Friday 9:13 a.m.  The farm, bedroom 

Russell woke first.  Slowly.  A languorous dreamy waking that was unlike his usual abrupt transition from unconsciousness to immediate wakefulness.  This morning he savored it.  The feel of the warm feminine body he was spooned behind.  The scent of her hair.  The soft even rise and fall of her chest under his arm.  The gentle flush of sleep on her skin.  There was a smile on his face as he dropped his head back to the pillow and nuzzled against the nape of her neck, tightening the possessive arm he had curled around her waist.  He liked how she felt and how they fit together; liked how her slender body fit nestled against the sharper angles of his larger heavier frame. 

Male and female.  There was just something primally satisfyingly about their differences.  Women had always been a constant source of wonderment for him.  He loved how their minds worked.  How their bodies changed as they became aroused.  How they grew softer and wetter and more receptive as his body grew thicker and harder in readiness to invade theirs.  Penetration.  Though he supposed that made him a chauvinistic bastard, he particularly liked that part of it, the feeling of primacy it gave him even as the notion of putting himself inside another's body humbled him.  Reduced to their most basic physical components, men were built to advance-- to penetrate, and women were built to receive. 

And he liked how that was mirrored in the way men and women lived their lives.  The image of a Roman general kneeling at the feet of his wife played in his mind's eye.  Men and their swords.  He liked being bigger and stronger.  Liked the archetypal role of a man.  Master.  Provider.  Protector.  Men had conquered the world, fighting, building, exploring...  Women didn't rape or pillage or wage wars.  They nurtured.  Gave life.  Raised up the next generation.  Provided a safe harbor. 

That was perhaps the thing that intrigued him most.  Men were often called the stronger sex.  Funny how when they were bruised and broken and world weary, they ran home, to be rocked and held in the arms of their women.  That was there the real strength was.  Or perhaps it was in that give and take.  That balance.     

Russell smiled at the ceiling as fragments of the night came back to him.  He had run home.  And Sam had embraced him, given him a harbor safe from the world.  And together, they had wound up here, giving and taking little pieces of themselves until balance had been restored.  His smile got wider as he thought about how it had felt to pass the night with her.  How good it had felt to sleep next to her.  How they'd gotten up in the night and staggered to the bathroom to have a wee and brush their teeth and drink down a cup of icy cold water before falling back into their warm cocoon. 

He remembered falling asleep with his hand between her legs.  Curious now, he brought his hand to his face.  The lingering scent drew a soft groan from him and his cock stirred from semi-tumescence to a state of full blown arousal.  It was a deliciously pleasurable feeling.  Each beat of his powerful heart pumped his virile blood between his legs until he was engorged.  It was a pleasant ache.  Not urgent.  Not needy.  Just good.  God, he loved sleeping with a woman.  He liked waking with one better, however.

Early morning sunlight streamed over them both, warm where it touched their skin.  His fingers wandered, waking her slowly as they slid over her body; up her leg to glide sensuously over her naked hip and then up under the unbuttoned shirt to gently fondle her naked breast and pluck softly at her nipple.  It was slow.  Unhurried.  Languid.  His tender exploration woke her by degrees.  First her breathing changed.  She stirred.  Her eyes opened. 

A pair of sparkling eyes the color of the sea smiled down at her.  He said, "G'day, love," like he'd woken with her this way every morning for the last hundred years.

"Mmmm...."  She flushed with pleasure and he chuckled.  "You were right about mornings being better this way."

He held up the covers while she shifted around to face him.  "Careful with that praise... it just may give me a big head."

Sam's eyebrows went up as his erection throbbed against her belly.  "Another one?"

With a low rumbling laugh, he rolled her underneath him and kissed her.  The warm weight of his body and the scratch of his heavy stubble was second only to the feel of his mouth on hers and the combined scent of their naked bodies filling her head.  Somewhere in Samantha's mind was some inborn notion of concern.  The risk of pregnancy.  They hadn't yet talked about birth control and she wasn't on any.  But that niggling awareness was a double edged sword.  Part of her was frightened-- but another deeper and more primal part of her was drawn to his potency even though her head was whispering that she was playing with fire.  But all of that suddenly seemed so very far away.  No more than the brush of a butterfly's wings against her consciousness as they kissed and touched. 

