Title: Winter Country (1/1)
Summary: Tinga remembers a good time, and learns to relax.
Type: Fluff. Sweet and light and plotless fluff.
Rating: G.
Disclaimer: Cameron and Eglee.
Date: March 31, 2001.
It was snowing, fat white snowflakes caught up in the wind, twisting in helpless captivity. Tinga had always loved winter. She was quite aware that wind and the blinding stretch of snow beneath cool brightness should quite possibly have held negative connotations for her. If Tinga were to limit her present enjoyments by the terrors and agonies of her past, she would have left herself with near nothing to appreciate. If she could remember freezing in painfully cold temperatures, if she could recall long hours of training exercises in blizzard conditions, she also held onto the memory of unbroken snow beyond a fence topped with barbed wire. She remembered being born free and human into a spill of snow.
"It's a doozy out there, tonight," the woman at the window said, lacy white curtains pulled back with a narrow hand. Her breath puffed against the window, fog forming against the cool plane. "It's a good thing that you arrived when you did. People have been known the get lost in weather like this." She looked over a slopped shoulder clad in a heavy green and red checkered sweater, polite questioning in her silence.
Tinga settled her duffel bag on the floor next to the bed. She straightened, pushing damp hair back behind her ears. "Yes ma'am, it certainly is intense out there."
The older woman clucked her tongue in amusement. "Don't think I don't appreciate a polite young thing such as yourself, but there's no need for such formality. I'd prefer if you simply called me Kitty."
Tinga titled her head in acknowledgment. "The room is really quite pretty," she said with an appreciative glance. She had already scanned the room upon entering it, but this second sweep was slower and more open. Tinga took in the details that she had discarded as irrelevant in her initial perusal of the room. The room was neat and clean, with touches that spoke of Kitty's determination to insert beauty into the lives of those who stayed with her. There was a landscape hung above the bed. A yellow throw-rug lay next to the bed. A knit comforter was spread over the bed.
Kitty smiled, "thank you, Tinga. I do try to make my guests feel comfortable here." She paused beside the bed, touching the quilt with fond fingers. "I made this myself a few years back. I used to spend my days in front of the television, but after the Pulse..." she trailed off, shrugged in that way people so often did when they spoke of life after that event. "I fell back upon old hobbies to occupy my time. I rediscovered a creative streak in myself."
"It's lovely. I envy you your talent," Tinga said softly.
Kitty's white head tipped backwards with her laughter. "You are the sweet thing! The first time my husband saw it, he had to ask me what it was."
"It's a cat," Tinga stated with great finality.
"It is indeed. I've always loved them. Unfortunately, my husband was allergic to cats, and I went without their company for a good number of years." Her eyes drifted, half-closed with memories.
Tinga hummed her agreement. "I've always held a fondness for cats myself. I've never had the pleasure of sharing my life with one, though. I've led too frantic a life for that kind of commitment." She settled onto the edge of the bed, trailed her index finger along the line of the knit cat's paw. "I hear that one of my brothers has a dog. I don't know how he manages. I'd be heartbroken having to leave it behind."
"You speak as if you're sure that you would have to do so," Kitty commented.
"I am sure," Tinga shrugged. "My job requires that I be able to pick up and move quickly, easily and more often than I would wish." She sighed, "but we all do what me must these days."
Kitty patted Tinga's straight shoulder. "Well, within these walls, you can shut off all your worries. So long as the weather remains as it is, you won't be going anywhere. Take the time to relax."
Tinga laughed slightly. "I don't think I know how to relax."
The other woman grinned, a flash of slightly crooked teeth. "You'll learn."
...~*~...
Tinga woke, gasping with the memory of choking on thick curls of smoke. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, elbows pressing into her thighs, head cradled in her hands. Tinga studied her narrow feet, picked out the silver nail polish chipping away at her toes. Her shaking fingers dug into the side of her head, found the throbbing vein at her temple. The room smelt of potpourri, and Tinga drew in deep breaths of flowers and spice, chasing away the lingering memory of the smoke filling her dreams.
