erica...with another guy. "Genesis?"
"Gen-Sys? My next door neighbor...Rodman. He worked for Gen-Sys. It was his monkey that attacked me." He glanced across at Harmon. "But that was over two weeks ago."
"What happened?" Harmon sounded shocked.
"You know, I'm really not sure. I was washing my car. That's it. Just washing my car. I left it for a few minutes and next thing I know, Rodman's old man is acting all...weird. He's behind the wheel and he's bumping the cars in front and back like he's never driven one before. I pulled him from the car and started calling the Police. Suddenly, that damned monkey is slamming into me." He barked out a laugh. "I ran for it! And the damn thing chased after me. Never been so scared in my life." He shuddered at the memory, recalling the heavy weight on his body and the hairy arms battering at him while he tried to fight it off...then the excruciating pain as it bit down on his index finger. "The hospital said I was damn lucky to get away with only bruising rather than cracked and broken ribs. And the broken finger? They said a chimp the size of Caesar could have bitten it clean off with ease. It could have killed me."
"What happened to it?"
"The chimp? Same thing that happens to any animal that attacks a human. It got taken away by Animal Control."
"What about the old guy?"
Jeff winced. "I kind of feel a little guilty about that. Must have been a brain tumor or something. He went downhill really fast. One day I hear him playing concertos on his piano, and a week later he's dead." Jeff raised his hand to his forehead and sighed hard. "I guess Caesar was only trying to protect the old guy."
"Yeah. Just eager to get home."
Jeff shook his head ruefully. "She left me after the chimp incident. Apparently, my attitude towards our elderly neighbor was the last straw...but it was just an excuse to go."
Jeff bit down on saying anything more, not wanting to reveal that in the heat of the ensuing argument, she had thrown in his face that she knew about the men he fucked whenever he was away overnight. He always suspected that she knew, especially after he was indiscrete that one time with someone who resented being transferred to another cabin crew after trying to take liberties with him.
They settled down into small talk, mostly about flying and baseball, and perhaps if he had not been feeling so unwell, Jeff might have noticed his gaydar pinging a lot earlier in the flight. Instead, the banter slowly became more personal with subtle hints that if Jeff was looking for a little fun between the sheets, then Harmon was more than happy to oblige. The guy was seriously hot, and Jeff wished he didn't feel so sick just so he could take advantage of the offer. Perhaps another time, he thought ruefully.
Four hours into the flight he got a frantic call from one of the flight attendants.
"Captain, Teresa has collapsed."
Jeff looked at Harmon, who nodded. Leaving Harmon in control, Jeff made his way back, momentarily confused when he failed to see any of his regular cabin crew among the worried faces--except for Teresa, who was lying stretched out on the floor in the stewards' kitchen area in first class. They had placed a pillow under her head and a blanket over her. He dry-swallowed two more painkillers, rubbing his aching forehead.
"Where's my regular crew?"
The flight attendant--Arocha on his name badge--shook his head. "All reported in sick." He looked down at Teresa and then back up, his eyes wide and face pale with shock. "I think she's dead."
Jeff crouched down and looked at Teresa, noticing the thin line of blood coming from the corner of her mouth and dripping from her nose and her dead, blank stare.
"Oh God," he whispered as a droplet splattered onto her white blouse; he reached up to wipe away the smear of blood from his own nose. Pushing up to standing, he took a shaky breath. He peeked through the curtain separating the stewards area from the passengers, seeing the darkness beyond with just a scattering of lights here and there; most of the passengers were asleep. Closing the curtain, he turned back to Arocha. "Keep the passengers away from this area. Don't say anything. I don't want to start a panic."
He waited until Arocha nodded before retreating to the cockpit and saw concern in Harmon's eyes. "What's happening?"
"She's...dead. We need to get instructions from the ground."
"I'm on it," Harmon stated. Jeff sank into the pilot seat and pulled on his headset, listening in as Air Traffic Control advised them to carry on through to San Francisco, which was less than an hour away now. He knew they would be clearing the airspace to give them priority landing at SFO.
"You sure you're okay?" Harmon asked, and Jeff shook his head.
"I've been feeling sick on and off for a couple of days, and it seems to be getting worse."
Harmon looked at him with concern. "We're almost down." He seemed to dredge up a smile. "Guess it's lucky there are two captains on-board this flight," he cracked but the concern never left his eyes. Jeff noticed Harmon kept the controls.
By the time they reached San Francisco, Jeff was feeling even worse. His throat hurt from coughing, and it was hard to conceal the blood splattered handkerchief. He pulled himself together and assisted Harmon in the landing procedures, eternally grateful when he felt the bump of the wheels touching the runway. They taxied to a remote gate, and Jeff could see several vehicles waiting for them. Harmon gave the usual airline patter to the passengers.