It was languid and unhurried.  More like a boy whiling away the hours of a sunny afternoon than a man intent on seduction.  There was no real purpose.  No direction.  And it was altogether different from how his intimate encounters usually unfolded.  It wasn't that he didn't know what to do.  It was more that he didn't feel the need to make something happen because of this feeling inside his chest telling him anything that happened would be right.

Russell knew they would get there eventually and he intended to savor the journey.  And niggling somewhere in the back of his unconscious mind was the knowledge that for the first time in his life, he didn't have to chase after this thing he'd always been so desperate to have.  It was actually waiting for him.  And he had a lifetime to savor it. 

But for all of that, it wasn't a journey without challenges.  They were just not the ones he was typically familiar with.  Still, something inside him knew that for once, he could let it take its course.  Deal with the things that mattered first without that oppressive sense of hurry-hurry-hurry or that the tighter he held on, the faster things slipped through his fingers.  And for the first time, He was content to let it blossom gently instead of making it the way he wanted it. 

That was a big step for a man like him.  He'd never been one to wait for things.  He was too rash, too impatient and passionate.  Forever chasing after love and occasionally finding it, but always before he'd tried to tame it, to force it to grow around his crazy life.  To make it fit.

This time it was different.  He was allowing it to grow at its own pace.  The truth was he could easily make love to her with only the most gentle persuasion.  And yet he did not.  Every time he handed her that choice, it shored up her sense of confidence.  Unexpectedly, it also affected him.  Russell knew his own power with women.  Knew he could be... not domineering or dominant exactly so much as a force moving with so much direction and purpose that it was nearly impossible for them to swim against the tide.  With Sam, he didn't feel that.  He hadn't overwhelmed her with the force of his personality.  They'd come together as equals. 

The real truth was that despite the fact he could have easily taken what he wanted, they were both still learning and some part of him knew it would be better when it did finally happen because of that.  He knew they would have this divinely intimate night where they both gave and took nothing... and yet found they'd received so much.

However, even with all of that swirling somewhere in the back of his mind, he was also a virile man at the height of his powers, in bed with a woman who was ripe for him.  An alpha sensing his mate.  And vice versa.  Nature was leading them as much as their hearts, like they were both in the hands of some greater drive.  But for all of that instinctive desire and the tantalizing feel of pulsing blood, the way they touched and kissed and fondled was soft and dreamy.

It was a long slow drawn out exploration.  And it was an experience not to be rushed.  There was no urgency driving them.  No expectation.  It was simply a step beyond where they had been last night.  Touching what had been revealed the night before.  They whispered and laughed and teased between deep wet kisses.  He gave her the gift he'd bought for her the day before at the quaint little jewelry store, but only after teasing her skin with the velvety pouch it came in.  She flushed with surprised pleasure.  He gently slipped them into place where they sparkled in her ears, drawing his eye.  And his mouth.

His lips were soft on her neck.  And her breasts.  And her navel.  But also on the bend of her elbow.  And the inside of her wrist.  And on the back of her knee and the tip of her nose... 

Her little fingers explored his Adam's apple and tested the sensitivity of his flat male nipples and traced the direction the hair grew, playfully ruffling the light furring in the opposite direction.  Their quiet giggles and soft sighs and murmurs of pleasure were interspersed with intimate lover's talk and exclamations of delight as they played. 

I didn't know you had a mole here.....  

Oooo--  That tickles....  

I've always fancied innies, love.....  

How did you get this scar.....  What about this one here....?  

That's right.  Just pull it back gently.  It's this bit here that's really sensitive.....  Unnnngh....

You've got a gray whisker!  

Is that a dare to find the other birthmark...?

No, I like your stubble... do it again....

Such pretty curls... I like it natural....bit of hair really gets me going...

You smell so good....

Hoh... fuck... so soft....

It was erotic and intimate and yet innocent too.  A lover's dance.  But every time they parted to examine each other in the golden morning light they were drawn back together again.  Both of them felt it.  This need to feel the press of each other.  Body to body.  Skin on skin.  They came back to that again and again.  Side by side.  Her on top.  Him on top.  Kissing.  Rubbing.  But even the sexually languorous mood was beginning to affect them as they spiraled deeper into each other. 

