Now-a-days both Blomkvist and Salander kept their smoking to minimum. For their daughter's benefit, they collectively restricted their favorite past time to once a month. After the print of each new Millennium issue, they shared a celebratory pack on the balcony of her Fiskargatan apartment, discussing both the printed and forthcoming issue, and occasionally in below zero weather. Salander quite looked forward to this monthly tradition. Once Sötnos had been tucked into bed and all the world seemed to be sleeping, she felt it was the only time she truly had Blomkvist to herself. In fact, these casual meetings were the highlight of her month. Internally Salander scoffed. Fuck I'm pathetic.
Nothing interesting had happened to her in quite some time. Everyday life had become a relaxed sameness. No man hunts or life threats nor mysteries to solve. While she missed the adrenaline pumping adventures and mishaps, she looked forward to her monthly nicotine fix and some alone time with a dear friend. I'm so boring, just a woman raising a daughter that deserves a better mother. Salander winced at her own thought.
Currently, the itch for a cigarette could not be ignored. This motherhood fiasco had set her off, and due to the circumstances the craving for a cigarette was beating Salander upside the head. Smoking had always calmed her; it helped her concentrate and think clearly. And when the chattering in her head failed to cease, smoking helped her not think at all.
As Blomkvist and Salander headed towards Ivar Lo-musset park to retrieve their daughter, she insisted they pick up a pack of cigarettes. Blomkvist was reluctant, but he understood the impulse was fueled by deceptive guilt and dangerously low self-esteem. He hated seeing her depressed.
On Götgatan the couple stopped off at the Seven Eleven. Blomkvist collected the cigarettes while Salander mulled over buying a chocolate bar, as if offering candy could win her daughter's love. Once she decided against that idea, they purchased a pack of Marlboro Red cigarettes, a lighter and a canister of breath mints.
As the couple walked, they smoked and Salander contemplated her role as a mother. Gradually, with the birth of her little Sötnos, the insecurities she had dissolved, but now when her mothering was being put into question, all those insecurities bubbled to the surface. The overall outlook on her character mustn't have been good if own daughter said, "Momma doesn't love me."
Prior to and following her trial, she sensed herself become better. By some means, she begrudgingly found herself helping Berger. However aberrant it was of her character, she subtly established connections with people like Mirium Wu, Armansky, Giannini and Blomkvist. Dare she say form friendships? Why she resisted the urge to kill Ronald Neidermann would forever baffle her. She wasn't sure if it was caused by the moral kick she was on, or that her newly found freedom could have been revoked after the fact. Easily, it could have been a blend of both. Then there was the professional and graceful way she handled the Teleborian trial. Even with her abhorrence aimed at the doctor, she was calm, collected and less hostile then she assumed she would be. It was unnatural. Though, Blomkvist's support and attendance might have positively affected her behavior. The bottom line was, she consciously -somewhat- held herself to a moralistic standard she never before attempted.
Becoming a mother, meant her role in this indifferent world dramatically altered. This new moralistic standard was no longer a selfish act. For her daughter, she tried to become a new improved version of herself. Being magnanimous was easier than she thought but knowing she had to consider how she would be reflected in her daughter's eyes made being altruistic easier. Life was not just about being a good mother, but it was important to be a good person. Salander hoped her daughter would think of her as an honest, honorable and overall, good human being. She did not want Sötnos to know she willingly and often frequented pubs to drink, or that she had been in a bar fight the night before. She cringed at the thought of revealing any details of her past.
The first two years as a mother, Salander scrounged any ounce of love she could physically show and gave it to Sötnos. Somewhere along the line, she got lost in the monotony of motherhood. She became this robotic machine used to its routine. She fed her daughter, bathed her, dressed her, took her to doctor appointments, taught her right from wrong, educated her and tucked her into bed but the most important thing had been overlooked. How could I have forgotten to hug her, to give her affection? This was a question she had asked herself at least a thousand times since Blomkvist revealed the sad truth.
Side by side, the couple started down the Monteliusvägen. The pathway was on the North Western side of Södermalm up on the rugged cliff of Mariaberget. Along the walk, there were several terraces and benches to take advantage of the romantic view of Lake Mälaren, City Hall, Riddarholmen and part of Gamla Stan.
Blomkvist studied Salander. Usually she paced through the streets with an agenda but she was walking slower than usual. There was no intent in her steps and Lisbeth hadn't uttered more than five words since they left the apartment. The news hit her hard and as much as it pained him, he couldn't help her untie this Gordian knot. It was her job to salvage her relationship with her daughter.
When they stumbled upon an empty bench Blomkvist sat, expecting Lisbeth to sit at his side. However, she continued on bypassing the bench and taking stance at the wooden guardrail. An aching of disappointment hit him in the soul. Since their meeting, Salander had been unresponsive and emotionally distant, and that wasn't likely to change. Though, with that came the physical distance Blomkvist came to loathe. She continued to flinch or tense at his touch and understanding why was like trying to breathe underwater. It simply was impossible. He had proven his loyalty to her through and through but it had never appeared to matter.
Once in a blue moon, she'd drop her guard, remove her armor and welcome the intimacy he knew she craved. And when those moments manifested, Blomkvist could dismiss any past rejection he received from her.
He studied his Sally with what any onlooker would call an intense admiration. She rested her elbows on the weathered railing while lighting a new cigarette. Her eyes became glued to the ebony church steeple of Riddarholmskyrkan while Blomkvist's eyes were on the jet black of her hair. His sights scanned the rest of her body. Anyone would assume she could be snapped like a twig. She might have been the toughest person he had ever know, but her body broadcasted stereotypical feminine fragility. At least once in awhile he could let biology have it's way; believing he was the protector and provider to Lisbeth.