As soon as the passengers were unloaded, the coroner stepped in but he seemed extremely closed-mouth as he examined Teresa's body.
Jeff crouched down close by. "She said she felt sick when she boarded...and the rest of my regular cabin crew reported in sick before the flight." he swallowed hard. "And I'm feeling sick too."
"There's a pretty virulent strain of the flu going around but I hadn't heard of any fatalities until now. Doctors are suggesting bed rest. Go home. Keep hydrated."
Harmon accompanied him off the plane and through the concourse to the taxi rank. He climbed in beside Jeff, only speaking when Jeff gave him a confused look.
"You're not well, and I know there's no one waiting at home to take care of you. Plus I just had a text to say my hotel booking's been canceled so I haven't got any place to stay." He smiled. "You'd be doing me a favor."
Jeff nodded, not having the strength to argue especially as he liked Harmon's company. The neighborhood was strangely quiet with none of the curtain twitching that usually followed his comings and goings, and Rodman's house seemed empty even though Rodman's car was in the drive. Dumping his flight bag and case in the hallway, Jeff felt apologetic as he turned to Harmon.
"I hope you don't mind making yourself at home. I just want to have a quick shower and then go to bed."
Harmon shrugged amicably, and once more Jeff wished he didn't feel so damn sick.
He awoke hours later when he felt someone sliding up behind him, raising him up. A glass of cool water was placed against his lips and he drank weakly but greedily.
"He said you have to stay hydrated," Harmon murmured. He was gently laid back down afterwards, and slipped back into a restless sleep.
Scott glanced down at the man curled up in the bed. When Hunsiker's copilot had reported in sick, Scott had jumped at the chance to take his place. He had seen Hunsiker around the airport on numerous occasions, and he had heard all the whispers that Hunsiker liked a little extra-marital fun on the side, with the male flight attendants. Of course there was a chance that the rumor had been started by some disgruntled female attendant whose advances had been rebuffed, but one of Scott's own one-night stands had let slip that Scott wasn't the only Captain he'd slept with from the same airline. Using a few subtle yet probing questions, it was easy to determine it was Hunsiker merely by a process of elimination.
Having it confirmed was easy compared to getting on Hunsiker's radar. They crossed paths frequently enough but always when one or other of them was about to take a flight out. Hunsiker was on the domestic routes so he rarely stuck around long after a flight, but Scott had liked what he had seen of the man; the intelligence shining in blue eyes and a quirky smile. He liked the way Hunsiker filled out his uniform too, with broad shoulders tapering down to a trim waist and nice ass. Scott could tell he kept in shape...great shape.
He'd often fantasized about Hunsiker on those long haul flights, imaging what that wide mouth could do for him. It was just Scott's luck that the first chance he got to find out, Hunsiker was ill. Yet none of that explained what he was doing here in Hunsiker's house almost a full day later, watching over the sick man. Before yesterday, they had only ever nodded in greeting as they passed by in the terminal or in the airline offices. Scott had flown with plenty of other officers and they had parted company at the end of the flight without any desire to meet up again, yet five hours of sitting next to Hunsiker, making small talk, had only enhanced Scott's desire for him.
Problem was, Hunsiker--Jeff--wasn't getting any better. The sheets were damp with fevered sweat, and every time he coughed he left splatters of blood on the once pristine bed cover. Scott had tried calling on the neighbors on both sides and opposite, but no one was answering their doors. It was if the whole street was deserted.
Eighteen hours after bringing Jeff home, Scott picked up the phone and dialed 911...and no one answered.
He'd seen the set of car keys hanging on a hook near the door and bundled Jeff into the backseat, wrapped in fresh blankets stripped from one of the other beds. On the drive towards the closest hospital, he noticed a worrying lack of traffic, and the traffic only increased the closer he got to the ER, eventually becoming a queue. He saw a roadblock ahead, but most cars were being turned away by the National Guard, who were wearing breathing masks. When he reached the front of the queue, the guard leaned in but straightened when he saw Jeff in the back.
"Sir, take him home."
"What? But he's sick."
"So were they." The guard pointed towards a massive pile of sheet wrapped objects, and Scott gasped when he realized they were bodies. Hundreds of bodies stacked up. The guard looked at him, eyes hard yet full of compassion. "Most of the doctors and nurses are in that pile. If you have any compassion at all, and I guess you do seeing's as you brought him here, then take him home to die."
