It had been a VERY long day. An important experiment involving Sandman dust had gone very badly awry, evaporating his workstation and leaving another smoking crater in the floor that would need to be repaired before he could regain the use of his lab. The manticore had somehow—yet again—figured out how to get out of his enclosure and wreak his special brand of havoc amongst the others inhabitants of the Cryptozoology Wing by picking a fight with the Jersey Devil—with the woefully outmatched Jenkins as the referee. Then the station wagon's engine began making alarming noises under the hood. And Jenkins had had to deal with it all by himself; Colonel Baird and Mr. Carsen were off on an adventure of their own, while the younger Librarians had decided to take a day off and spend it in New York doing some early Christmas shopping and sight-seeing.
All the weary Caretaker wanted right now was a comfy, overstuffed chair and a nice, hot, soothing cup of tea—and maybe a few of those lovely homemade gingersnaps that Cassandra had baked specially for him. He smiled at the thought of the culinarily-challenged Miss Cillian going to so much trouble just for him. His smile broadened as his imagination suddenly conjured a picture of Miss Cillian wearing nothing but a frilly apron, flour smudging her flawless face in a most charming fashion...
Jenkins caught himself and shook his head to clear it of the seductive image. He'd been catching himself daydreaming of Miss Cillian a lot lately, ever since her close call with the brain tumor and their final bout with Apep when Jenkins thought he might never see her again. He rather regretted now having cut off her advances. It seemed that she was all he could think about now. He shook his head again and chided himself for his foolishness. He was much too old for her, too much baggage. They had nothing in common. It was ridiculous to even entertain such ideas.
By early evening he was clearing away the day's clutter from his desk when the back door came to life and swung open. Three laughing, exhausted Librarians stumbled through the portal, returning from a day off spent relaxing in New York. Their heavy coats were sprinkled with snowflakes and a gust of cold winter New England air followed them into the Annex just before the back door closed behind them. Jenkins glanced up briefly from his task just long enough to acknowledge their arrival before returning his various notes and tools back to their proper places.
"Ah, you found your way back after all," he said in a disappointed tone.
"Aw, come on, Jenkins, you know you missed us," Jacob replied, not fooled by the Caretaker's prickly words. He stood directly in front of Jenkins's high desk and did a little drum roll on its surface with his hands. "Rattlin' around all by yourself in this great big ol' library, I bet you're about ready for some company, ain'tcha?"
Jenkins heaved a dramatic sigh and continued working without looking up, so he didn't see Ezekiel Jones slowly sidling up behind him as Jacob distracted the older man with his banter. The young thief quickly pulled a hand from behind his back and lightly plopped a very large white and brown mottled rat onto the desk blotter. He then stepped away from the desk and they all waited for the show to begin.
As Jenkins stood up and turned to face the librarians, he caught sight of the rodent. His reaction upon seeing the rat was not at all what the others were expecting.
The elderly man immediately threw himself violently away from the desk, slamming hard into the map cabinet behind him and dislodging several curios and books. His face blanched in sheer terror, his breathing coming in short, ragged gasps.
Ezekiel, alarmed by the reaction, took a step forward. "Jenkins! What is it, mate? What's wrong? You havin' a heart attack?"
"Get it away from me!" Jenkins hissed, his voice almost inaudible. His wide brown eyes were locked onto the oblivious rat.
Ezekiel followed the petrified man's gaze to the rat. It was sitting up on its haunches and facing Jenkins, busily rubbing its face and whiskers with its tiny paws.
Puzzled, Jones looked back at Jenkins. "It's just a rat, mate, it's not gonna hurt you."
"Get it away from me!" Jenkins repeated, louder this time, panic filling his voice.
Jacob was quicker to pick up on what was happening. He hastily reached out and plucked the offending rodent from the desk. "It's all right, man, I got it. I got it right here. It's not gonna hurt you," he said quietly, reassuringly. "See? I got it right here, J. I'm just gonna take it over here." He walked to the other side of the room, holding onto the rat firmly so that there was no chance of it squirming out of his hands.
As soon as Stone was far enough away, the pale Caretaker, heart pounding in his chest, stepped sideways away from the desk, his gaze never leaving the rat in the younger man's hands.
"Keep it away from me, PLEASE!" he pleaded.
"It's all right, Mr. Jenkins, Jacob has it, it won't hurt you," Cassandra said softly, trying to soothe the frightened man. She had never seen Jenkins show fear of anything before. Seeing him so terrified was a little frightening to her, but her concern for him outweighed everything else.
Ezekiel was completely flummoxed by Jenkins's reaction. "Geez, Jenkins, it's just a pet rat. What's the big deal? Why're you acting like this?"
Jenkins turned suddenly and glared at Jones, his expression one of fear mixed with anger.
"How DARE you to bring that thing into this Annex?!" he roared. The three librarians physically flinched at the unexpected ferocity of the Caretaker's words.
"How dare you to bring that...that...filthy animal into this Annex?!" he shouted again. "Take it out of this building IMMEDIATELY!" Jenkins's voice rose as he yelled, to an almost hysterical pitch, his face now a bright shade of red. "DO YOU HEAR ME?!"
None of them had ever seen Jenkins so visibly upset. Jones only nodded muted, quailing before the much larger man as he passed by. As soon as Jenkins reached the corridor leading to his rooms, he turned and fled, practically running away from them.
