Pain of The Past

Author: Again, I only own Allison. I just wish I owned Dustfinger.

I do however own copies of all the books mentioned, except for

Inkheart & Slash's biography. Silvertongue is also mine, as far as I know.

Allison gently removed her hand from Dustfinger's arm and took a step back. Her hand was warm as if she had been standing beside the fireplace. "You're as warm as fire." she whispered. He blinked twice and looked at her.

"What?" he asked.

"You're as warm as fire. My hand feels like I've been standing by the fireplace." she told him.

He smiled weakly and whispered, "Fire always has been my friend. It's kept me warm on cold nights and been my company when I've been alone."

She nodded understandingly and said, "That's what my books are for me. If I really get lonely I call somebody or something from a book for a while. But I always send them back." He looked sadly down at Inkheart and Silvertongue sitting on her desk. "Do you still want me to read you back?" she asked, picking up Silvertongue.

"No, I don't think so. I've really got no reason to go back. My wife and children are dead and I've got no other family." he admited.

"My stepfather was killed by the Baskerville Hound when I was a teen, my mother's in jail and my biological father has been dead since I was about six." she whispered. He rubbed his hands together just enough for them to glow and blew into them. "Are you cold?" she asked.

"It's just an old habit." he chuckled. She disappeared to the kitchen as he looked around.

Like the rooms in the other Silvertongue's home and the crazy old woman's home many years ago, there were books everywhere. There were shelves stuffed, boxes full to almost overflowing, crates stacked three high and piles almost everywhere he looked. He stared at several of the piles and shelves until he could decipher the titles and authors. Night Embrace by Sherrilyn Kenyon sat in a pile on top of a copy of The Return of the King by J.R.R. Tolkien. A book about a man who called himself Slash sat on a shelf beside The Prisoner of Azkaban by J.K. Rowling. "What an odd bunch of books." he muttered, sniffing the air. Slowly he made his way into the kitchen where he found Allison pulling a pair of bowls from a cupboard. "I hope you're hungry. You don't look like you've had a good meal in a while." she told him. His stomach growled softly as she pulled a couple of plates down from another cupboard. Slowly he let his eyes move over her. She was a good bit shorter than he was and very slender. Her dark brown hair didn't even touch her shoulders and her eyes were forest green. She wore a black short sleeve shirt that revealed part of her back when she stretched and sweatpants that didn't quite sit on her hips. He noted the scar on the back of her left shoulder and another on near her right hip. "Sit." she told him, setting the bowls of stew down along with plates of bread.

Later, after they had eaten a very late dinner (Dustfinger had two helpings of stew and three of bread), she guided him upstairs to one of her spare rooms. "I don't usually have much company and the rest of my rooms are taken up by my books. I keep one room open after a couple of different people I read out insisted on staying the night." she told him.

He nodded to the room across from the spare room with the open door and asked, "What's in there?"

"Oh, that's all my art." she whispered, blushing.

"May I?" he muttered. She nodded weakly as he stepped inside. He lifted the first clothe covering and saw a painting that made him laugh. It was Gwin, his marten, sitting on a large ball like some dog in a circus. "He would be insulted." he said, letting the cover drop.

"I found it funny." she said. He lifted several more and found paintings of other characters from Inkheart: Farid, Meggie, Resa, Mo and Elinor. She squeaked from the doorway as he lifted the last cover. It was a painting of himself, in nothing but jeans, performing his fire juggling act on a patch of grass in the dark of night.

"Wow." he muttered.

"I was hoping you wouldn't see that." she admited. He turned his dark eyes to her curiously.

"You've been my favorite character for years. I've always wanted to read you out but never... got up the courage to." she admited. His eyes roamed the room to more covered paintings that he wasn't sure if he wanted to look at. "They're all of you." she whispered.

Slowly he walked out of the room and looked down at her. "You, Silvertongue, are a truely unique young woman." he whispered. Allison blushed scarlet as he lifted her chin to make her look at him. Gently he rested his forehead against hers before he slowly kissed her.

"Oh." she gasped softly. Dustfinger's mouth, like his arm and hands, was hot. Her hand ran through his hair and gently traced the scars that Basta had placed there years ago. He flinched and turned his face from her.

"He wanted to make sure I was never seen as handsome in a woman's eyes." he whispered.

"I know the story, very well and he was a fool. But personally I think you're extremely handsome, even with the scars." she told him. Slowly he turned his dark eyes to her as he felt his jeans grow tight. He growled softly before kissing her again, this time not very gently. A few minutes later, they broke apart to breath.

"I can take your pain away... if you'll let me." he whispered.

"You'll make me forget mine and forget yours as well Dustfinger. Start over like none of the pain we've suffered is real." she gasped.

"If that's what you want." he growled.

"Yes."