A soft sex-flush pinked her cheeks and the creamy skin of her throat, creepy slowly down her chest.  The few clear drops seeping from his engorged tip had become a steady trickle, and between his legs, a pressure was building that he was finding harder and harder to ignore.  He lay between her legs.  They were rocking gently together as they kissed.  Between their bellies his erection throbbed and he could feel her rubbing leisurely against his thick base, gliding on the silky proof of her desire.  It was passive rather than with the intention of overt stimulation, but he was aware they'd begun to blur the line between foreplay and sex. 

Could it only have been a few days ago he was declaring his feelings to her in his study and asking if she'd give this a shot?  They seemed to have hurtled forward now.  Russell wasn't entirely sure that was a good thing, but he also couldn't pretend he hadn't thought about how easy it would be to reach a hand down, grab his cock, rub the tip through her sweet honey and push himself home.  They were nearing that point where he had to decide.  Too much more of this and he wouldn't be able to stop. 

His heart and his brain and his body all seemed to be whispering different things, but above all, he couldn't bring himself to sever their connection.  Laying there, looking down into her face.  Staring deeply into her eyes.  Opening his heart.  Listening to hers in return.  Feeling her gentle touch.  It wasn't so much a build up of desire as it was of intimacy.  And it was such a balm to his battered heart.  He felt the irrational desire to block out the rest of the world so he could keep her there under his gaze.  Forever.  And so he kissed her.  It was the kiss of painfully new lovers, so involved in drinking each other in they don't even close their eyes as their mouths touch and their tongues mingle, like losing anything of each other would somehow defile the moment. 

There was a sharp knock at the door and into their dreamy languor came Mark's rough voice.  "Hey, mate-"

Sam started in his arms and Russell felt a wild surge of anger at the rude intrusion.  It got more intense as he felt her begin to pull away from him.  In a sense it was worse than being interrupted during sex.  Mark had interrupted a moment of intimate revelation.  And it did not go down well at all.  "Fuck off!" Russell growled though the solid oak door.  

There was an answering chuckle.  "Fuck yourself.  I'm just the messenger, boss."  Mark put enough inflection in that last word to remind Russell he wasn't interrupting them for his pleasure but because it was his job.  "You've that phone interview at eleven.  It's ten till."  His tone implied 'Thought you might need time to grab a cuppa... or to pull your head out of your arse, you surly cunt.' 

Inside the bedroom, Russell groaned and dropped his head to Sam's breast.  He hadn't remembered the interview.  Fuck.  "Fuck."  

Sam's cheeks, pink from the flush of arousal, were growing steadily darker as reality intruded.  She was embarrassed that Mark, of all people, had caught them in bed together.  What must he think of her?  She could still hear the words she'd said to him in the kitchen that first morning.  How she didn't mix business and pleasure.... and here he was dragging them out of bed.  If that wasn't bad enough, Sam's feelings toward Russell were a hundred times more confusing.  She had fallen for him.  Hard.  She hadn't meant to get so carried away with him so fast....and to have the reality of his life thrust upon them in that intimate moment; it wasn't just a rude dose of reality.  It was this symbol of all the things that might possibly strain their fledgling relationship.  And it scared her. 

Russell felt her tense under him and rolled away before she could push him off, throwing himself back against the pillow angrily and rubbing a hand over his face as he watched every single thought play across Sam's expressive face.  Including the one where she worked out what Mark had assumed he was interrupting behind Russell's closed door.  Fucking hell.  Sometimes he felt like he lived his entire life in a fishbowl.

"Mate?"  Mark's voice wasn't deferential, but it did carry a question.  And a hint of recrimination.  Blowing off this interview would be an incredibly stupid thing to do given the way the wind was blowing lately.  The last thing Russell needed was yet another black mark against him.

"I'll be there," he snapped.  "Now piss off."  Whatever faults Russell had, he was a consummate professional.  He abhorred having his time wasted and he always tried not to waste anyone else's.  If he gave his word to be at an appointment, then he'd be there.  He might not be sunshine and flowers, but he'd be there.  On time. 

They both heard Mark's footsteps fade and Russell turned to Sam with the intention of saying something-- he wasn't sure what-- but the words died in his throat and he just buried his face against her neck.  "It hurts."  His words came out on a soft shuddering sigh.

"I know."  Sam felt tears prick her eyes.  It was possibly the most revealing thing he'd ever said to her.  Leaving you makes me hurt inside.  But she could already feel the tension in his big body.  Could feel the walls going back up as he prepared himself mentally for what was coming.  He was still with her but part of him was already gone and it was like he'd given her one last achingly raw glimpse at the man inside before he pulled on his game face. 