Cassandra, stunned by what she had just witnessed, closed her gaping mouth and turned to glare at Ezekiel. "I told you that was a bad idea!" she snapped angrily, worry for Jenkins flooding into her.
Jones threw his hands up. "Hey, how was I supposed to know he was gonna freak out like that? It's just a harmless rat! It was just a prank!"
"Yeah, well, I think it backfired a little bit, 'mate'," growled Jacob. "Who would've thought a tough old bird like Jenkins would have a phobia of anything?" The historian sighed. "Now what do we do?"
"I'll go talk to him," Cassandra volunteered. "You guys go and get rid of that thing, just get it out of here. And it might be a good idea for Ezekiel to make himself scarce for a while, too. Just until Mr. Jenkins calms down a little bit."
"Yeah, all right, then," Jones said glumly. "I didn't mean to freak him out, ya know..."
Stone clapped his free hand on the thief's shoulder encouragingly. "Yeah, we know, man," he said. "Come on, Zeke, let's me and you go get some chow and then you can crash at my place tonight."
Ezekiel immediately brightened. "I thought you'd never ask, mate!" He took the rat from Jacob and held it up to his face, nose to nose. "You hear that, Stumpy, Jr.? Sleepover at Uncle Jake's!"
##########
Cassandra waited a full hour before she went to find Jenkins. She made a cup of his favorite tea first, then carefully carried the cup of steaming liquid to the large wooden door that led to his suite of rooms.
Balancing the cup and saucer in her left hand, she lightly knocked on the door. She received no answer. After a moment of hesitation, she took a deep breath and tried the doorknob. Unlocked. She turned the knob and quietly opened the heavy oak door. Looking quickly around the large sitting room, she found the tall Caretaker in his favorite armchair.
She slipped inside the room and closed the door behind her. "Mr. Jenkins?"
He didn't answer. His head rested against the back of the chair and his eyes were closed, but she knew he wasn't asleep. She took a few tentative steps further into the room.
"Mr. Jenkins?" she repeated, a little louder this time. "I just wanted to see how you were feeling now." She remembered the tea in her hand and lifted it up. "I brought you some tea."
A ragged sigh came from the chair, but he didn't move or open his eyes. "I appreciate your concern, Miss Cillian, but right now I just want to be left alone, if you please." His deep voice was quiet and distant.
She crossed the room to stand next to the chair. She set the cooling tea on the small coffee table and then placed her hand gently on his left arm. She felt his muscles tense up beneath the sleeve of his tailored suit coat. This was a bad idea, she thought briefly. She almost turned to leave, but decided to stand her ground. Even though he had rejected her, she still loved him very much; whatever he was going through right now, he clearly needed a friend. She just didn't have the heart to leave him to suffer alone.
"The guys didn't mean to frighten you, Mr. Jenkins," she said softly. "They just meant it as a joke, that's all. We had no idea that you were so afraid of rats." She smiled weakly and forced a humorless little laugh as she tried to make light of the awkward situation. "I mean, who would've thunk it? Sir Galahad, the big, brave knight of the Round Table, is afraid of a silly little rodent?"
Like lightening, Jenkins was on his feet and towering over Cassandra, his brow furrowed as his face darkened with anger. He untied and roughly yanked out his bow tie as he spoke, his voice hoarse with venom.
"Perhaps you would like to know WHY Sir Galahad is so afraid of 'a silly little rodent'?" he sneered. "Come, Miss Cillian, let me show you!"
Cassandra, startled by the outburst, could only watch wide-eyed as he quickly stripped off his coat and shirt and threw them carelessly to the floor. He stepped closer to the young woman and held out his left arm for her inspection. Cassandra gasped, her hands flying up to cover her mouth as she stared in revulsion at the sight.
Both arms bore numerous ancient scars and tattoos, but the left arm had one very large scar. It took up nearly the entire length of his forearm, from wrist to elbow, roughly two inches wide, with wild, ragged edges; a long jagged stripe of leprous white that showed plainly against even Jenkins's pale skin. The scar tissue was heavy some places, thin and puckered in others. In some places it looked like the tissue had formed over large divots in his flesh.
Cassandra began to feel numb as she realized what had caused the injury, and she turned away from the awful sight. "Oh my God!" she said under her breath. "Jenkins-Did...rats...?"
Seeing the young woman's reaction, the immortal's anger immediately evaporated, and he regretted having shown Cassandra the scar. She had only come to help him, and he returned her kindness by lashing out with cruelty. Jenkins turned and quickly retrieved his shirt from the floor and slipped it on, refastening a couple of the buttons and making sure the left sleeve covered his arm completely. He went back to Cassandra and lightly placed his large hands on her thin shoulders.
"Cassandra, I'm sorry," he said contritely. "I'm very sorry, I shouldn't have done that. Please forgive me."
She paused a few moments before turning to face him. "You didn't answer my question," she said quietly, looking him steadily in the eyes. "Did rats...do that to you?"
He dropped his gaze and nodded. "Yes."
"But…You're immortal! How could you have such awful scars like that?" she blurted.
"Immortality only prevents death. It's no proof against scarring, I'm afraid. Of any kind."
She reached out her hands and gently took his as she continued to look up into the tall man's face. "What happened?"
Jenkins pulled his hands free and turned away to pick up his tie and coat from the floor. "The details aren't important, Miss Cillian," he said dismissively, trying to deflect her. "I'm very sorry for the way I behaved earlier, in the workroom, and again just now. I should never have lost my temper like that."
