(Yes this is a Bridget/Mike story. But since it's told from the POV of Mike rather than Bridget as is usual for the Nights/Days stories I didn't file it as one or the other. For those of you not familiar a "Rabbi" is a senior police official who looks out for a promising young officer and guides his/her career and assignments. Read W.E.B. Griffin's "Badge of Honor" series, both for more information and because it's such a very good look at police life.)
Sergeant Michael Gibson, Jr. paused for a moment with his hand on the button that would close the garage door and listened. There was just the faintest rumble of distant thunder, barely able to be discerned over the steadily falling rain. Good, the storm at least had passed and the rain was welcome, well it was now that he was inside and out of it.
He pushed the button and the garage door slid down. Hopping up and down on first one foot and then the other he got his soggy shoes and socks off. He spread his yellow slicker over a couple of sawhorses in the corner and glared at it. Darn thing had about done as good a job getting him wet as keeping him dry.
Unlocking the door he slipped quietly inside the house. With long familiarity he turned right and felt his way to the laundry room without turning any light on until he got there. He took off his equipment belt and carefully removed his service weapon, dropping the clip and racking the action. He caught the cartridge in mid-air and fed it back into the magazine. He then removed his two spare magazines before he reached down and loosened the ankle holster holding his back up weapon.
The weapons and ammunition went into a locking over head cupboard. His uniform; minus his badge, collar pins and nameplate, went into the washing machine. The armor vest was laid on a handy table and his soaking wet underwear followed his uniform.
Mike sighed. He really couldn't blame the slicker he supposed. It was a hot Georgia evening and the storm that had caused a multi-vehicle accident hadn't done much to lower the temperature. Instead it had just added to the humidity. It had taken hours to get the roadway clear, the vehicles hauled off and everyone involved interviewed and taken care of properly. That had meant hours of standing in the rain, walking through puddles, getting splashed by vehicles that barely slowed in spite of the plethora of emergency vehicles with flashing red and blue lights.
At least no one had been killed and though there were a number of injuries none had appeared to be serious. Mike had thought a number of times in envy about his last assignment as a Detective Sergeant in Homicide. Sure he had been in rain sometimes there but never had he got so thoroughly soaked for so long.
He would have been perfectly happy to stay there but his two Rabbis had informed him that it was time to get back into uniform and regular street police work for a while. He hadn't argued, when one Rabbi is a full Inspector and head of the entire Patrol Division and the other is a senior Deputy Inspector in charge of the Police Academy you just nod and agree when they make suggestions. That is especially true when they also happen to be your Father and Mother.
Mike shrugged, grinned and pulled on a pair of khaki shorts he plucked from a basket of clean clothes. He carried his mini-flashlight but the soft nightlights scattered down the hallway and in the bedrooms provided all the illumination he needed. He walked quietly through the house, satisfying himself that all was well.
He stopped and peeked in each bedroom, smiling happily as he checked on his little angels. Linda, their older daughter, was asleep on her tummy; Mary, their younger, was curled on her side with her arms around the enormous stuffed raccoon she always slept with. Soft breathing assured him they were both fast asleep.
Now for his biggest angel. Mike laughed to himself. Well, bigger than the tykes anyway. He stood nearly 8 inches taller than his wife, although, as she pointed out often they seemed to be just the same height lying down together.
Their bedroom door was cracked enough that Mike could see in. The rain had become lighter now and the clouds had broken enough that an errant beam of moonlight illuminated Bridget as she slept. He leaned against the wall and marveled at the woman who had been his wife for the last five years.
Any man or woman as happily partnered as he was probably thought that their finding their soul mate was a miracle. In his case there was no doubt about it. He had fallen in love with Bridget when he really couldn't even remember the mystery woman who had come through the lives of his parents and their friends for barely two nights when he was only a little boy. The memory had remained though, punctuated by the occasional discussions between his mother and father as to what might have happened to her. They knew that she was, of all things, a five hundred year old vampire who not only was not evil but had been a trusted agent of the US Government since the War Between the States.
Then she had returned, years later and he had found that the memory of her didn't even come close to the attraction he felt for her, an attraction that to his surprise she had fully reciprocated. She had been his first and his only. And far from being some unearthly creature he had found her warm and caring, full of humor and love even through her heart didn't beat. It was that same unbeating heart that had made her try to steal away one morning. It wasn't because she didn't care; in fact it was because she was falling in love with him. That had happened to her before with a mortal and had always ended in heartbreak, so she fled. But somehow, someway, he knew they were destined to be together. He had waited and hoped until the phone had rung one afternoon.