Mute with horror at the sight before him, Scott nodded and turned the car away. The drive back was slower as he watched out for an open convenience store in the hope of stocking up on bottled water. He pulled into the lot of one store, taking half a dozen steps towards the entrance before shots rang out inside. Dozens of people came running out with arms filled with stock taken from the shelves. Scott ran back to the car and pulled away fast, deciding not to try being a hero while he had Jeff to look after. He only relaxed once he reached Jeff's house and had put him back into a freshly changed bed.
Flicking through the channels on the TV in Jeff's bedroom, Scott swore softly when he heard that cases of sickness had cropped up all over the world, recalling that Jeff had mentioned all of his regular cabin crew had reported in sick. He imagined all the passengers on all those flights heading out across the world, unaware that they were infected with a new plague, one for which the doctors had no cure.
"Survival rate of those infected is zero percent," one reporter stated grimly. "Do not approach anyone who looks sick. I repeat. Do not approach anyone who looks sick. Stay in your homes to avoid spreading the sickness any further."
"Bit late for that," Scott murmured, thinking of how many times he had helped Jeff drink, and how many times he had changed the dirty bedding and been coughed on over the past day. He was confused by the next statement.
"Time between infection and death is between eighteen and seventy-two hours in 99% of cases. Time between becoming infected and symptoms showing is less than twelve hours."
Scott had been with Jeff for almost a day now and yet he wasn't sick...just tired. And how long had Jeff been sick? He thought back to the small talk on the plane, recalling Jeff mention that he'd been sneezed on by a man prowling around his neighbor's house the day before yesterday. Less than seventy-two hours earlier. His attention turned back to the TV. All flights had been grounded in the useless hope of containing the spread of the virus to give the CDC time to find a cure or vaccine but Scott could tell that it was just a cover to stop the panic from spreading. As the day wore on, the images changed. The TV showed scenes of people trying to flee the city. As the sun rose the next morning, the National Guard and Mexican border guards started to fire on those who refused to turn around and go back. There were reports of small towns stopping anyone who tried to enter the town limits, using deadly force if necessary.
He switched off the TV and headed back downstairs to root through the cupboards.
Jeff had mentioned that his wife left two weeks earlier and that certainly was reflected in the amount of food left in the house. Gritting his teeth, Scott decided to check out the houses close by. He found a handgun locked away and loaded it before leaving the relative safety of Jeff's house. Outside the street was still deathly quiet and he carefully broke into the neighbor's house. The smell of decomposition led him to a man and woman lying dead upstairs. From the photos dotted around the room, he knew it was the neighbor that had the chimp. Downstairs he raided the fridge and cupboards for everything he could carry, making several trips to ensure he got it all.
He made some soup and fed it to Jeff slowly. Another full day passed and Jeff was still hanging on. More hours passed and Scott was exhausted. When the power and water cut off, he no longer had an easy way to get ice to cool down Jeff's fevered body, using water he had been astute enough to collect in anything available to bathe him. When the weak cries and restless movements ceased all of a sudden, Scott knew it was over. He sighed heavily and stroked the bristled face that was still too warm to the touch before leaning in to touch foreheads, only to flinch back when Jeff sighed and moved his head.
Scott checked Jeff's temperature again, and it was dropping. The fever had broken.
Exhausted, Scott stripped down to boxers and t-shirt and climbed into the bed behind Jeff, wrapping his arms around Jeff's waist. Perhaps this was when death claimed its victim, waiting until it looked as if they would live, offering hope to family and friends before snatching them away. He nuzzled against the damp hair at Jeff's nape, wishing there could have been more time or different circumstances. Eventually, he slept.
A soft noise brought him awake many hours later but he was momentarily distracted when he realized he could feel the rise and fall of Jeff's chest against the arm still wrapped around him. A moving shadow had him tensing and he held his breath for a moment before calling out.
The shadow moved again until it was struck by moonlight through the open window, and Scott froze when he realized it was not a man but an ape standing on two legs. It came forward to the edge of the bed and reached over to run its fingers through Jeff's hair and down his face before reaching down to pick up Jeff's right hand. The strong fingers traced along the length of the splint supporting the injured index finger.
"I was angry. I hurt him."
Scott drew in a sharp breath as the ape spoke. It--Caesar--stared at Scott, and Scott could see the intelligence shining in the ape's moonlit eyes as Caesar leaned in closer. All the pieces began to fit together, with too many coincidences to be ignored. Jeff's neighbor had been a genetic researcher at Gen-Sys, probably using a virus as a delivery system for genetic therapy...and a virus was wiping out the human race while the apes had become smarter, and had learned to talk.
