Chapter 2

Matthew could only see a fraction of Mary's naked body; the rest was tangled in the soft cotton sheets. Everything about her bedroom was a pale neutral color - pink, blue, and lavender. Mary's bedroom was aggressively feminine, and that amused him. She had borrowed the color scheme from the provincial region of France. The bedspread, window seat, curtains, and arm chair were all different colors that subtly seemed to influence each other.

The entire penthouse was empty, except for the two of them. For now, they were alone, and it was bliss. Matthew sighed contentedly. However, they did need to find a solution to their cohabitation problem. Mary deemed his flat in Camden completely inadequate for the two of them, and she still lived with her parents. The obvious conclusion was that they needed to live together in a new location, so the search had begun in earnest.

Mary represented proof, Q.E.D. She was the conclusion to a problem he hadn't even known he was trying to solve. Quod erat demonstrandum was the proper mathematical expression, meaning "which had to be demonstrated." Matthew looked at Mary as she slept. Mathematical philosophy had always been his vehement passion, but he had rarely ever shared it with anyone. The formulas were intoxicating to him, but scorned by most. He could not explain the attraction, so, he'd buried this passion deep inside himself.

Only recently had he let this interest influence him regarding his actual life. He had been home schooled by his mother and then attended Cambridge, where he pursued a law degree. It was a very practical application of the talents he wanted to put on display. Furthermore, he wanted to help people, and the law, he felt, gave him that opportunity. Lavinia had loved the idea, as her father was a lawyer, so he had gone forward with this career plan.

However, his chosen occupation did not inundate him with feelings of accomplishment. It was his mother that had told him to leave the legal profession. He'd hated to give up before his career had even begun, but it had been an easy decision to make, nonetheless. Because he knew his mother was right. It was important to love what he did for a living, to have passion for his work.

Matthew knew his mother loved her work as a nurse, and he knew his father had held similar emotions about being a doctor, though he was no longer alive to express them. Perhaps it was because of his father's passion for his work that Matthew had avoided it with his own occupation, for when he was only thirteen years old, his father had died of a massive heart attack. Matthew suspected that he had been so immersed in his work that he'd ignored the symptoms of his own illness. There was nothing to reflect back on that gave any indication to his work colleagues or his mother before his heart gave out.

Matthew lay still in Mary's bed, his mind racing back and forth over his memories, his hopes, and his dreams. He thought of his past and about their future. Everything in his life was working out; the sequences could actually be explained. Sometimes he wistfully felt as though he were living in an ongoing maths theorem, and it thrilled him. His occupation now as an independent financial consultant, in some ways, was akin to a history teacher, researching and teaching. His advice to his clients made him feel like a financial doctor, guiding and tweaking an individual's recovery from crisis. He worked with practical applications for numbers which he found enlightening. Matthew was always planning for the future when he worked the numbers for his clients. Additionally, he participated in raising awareness for Leukemia research at benefits with his pledge drives, keeping the memory of his childhood friend, Lavinia, alive. In exchange for a donation, he would offer stock tips, which proved a very successful fundraiser. This was also how he had originally met Mary's father, Robert.

His personal investment with Mary, their lives intertwining everything around him, only grew to astonish him. Matthew yawned suddenly. He knew he should be exhausted - and he was . And yet he could not sleep. All he wanted was to watch Mary sleep and let his mind drift languidly. He reached out to lightly stroke her face with the back of his hand. It wasn't very often that he got to see her asleep, after all. He had a ritual of going to bed fairly earlier so that he could spend some time rowing on the Thames in the morning before he went to work.

And since Mary had a trust fund to live on, her "job" entailed fashion advice and writing critiques on her personal blog. So, she often stayed up late, sometimes through the night. At first, it had shocked and rather confused him to wake up to her speaking different languages, sometimes French, sometimes Italian, while talking on the phone at three o'clock in the morning. He would roll over in bed and see her laptop perched over the covers as she worked away, expressing all the multitudes of opinions she had about everything. But he had grown quite used to that pattern by now, especially the way she would lull him back to sleep with late night exotic acts of passion. Or other times in quiet, simple acts of domestic ritual, she would simply start brushing her fingers through his hair and over his forehead until he had been relaxed back into a doze. So, in this moment as he watched her, he cherished the reversal.