"Go on... get going," she whispered, pushing at him.

His mask slipped a little and he pulled down the sheet she'd dragged up over her breasts and kissed her left nipple.  Softly.  Leisurely.  Swirling his tongue slowly and drawing it into the deep warm cavern of his mouth as if he didn't have a care in the world or an eye on the ticking clock.  And then he gently fingered her delicate earring and sighed again as he stood.  Sam wondered if he was aware he was absently pulling at his erection.  His eyes were on the peak of her left nipple.  The one he'd left glistening wet and aching.  "Stay if you want, love.  You look good in my bed."  Christ knew it was that the picture of her in his bed, wearing nothing but the jewelry he'd given her, that was going to get him through the next hour.

Sam just smiled but didn't say anything.  She had no intention of staying in his bed to be discovered by anyone else.  The intrusive feeling made her uncomfortable.  Russell just shrugged and stomped off to the shower.  Sam smiled to herself as she heard him curse at the cold spray and when he padded back in wet and dripping, his erection was gone and his nipples were pebbled with cold.  He looked to be in an even worse mood than before. 

He'd withdrawn into working mode.  He was focused.  Abrupt.  Direct.  Sam could see how he'd gotten a reputation for being difficult.  It was even there in his demeanor.  He dried off perfunctorily and dropped his wet towel on the ground.  He wasn't teasing and he didn't play around or try to entice her, but Sam enjoyed watching him dress all the same.  He put his socks on first, sitting naked on the chaise with his legs spread.  His scrotum and penis hung over the edge, jouncing this way and that as he lifted his legs and pushed his feet into his socks.  Like a typical man, he seemed unaware of the wonderfully crude display as he stretched and scratched and paid her no mind as he quickly pulled on some underwear and a god awful black and orange track suit over his usual few layers of shirts.             

It seemed to mirror what was happening between them.  Both covering up.  Withdrawing.  He didn't like it.  But it couldn't be helped.  A minute later, he was gone.  He hadn't even said goodbye.  Approaching her without the sense of openness they'd just experienced made a casual goodbye seem somehow shallow; a weak echo of how it had feel to have her underneath him as he looked deeply into her eyes, all walls and barriers down and their hearts laid bare.  The heavy bedroom door closed with a sharp bang and Sam couldn't help but laugh.  How very like a big surly bear he'd seemed.  It was likely in the next few minutes he was going to frighten some poor journalist to death.  He could be so prickly.  And it was abundantly clear to her that he was closed up again where he'd been so achingly open.

But he wasn't alone in that.  Sam felt the pulling back as well.  The distance.  And with it came the usual flood of concerns and recrimination.  She hadn't even tried to slow him down.  Worse, she hadn't wanted to.  Which was even more frightening.  It felt like they'd been so long at the gathering place that now things had hurtled forward alarmingly.  Maybe too far forward.  This was so big for both of them.  And as morning became afternoon and afternoon drifted into evening, neither of them were really surprised that such a large step forward was followed by a hesitant pulling back. 

Sitting together on the porch that night, curled together under a tattered old blanket as they watched the sun set, Russell wondered if what they had could survive the stressors of the real world.  He stroked her hair idly and wondered if his passion for his work-- and all the craziness that came with his day job-- was destined to cost him yet another relationship.  Sam wondered if maybe it wasn't just that he'd fallen for her because of how they'd been thrown together.  Would he have even looked twice at her if she hadn't been underfoot for weeks on end?  Did she want to make love to him there in that magical place and then take the chance everything might dissolve when they stepped back into the real world?  Was that better or worse than not having experienced it at all?   

But for all their doubt, their intimacy grew and deepened even as the roller coaster of his life was gearing up again.  Between the flurry of work she had finishing the paintings that his mother had commissioned and his professional commitments in New York and LA, they spent most of what little free time they had together.  Walking.  Talking.  Cuddling.  Kissing.  Nothing as hot and heavy as it had been that first night in his bed, but out of that had grown an extraordinary intimacy, reinforcing for them both they were on the edge of something life altering.  And as their last few days together drew to an end, it made their parting that much more painfully bittersweet. 

