~* Okay, this is a different format than what some of you might have read. When I first uploaded, I accidentally did the first three chapters all as one…so if any of you have already read past this first chapter then you've already read the first three. Sorry, but after that little problem they were having, I couldn't get on to fix the chapters, so please just bear with me!!!
-- I also realised that I didn't put a disclaimer in that first upload (sorry it's my first time), but trust me, I don't own anything except a whole load of books in my room.
-- I hope you all enjoy the story. Please R&R. Thanx a bunch!!
Disclaimer: I definitely don't own any of the characters that you recognise. Only the plot and the OC's are mine. Everything else belongs to Mr. Bartlett and Nick.
Chapter 1
The People Ride in a Hole in the Ground
It was fifty fucking degrees outside above ground, yet it was still like a sweltering locker room in the subway cars below the city. You would think that after running these things for countless decades, they would be a little better able to control the temperature settings! Sure I want to be warm, but not roasted. Helga sighed half-heatedly as the train whirred through the dark tunnels below Manhattan's busy streets. Christmas was always the worst time of year in the city. It seemed like every damn tourist in the country got the bright idea to come and see New York City decked out in holiday cheer. Holiday cheer, "Ha!" she unintentionally scoffed out loud, earning her more than a few stares from the tourists and unaffected complacency from the patrons. The train came to an abrupt stop and Helga realized, almost too late, that this was her cue to leave. So with a little wave and salute to her fellow passengers, Helga exited the steel tube and made her way swiftly up the stairs.
The weather was cold, too cold to be out making trips to the caverns of the Lower-Manhattan Financial District where the wind whipped through the gaping trenches, known to others as streets, and made a seemingly mild fifty-degree day into Arctic Hell. Double wrapping her long purple scarf, Helga had managed to cover up most of her face against the biting wind; her body, though, was protected only by a light pea coat that had seemed far more appropriate outside her apartment on 5th Avenue overlooking Central Park. The gusts came fiercely as Helga practically sprinted down the sidewalk; mind focused only on the warm relief she would find upon entering the centrally heated lobby of the Samson Publishing House office. Absentmindedly she bumped into a few noble workaholics braving the winter's day for the sake of "the firm", but it wasn't until she plowed recklessly into a large bundle of coats moving in the same direction she was, that Helga found herself in the company of the worst thing that can be added to a freezing-cold day—pain. Her wrists were soar and she had scraped up the palm of her left hand pretty well, but besides that there didn't seem to be anything she couldn't handle. The man (or woman—there were so many layers of clothing surrounding him that it was hard to discern any rational figure) was still lying on the ground, apparently he had gotten the worst of the two. Helga picked herself up and wiped the blood off her hands before she walked over to the man on the sidewalk—God all I need is for this to be some old man who will now take it upon himself to sue me for breaking his 12th hip—and reached down to help him up. The man gratefully accepted her offer at some help and grasped her bare hands in his woolen-coated ones. He wasn't old. Even through the gloves Helga could feel how strong and powerful his hands were as he grasped tightly at her own.
Once standing upright the man patted some clinging bits of gravel off his outer coat and then moved his scarves (Yes, there were more than one!) out of his face so he could get a clear, unobstructed view of the girl who both knocked him over and helped him up.
"Thanks for the help up, I'm afraid that all these layers make it a little difficult to maneuovre in any sort of graceful manner." The man chuckled lightly as he pointed playfully at his bulging body. Helga was awestruck. She had never dreamed that in a million years she would come across a person in New York City that, upon being properly bowled over, wouldn't get up and pull a gun on the offending individual—let alone mutter a phrase of gratitude.
Her expression must have been clearly visible for the man then inquired as to her own health; Helga didn't know what to do except stare dumbly at the poor man who, now visibly uncomfortable under her intense gaze, began to fiddle with his coat again. Helga watched him fidget and was suddenly struck with a touch of familiarity. At first she couldn't place it and brushed it off as something ephemeral seeing as though he was too well covered for it to be anything relating to his physical appearance. However, upon closer inspection Helga discovered it—his eyes. His eyes were an intoxicating mixture of blue-green that reminded her of a picture she had once seen of the waters of the Caribbean. She shook her head in a desperate attempt to tear her eyes out of his until she at last realized what a fool she must appear.
"I...I'm sorry what did you say?" she asked wearily, careful to avoid his face."I asked if you were all right." he replied in a manner that continued to be concerned, despite her recent display of muteness.
"Oh me? I'm fine. I've certainly been in worst predicaments; although, I do apologize for practically killing you, but I was in a hurry to get to the warmth of work—I'm afraid that I can be terribly clumsy when I'm in a self-indulgent mode." With this Helga made a sudden jerk of her left hand which caused burning pain to shoot up through her arm from the cuts and, what felt like, her wrist. "Shit!" she breathed audibly enough for the stranger to hear and then turn his attention to her hand.
"Oh Gods, your hand!" The man pulled off his gloves and then reached out to take Helga's hand into his. She looked down at the powerful hands previously hidden by the mittens, in the palm of his right hand Helga could see a large scar, diagonal from the base of his index finger to the heel. Camping...river...rocks. Helga shook her head again to clear the foreign thoughts as the feeling of the stranger's warm skin caressing her own invaded her senses. Then it hit her, all at once-she was standing in the middle of the sidewalk on Wall Street while a complete stranger from God-knows-where was toughing his bare hands against her bloodied one.
She roughly pulled away from the stranger and threw him a disgusted scowl."I don't recall telling you that you could touch me!" She stared up into his face forcefully as he recoiled his hands back towards his body and replaced the mittens on them. He looked offended, hurt even.
"I...I'm...Well, I'm just sorry," he fumbled loosely, "but I was only trying to..."
"Trying to what?" Helga cut in abruptly, her voice trembling with an unintentional rage. "Trying to infect me with AIDS, or God-knows-what-else that you might be carrying and distributing into my blood!" The last sentence, more of a statement than a question, was spat against the wind as Helga turned heel and continued her sprint to the office building three blocks away. The stranger stood rooted to the spot for only a minute or two watching the girl run ardently, seeing the white puffs of hot breath emanating from her and dissolving into the pale skies above. He watched her until she disappeared around a corner off in the distance and then, only then, did he allow a bemused smile to penetrate his previously stoic features.
He resumed his walk.
~*So Helga went a little crazy, but, hey, this is New York she's been living in. I'm going to try not an treat you all like infants because we all know who the 'mysterious man' she just ran into probably is. Perhaps if I was more creative I would make him out to be a new character who she falls madly in love with, but that will never happen and I'm sure we'll see more of him in the future.
Thanks again.