Author's note: Thanks for all the incredibly nice and encouraging reviews I received so far. You people made me feel proud of my work and I am certain, I am a few inches taller now. And to all who asked me to write more stuff for Nathaniel and my warden: your wish is my command. Here you go. Enjoy!
Deliverance
With a groan, Nathaniel stretches out on the covers of his bed. Everything hurts. His arms, his legs, his ribs where her attack from an hour ago has left a purple bruise on his skin. Even the bath he has just finished was not able to drive the soreness from his limbs. But worse than the pain in his body is the pain in his heart. No matter how hard he tries, he cannot forget her rejection.
Heaving a sigh, he closes his eyes and wills his aching muscles to relax. He listens to the rain outside, the clashing of thunder. Usually, that makes him feel comfortable but tonight, it doesn't work. All he can think of is how her bare skin felt against his own, how she shivered and writhed under his touch. And how she told him in no uncertain terms that it meant nothing afterwards.
He's been a fool to hope she'd ever return his feelings for her. He should have known better. She has always been uncomfortable around him whenever the nature of their relationship came up, always very careful not to fuel his hopes.
With yet another sigh, Nate rises from the bed again and saunters over to the cabinet on the far side of his room, pouring himself a generous shot of whiskey. He's never been one to try and drown his sorrow in a bottle but right now, that thought is more than just a little tempting.
The potent liquid burns in his throat and leaves a warm feeling in his chest and stomach when he downs it in one, determined swing, quickly followed by a second shot. He is about to fill the glass a third time when he hears a soft knock on his door.
"Come in," he calls over his shoulder without looking, not caring who it might be and not caring that he's clad in nothing but a towel. A decision he instantly regrets when he recognizes the sound of soft footsteps and the wave of vanilla and almond that clings to the air around her.
His hand closes harder around the glass and he takes a deep breath in an attempt to calm his suddenly fluttering nerves. What is she doing here? Can't he have at least one night without being constantly reminded of her?
"If you've come for another round I'm afraid I have to decline. I can barely move a muscle anymore," he says with a hint of dry humor, trying to hide his discomfort from her. When he finally turns around to face her, he's met by a disbelieving gaze.
"How do you do that?" she asks incredulously, shaking her head. He watches her set a tray down beside him that holds an assortment of cheeses and fruits, some bread and two cups of a steaming liquid that seems to be elfroot-tea by the smell of it. His stomach gives a low growl and reminds him that he did not eat anything for the better part of the day.
"How do I do what?" he asks a little distracted by a shiny, red apple on the plate.
"I did not say a word, nor did I make any other sound. How do you always know when it's me?" she clarifies while pushing the tray out of his reach when he is about to grab for the apple he has his eyes on. Raising an inquisitive brow, Nate's gaze darts back to her.
"I know your gait," he explains as he leans in and stretches his arm for the fruit a second time, only to be denied yet again.
"Just my gait?" she inquires, mimicking his expression by raising an eyebrow as well.
He pulls away from her, leaning against the cabinet in his back instead and watching her intently. He is wondering more and more what it is that she wants. This lighthearted banter feels surreal and strangely out of place and he can't help the mistrust gnawing at his guts.
"Just your gait," he confirms warily, not taking his eyes off her.
She cocks her head at him and her gaze is mischievous when she asks, "Why is it I don't believe you?"
"Why is it I think you're playing games with me?" Nate shoots back, the feeling of something not quite right growing stronger by the second.
She must have felt his tension because the soft smile that played on her lips vanishes and she gets serious. He can tell now that she is terribly nervous by the way she bites at her lips and avoids looking at him.
"I'm not playing games with you, Nate," she quietly says. "I thought I'd try to… make this a little easier but maybe that's not been such a good idea."
His stomach tightens even more in uncertain anxiety.
"Make what easier?"
Her eyes hesitantly lift from the floor and he hears her take a deep breath.
"I… came here to thank you. I needed that lecture down in the yard. You've set some things back into perspective and… for that I am grateful, Nate."
She comes closer, raises a hand to his cheek but before she can touch, he grabs his glass and turns away from her, sitting down on his bed.
"Don't mention it," he says, trying for a light tone but even in his own ears, the words sound tense and a bit too harsh. He feels bitterness and anger rise inside of him again and wishes she would just leave him alone. Her presence makes it hard to think of anything else but her and he so does not need that right now. The last thing he wants is to hear her express her gratitude. It seems like mockery. A poor substitute for what he really wants to hear from her.
"That's not the only reason why I've come, though," she continues, guilt clear in her voice and it feels like she's twisting the knife in the wound. "I'm so sorry, Nate. The things I said… a lot of what I told you after we… it was not fair and..."