(Five years previously)
"May I speak to Michael Gibson, Jr. please?" The voice was male, deep and Mike detected the faint echo of a British accent.
"Officer Gibson this is Deputy Director Dale of the FBI."
Mike knew who Dale was. He was another vampire on the side of the Angels, the man who had guided Bridget into acting as an operative of the British Secret Intelligence Service during the Napoleonic War. He was Bridget's oldest friend and an admitted off and on lover. Panic seized Mike for a moment. Dale had to be calling about Bridget.
"Please God, don't let anything have happened to her," he prayed silently, as he had prayed ever since she had left. He took a deep breath and spoke.
"Yes Sir?" Unable to maintain his composure he blurted "Is this about Bridget? Is she alright?"
"More than 'alright' I would say."
Mike's mouth literally fell open as Director Dale informed him of Bridget's sudden visit in the middle of the day and the miraculous event that had returned her to humanity.
"She's on her way down there right now." Did Mike imagine it or was there a bit of a wistful note in the man's voice. "I hope your feelings are as strong for her as she seems to believe they are young man. She's in love. I hope you return her love and that you will treat her right all the days of your life together."
"I will sir," promised Mike as fervently as he had ever sworn to anything in his life.
"Good. I would hate to have to come down there and kill you." The FBI official disconnected before Mike could respond. That wasn't important anyway. Bridget was coming and he had to be ready for her.
Mike watched Bridget, HIS Bridget, sleep. She lay on one side, her hand under her head. The moonlight illuminated her; her red hair falling in curls over the cute stub nose dotted with the freckles that she never could get to go away. Her slender body shone whitely, set off by the green nightgown that did little to hide her trim body and nothing to hide her legs. Mike shook his head. She never understood just how beautiful she was, she always thought she was too skinny and flat-chested and not at all attractive. To him she was the most gorgeous woman ever to walk the earth.
Satisfied that all was well Mike walked quietly back down the hall to the far end of the house and took a quick shower. Well, he meant it to be quick but the hot water felt so good he lingered for a while. He dried off and wrapped the towel around his waist. The rain had picked up again; he could hear it drumming on the roof. Well, it was Friday night and everyone could sleep late and tomorrow it was supposed to be clear and warm. He'd probably have to cut the grass again in a day or two though he supposed.
He checked the girls and headed for the master bedroom. As he neared the door he heard little sounds. What was going on? He peeked through the door. The moonlight was gone but there was enough illumination from the nightlight they kept burning in the bathroom in case one of the girls had a nightmare and needed their Mom and Dad. What he saw wasn't a nightmare but rather an exciting dream come true.
Bridget's night gown was draped over the foot of the bed. There was no sign of her panties so whether she had shed them or simply not worn any when she retired the end result was the same. She was nude. She stretched out like a little self-satisfied cat, her eyes closed and her hands running up and down her sides. He could have sworn he heard her purr.
Mike couldn't have moved if he had wanted to, and he certainly did NOT want to move. His wife massaged her hips, then slid her hands up over a tummy that barely showed the softness that had come from having two children. She wiggled slightly on the bed as those hands continued to work their way up until they covered her rounded breasts.
Bridget was known to think her breasts were sagging. Mike thought they were as perfect now as they were when he had first touched them, when she was a never-aging twenty-one year old, as she had been for centuries. Indeed they, as was all of her, only became sexier and more beautiful as her once again human body aged. Her nipples were peeking through her fingers now and Mike felt the stirring between his legs. He spared a quick glance to confirm that the towel was indeed tenting before returning his gaze to his wife.
Bridget's fingers were now teasing her nipples. The dark little nubbins barely showed as the woman on the bed rolled them, first one way and then the other. She tugged on them, her whole body squirming on the bed now. There was a muted gasp from her as her fingers tightened and then pinched and her body bounced up and down.
Her right hand abandoned her breast and danced back down her body. As the fingers of her left hand continued to tease the other hard nipple, the questing fingers slid between her now wide spread legs. Mike watched those fingers curl and Bridget cooed softly as her nails scratched lightly up and down the inside of her thighs.
Cooing gave way to gasps as she drug those nails through the red curls covering her mound and treated the puffy labia there to the same teasing scratches she had given her inner thighs. Mike could see droplets caught in the curls as she stroked her slit open.