He brushed his coat off, then carefully folded it over the back of the armchair as he spoke, refusing to look at Cassandra. "One would think that after three years one would have learned to expect such antics from Mr. Jones and Mr. Stone. I should go and find them now and apologize..."
The young woman grabbed his arm to stop him from leaving. She could feel the scars through the thin fabric of his shirtsleeve, and though her first instinct was to pull her hand away, she made herself hold on tightly. She waited until he finally lifted his eyes to meet hers.
"Please," she asked quietly. "Tell me what happened? I want to hear it."
He lowered his eyes again and placed his hand over hers on his arm. He was deeply moved by her compassion, her generosity. Her limited experience of the world had not been easy, he knew, but it paled in comparison to the horrors he had seen and experienced throughout his long life. He wanted to spare her the unbelievable brutalities found in his world.
"I thank you for your kindness, Miss Cillian," he replied, trying to sound light and indifferent. "But I wouldn't dream of troubling you with my problems. It's enough for me that you care." He started to pull himself away from her, but to his surprise she only held him more tightly.
"No, Jenkins. Please. Talk to me."
Her tone brooked no argument, and he hesitated. He had forgotten how determined she could be once she had made up her mind about something. What was the word Mr. Stone had used for her? Ah, yes—'feisty'. He remembered something Colonel Baird had pointed out to him not long ago, about him not having to carry everything alone anymore, about allowing others to help him carry his burdens. He took a deep breath. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to share just a little.
"I was tortured," he said bluntly.
Cassandra cringed inwardly at the word; she wasn't sure she was really ready to hear this, but she had asked him for it. He needed her right now, and after three years of working together he was finally going to open up to her with about something deeply personal; she wasn't about to wimp out now.
The Caretaker, seeing her reaction, regarded her for a moment, as though weighing something in his mind, then he reached out his hand. "Before this goes any further, I want to show you something."
She tentatively placed her hand in his, and Jenkins led her across the sitting room to a large full-length mirror. He stood them both in front of it, Cassandra in front of him.
"What do you see, Cassandra?"
Her brow wrinkled slightly in confusion. "I see us. Why? What do YOU see?"
She was astonished to see tenderness and affection fill the face reflected in the mirror.
"I see an intelligent, immensely talented, beautiful, vibrant young woman, so full of life and...light. Who has her whole life ahead of her, for whom literally the entire world is her oyster." Cassandra noticed the warmth that had crept into Jenkins's voice as he spoke. It all bled away suddenly as he continued.
"I also see an old man, one who is far too old, who has seen too much. Who is so full of fear, pain, disappointment, bitterness. Darkness—dozens of lifetimes' worth of darkness. Too much for one man to bear without himself becoming poisoned, twisted into something bitter and dark." He sighed as sadness and regret returned to his reflection's eyes.
"How do I dare to pollute such a bright, pure light with such darkness, Cassandra?"
With those few words, suddenly everything became clear as glass to the perceptive Librarian. He hadn't rejected her all those weeks ago just because of his promise to Charlene; it had also been because he thought he was too broken, too old and damaged for her, that he would be a burden to her because...he actually DID love he...
She felt dizzy with the realization. It all made so much sense now—He DID truly love Charlene, Cassandra knew that, and even though Charlene hadn't returned his love, the older woman had much more in common with him. Charlene already knew his secrets, knew his weaknesses and failures. Jenkins would never have admitted having fallen in love the Librarian while Charlene was alive, he would've felt as though he was being unfaithful. But Charlene was gone now. What would cause him to still hold back? She sensed that there was more to this, much more, but she wasn't going to push him on that, not right now.
She led him back to the armchair. Moving the now lukewarm tea out of the way, she sat on the coffee table as Jenkins seated himself in the chair.
"Tell me," she said, mentally preparing herself to hear the worst. "I really want to hear the whole story."
The Caretaker smiled wanly. He could tell that she was afraid of what he was going to say, but he couldn't help but be proud of her bravery and sense of loyalty. The Library had, indeed, chosen well when it picked Cassandra Cillian.
"I'll try to spare you most of the gory details," Jenkins began stiffly, unused to speaking openly about something so personal. "Have you ever heard of Matthew Hopkins?" Cassandra shook her head.
"Well, during the years of the English Civil War—mid-Seventeenth Century—Mr. Hopkins billed himself as 'The Witchfinder General', an expert at detecting witchcraft and its practitioners. He was a charlatan, of course. But people were very superstitious and very afraid. A dangerous combination in those days. I had the misfortune of being denounced as a witch to Mr. Hopkins. I was 'interrogated' by him."
The knight paused a moment as he remembered those awful months. He had been their prisoner for over two years.
"Being immortal, any wounds they inflicted during the course of their questioning healed very quickly, as you well know, and Mr. Hopkins and his assistants quickly noticed that. They naturally interpreted it as proof of my 'allegiance' with the Devil. But rather than cart me off to the nearest hanging tree, as usually happened to his hapless victims, Mr. Hopkins realized that he had stumbled across something unique, something that, while not exactly diabolical, was nonetheless supernatural in nature. He decided that this was a golden opportunity for...experimentation."
He paused again. Now that he had begun, he found that he was strangely eager to get the hateful story out, but he was still hesitant. He nodded at the cup and saucer on the table. "May I please have that cup of tea, Miss Cillian?"
Cassandra quickly passed it to him. "It's probably no good now," she said.
"I just need something to drink. My throat is a little dry, that's all." He sipped the comforting liquid and continued his story.
