This series of stories is intended to be a companion piece to my original "Amelia and the . . . " stories. It is absolutely essential that you read the source stories first; entire events and conversations will not be repeated here. This chapter, Chapter One, follows the events of Amelia and the Time Traveling Physicist. I hope you enjoy!

Cooper and the Temporal Nexus

Chapter One

It was a completely discombobulating experience. He felt dizzy and light-headed. He also felt euphoric, his heart racing with the possibility of something so longed for finally coming to fruition. The sensation buried deep within his body, to middle of his stomach, the middle of his brain, the very center of his heart. Although his shoes remained firmly in contact with the floor, he genuinely felt head over heels, turning, spinning, falling headlong into something he did not understand and yet wanted powerfully.

If someone had told Cooper that his first experience in his time machine would be the perfect metaphor for his first experience in the past, he would have scoffed at them.

But then he opened his eyes, his body sore, his heart racing, his mind confused and he saw her. Green eyes, brown braids, a face soft with concern, hard with indignation, open with curiosity. Her name was Amelia, and he had crashed into her. Literally, fugitively, emotionally, physically.

Perhaps he had a concussion from his crash. It would have explained so much that first day: why he accepted so readily where he was, why he didn't force her away in some fashion, why he told her things that in retrospect he shouldn't ever tell anyone he met in the past, why he let her attempt to help him with his repairs, why he asked her about love. However, even a concussion would not have explained why she stayed at his side, why she accepted his story so readily, why she asked such intelligent questions and hungrily believed everything he told her about the future, why she answered his intrusive questions.

He first felt it when she brushed his hand that afternoon. It was a clumsy action, obvious and conspicuous. Amelia flushed when he asked her if she was trying to feel his hand, and something within him wanted to put her at ease. Reassuring her that it was merely a scientific experiment, he let her hold his hand, her own palm grazing atop his, raising the hairs on the back of his neck, her fingertips resting over his, sending something coursing through his veins that felt familiar and powerful yet he was unable to name. Cooper watched her carefully as she looked down at his hand, and he was struck by how beautiful she was. Then she looked up and smiled softly, and he was forced to gulp away the sensation. He was struck by how young she was.

Over dinner, more devastated than he allowed himself to let on, he asked her questions so that her answers would distract him from the fear that he would forced to remain here forever. And, yet, something strange started to happen. She was a dreamer, yes. But she said things, she asked things, things of which she could not have been aware. Cooper knew that she, too, would be trapped here. He heard it between every word she said, there were hopes and dreams in those spaces for which she didn't even have the vocabulary. It made him ache in profound way, that it was perhaps worse to be boxed in by everything one has ever known and not even being aware of it, never comprehending a means of escape.

At least he could leave. He toyed with the broken part while sitting at her kitchen table, feeling guilty that he had this opportunity and she did not.

It was not like him to forget the need for a washcloth when getting in a bath. That, too, he attempted to blame on a possible concussion. Or the devastation and the guilt swirling in his head. But then he found himself naked, no washcloth in sight, and he swallowed. He was at her mercy. Just as he had been that morning, when she could have stabbed him with a pitchfork or however it was trespassers met their fate on the prairie. For he had no doubt that Amelia, with all her feistiness, could have hurt him if she chose to. And it was that knowledge, that he was both at her mercy and that he wanted to be, that frightened and excited him the most.

"Amelia? Is there a washcloth?"

It was an impulsive act, he could tell. He could see her turning red even as she knelt down and started to wash his naked body: the slow way she moved her arms, the slight deepening of her voice when she asked about his tee shirt and his underpants. He saw her look. Thank goodness the water was nippy.

Cooper, however, was not generally an impulsive man. He had been designing and building his time machine for over a year. He had been going to the gym on campus three days a week to build his body into fighting and running condition, should he need it. He had planned the first trip with care. It would be brief: land at an exact time, meet Isaac Newton, ask him one question that only he could answer, and come back with the reply. And, yet, he found something within Amelie's impulsiveness that loosened a knot within him. He took a deep breath, prayed for the first time ever that he had truly mastered his body, and impulsively stood.

"Will you do it?"