Rodman had done this. He had created a virus that killed within three days following any signs of infection. A one hundred percent death rate according to the news reports...until now. Jeff had been sick but he wasn't dead. More than seventy-two hours had passed and his fever had broken.
Caesar bared its teeth and Scott realized that the one difference between Jeff and the rest of the infected was that Jeff had been bitten by Caesar--one of the apes that must have been used in the genetic research. The ape standing before him was probably the cure for the virus but Scott wondered if there was anyone left to tell even if he could find a means of communicating with them.
Caesar spoke again and reached for Jeff. "I will look after him."
"No." Scott held onto Jeff tighter, realizing that the chimpanzee had formed some twisted sense of responsibility towards Jeff, probably because Jeff was all that remained of the life it had once known now that Rodman was dead. "No. I'll take care of him."
Caesar looked at Scott closely before humming softly and leaving through the open window. Twenty minutes later, Scott heard noises coming from the ground floor and eventually curiosity won out. He moved quietly down the stairs and froze when a different chimpanzee looked right up at him. It placed several bottles of water on the floor and ran away. Other apes arrived, dropping packets of food and water before leaving, all under the watchful eye of the ape that had spoken to Scott earlier.
Caesar raised his chin in seeming defiance but Scott had no objections to the apes bringing food and water. Ransacking the Rodman's home for food and water had been bad enough. He nodded back his thanks.
Jeff forced open heavy eyelids as natural light touched his face. He was so tired and weak but someone was calling to him. He sensed them move closer, blocking out the sunlight. The face above him was familiar, yet not as familiar as the voice that called his name softly. Eventually, some of the fuzziness cleared from his head and Jeff recognized the man.
"Harmon?" He coughed a little, surprised by the rustiness of his voice.
"Ssh. Here." His head was lifted and a straw place at the corner of his mouth. He sucked in the tepid water, feeling it ease some of the dryness in his throat. "And I think you can call me Scott."
Jeff looked around, convinced he had to be away from home but he recognized the room surrounding him as his own bedroom.
"Thought I only dreamed of coming home." He looked at Scott, seeing dark smudges under the man's eyes. "How long have I been sick?"
"A few days."
"I promised I'd look after you." Scott pushed him down gently when Jeff tried to sit up. "No. You need to rest up a little longer. Sickness took a lot out of you." Scott fussed over him for a moment. "You hungry? I can make us some soup."
Jeff nodded, and figured he would close his eyes just for a second--and that was all it seemed before he was being gently awoken. The smell of soup filled the room, making his stomach growl embarrassingly. Harmon--Scott--chuckled and helped Jeff sit up. He felt pretty stupid when he realized he didn't have the strength to hold the bowl, let alone spoon-feed himself the soup. His hands shook with weakness and fatigue. Scott made no fuss as he took the spoon from Jeff's hand and helped him eat.
Afterwards, Jeff felt a little more embarrassed when Scott climbed into the bed and curled up beside him as if it was an every day routine, but perhaps it was if he had been ill for days. It felt good though so he didn't complain, gradually relaxing back into the comfort of Scott's loose embrace. He wasn't aware of falling asleep again but it was dark when he opened his eyes.
Scott was still with him, snoring softly.
He grew stronger with each passing day, eventually growing strong enough to leave his bed and make his way downstairs with Scott's help. The sight that met his eyes was a complete surprise as the kitchen area was packed with various tins, bottles and packets, with more spilling into the dining area and hallway.
"Have I missed something?"
"Just the end of the world as we know it."
Jeff made to laugh until he realized Scott was being deadly serious. He moved towards the TV that stood like a silent sentinel in the corner of the room only for Scott to grab his arm.
"Power's been off for days now...but I doubt there'd be anything to see even if it worked, and the radio fell silent yesterday."
Jeff closed his eyes and sank down on the couch. "My daughter?"
"I-I'm sorry. She didn't make it. There was a call on the answering machine several days back before the power...from your wife." Scott glanced away in sorrow before looking back. "The virus was highly contagious and it spread so quickly. It covered the whole world in days."
"Dead," he whispered. His beautiful daughter was dead. "I spread it, didn't I? That guy worked with Rodman. He sneezed on me, and I still took the flight out to New York even though I was feeling sick." He looked to Scott in horror. "I killed her. I killed them all."
"No," Scott said sharply. "No you didn't. Gen-Sys destroyed the human race. They created the virus and it got out." His voice softened. "You were just another victim."
He pushed down the crushing despair and grief, feeling too weak to deal with the enormity of it all. Instead they sat in silence for a long time until Jeff's eyes wandered back to the stacks of food and bottled water.