His bark of laughter interrupts her mid-sentence and makes her flinch.
"Spare me the sympathy routine if you will," he growls. "There's nothing for you to be sorry for, is there? You made your point very clear that night, so don't pretend to regret your words on my account. I don't need your pity."
Silence falls over the room, the only sounds audible the steady downpour of rain in front of the window and the occasional rumble of thunder. Nate leans back against the headboard and closes his eyes, indicating that this conversation is over. He desperately wants her to leave. His nerves are vibrating with nervous restlessness and at the same time aching with exhaust. He's not anywhere near the mood of wanting to discuss this with her.
But she doesn't leave. Of course, she doesn't leave, stubborn, prodding pain in the ass that she is, he thinks when he feels the mattress move beside him as she settles down on the edge of the bed.
"It was a lie," she gently says. "It was more than just sex. I've been just too afraid to admit it, you made me realize that today."
He groans. Frustrated. Angry. Pained. Restlessness wins over exhaustion and he gets off the bed again, starting to pace the room. He can't be near her. Not without either kissing or strangling her. His hurt pride and aching heart are fighting for control, leaving him torn between wanting to believe her and mistrusting her every word.
"What do you expect me to say now, huh?" he snaps, running a hand through his still damp hair in frustration. " 'Oh good, don't worry, just let us pretend nothing ever happened?' "
She stands from her half kneeling, half sitting position on the bed and slowly approaches him, eyes pleading.
"No, of course not but…"
"Do you think you waltzing in here, apologizing with your pretty, big eyes and little girl voice will make me forget the humiliation you bestowed upon me?" he interrupts yet again. His anger flaring, he steps forward until their noses almost touch. "Give me one good reason why I should believe you won't change your mind again come morning!"
She draws back from him and walks over to the window. Her arms wrap around her chest as if she's freezing and for a long while she remains quiet, staring out into the storm whipping around the fortress walls. Nate watches her. Her reaction takes him by surprise. He expected her to say at least something.
Uncertainty weaves into his anger. The occasional flash of lightning illuminates every thin line on her face and he thinks to see tears on her cheeks in those fleeting moments. She looks so sad and just as tired as he's feeling himself.
What if she means it? What if she really, truly, made up her mind? What if…?
"You're right, you know?" she finally says very quietly, re-gaining his attention. "I'm a coward. I ignored the here and now in favor of a past that won't come back. I didn't want to admit to my feelings because they frightened me. They still do but I know I can't run from them forever. I don't want to run anymore."
She turns back to him and, inhaling deeply, straightens her shoulders. There is something in her eyes that makes him hold his breath. Affection. Admiration. A tenderness he's never seen there before. He wants to blame it on the poor light, wants to believe that he's imagining things but he knows that would be a lie, born from his own fears and doubts.
"I know you're still mad at me and for good reason," she continues, determinedly holding his gaze, "but I want you to know that I'm sorry and… that I need you. I don't want to lose you and I hope you can forgive me eventually."
She walks up to him, rises to tiptoes and breathes a kiss to his cheek before she turns for the door to finally leave him alone. And without thinking, he grabs her wrist, not wanting her to go anymore. She's made up her mind and so has he.
"Your scent," he says softly, wondering where that thought suddenly comes from. He feels her freezing in mid-step, genuinely confused, and it almost makes him laugh. She must think he's lost it and he is not so sure if that is so wrong.
"My…?"
He looks up at her and raises his hand to that one, stubborn strand of hair that always falls into her eyes, stroking it away from her frowning forehead.
"You asked me how I always seem to know when it's you without looking," he clarifies. "It's your scent. I loved that scent from the start."
A quiet, little laugh leaves her lips, surprised, disbelieving and Nate can't help but chiming in. Their shared laughter seems to break the invisible chains that have been crushing his chest for what felt like an eternity. Relief washes over him like a tidal wave.
He pulls her closer, holds her gaze with the same determination she's been holding his with before.
"Do you mean it?" he asks in a low but insistent voice. "Because if you don't, I swear by the Maker I…"
It is he who is interrupted this time when she closes her mouth over his in a searing kiss that instantly makes him forget what it was he wanted to swear by the Maker.
"I mean it," she whispers against his lips when she breaks away again. "I need you and I don't want to lose you."
His arms tighten around her and he closes his eyes, reveling in the feeling of her body against his, her hair tickling his neck and her delicate hands stroking his bare back. He briefly listens inside himself for the little voice of doubt that told him not to trust her but it won't answer anymore and he smiles.
It finally feels right.