Afraid to speak, every fiber of his being taut and tense as the towel passed over his skin, not wanting to frighten her if he was unable to control himself -

"So tell me, Cooper, are the ways of physical love different in the future?"

He looked at her, hard. Did she even understand all that she was asking? Did she know the power she had over him now? Somehow, he found the strength to respond.

"Hooot," she breathed out and it was the sound of sex. Did she even know that? He bit the inside of lip until he tasted blood. It was not until she threw the towel at him, covering him, and Amelia had run to the barn that he let his body respond. And respond it did.

Afterwards, panting, still standing naked in the log cabin, he looked around, frantic with worry, not knowing what to do with the washcloth now. He certainly did not want to leave it lying around, for Amelia - or worse, someone her family - to discover it and its secrets when it needed washed. By hand. Even the idea made him shiver. Grabbing the handle to the oven, he almost burned his hand tossing it inside. The fire sizzled and hissed and popped and he worried the wet and abused washcloth would put it out, but as he watched the fire rebounded as the evidence of his actions went up in smoke.

Quickly, he dressed and sat down in the chair whose location he especially liked. He barely looked into the distance before the door opened and Amelia returned. His heart pounded when he thought about how close that had been. He managed to smile at her and ask her where he could sleep. He used the excuse that she might want a bath - which he actually thought would be true - to leave as soon as possible, to take his burning cheeks and spent loins away from her.

Settling into the mattress on his side, forcing himself not to think about bedbugs or lice or the thousand other insects that made up life on the frontier, his eyes getting heavy, exhausted from the day in which so much had changed, the gentle sound of lapping waves below as Amelia washed - His eyes snapped open.

No, it couldn't be. Another soft moan from below. It had to be. Fully awake now, he lay frozen as a succession of emotions rapidly washed over him. Disbelief (One moans for all sorts of reasons, it doesn't mean anything). Shock (Where and how had she learned about that?). Terror (Has she forgotten I'm here?). Mortification (Did she see me through the window?). Curiosity (Is she doing it because I am here?). Desire (Again?). Slowly, he rolled slightly. Without moving too much he could see her legs in the bathtub between the floorboards. If he shifted more he could probably - No, he would not do that. He was a gentleman. Or he had been before this evening. Before he could change his mind again, there was a cry and he saw her feet flex, sending a little bit of water splashing.

Cooper rolled over on his back with a smile. But when Amelia came up the ladder - scrambling he would have said - and got on the mattress near him, he could feel embarrassment radiating off of her. He wanted to take it from her, to have her know there was nothing embarrassing in what she had just done, that it was perfectly natural. He wanted her to know it was . . . erotic.

When she did not answer, he rolled to watch her by the light of the moon. Her eyes were closed, but her breathing still sounded shallow to him. He watched her hand gripping the very edge of her blankets, only a few feet away from him, clearly illuminated by a shaft of moonlight. He watched her hand, willing her to lower the blankets and invite him in.

By the morning light, the lust of the previous night gone, Cooper was only filled with remorse. He had learned, long ago, how to sneak out of bed silently, to watch reruns of Carl Sagan's Cosmos on PBS before his annoying siblings got up to watch something mindless like cartoons. He went to sit by his time machine and think. He needed to get serious about leaving, he needed to formulate a solid plan. He was, literally, living on borrowed time. Amelia might be open-minded enough to accept him and his machine and his story, but when her family returned they probably wouldn't be so enlightened. He would ask her for more precise details about where one could acquire silver. Could he take a horse somewhere and procure it before time ran out? Maybe inquire if he could have some old clothes belonging to her father.

The word father made his stomach clench. Amelia was so young, and here he was, stealing her innocence with thoughts of the future and descriptions of physical love. As bad as the punishment was for trespassers, he was certain it was only worse for men who stole the innocence of another's daughter. What was happening to him? It was only lust, a physical attraction, brought on by the rush of adrenaline of fear caused by his crash. That was it, just an infatuation, it would leave as quickly as it arrived. And yet . . .