"Where did all the food come from?"
"Let's just say the people who originally bought it no longer have a need for it."
It didn't quite answer Jeff's question but he had no desire to push further.
The day wore on slowly and Jeff slept on and off as his body slowly recovered from the virus. When he next awoke the sky was darkening and Scott was lighting a candle beside the bed. He recognized them as Erica's best ones for when they used to entertain guests. That was never going to happen again. He watched through slitted eyes as Scott slowly undressed, waiting until he was down to boxers and t-shirt and about to crawl into the large bed beside Jeff before speaking.
"Take it all off."
Scott stared down at him, his face half in shadows, the rest caught in the flickering candle light. He nodded and slowly pulled the t-shirt over his head, revealing a darkly-furred chest. The boxers followed and Jeff found his eyes dropping to the slowly filling cock. He sat up and pulled off his own t-shirt, letting it drop over the side of the bed, then he threw back the covers, laid back down and wriggled free of his boxers, lying still on the bed as Scott's eyes moved over him from head to toe, lingering on mouth, chest and groin. With a deliberate, slow move, Jeff turned over and arched up onto forearms and knees, raising his ass, and sighing raggedly when he felt Scott's weight dip the mattress and a warm hand smooth over the curve of one ass cheek. He wondered if Scott knew that he was a virgin to anal sex, that he'd only ever topped before, too much of a control freak to give up that amount of power to another man.
"You sure?" Scott asked softly, and Jeff nodded. He dipped his head to the pillow as soft lips grazed across his back and sobbed in despair when his arms began to shake from the strain on his sickness weakened body.
Scott pushed him down until he was sprawled on his belly, stroking him gently. "It's okay. Let me do all the work." He pushed a couple of spare pillows under Jeff's hips and began massaging Jeff's back and shoulders, slowly working the knots of tension out of him until he was lying loose and relaxed. The touches became more intimate; a single finger sliding between his ass cheeks, stroking across the tight hole. Jeff heard the sound of Scott unscrewing a jar, and relaxed again as the finger returned, slicked with hand cream. Erica's hand cream. The finger circled the hole several times before gently pushing in. Part of Jeff wanted to scream at Scott to just take him. To just do it. Give him the pain he deserved but another part wanted this slow torture, wanted to give over everything to someone else and lose himself if only for a short time.
By the time Scott had slicked his cock and started pushing in, Jeff was lost in the sensations but the first sharp sting of muscle stretching around Scott's thick cock had him hissing and clenching. Scott froze, neither pushing in or pulling out, waiting until Jeff relaxed. He slid in fast, making Jeff gasp as the head of his cock stroked across his prostate, sending a tingly bolt of pleasure through Jeff. He closed his eyes as it happened again, and again, losing himself in the physical pleasure. The force of the thrusts gave him the friction he needed as his cock rubbed against the pillow below him, trapped between the firm mattress and his own pleasure-filled body. He cried out as his senses overloaded, the sheet becoming sticky and wet beneath him as Scott thrust harder and faster, driving into him until he froze for a second, sobbing hard before pumping once, twice more and then collapsing slowly across Jeff's back.
Scott whispered softly against his hair, "Ahoovi. Ani choshevet she ani mit-ahevet becha."
Jeff hummed questioningly but Scott merely pressed another kiss into his hair. "I'll get us cleaned up. Then we can sleep."
A little later, with a clean sheet beneath them and the candle blow out, Jeff felt Scott's arms wrap around him, feeling a familiar comfort from all those days when he was so sick and close to dying. Part of him wished he had died but he accepted that was not the price fate had in mind for him for his part in the fall of humanity. Instead, he relaxed back against the strong body.
Even though he had yet to venture out of his home, he knew that the world--as he had once known it--was gone. Eventually the food and water would run out and he would have to leave behind his home, along with the too sharp memories of his beautiful daughter. He forced back the prickle of tears and turned in Scott's arms, moving them until Jeff could pillow himself against Scott's shoulder. He could feel the soft chest hairs against his bristled cheek, and he could hear and feel the thumping of Scott's beating heart. It occurred to him that they had never kissed. Not mouth to mouth, and he raised his head to remedy that right now, pressing his lips against Scott's and feeling the answering pressure as Scott kissed him back.
They kissed for a long time, with tender, muted passion, taking solace in each other as the world they both knew ended outside his bedroom walls, and a new world began for them...together.
My apologies if I have this wrong!
A broch! -- Damn it!
Ahoovi -- my love
Ani choshevet she ani mit-ahevet becha -- I think I'm falling in love with you