It was all over and done with. She was alive. She was free. She was no longer the little girl who had been put through daily torment in order to strengthen her resolve and skill. She had almost been caught, again. A brief moment, she, Zack and Max, and Tinga had found herself flung back into old patterns, old moves and silent communication. They had driven away from Max, Zack sunk into sullen silence. He'd brought her across the border, handed over a crumpled wad of bills and had then driven away, leaving Tinga to tend to her own wounds.
She rose, padding bare footed across the floor towards the window. Tinga slid the curtains apart, rested her heated forehead against the glass. She let her eyes go bleary and unfocused, watched the snowflakes fall as a mass rather than zooming in on a single one. Her fingers twitched against the windowsill, stretched out to feel the coolness through the window. A smile found its way to her face. "Yeah, I hear you," Tinga murmured and smothered a sudden giggle against her hand.
Tinga dressed quickly, tearing tags off of pants and shirt that had replaced those left to Lydecker's searching men. Easy silence, and she coasted down stairs that had creaked with Kitty's steps all day long. Tinga's outdoor clothing had been left by the front door, boots drying over the register in the hallway while her mitts had been placed over that in the living room. She curled her fingers into warmth and pulled on her coat. Wound her scarf around her neck and up across the lower half of her face and pulled on her hat, pompom flopping to the back of her head. Cool air washed up her legs as she opened the front door.
She had helped Kitty shovel the walk that afternoon. Snow had already reclaimed the space they had cleared. Tinga's boots sank through freshly fallen snow, loose and soft beneath her. "Hold on, I'm coming!" Tinga cried out, steps quickening as she moved away from Kitty's darkened house. If she remembered freezing in painfully cold temperatures, if she could recall long hours of training exercises in blizzard conditions, she also held the memory of the few times when they had acted as the children they were.
She stopped and stared at her brothers and sisters, superimposed over the fresh snow stretching out towards the treeline at the edges of Kitty's property. It had been Syl that morning, she remembered. He had looked beyond the narrow slit window in their shared sleeping quarters, and he had pulled back with a look of determination on his rounded face. Pleading hands, weaving stories of excitement and temporary freedom. And they had followed, crept through halls towards the door they usually passed through on route to another training session. Shock of snow, wet and cold at her feet, and Tinga had jumped. No Lydecker screaming at their backs, no tests and stinging comments or painful perseverance. Shades of memory, small and trembling with the excitement of forbidden amusement, and they'd ventured forward.
Brin jumped as Zane crept up behind her, a handful of snow down the girl's back. Zack looked up from the fort he was building, a scowl on his face more out of habit than any greatly felt annoyance. A snowball in his face, and Zack was up, darting after Krit. Sneak attack, and Eva and Syl rose from behind a snowbank to shower both boys with a volley of packed snow. Max and Jondy, off to one side, tracing pictures in unmarked snow.
Tinga smiled at them, at herself, as she fell backwards into the snow. Sank without struggling before shifting her arms and legs outwards from her body, a snow angel. Lazy motion, willing exertion. She shifted her head to look at the little girl beside her. The girl she'd been stared back, big eyed and trembling lip as she shared in the end of the memory, found the abrupt ending to their adventure. He had found them that morning, barked orders until they scrambled to gather before him, bowed heads and squashed joy, sudden misery. "Don't worry. Lydecker won't catch us this time."
They had been so very quiet that morning... hadn't made a sound, held their joy in silence, bound by fear and training.
Thousands of miles and years away from Lydecker's scowl, Tinga tilted her head back, stared up into the sky and laughed.
~end~
A note about the post-Pulse television comment. You could either read
that as meaning 1) Kitty is an American who moved to Canada after the
Pulse. 2) Canadians watch more American shows than they do Canadian,
and Kitty is no exception. 3) Seeing as most Canadian cities lay
relatively close to the American border, the Pulse hit some of Canada,
too.