"They took me to an isolated location where they could do their work undisturbed. Where no one would hear me. Mr. Hopkins was, in reality, a sadist in the purest sense of the word. He experienced…gratification…when he tortured his victims. You can imagine how pleased he was to have a victim who could not be killed by his predilections. His men used all kinds of torture on me, both physical and what is nowadays called 'psychological torture'."
As Jenkins spoke, his voice started to go flat and lifeless, his eyes staring fearfully hundreds of years into the past. His voice was low, soft.
"Hot irons, thumbscrews, the rack, flogging, the boot—they used many different methods." He dropped his eyes suddenly, unwilling to let Cassandra see in them the shame he now felt.
"They even..." he paused, unable to continue. Cassandra sensed he was hiding something ugly, but important, that needed to be brought out into the open, no matter how bad it was. She put her hand on his and gently squeezed it reassuringly.
"It's ok, Mr. Jenkins," she murmured soothingly. "Whatever it is, I'm here to support you. I'm not going to judge you."
He glanced briefly at her, unsure, but after a few moments to collect himself, he continued.
"They…raped me," he managed to choke out. "Repeatedly. For Hopkins's pleasure. For their own sport."
His stomach knotted sickeningly as the long locked-away memories now flooded his brain. Now that the words had been spoken, those memories poured out of him.
"They always tied me down, helpless. I was…violated over and over again by my tormentors. Day after day after day. They were merciless. It didn't matter how disabled or injured I was, it didn't matter how much I begged for them to have pity, they still raped me. Some days I would lose consciousness from the pain of the other tortures they had inflicted, and when I awoke, I would know that I had been assaulted even then." Jenkins swallowed hard, his face like stone, tears in his dead eyes.
"Oh, Jenkins…" The young Librarian's chest went cold and tight as he spoke, not knowing what to say to such a terrible revelation. How could he have carried this around all by himself for so long?
Her touch brought him suddenly away from that squalid dungeon and back to the present.
"One day they brought a cage full of rats. Huge brown rats. Blacks rats. Gray rats. All squealing and scrabbling about. They had been starved, you see, so that they would be good and hungry." Jenkins's hand began to shake slightly as sipped more tea, swallowing hard.
"They bound me to the table so that I couldn't move. They cut a long slit into the flesh on my arm, to make it bleed. Then they took one rat at a time and let it...feed. When one was full, they replaced it with a fresh, hungry one. When the pain caused me to lose consciousness, they would wait until I woke up before resuming." Jenkins couldn't go on. He took several gulps of tea, emptying the cup. It clattered loudly as he replaced it on the saucer.
Cassandra listened in silence to the awful story, her eyes damp with tears of sympathy—and outrage. The idea of Jenkins—her good, brave, kind Jenkins—being subjected to such brutal, inhuman treatment made her feel sick. It also made her livid with rage.
Jenkins closed his eyes and unconsciously rubbed his left arm.
"The pain was bad enough," he said quietly, his voice beginning to quaver, but he was unable to stop himself from speaking. "The part that was TRULY awful—that even while the rats were eating their way to the bone—Hopkins's men, they STILL assaulted me. They…fondled me, sodomized me, tried to arouse me… " Jenkins drifted silent. He could again hear that maddening sound of teeth gnawing against bone, his own hysterical screams for mercy, the laughter and lewd mocking of his captors, felt their hands on his body—and he shuddered violently.
He suddenly found himself in the present again, safe in his Annex. He was almost startled to see Cassandra sitting on the coffee table before him, her wide blue eyes full of—pity? No, not pity. Empathy? Concern? Perhaps even angry indignation? His chest filled with a feeling of tenderness for Cassandra. It had to be difficult for her to hear such repulsive, vile things about him, yet he saw no sign of disgust or revulsion in her eyes. He resisted with difficulty the desire to lean forward and touch her cheek.
"Anyway, that's what happened," he said brusquely as he pulled his hand out of hers, feeling suddenly self-conscious. "And so now I have a phobia of rats. I detest them, can't bear the sight nor the sound of them." Indeed, he had come to associate everything that had happened to him in that two-year span with rats, the sexual assaults in particular. The scar on his arm was a permanent reminder, and every time he saw it he again felt the terror, the humiliation, the helplessness, the sense of failure.
"How did you get away?" she asked, still trying to wrap her mind around everything she had just heard. No wonder he thinks of himself as damaged, she thought, her heart aching for Jenkins.
"My captors grew careless. After the rats had done their work one day, they threw me into my cell but didn't shackle me to the wall, as they usually did. It was Carnival time, and they were eager to join the festivities, to get drunk on free ale. Doubtless they were planning to come back later and...enjoy themselves at my expense. They neglected to lock the door to my cell properly. Somehow I managed to gather my strength and escape, make my way back to the Library. After I took care of some unfinished business, that is." Jenkins's expression became one of sheer, cold hatred as he reflected on the fate of his torturers.
"The last mistake they ever made in their abominable lives was to leave me with one good sword arm and a blade within easy reach."
"You killed them?" Cassandra asked.
"Yes. Once I was free and armed, I waited for them to return. They were so drunk that even a weak, half-dead cripple like me could easily take them. I was so insane with rage, for revenge, that I literally hacked them to pieces."
"Good." Cassandra's face was like marble, but her eyes flashed with a blue-white fire.
"One should never be glad to take a life, Miss Cillian, regardless of the circumstances or however justified it might be," he said dully, as though only out of obligation.