There were so many thoughts in his mind, so much love in his heart, that he couldn't contain it any longer. He was no longer content to simply think his thoughts; he had to express them aloud, even if she was asleep and wouldn't hear him. The sentiments were too important to him to not vocalize, all of a sudden. He felt a frantic merriment at the thought of finally exposing how he really, truly felt in a language that meant more than anything to him.

"You are my PI – my constant," he whispered softly to Mary's sleeping form, tracing light circles on her arm.

"Mary," he said, "I'm saying I love you, in my own way. I'm saying that you are my golden ratio, that you describe the proportions of everything in nature to me. It all seems stripped down and explained. From nature's tiniest building blocks such as an atom, to the advanced formations of celestial bodies in the sky, everything corresponds into a pattern. In the Fibonacci sequence, everything is mathematically measurable."

Matthew pulled himself up on his elbow to reach across the small divide between their naked bodies to kiss Mary lightly. He could not deny the impulse. As he nestled back into the soft bedding, he once again lightly traced his fingers in the circular shape of a möbius - the symbol for infinity - on her bare skin.

"The golden ratio of 1.618 is a fundamental function," he found himself unable to stop speaking out loud. There was still so much he wanted to explain. "There is proof, Mary. For example, the diameters of opposing spirals in sunflower seeds have the 1.618 ratio for each rotation," Matthew could feel himself getting excited as he thought about all of the connections he knew of, all the data that was stored safely in his head. Had he kept the statistics for this purpose all this time, to one day express his love for her through maths? The prospect made sense to him; it connected to the formula that had been evolving as their relationship continued and strengthen.

"And honeybees," he continued, "if you divide the bees in any given hive between male and female, the ratio is 1.618.

"Finally, Mary, this one I know you would appreciate. When you look at how long it took us to become lovers in relation to how long we knew each other, the ratio is the same," a lump had found its way into his throat at the connection. "We had known each other sixteen months at that time last fall." Maths was truth, and this detail was far too significant not to be shared.

"Mary, you balance my universe."

Matthew stopped and took a deep breathe feeling rather self-conscious at his mathematical rant. At least Mary was asleep and hadn't heard his awkwardly jumbled speech. He took such significant comfort from numbers and the conclusion he had just shared. But did he truly believe that fate and mathematical ratios had brought him and Mary together? He feared he sounded crazy. Matthew ceased his circle drawing on Mary's skin and flopped onto his back. He threw his arms over his eyes with a faint groan of exasperation.

Mary stretched next to him, and his body instantly froze, feeling exposed. She nuzzled him, kissing the sensitive skin of his neck, but he tried not to respond. He couldn't face being teased about what he had said. When he felt her light kisses start up and down his arms, which were blocking his face, he hoped that it would all be forgotten, that his embarrassing lapse into maths logic and love would escape unnoticed. He would not say any of that again, it was too risky. It was dangerous.

"I've heard a lot of pillow talk in my day, but using maths is a first," Mary's dry, seductive voice purred. He felt himself almost flinch at her words. Feeling vulnerable, he tried not to respond to the delicate way she was tracing circles now on his arms. He felt her weight slowly expanding over his body. His groan this time was for a completely different reason.

"Matthew, my love," she said, her voice soothing to his raw emotional state.

"Darling," she whispered calmly, and Matthew felt relief. She understood. Her endearment was the code that allowed him to breathe again. He moved his arm to look at her, every fiber of his being aching to prove, and then accept, that the moment was really and truly happening. This was real; there was no need to feel insecure.

Mary straddled him, and he felt needy with desire. "Relax," she instructed, kissing him again. As she leaned over him, she whispered beguilingly into his ear, "Now it's my turn to tell you I love you... in a non-traditional manor."

"Darling," Mary breathed as she sat, stunned into a daze by Matthew's bedside in the hospital room. She wasn't afraid, but she was anxious. Mary was overwhelmed, and yet she was also confident. "When you wake up," she paused swallowing down the tears, "I'll tell you I love you anyway you wish." She reached to brush her fingers through his blond hair - holding his hand was no longer enough. "I'll say the words in English or any language you wish." Mary smiled. "Or even better, I'll speak to you in our own language," she pledged lovingly. "Matthew," she continued, "when you wake up, we can continue that conversation. You taught me how to speak maths pillow talk, after all."

