AN: This didn't start out as a companion piece to The Trajectory of Change, but it kind of works as one, but it works as a stand-alone too. Either way, I hope you enjoy it.
The room went unusually dark for a moment as a cloud blotted out the sunlight. Then in the next moment, the cloud moved away, and the room was suffused with bright sunshine again. Astrid pulled one leg up, wrapped her arms around it and leaned back in the window seat, so that she could soak up as much of the unseasonable warmth as she could. Today, her feet were bare. No slippers, she thought. No shoes either though, she smiled as this flitted through her mind.
Each day as she selected her footwear, she thought of it as a symbol—a symbol of living life to its fullest, of not being afraid, of knowing and embracing that each day—any day—could be the last … best to enjoy each one, and accept it as it comes. And now, as she sat there, she was reminded again of the man who helped her realize that.
John, and his presence in her life, was part of a tangled skein of emotions for Astrid. Each time she tried to unravel it, the strands became more tightly enwound and knotted together. Sometimes, unbidden, his face would come to mind. On cloudy dark days, his face was sallow, drained of color. She thought of him holding onto life by a tenuous thread. She remembered the feel of his blood on her hands, and the worry that they'd left him to face an uncertain future, or possibly death. Then to wash that image away, she turned her thoughts to the relief she felt when she found out that he was safe and would survive … that she had in fact saved him, as he had saved her. But today, the image was of him gently challenging her and then smiling at the result.
Another twist in the skein was guilt. In her heart, Astrid knew she shouldn't but a part of her felt disloyal to Stephen. Not long ago, it was Stephen she would turn to … Stephen she would think of first to confide in. It wasn't that John had replaced Stephen, so why did she feel these pangs of guilt. At one time, she blamed Stephen for putting her in danger, but if he hadn't, she would never have known John in the way that she now knew him; they would never have formed the bond that they now shared. At the moment, that somehow seemed unthinkable.
And now, as she was thinking of doing her first audition since … well, since the last ill-fated one, it was John she thought to tell first. It was John's smile she imagined in her mind's eye.
By now, the sun had shifted; soon the window seat would be fully in shade. She knew that the warmth would linger for a little while yet. She closed her eyes, and set aside her misgivings, and found herself focused solely on John—picturing his satisfaction knowing that she was ready … ready to sing again … ready to confront the same situation that had ripped her world apart … just ready. She wanted to name this feeling too. This is not a crush, she told herself emphatically. Never mind that she spends way more time thinking about him than is reasonable. No, this was something else. There was gratitude of course. But this feeling went beyond that. There was admiration as well, and maybe, if she was honest, a bit of hero worship. But it went beyond that too. What they have is different—different from her friendship with Stephen, different from what she shares with anyone else. Maybe, just for today, it's okay not to name it. Maybe it's okay for it to just be what it is, and feel how it feels.
Setting aside the twists and loops of her feelings, she decides it's okay to want to see John, to want him to be the first to know about the audition, to want to see his reaction more than anyone else. And now as the sun moved out of view of the window seat, taking the warmth with it, all that remains is to decide which shoes she'll be wearing when she tells him.