"I don't care! They were monsters and they deserved to die for what they did to you!" Cassandra shot back fiercely, full of fury.
Jenkins gave her an almost imperceptible smile. There was quite a little Amazon hidden beneath those winsome, brightly-colored outfits Cassandra favored. "Thank you, Cassandra. For listening, for caring. It means a great deal to me."
The Librarian dropped her head and her hands fluttered aimlessly in front of her as she was suddenly overcome with shyness. "I'll always care for you, Mr. Jenkins. I... Never mind." Tongue-tied, she began to nervously twist the hem of her dark blue sweater.
He leaned forward and took her hands. "You what, Cassandra?"
Raising her head she looked defiantly, into his dark eyes. "You already know, Mr. Jenkins. I...I love you," she said guilessly.
Jenkins stared at her for what seemed an eternity, his face unreadable. Cassandra began to feel foolish in the silence and suddenly stood up. "It's getting late, and you look exhausted. I should go..."
Jenkins stood up with her. "Cassandra, please!" he blurted quickly, fearful that she would leave before he get the next words out.
"Please," he said again. "Would you…stay with me tonight? To talk? I lied earlier. I…I don't want to be alone. Not tonight, not now..." The weary Caretaker heaved a deep sigh and ran his hand over his face and then waved it in front of him in negation of his words.
"I'm sorry, Miss Cillian," he said shakily. "Please, forget what I just said. It was foolish and thoughtless of me to ask for such a thing. Forgive me."
"There's nothing to forgive," she said kindly. "I'll stay."
"No, no, thank you," he replied awkwardly, going to stand by the door in dismissal. "Go. I'll be fine."
"No," she said flatly, suddenly out of patience. She began to pace and wave her arms in exasperation.
"You're not fine! Why do you do this to me, Jenkins? Just when I think we're finally getting somewhere, just when I think you're finally letting me in, you shut down and try to fade into the background. You're like a damn ghost or something—just some dead, soulless thing that floats around the Library muttering cryptic phrases and hurling insults, not a part of anything or anyone...!"
The young woman stopped as she realized what she had just said.
"Oh! Jenkins, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean that. You're not soulless, I didn't mean that! I'm just frustrated, because all I want to do is help you, but you won't let me. And I just want to know why? Is it me? Is there something about me that makes you not trust me?"
"It's because I'm afraid!" he snapped. He was suddenly so very tired of all this back and forth, of all the keeping of secrets, of all the deflecting and hiding. How had this interminable day become so complicated?
"It's not you, Cassandra, the fault is mine," he said, more gently this item. "I'm afraid. I'm afraid of love, Cassandra. I'm afraid of intimacy, of being truly in love and of being truly loved in return," he said, embarrassed.
"My love for Charlene was easy, because I knew it would never be returned. I DID love her, but it took no effort, no risks on my part, really. She was 'safe'." He came and stood in front of the young woman and took both of her hands in his as he continued, his voice strained and miserable.
"I'm afraid because I know where I come from. I'm afraid that if I ever allowed myself to fall in love, it wouldn't be anything good or pure, as true love is supposed to be. I'm afraid it would be something…tainted. Something rotten and diseased, like…THEY were. I'm afraid of attracting those kinds of people. I'm afraid of BEING one of those people, hurting, as they did, anyone good who tries to love me. Someone like you, Cassandra. I don't want to risk hurting you. I would gladly cut out my own heart rather than risk hurting you."
Jenkins let go of her hands and stalked back to the armchair. He threw himself into it with a deep, ragged sigh as the Librarian watched breathlessly. Cassandra was too shocked to say a word.
"Well," offered the Caretaker irreverently. "It seems you got far more than your money's worth today, Miss Cillian. Two of Mr. Jenkins's deepest, darkest, most mightily repressed secrets for the price of one."
Cassandra walked slowly back to the coffee table and sat down. She clasped her hands tightly in her lap, her eyes focused on them. Jenkins leaned his head back against the chair and closed his eyes. They sat silently like that for a long time as each digested everything that had happened and that had been said in the last few hours. It was Cassandra who finally broke the silence.
"You're wrong, you know," she said softy. "There's nothing rotten or broken in you, Mr. Jenkins. You were hurt by evil people, but that doesn't make YOU evil. You're a good man. You were strong, you beat them, you survived. If you were so evil, or so warped and damaged, you wouldn't be so worried about hurting anyone. I know that you would never hurt anyone intentionally, I know you wouldn't."
She leaned forward and laid her hand on his. "You may be immortal, but you're still a human being, Mr. Jenkins; you need love just as much as everyone else does. If you keep denying love to yourself, though, you might end up becoming exactly what you're trying to avoid."
She paused a moment, then squeezed his hand tightly, tears in her voice. "I don't care if you ever fall in love with me or not, Mr. Jenkins, but please—please don't cut yourself off from the possibility of loving someone!"
He opened his eyes as he raised his head, and regarded her for several moments, his face unreadable.
"May I touch your cheek, Cassandra?" he asked. The unexpected question jarred her.
"Um, of course," she answered.
He raised his hand to her soft, smooth cheek and stroked it lightly with backs of his fingers. It was warm and firm, silky. He smiled, secretly delighted. "Like an apricot," he murmured to himself.
"An apricot?" She blinked in confusion, but didn't take her eyes off of him.
"Your cheek. It's like an apricot." He leaned forward slowly, and gently kissed the tempting 'fruit'.