Matthew could hear sounds far away that his ears could not quite place. He strained and tried to concentrate. It was a puzzle, and he had always enjoyed a challenge. But, to his frustration, the best he could come up with was a tea kettle was whistling and a wind chime was vibrating. He wanted to open his eyes, but he was too lethargic. Matthew felt he was reclined comfortably although firmly pinned into place. Perhaps he was in a hammock, the light breeze of a summer afternoon's wind slightly rocking him back and forth. The weight he felt pressing on him... it must be Mary.

Enraptured with his memories, he realized he must be dreaming of Vienna and the vacation he had spent there recently with Mary. The Flederhaus, or Bat house, they had discovered was a public art installation of hammocks near the Museumsquartier, where anyone could enjoy a rented hammock. It was an unexpected discovery as they'd tumbled into the mesh fabric, working together to balance their weight and nestle their bodies against each other. Yes, if he was dreaming (as he was sure he was now) Matthew was satisfied to replay such a pleasant memory.

Their first vacation together, he thought wistfully. It had felt like a precursor to a honeymoon trip. And then, with pure admiration, with pride and devotion that could not be denied, Matthew thought of his fiancée'. Mary was consumed with planning their wedding. Although her preparations were ongoing, they would still have to wait at least a year for her to achieve her dream, her childhood fantasy. A part of him was horrified by the frills of being the groom in a society wedding with all the trimmings of marrying an earl's daughter, yet he couldn't deny her. He put aside his longing for a simpler approach. His friend William, he mused, had the right approach - city hall and a marriage license. Whenever his girlfriend, Daisy, had agreed, Matthew had pledged to be their witness. He would be slightly envious of William when this happened.

Matthew let his mind drift.

Mary was the butterfly effect on his life. Her entrance into his sphere of existence had started as only trivial, a casual acquiesce, then slowly they had become friends. But even then it was an odd relationship they'd shared. Matthew had been asleep at the wheel, and chaos theory had a lesson in store for him. In the broader picture, he'd evidentially felt vindicated for loving her. To him, silly though it may have seemed, his love of numbers, of complex mathematical algorithms, including the Lorenz system, all focused on chaotic solutions for certain parameter values and initial conditions. And Mary had proved to be his beginning, middle, and end. She was the equation, the formula, and the solution. In simple terms, when the problem is stable the value evolves. And Mary was value personified. She even allowed math pillow talk to enter their bed.

Matthew sighed, and the effort stunned him as he felt the pressing weight return. The sensation was drastically altered. It could not be a hammock. He was not in Vienna. Matthew wasn't even sure he was dreaming anymore. There was a vague sense of panic drumming in his now throbbing head. And then there was painful stimulation. He hurt everywhere, and there was a burning sensation in his throat, as if he had taken a sip of scalding hot coffee. And those sounds! The tea kettle and the wind chime. Separately they were mundane, familiar, and very domestic. But, when combined, they were irritating. The screeching of the boiling hot water and the never-ending ringing of metal against metal was harsh to his suddenly sensitive perceptions. He tried to conjuror up possible scenarios: Mary the bed hog, stealing his covers, hitting him with a pillow, lying across his chest. It was not right. Something was wrong. He was not dreaming.

Matthew silently gagged as a fresh wave of sensation assaulted him, -his sense of smell. Hearing and vision, you have betrayed me, he thought wearily. For the first time, he was absolutely terrified. He felt as though he was fragile and broken. Sight, touch, and hearing could not be processed accurately. Only smell remained in his memory. Matthew felt increasingly weak, and he didn't understand.

The cloying aroma of disinfectant was what he smelled. It was a mostly odorless substance meant to scour germs of a million different variations. He knew, or at least suspected, where he had landed without knowing the how or the why. But it felt wrong. He was never a patient; he was the visitor. This was incorrect. And yet his sense of smell told him differently. His Papa was a doctor. He knew this smell. His mother was a nurse. He knew this smell. And Lavinia. How much time had he spent with this smell? It was unmistakable.

But he missed the next association. Peppermint. It was the rich, minty fragrance his father used to hide to transform the ordinary into the extraordinary. He'd believed in aromatherapy, and, as a doctor, had used the scent to help the children he'd treated in the pediatric ward. Dr. Crawley had always carried the candy stashed in his pocket, ready for him to share. But Matthew could not smell peppermint; there was nothing but the alarming aroma of laundered linen in his nose and a rich, iron taste in his mouth.