She came then, upon the autumn breeze, cheerful and, he noticed, clearly relieved that he was still there. Amelia had brought him breakfast. Touched by her generosity, not just about breakfast, but about everything, he offered her the only thing he had to offer: a clementine. It had seemed like a simple, kind, chaste gesture until she took a bite, shutting her eyes in bliss, moaning in pleasure, a ribbon of juice running down her chin.

Cooper felt it again when he reached over, almost on instinct, to wipe the juice away. No, this wasn't just lust. This was that same strange current, that intricate yet unnamable connection he had felt with her yesterday when she took his hand. He froze under its power. Fortunately, she broke the spell first and he leaned away. Amelia changed the subject, asking him about scientists, and he answered all her questions, grateful to be on safe, neutral ground once more.

Later, after baking the bread, lying in the sun in the grass, watching the clouds, listening to Amelia weave a story that floated away from them on gossamer wings, Cooper found it was not his loins that were aching. One of the most famous episodes of Star Trek was 'The City on the Edge of Forever,' in which Kirk gets lost in the past and falls in love with Edith Keeler. Cooper had always liked the episode, but now he found the words coming to him. There, in the clouds, they saw the same things. There, in her words, they spoke the same language.

He told her that she had a gift for telling stories, but what he wanted her to hear was that he thought, maybe, just maybe, he was falling for her. When he took her hand and told her he couldn't stay, and he saw her brush a tear away out of the corner of his eye, he knew that she had understood him.

Lying still, they held hands in silence and watched the clouds. This simple act had a complex effect upon him. He had never been this content, resting, doing nothing, and certainly never with a female. There was Nicole, of course, although it had been a couple of months. But that wasn't the same at all. After their passion was spent, they would go to eat at a 24-hour diner near her apartment to replenish their strength, and they would loudly ask for separate checks so that there were no obligations to be assumed. The conversation was stilted, and Cooper often found himself eating too quickly, to both pass the time until he thought it was reasonable for him to leave and to have the excuse that his mouth was full. It seemed that without their costumes and their personas in the bedroom, there was no understanding between them. He wasn't ashamed, even when he received a text at nine o'clock at night and left his friends playing video games, jokes about booty calls ringing in his ears. It was the 21st-century after all. But it wasn't . . . fulfilling. Somehow those sweaty, grasping sessions made him feel lonely.

It occurred to him, lying there, that he felt understood and connected. But just like the tear Amelia had wiped away that he pretended not to notice, he knew this time, too, would have to be wiped away and ignored. He couldn't stay. She knew that, too. They both understood the reality of the situation.

But it wasn't until she had run out of the cabin crying, leaving her unused wedding ring behind, telling Cooper he wasn't bound to her, that he understood she loved him enough to help him escape.

Looking down at the ring, Cooper's heart pounded. He was conflicted. Obviously, this ring held great significance to her. It was an expensive item. And yet it was exactly what he needed. He knew he had the habit of clenching his back teeth when he fought determination, and he felt his jaw tense. Standing abruptly, he made a decision and refused to second-guess himself. Amelia had not given him this ring lightly, it was not a small action for her. She knew he needed silver last night and she had not offered it then. There were only two options: refuse this noble action, or accept it with the respect she deserved.

Grabbing a towel to protect his hand this time, he opened the oven door and stoked the fire. He lifted the few pots and pans, finding a cast iron skillet he thought had the most heft and would be able to withstand the extreme heat. Even the weakest cast iron had a melting point 188.22 degrees Celsius above silver, but it would be close. He added more logs, he even put the skillet in the fire. Waiting and sweating in the heat, he only allowed himself to think through everything he knew about the creation of circuit boards. His actions needed to careful, delicate, and precise as he only had one chance. A single mistake would not only ruin his changes of escape but would be like killing Amelia who had given him almost everything of herself in the past thirty-six hours. He shook his head, pushing her green eyes away from him.

For something so small, the effort required was so great that his jaw ached from the tension. He sat back and looked down at the circuit board and he knew he had succeeded. "Thank you, Amelia," he whispered. The rest of the melted silver was rapidly cooling, and, although it wasn't pleasant, he could touch it now. Rolling the last of it into a tiny, soft ball, he set it on the wooden table to harden. Starving now, he cut a slice of the bread they had made together and ate it. And then another. And another.