Cassandra giggled nervously and gently bit her lower lip. Enchanted by the sight, Jenkins slid out of the chair and onto his knees in front of her. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her lips, lightly at first, then more deeply as her own lips parted to receive it. She slipped her hands beneath his open shirt and ran them over his broad chest.
The feel of her touch on his body sparked a desire within the Caretaker that he hadn't let himself feel in a long time. He lightly laid a trail of kisses along her jawline and down her neck, then onto her shoulder. At the same time he lowered his hand and placed it on her breast. He squeezed it tenderly, causing a sigh of pleasure to escape from the lovely creature in front of him. The sound fanned the flame in him higher, and he backtracked the trail of kisses until he reached her delicious lips again. He kissed her hard, passionately, his tongue slipping between her lips to explore her mouth.
Cassandra moved closer to the man she had secretly loved for so long, her own desire burning hotter with each passing minute. She moved her hands from his chest to his shoulders and ran them down the lengths of his arms. When her fingers touched the scars through the fine fabric on his left arm, she felt him tense up again. Cassandra pulled away from him and took the damaged limb in both of her hands. She started to push the sleeve up to expose the scar. He tried to pull away, but she wouldn't let go. "No, Cassandra..." he protested.
She placed her fingers over his lips to silence him. She returned her attention to his sleeve. She pushed it up, revealing the ugly reminder of so much suffering and degradation, and traced it with her fingers.
"I'm sorry for what happened to you, Galahad, I'm sorry for all of it," she whispered softly. He didn't respond, only watched, barely breathing, as her small, fine hand passed lightly over the loathsome mark again and again. After a few moments she could feel him begin to relax again.
She bent and kissed the old injury, and Jenkins drew a sharp breath. It wasn't right for her lips to touch that filthy mark of his dishonor and shame.
Before he could protest again, she silenced him with a quick kiss. "I'm not afraid, Galahad. The past can't hurt me. You won't hurt me."
He watched, barely breathing, as she bent and kissed his arm. She slowly covered it with soft, gentle kisses. She continued to lavish kisses on him until she finally felt the tensed muscles relax and heard him take a deep, trembling breath. She glanced up and saw tears silently falling down his pale face.
Cassandra quickly moved up and kissed his mouth, her tongue gently doing the exploring this time, and then kissed his tears from his face. His desire reignited and burned bright and hot deep within his belly. With one hand he tightly grasped a handful of her fiery hair at the back of her head and returned her kiss, lightly biting her full lips, darting his tongue in and out of her mouth teasingly. The other hand returned to her breast, though this time he slipped it beneath her sweater. The feel of her nipple hardening beneath his hand spurred his desire into full-blown lust.
Jenkins felt dizzy and weak in the powerful deluge of his desire, held in check for so long. He nuzzled her silky cheek, his lips close to her ear. He was again reminded of an apricot—a sweet, juicy, delectable apricot. He found himself hungrily wondering what other parts of her body were apricot-like. He wanted more than anything else in the world to find out.
"Will you stay with me tonight?" he whispered pleadingly.
The redhead nodded her agreement. She slipped off of off the coffee table and stood up, held her hands out to her tall knight. Jenkins clambered to his feet and quickly led her to his bedroom.
##########
As they approached the massive bed, Cassandra began to unbutton her sweater.
"No!" Jenkins ordered, hurriedly putting his hand out to stop her. He moved to stand in front of her and began to unbutton the sweater himself, his long fingers trembling a little in a mixture of anticipation and fear. He peeled the thin, blue cotton sweater from her shoulders and let it drop to the intricate Persian carpet below. He reached around her waist and found the zipper of her matching plaid skirt. As he tugged on the zipper, he nibbled her ear lobe, flicking his tongue in and out of her ear, coaxing a deep sigh from her. He unzipped the skirt and pushed it down to the floor, and Cassandra stepped out of it, kicking her shoes off at the same time.
The immortal stepped back for a moment and took in the sight of the beautiful Librarian wearing nothing but her stockings, bra and panties. It took his breath away and inflamed his desire for her to a white-hot fervor; he could feel himself rapidly hardening. Almost reverently, he stepped forward again, his eyes closed. He reached around her back and undid her bra, slipped it from her shoulders. He heard it land softly on the floor, then slid his hands slowly down her body to push the panties away. He felt her step out of them, and, with eyes still closed, he knelt and slowly removed her stockings. Her scent heady and sweetly spicy, filled his nostrils, and he fought the urge to touch her. Not yet, he told himself. He stood and stepped back and only then opened his eyes.
The sight of her pale, flawless figure, like a goddess carved in alabaster, caused him to gasp audibly.
"You're even more beautiful than I imagined," he whispered as she stood before him demurely. He hesitantly reached out his hand, barely brushing her breast. It responded immediately, the pink nipple hardening, enticing him like a siren song. He bent and kissed it tenderly, flicking the pert nipple with the tip of his tongue before sucking on it gently. Cassandra gasped loudly and wove her fingers into his thick, white hair.
He moved to the other breast and nuzzled it before giving it the same loving attention he had just given its sister. Cassandra moaned again, breathing his name.
He raised his head and kissed her deeply, his strong hands deliberately exploring her body. She reluctantly pulled her fingers from his hair and found his shirt buttons. She quickly undid the only two that were fastened, and pulled his shirt off. She pushed him away just long enough to remove his undershirt and undo his trousers. She quickly pushed them down, along with his shorts, and they joined the rest of their clothes on the floor. He quickly removed his own shoes and socks, and then it was Cassandra's turn to admire Jenkins.