Russell hadn't expected to have to stay an extra two days in California for another round of meetings with the Hollywood bigwigs; it was yet another two days taken from the dwindling time they had left.  Sam hadn't expected the muse to descend at the last moment.  She'd been struggling with a painting.  It happens to all artists, but a sudden burst of inspiration, no doubt fueled by the yawning ache in her breast, had her painting even longer into the night than usual.  And while Russell certainly understood yielding to the creative force, it still annoyed him that it was eating into their last precious hours together.  Sam didn't care to have him underfoot when she was painting.  His presence was a distraction she'd told him softly, but not unkindly, and so he'd simply left her alone as she poured her heart out on the canvas. 

Frustrated, Russell found a pen and paper and let his own soul pour out on the pages in his untidy scrawl.  Words had been scratched out here and there; additions and changes made until his heart looked up at him from the page. 

His eyes scanned lower.

A sudden surge of emotion stabbed sharply in his chest and he crumpled the paper and jammed it deep down in his pocket, half wishing his feelings were as easy to dismiss.  His eyes flicked to his watch.  3:23 a.m.  Sam was leaving today.  Another desperate wave of emotion left his throat feeling tight and prickled sharply behind his eyes.  Just a handful of hours and she'd be gone.  The plan was for her to take a car to Sydney, to a hotel near the airport.  She had a flight back home the following morning.  They'd gone round and round about it.  Sam couldn't extend her trip.  She needed a day or two at her apartment to catch up and regroup and then she had another job scheduled that was taking her north to Canada for at least a month. 

But in some cases, desperation is as much the mother of invention as necessity.  When Russell found her, Sam was in her room packing.  The sight spurned him on.

"Stay with me."  Her head came up.  She was tired and didn't want to have this argument again.  

"Russ..."

"Just one more day, Sam.  Just a day.  That's all I'm asking."

She went to him and let him enfold her in his embrace.  "I can't.  I'll miss my flight.  You know that."

"If I could fix it so you wouldn't miss your flight, would you stay?"  Sam pulled back to look up into his face.  There was a question in her eyes.  "Give us one more day, Sammy... I can have a helicopter fly you to the airport tomorrow in plenty of time for you to make your plane."

Sam's mouth hung open even as her heart leapt at the idea.  Still, the way he casually tossed that out was shocking.  The expense alone must be in the thousands of dollars.  A private helicopter?  For her?  Was he mad?  Russell read it all as it crossed her face.  "Russ, I couldn't-"            

"For fuck's sake, Sam!  What's the use of having money if I can't spend it the way I want?" he all but roared.  And then he shook his head and quieted.  "Why do you have to make everything so bloody difficult?" 

That wasn't what he really meant.  It was the circumstances that were difficult.  And he was tired of railing against them.  Tired of always drawing the short straw when it came to love.  Tired of being alone.  What use was a successful life if you couldn't share it with someone? 

"It hurts," she whispered to him.  The same words he'd given up to her that morning he'd been so rudely ripped from her arms.  

"I know, darlin'."  He blinked his wet eyes and tightened his arms around her.  "I know."

Russell got his day.  They had breakfast with his family but spent the rest of the day alone together, walking over the farm.  Sitting under the shade of the eucalyptus trees.  Sitting in the sauna.  It was so hard.  Everything they did seemed to shout her leaving at him.  Their last breakfast together.  Their last picnic under the trees.  Their last glass of wine.  Their last sunset.  The last present.  He gave her his grandfather's ring; heavy burnished gold with a deep blue opal.  It had been a talisman of his for twenty years.  The fact that he'd given her a family ring wasn't lost on either of them.  Russell was a little surprised Sam didn't have some little memento to give him in return but it was a fleeting thought and quickly swallowed up by the rising tide of his emotions.  

Evening found them curled up together in his favorite red chair.  The place where it had all started.  The first night he'd ever seen her, she'd been leaning against this chair wearing his footy shirt.  And now she was leaving with his heart.  It seemed impossible, but one of the best and worst things about life was that it was unpredictable.  Unscripted.  He could plan all he liked... but you know what they say about the best paid plans of mice and men.... 

They didn't go to bed.  They didn't sleep at all that night.  He simply held her in his arms, dying a little with each minute that slipped away.  By sunrise, they'd worn out all the words they had to say.  But it didn't matter.  There were other ways of speaking.  He could read her when she was sleeping.  He could feel it when she was breathing and breaking in two. 