Matthew felt dizzy, as though he were spinning in a figure eight. A hollow victory of words broke through his panic. If he focused, he now heard something, teetering precarisely, still unable to grasp his surroundings, as though he were Humpty Dumpy. He tried to garnish more information about his surroundings. He knew he was in the hospital. He knew he was probably a patient. The tea kettle and the wind chime were now life-sustaining machines. But he had no memory or accurate information regarding his situation. Only smells which taunted him. He wanted desperately to believe peppermint would waft before his nose soon.

A soft, wet sensation touched his face. It felt like rain when the drops fell sporadically, and there would be a mist of dew that followed its steps. When he was a little boy, he'd loved to watch puddles absorb and reflect the addition of each and every bit of moisture. A light drizzle that meant ripples could be studied and measured from where he lay in the grass. Thankfully, he had grown up in London, so he was very lucky that it was often raining. His papa had brought him new tools for his observations, even his mother's measuring cups once, much to her chagrin.

Matthew felt the warm moisture on his skin again as it slid down his face. He sniffed the air and felt another transition was happening around him, for he could smell ginger perfume. It encapsulated him, nourishing his mind to be calm and serene. He was certain he heard her voice. Mary was reading to him. Her voice was jittery but strong. No, he thought suddenly. She's crying. Matthew couldn't help but gasp at this revelation.

"The Lorenz attractor is a set of chaotic solutions of the Lorenz system which, when plotted, resemble a butterfly or figure eight."

"Matthew!" Mary stopped reading suddenly from the mathematical text. "My darling!" Matthew heard the possessive punch of her words. He felt the vehemence of her attitude and the strength of her commanding voice, because he was the subject she spoke of with such passion. Mary was crying because of him, and she was now elated because of him.

"Can you open your eyes, my love?" She paused, and when she spoke again, her voice wavered. "Please, my darling," she pleaded. "Please, for me, I want you to open your eyes."

There was no refusing Mary.

"Only," he said weakly. Matthew had to pause and draw in a deep breath of her ginger perfume for strength. It had been his gift to her, this replenishment of her favorite scent. He'd left it on her bureau in their bedroom so that she would find it. And then he remembered leaving to drive to work. He drove the Jaguar they had been given by her father as an engagement present. This part of his memory seemed to trigger a vague sense of panic inside him, so he wanted to ignore the thought. Besides, even as he strained, he couldn't remember what had happened next. Matthew struggled, knowing he should, and he felt a spasm of heartache. Still, the memory would not come. It was blank and empty. He was a void.

There was nothing except smells connecting him to this world. He opened his mouth to attempt speech again, but found, instead of words crossing his lips, the arrival of a seductive ice chip. The cold object quickly dissolved and blissfully slid down his sore throat. Feeling a surge of energy, he braced himself to produce further communication. He would do anything for Mary.

"If…. you ….read to me," he said finally. Without delay, he heard Mary's voice again.

"The Lorenz attractor is difficult to analyze, but the action of the differential equation on the attractor is described by a fairly simple geometric model."

It was terribly difficult to pry his eyes open, and he felt queasy as he concentrated. His eyelashes fluttered, he imagined, as if there were butterflies' wings. When, at last, he achieved his goal, he saw Mary's face. She leaned over him, her long hair completely covering him, as she kissed him lightly on his lips. He thought briefly of the first night they'd made love, when her hair had cascaded over him like the pull of a waterfall. Matthew had never before felt such passion course through his inexperienced heart. How on earth was it possible to have been given such love by this woman, he remembered thinking. It was still a question in the back of his mind, even though Mary was at the forefront of his heart.

With very heavily drooping eyes, he watched her. She took his left hand gently into her own and placed it over her heart. They both had tattoos of the mathematical symbol called the Lorenz system in this exact location. They had gotten the tattoos together in Vienna. When drawn, the mathematical model resembled a butterfly or a figure eight. Matthew hoped he was smiling, for he was bursting with love for her.

"I love you," he heard her say. All he could reply before his eyes closed and he again slid into darkness was simply, "Mary."

Thank you to everyone who favorited, followed and reviewed this story! Remember to check out tumblr - wdedalus.

And thanks 1 x 10 to the 6th power to R. Grace for all of her imput and help with this chapter.