He was magnificent. Tall and still muscular despite his great age, his long legs and arms were especially lean and well-muscled. He reminded her of a wild animal, beaten and abused, but not broken. Nothing would ever break Jenkins. How could one man exude so much power and so much gentleness—almost shyness— at the same time, she wondered. And his manhood! He was almost fully erect now, and Cassandra had to bite her tongue to keep from squeaking in surprise.
Then she noticed the other scars, all over his body, all shapes and sizes. She was amazed by them, by all of the pain and hardship in his life they represented. She wanted more than anything to take it all away from him. She took his hand and tugged him over to the bed. "Lay down, on your stomach," she ordered, and he obeyed meekly without a word of protest.
His back was even more frightful in appearance than his front. Long, white ragged lines crisscrossed his entire back, from his shoulders down, even onto his buttocks. She sat next to him and traced them lightly with her fingers.
"What are these from," she asked.
"A whipping," was all he said.
"A whipping for what?"
"I was a prisoner of war, eventually sold into slavery. One day I escaped, or tried to. But I was caught, and my master had me whipped." Of all the answers he could've given, she never expected that. She wondered if he had any good or happy memories to counter all of these awful ones. She bent and kissed the length of every stripe. She heard his breathing become shallow and rapid as she progressed down his back. He allowed a quiet whimper to escape his lips when she reached his buttocks. When she was finished, she touched another scar, this one an ugly slash on the back of his left thigh.
"What's this one?"
"A Viking axe." She kissed the length of that scar, too.
She did the same with every single scar she could find. When she had covered his back, she made him roll over so she could do the same to the front of him. She was horrified to learn that his own father had given him the scar on his face. When she kissed it, she tasted the fresh tears that he had tried to hide from her.
Every mark she pointed out, he could tell her how he came by it: Swords, knives, whips, musket balls, shackles, animals, arrows. She kissed every one of them. When she reached the one on his left arm again, she could've sworn she heard a soft sob escape him. By the time she was done, Jenkins was breathing rapidly and he was fully erect. Smiling mischievously, she began to reach for his engorged member, but he grabbed her wrist and stopped her.
Cassandra froze, cursing her stupidity. She should've realized that touching that part of his body would bring back painful memories for him of that time in the dungeon…
"I'm sorry, Jenkins!" she said quickly. "I didn't mean to..."
Knowing what she was thinking, he tried to reassure her with a weak smile as he let go of her arm.
"No, it's not that. It's that I'm too close; I want to be inside of you when I come," he rasped, his dark eyes like smoldering coals. He then sat up quickly and pushed the Librarian onto her back. God, he thought crazily. Why did everything about her remind him of apricots—her cheeks, her breasts, her lovely little ass, her smell, that sweet crevice between her legs? He again ministered to her plump, round breasts, this time running one hand lightly down her stomach and thighs as he licked and sucked her rosy nipples greedily.
He kissed a trail down her stomach, pausing at the divot of her belly-button just long enough to playfully poke his tongue into it unexpectedly, causing her to flinch and giggle, and the sound made him feel giddy. He reached the lovely cleft between her legs, bent to taste it, and was not disappointed. She was sweet and intoxicating, like mead. He explored every fold and crevice with his hot, eager tongue, delighting in the gasps and moans it produced in his beautiful Librarian. Every sound she made filled him with more and more delight. He slipped two of his long fingers into her wet sex and explored her from the inside. Cassandra whined in bliss, gasping his names, sometimes 'Jenkins', sometimes 'Galahad', raising her hips to meet him as she begged him not to stop. He could feel his climax building steadily as he listened to her ecstatic cries.
He teased her for as long as he could stand it, relishing bringing her pleasure for as long as he could, but he could hold himself back no longer. He quickly wiped his mouth on the duvet and then moved upwards, kissing and licking his way back to her mouth. He kissed her hard, his tongue sliding into her mouth and brushing her own, in and out, giving her a small preview of what he was about to do with his cock.
He finally tore himself away from the kiss and looked into her eyes. "May I?" he whispered. She giggled again; even now, he insisted on being a gentleman! She wrapped her arms around his neck.
"How courtly!" she teased, and he raised his eyebrows archly, pretending to be offended as he waited in agony for her answer.
She, in turn, pretended to consider his request, furrowing her brow dramatically.
"Hmmm. No, I think not," she said decisively, and waved her hand haughtily towards the door. "You CAN go and fetch me a cup of tea, though."
He grinned at her playfulness. "You imperious little vixen!" he purred. "I'll teach you to tease a poor starving man with crumbs while you feast like a queen!"
He roughly pushed her legs apart with his knees and positioned himself, taking care to first tantalizingly rub the taut head of his manhood over her swollen clit, then pushed his hard shaft into her slick, wet sex. Cassandra gasped and cried out as he pushed himself all the way in and filled her. He reveled in the indescribably delicious sensation as he entered her, the first woman he had entered in decades. He began to thrust slowly, kissing her collarbone and throat. As his climax quickly built, he began to bite her shoulders, grunting and panting like a beast, his hips steadily picking up speed, pumping her harder and faster. He rode her wildly with joyful abandon, oblivious to everything except Cassandra's voice as she called his name breathlessly, and the tightness of her sex around his throbbing member. She rocked against him, panting and crying out with pleasure as her own climax built. She suddenly grasped his thick mane of hair again in both of her hands and pulled, trying to bring him face to face with her.