Where was Amelia? He wasn't concerned for her physical safety, as she had demonstrated her strength and knowledge of the frontier to him. But he knew she was somewhere, aching and hurting, and he longed to gather her in his arms for comfort. No, he would let her mourn in peace. And maybe it wasn't all for him, this mourning. It could be about the ring; it had to be a powerful reminder of an opportunity lost. Even if she had admitted she did not love the man she was to marry.

Cooper looked around the cabin and found a shelf with a row of books. He ran his hands along their spines, reading the titles. She was a reader, this Amelia. He wished he could give her all the books in the world. Would she ever believe that all the world's literature could be contained by one small electronic device? He pulled out a slender volume without a title on the spine. Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus. So she read science fiction, too. He smiled and put it back. On the shelf above was a much a larger book. Shakespeare's folio. His smiled widened when he remembered the way she had jutted her chin out when she proudly informed him she had won the graduation prize. Then he frowned, remembering how rude he had been in reply, asking her what words she didn't understand. That had been a mistake. Amelia clearly understood all the words. He lifted the heavy book up and took it over to the table, and it quickly fell open to Romeo and Juliet. The smile returned. Of course, star crossed lovers.

Waiting for Amelia, Cooper reread the play he hadn't read since that undergrad course on Shakespeare. He did not remember being so moved at the age of eleven. Only a few minutes of missed time brought these lovers to tragedy. Too people who shouldn't be together, who weren't meant to be together, and yet were destined for each other, torn apart by time. He took the ball of cooled silver and put in his pocket. A memory. Wiping his face, Cooper returned the folio to the shelf. He used the water from a jug to wash away his sweat the best he could, realizing how dark it had become while he had read. Debating once more, he decided not to go looking for Amelia. If she weren't in the barn, he wouldn't know where to search. And if she were in the barn, she was safe.

The events of the past two days crashed down on his shoulders, and he was suddenly so very tired. He considered climbing up the ladder, but he didn't want to lie that close to her again. It wouldn't be right. Once he had made the decision to allow her to help him escape, he needed to allow her to start moving forward without him. To spend another second in her sparkling presence would only make the inevitable more difficult when it came, as it had to come. He quickly undressed and crawled in to the bed in the corner, leaving the lamp lit on the table for Amelia, turning his face to the wall. It was better this way: no more interaction to break her heart, no more knowledge to pollute her timeline. She needed to finish growing up here, where she belonged, and find her own way in the world. Even if he strongly suspected this world was not large enough for her.

It was not long before he heard her return. Her small steps on the wooden floor first close to the table. She was inspecting his work, probably. The memory of her curiosity made him smile. Then he heard her come close to the bed, the shadows on the wall shifting as the lamp in her hand approached, and he tensed, waiting for her to speak. For a very long moment, nothing happened. Then he heard the lamp set on the bedside table and barely addible rustling noises. The noise got louder and he could no longer deny what was happening. Then the blankets were lifted and felt Amelia crawl in next to him. He squeezed his eyes shut and waited. Nothing happened.

Unable to bare it, the pounding, stabbing in his chest, he finally rolled and was surprised to find her hair freed down her back, its length facing him. As adorable as he thought her braids were, this sable colored waterfall was even better. Frightened, knowing he shouldn't, he reached up to touch it, to brush his fingers through it, and he noticed she shivered at this simple action. He pulled it away from her shoulder, and he had never seen such creamy skin, completely devoid of freckles. Of course, she would not have exposed her shoulders to the sun. He saw the slim lace trim, the tiny stitches of whatever her little undershirt was called. As he barely touched her shoulder, she shivered again and her breath came louder, heavier. He couldn't help himself, he ran his fingertips in furrows over her shoulder, clenching his jaw as he did.

This, he had not expected. Amelia was offering herself to him. But he had already taken so much from her: the enclave she had grown up in, some of her naiveté, her wedding ring, and her love. No, he couldn't not take this, this thing she could only ever give one person, this thing that was worth more than rubies and gold to a woman in the past.