The list of lasts kept growing.  Their last night together.  Their last desperate hours.  Their last sunrise.  Their last whispered goodbyes.  It was doubly hard for Russell, who'd never before experienced it from the perspective of the one being left behind.  He was always the one flying off to a new horizon and new adventures.  The prospect of being left alone in this place where the memories of her were so strong broke something inside him.  And it was a painful realization.  How many times had he done this to someone he'd loved?                

Before he knew it, Mark was putting the last of Sam's bags in the helicopter.  They watched from the far side of the car, wrapped up in each other.  Russell wanted to ride along.  To have every last minute with her that he could.  He was thinking he would bum around Sydney for a few days.  The idea of staying here without her didn't appeal to him at all.  The farm didn't seem quite the refuge it once had.  Not from this new perspective.

But for once, the force of his personality couldn't sway her.  Sam just shook her head.  She didn't want a public goodbye at the airport in front of all the world.  She wanted to remember him there, surrounded by the people he loved and the wild rugged beauty of his home. 

The last kiss was bittersweet; long and deep and tasting of tears.  The earth shook as he heard her soft hitching sob.  He touched her forehead to hers as their last precious seconds ran out-- and then she was walking away.  He felt like shouting down the sky.  The helicopter rose into the air and for the first time, Sam knew what it was to leave her heart behind.  Moisture leaked from her eyes and from that private place between her legs.  It seemed to be dripping from heart too, cut to bloody ribbons as she watched the man who'd always been larger than life to her fade from view as the helicopter climbed higher.

Gone.  She was gone.  Russell watched the dark dot in the sky grow smaller and smaller until it disappeared.  He sent Mark away, watching the dust kicked up by the tires settle until all that was left was the hush of the wind blowing through the trees and a long stretch of lonely road.  It was an impulsive decision.  And one he later regretted.  He had blisters on his feet by the time he finished the long walk home.  Night had fallen.  He was hungry and cold and tired.  His feet hurt.  He wanted a drink and another packet of smokes and his guitar in his hand to express the ache in his chest that was so sharp he couldn't yet put it into words. 

He was restless, unsettled.  He wandered the quiet old house.  The room Sam had used for a studio had been put to rights.  The only sign she'd been ever been there was the faint scent of paint and a neat stack of paintings carefully resting against the wall, all with notes attached for the framer written in her pretty scrawl.  That little intimate sign of her made his heart hurt all the more.  Feeling like torturing himself further still, Russell spread out the paintings and had a look. 

Most were bush scenes; the lower pasture, the trees on the ridge, his mother's English style herb garden, her favorite stand of eucalyptus trees, the small family chapel he'd had built.... All the paintings had that magic spark that seemed captured the soul of the place.  His favorite was the one titled, Master's Return.  It was the only picture from the perspective of the inside the house looking out.  An empty room.  His dog's favorite ball was left on the windowsill.  At rest.  Forgotten.  Through the window was the drive up to the main house as it appeared at twilight, still and quiet.  There were headlights glowing in the distance.  And his dogs running to greet him.

It seemed at once to capture the sense of their vigilance, loyally watching for him no matter how long he was away, and also their wild exuberant joy at his return.  Taking an overly large slug of bourbon that burned in throat and stung his nose, Russell turned in a circle, eyeing up each painting in turn and letting the pain of her leaving wash over him. 

His head was thick with memories of her by the time he made his way to his bedroom.  His body felt heavy.  His heart felt heavier still.  And then he saw it.  She'd left a small package on his bed, simply wrapped in plain brown paper.  His heart leapt.  She'd left him something after all.  There was no card.  No note.  Nothing but his name scrawled across the front.  He smiled as he traced the familiar letters with a thick fingertip, and in his memory, he heard the way she'd always given them that impertinent inflection.

He tore away the paper with little ceremony and a small painting fell into his hands.  It was the image of this place he always kept locked away in his heart when he left.  It was of the main house at night, its warm lights glowing invitingly, showing him the way home.  Tears welled up in his eyes and he blinked them away as he turned the painting over and saw the two words written on the back.

Setting the picture carefully aside, he slumped back against the pillows with a grunt.  She was only partly right.  The farm was his refuge from a world gone mad.  His safe harbor was in a plane somewhere over the Pacific.  Turning away, he threw his arm over his face and let the tears come.