"Jenkins! Galahad! Look at me!" she gasped.
He turned his face to her and opened his eyes. "What, my heart?" he growled, not missing a stroke.
"I want you to watch me, I want you to look me in the eyes when you come! Do that for me?"
He only groaned loudly in response, but he locked his eyes onto hers and continued to thrust. He soon felt her begin to pulse around him, and within seconds she was there, crying out in her ecstasy, her body convulsing around him violently, her back arching sharply, but her eyes never leaving his. He had never looked into a woman's eyes as she climaxed before; it was one of the most erotic and intimate things he had ever experienced, like looking directly into her soul.
He was so absorbed in her eyes that his own orgasm struck him by surprise like a sledgehammer. He shouted something in a language that she didn't understand and shuddered to a halt, his sex pulsing rhythmically inside hers. It took a great effort, but he kept his eyes on hers, allowing her to share in his moment as he had in hers.
He collapsed on top of her, gasping for breath. He scooped Cassandra into his arms and rolled quickly over onto his back so that she was on top of him, then drew the edges of the comforter over the top of her to cover them both. She squealed at the sudden move and made as though to get off of him, but he held her tightly against his body.
"No, stay!" he panted. "I want to stay like this—inside of you—for as long as possible." He buried his face in her flame-colored hair and simply held her, whispering endearments into her ear. Cassandra relaxed and simply enjoyed the warmth and feel of his naked body against hers, the scent of his musk filling her nose as his heartbeat gradually slowed to a steady, soothing rhythm.
"Galahad?" she whispered.
"Yes, my dear?"
"What did you say when you shouted earlier? I didn't understand the language."
"Nothing, my dear, just words." She could tell he was hiding something.
"It's ok, you can tell me. Please?"
"It sounds rather silly when you take it out of context..."
"You're just making me more curious, you know," she chided. Jenkins sighed, conceding defeat.
"Roughly translated, I said 'Christ, how I love apricots! '. It's an...old-fashioned type of endearment."
Cassandra burst into laughter. "How romantic!" The Caretaker could only chuckle in response.
Cassandra grew quiet for a time, and Jenkins was beginning to think that she had fallen asleep when she suddenly spoke again.
"Galahad, would you promise me something?"
"Of course, my apricot" replied, thinking she was still teasing him.
"Don't ever forget how much I love you, no matter what."
Jenkins felt an icy grip in his chest. It wasn't too late to turn back, he could still send her away without hurting her too much. What happened tonight would just a one-time thing. If he went forward, would he be strong enough to face the colossal changes this beautiful woman would bring into his life? Or would he, indeed, only end up hurting Cassandra through his weakness? She deserved so much better than him, so much more—someone younger, more handsome, dashing—someone with FAR fewer issues, someone who could make her happy, make her laugh, take care of her, protect her.
But she had chosen him; out of all the people in the world, she had chosen this reclusive, broken-down, sorry old Caretaker, and he knew Cassandra would not choose anything out of foolishness.
The immortal knight closed his eyes, held his precious treasure tightly, and made his leap of faith.
"Never, my heart. I...I love you, too," he whispered in reply.
##########
The next morning Jenkins strode briskly into the Annex workroom, immaculately dressed in a tailored three-piece suit of dark chocolate brown, a bright blue bow tie and complementary pocket square adding spots of color. As he expected, Mr. Jones and Mr. Stone were already there, working on their various projects at the long table in the middle of the room. He stood before them, tugging fussily at the sleeves of his coat as he nervously cleared his throat.
"Ah! Gentlemen, good morning. I believe I owe the both of you a profound apology for my behavior last night."
"No worries, Jenkins," said Ezekiel dismissively, a wide smile on his face. "Jake here explained you probably have a phobia of rats, and that's why you blew a gasket. No biggie. Sorry I freaked you out, though."
"Yes, well," the Caretaker fumbled. "Yes, that's exactly correct. I should have at least explained at the time why I was so distressed."
"So Cassie was able to talk you down off the ledge last night, huh?" Jake asked, relieved that things were being smoothed over so easily.
"Um, yes," Jenkins said, a strange tone suddenly coming into his voice. "Miss Cillian and I had a very productive heart to heart talk last night."
"Good morning, Mr. Jenkins!" sang Cassandra as she burst into the room from the corridor. As she did nearly every morning, she ran up to the tall immortal, but instead of the usual peck on his cheek, Jake and Ezekiel were shocked to see her stand on tip-toe, turn his head and kiss him on the lips. The two young men's jaws dropped open in complete disbelief as they watched the cantankerous Caretaker turn, take the pretty mathemagician in his arms and return her kiss—deep, lingering and passionate.
"Miss Cillian," rumbled the Caretaker in greeting after they came up for air.
"Well, I have a great deal of work in the lab that needs my attention," he announced to the others, then turned and headed off down the hallway, gazing longingly over his shoulder at the redheaded Librarian as he walked away.
Cassandra turned and looked and the two gobsmacked men still staring at her. Smiling sweetly as she tossed a triumphant look of her own over her shoulder, she turned and followed Jenkins to the lab, her heels clicking lightly down the hall.
Jake and Ezekiel turned to stare at each other for a moment, then, in bewildered chorus, "What the fuck...?!"
The two then nearly tripped over each other in their rush to get to Jenkins's lab.