He leaned closer to her ear and whispered, "Oh, Amelia. I can't take something else of such great worth from you tonight."

Feeling at peace with his decision, he relaxed behind her, although he allowed his hand to encircle her waist. He wanted to her know that it wasn't because he didn't care or to think that she was unattractive to him. It wasn't that his body didn't want her anymore. Quite the opposite. And it wasn't that if he were to be physical with her, that he wanted it to be somewhere else, under different circumstances, without the specter of parting, special for her . . . making love, he realized. That was very true. It was that something had changed during the day. Somewhere between holding hands in silence and melting her wedding ring in silence, something unsaid passed between them. And it was the loudest thing he had ever heard.

Until Amelia whispered in reply, "But I love you."

Dawn was just breaking over the horizon when he awoke, his arm still wrapped about Amelia. The warmth and peace there almost lulled him back to sleep. He'd never spent all night sleeping next to someone before, certainly someone he - no, he needed to leave. Although it was difficult, Cooper managed to slither silently out of bed. Amelia rolled over and murmured something, but she didn't wake.

After he dressed, he watched her sleeping in the dusky light for a moment, her hair tangled around her head. Even just watching her sleeping form, he felt that knot inside himself loosen a little further. He had decided, last night, that the kindest thing he could do would be to leave her without a further word, without another utterance to bind them even closer together. But in the half-light of dawn, it felt cruel.

He looked around the cabin and his eyes settled on Shakespeare's folio. Two people who shouldn't be together, who weren't meant to be together, and yet were destined for each other, torn apart by time. Quickly finding a pencil on the book shelf, he located the passage he wanted and underlined it, leaving the book open on the table where she'd surely see it. In his stocking feet, his shoes in his hand, his circuit board in his pocket, he turned back one last time in the door way and blew a kiss to Amelia's sleeping form. It was an uncharacteristic, sentimental action, he knew, but it was all he had to give her now.

Although he had planned to leave as soon as possible, it was still too dim to see the interior of his machine properly. Alignment was essential. He sat on the hill, watching the sun rise, and he ate his last clementine.

But I love you.

Cooper could still hear the words in his head, echoing and reverberating. Startled and unsure, he had not replied. To reply would only wound her deeper. And yet . . . He wished he could have left her with something other than memory. He had her silver and her heart. She had only memories and dreams. Angry now, at himself, at the world, at the unfairness of it all, he spat the last section of clementine out on the ground. Yesterday, it was sweet; today, it was only bitter.

He rummaged in his machine and pulled out a small notebook and pencil. Occupying his mind, he double-checked his calculations. He estimated his current latitude and longitude from the angle of the sun, and factored those in, busying him mind with even the tiniest of tweaks he would have to make to arrive back at his apartment the day after he left. In the distance, he thought he heard a horse whiney, but he ignored it.

Finally, unable to find anything else to quadruple check, he put his note book away, adjusted the dials and the knobs, and lifted the silver skin of his machine. He took the circuit board out of his pocket and a stream of light caught the new silver repair. A bubble of something caught in his throat. In a sense, he was taking Amelia with him; this gift she had given him, this potent and profound gift, would forever be a part of his machine, a part of his future, a part of his life. Taking a deep breath, he slid it into place.

"Cooper!"

The wind was strong this morning, and it sounded like his past calling to him. Or was it his future? He turned and saw her there, a shawl pulled tightly around her torso. Only able to nod slightly, he turned back to double checking the alignment, wiggling things to makes sure they were snug. He could not turn around and face her. Then she walked even closer, and he thought he could feel her heat, feel her love, as though his arm was still wrapped about her under the quilt. Amelia seemed to permeate the very air swirling around them. She should not be here. He should not be here. Two people that shouldn't together, who weren't meant to be together. And yet . . .

Juliet. Time. Edith Keeler. Time. Amelia. Time. Destiny. I love you, too.

Turning sharply, he took her hand and said, "I can't stay, but I will never forget you." Allowing himself to brush his fingers along her cheek, he just as sharply stepped into his time machine. Just before he turned the key, he heard her whisper, "Please don't go."

As the engine hummed to life, he saw her out the open door, turning her back. There was were little movements of her shoulder, and he knew she wiping away tears.

I love you, too. Destiny. Time. Amelia. The future. Someday, he would say those words to her. Just like that, even though she hadn't said it first. He wanted to say it to her that way every day for the rest of his life. I love you, too. So she knew he heard the words her very heartbeats uttered, even upon the winds of time and destiny, even upon this cold November morning.

Before his lost his nerve, he stepped out and spun her around, into his outstretched arms.

"What about the future?" asked Amelia.

He looked deeply into her eyes and whispered, "There is no future without you."

He pulled her in close. She began to tremble all over. Cooper leaned closer to her face, aching to kiss her.

"I thought you didn't belong here," she said, staring into his eyes.

"I don't. But I think you don't either."

Destiny. He pulled her close and pressed his lips to hers. Amelia tensed for a moment in his arms and then he felt her relax and lean toward him. This kiss felt just like landing two morning prior had: the sensation was buried deep within his body, to middle of his stomach, the middle of his brain, the very center of his heart. On instinct, he opened his mouth and traced her lips. Amelia did not immediately respond, but then her mouth opened slightly. Restraining himself, Cooper did not press her further, he did not want to frighten her. Instead, he breathed his every wish into her mouth: the future, the power of his love, giving her this piece of himself, from his lungs to hers.

Devoid of air, devoid of willpower, and also devoid of all the loneliness he suddenly realized he'd felt his entire life, he pulled away, still holding her shoulders, looking down into her beautiful green eyes. "It will not be easy, I think. It is not peaceful like this time on the prairie. It is much louder. On the other hand, there is indoor plumbing and video games and pasteurized milk and double the life expectancy and fifty states in the union. I'm sorry there is not more time, you must make up your mind now. I think there is only one leap possible with this crude repair."

"Is there summer all year long? And you?" Amelia asked.

Leaning his forehead against hers, he felt the knot coming completely untied. "Please come," he whispered. "I love you, too."

Amelia bit her lip, and for a second - a horrible, tearing, aching second - Cooper thought she would say no. "How long do I have?"

Cooper's brow furrowed. "Not long. Certainly not more than ten minutes."

"Wait! Don't leave!" she yelled and ran away from him before he could reply. He watched her go, pumping her arms over the hill, and an icy fear filled his veins.

He should not have told her ten minutes! What if it was closer to five? After all, only a few minutes of missed time brought Romeo and Juliet to tragedy. And only a split second tore Edith Keeler out of Kirk's life. Cooper raced back into his machine, and franticly tried to think of anything he could do to slow this down. He could not stop it now. At best, the damaged circuit board would break even further, beyond repair, and he really would be trapped here; at worst it would catch fire and he could die in an explosion. Distressed and hectic, he ran his fingers through his hair.

'Please, Amelia, please. Come back to me. Come back to the future with me,' he silently begged whatever force in the universe would listen to him. He meant what he said, there was no future without her.

He started to feel a faint vibrating sensation and a slow, building whine from the engine. Dismayed and panicked, he put a foot out, upon the prairie, even though he knew if the machine left when his like that it would be amputated. But he wanted to touch something solid, something that Amelia had touched and loved, just as he loved her.

Suddenly, she was there, racing toward him, struggling with her folio. Through the window, she seemed to be shimmering, the edges of her body becoming hazy and indistinct as she ran. At the last possible moment, he put his hand out to her. When she touched him, he felt the fluid vibrations run up his arm, and he suddenly realized what that sensation was. It was the feeling of temporal bounds loosening, time becoming fluid, spans bleeding together, one season becoming another. It was time passing between them, looping on itself, connecting. But Amelia, his Amelia for all time!, was not frightened, was not alarmed. Of course she wouldn't be. Why did he ever doubt her? Not his impulsive, intelligent, ambitious Amelia.

She smiled at him with the force of the Kansas sun and stepped in next to him. He just managed to pull he door shut behind her before they twisted headlong into their future together.

Fair warning, the updates here will probably be slower than with my other stories. But I do plan on continuing to mirror each Amelia story with time.

Thank you in advance for your reviews!