With a bowed head, Salander was grasping the railing, kicking at the pebbles by her feet. The cigarette between her pointer and middle finger drifted into the chill October air. He wanted to leave her to her thoughts, but his craving for nicotine overshadowed that courteousness. Five seconds later he requested, "Can I have another cigarette?"
Slightly, her head shifted, as if she were about to look at him over her shoulder but she stopped short. Acknowledging his inquiry, she dug into the back pocket of her jeans and tossed the pack at him. The toss was a surprise that caused him to fumble with his catch. Sliding back the flap, he noticed there were only four cigarettes left in the pack. They hadn't even opened the pack an hour ago.
Shaking his head, in disappointment and amazement, he pulled out a cigarette addressing Lisbeth, "Light?"
This time, she spun around and took the three steps towards him on the bench, before digging the lighter from her jacket and offering it with her left hand. He let out a sound that crossbred between a huff and a chuckle. At least she didn't throw it at him. They exchanged glances as he reached for it. A jolt of electricity surged through his entire body when his hand grazed hers. He wondered if she sensed the electricity as well. Probably not.
He thanked her, lit his cigarette and she wandered back to her designated spot by the railing.
As the couple nursed their smokes, all the pedestrians and passerby's vanished from Monteliusvägen.
While Lisbeth continued her brooding, and smoking, she noticed a lone man in black standing on an adjacent terrace. He was a slender man, with heavy five o'clock shadow and dark hair. He wore a plaid cabby hat and had what anyone could recognize as a Roman nose. When she noticed a Nikon D3 camera hanging from his neck, she tensed up. From time to time someone would catch a snap of Blomkvist and Lisbeth and send it to Expresson Magazine but paparazzi was not much of a problem these days. Though any man with a camera gave her a certain degree of apprehension, and rage. She tried to think of other things such as the color of the sky, or the weather.
The Stockholm sky was split between ominous and cheerful. Thick gray clouds rolling in from the North indicated that the rain tonight was almost definite. Blomkvist shifted on the bench hoping it wouldn't make for a difficult ferry ride to Sandhamn.
Noticing her cigarette was nearly spent, Blomkvist rested his own between his lips and dug around in his pockets. He stood, lit the new stick with his own and walked the smoke over to Salander. Without word, or a hint of expression, she seized the newly lit cig from him and turned her attention back to Riddarholmen.
Unknowingly blocking Salander's sight of the man with the camera, Blomkvist leaned against the railing. As she gazed out at the water, he viewed the eight foot high fence along the pathway. The brick red paint was flaking, revealing tagging that had once been painted over.
He anxiously scratched the back of his neck informing, "I told Erika we weren't coming in today."
Salander's eyes never faltered from the sights but the twitch of her eyebrow was enough of a response.
"Or Friday," he added, observing her unreadable expression transform into annoyance.
Making choices or plans for her wasn't common, but this instance felt justified.
"Or Monday. I figured we could take the ferry to Sandhamn and have some family time."
She shook her head. "I can't."
Looking to him she continued, "Not tomorrow."
Blomkvist gave her an imploring glance then turned to watch a boat tug it's way through Riddarfjärden.
Salander thought she recognized an iota of defeat on Blomkvist's face. She assumed it was because she had spoiled his plans, or perhaps it was because she hadn't communicated her plans for tomorrow. Hardly did she reveal what she was up to, and it was only yesterday he called her saying he was going to lunch with Erika Berger. He was very considerate of her.
She clarified, "I have an appointment at the clinic in Östermalm. I'm getting the tattoo on my calf removed. It's my first session."
Recently, she had finished her sessions for removing the chinese symbol from her hip. All tattoos were slowly fading, with the exception of the large dragon on her back. He nodded wondering why she had yet to verse him about the laser tattoo removal sessions. Especially if she was going tomorrow morning. Where and who did she plan on leaving Sötnos with? He supposed it didn't matter, she had never compromised their daughter's safety but it would have been nice if she at least informed him about her plans.
She studied him, seeing he wasn't so much perturbed as he was doleful.
Immediately she went to apologize. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about it sooner."
"It's fine. It's fine."
He appreciated the apology. An apology from her was as good as gold.
She watched Blomkvist stub out his cigarette on the wood railing and drift back to the green bench. He began picking at the peeling paint, looking as let down as ever. On way or another, she found a way to disappoint him. At least that's how she felt. Really, she didn't want to bring him disappointment any longer.
Salander meandered towards the bench and stood in front of Blomkvist, staring at her boots, puffing on her cigarette.
She didn't know, but for the briefest time, he studied her face. Faint lines were forming around the edges of Lisbeth's eyes, but they didn't give away her age. Her raven black hair was slightly lengthier with baby doll fringe bangs. The hoop had never been removed from her nostril and her dark eyes still has a bitterness that was incomparable to the crudity of their first encounter. Blomkvist never expected this to go away but her overall hostility was milder than it was eight years ago. He moved on and drank in her physique. With pregnancy, her thin body had grown feeble curves. Still she was very lean, and at the moment very tempting. Other than those few things, she was virtually unchanged since the first time he laid eyes on her.
Automatically, a reel to reel of memories flashed through Blomkvist's mind. Everything played out like a sped up home movie. From the day he met her, he felt as though they had been long lost friends. Even if she had hacked into his computer and invaded his privacy, he felt she was a kindred spirit. He had nothing to hide from her. Her aid in Hedestad was significant, and when she rescued him from near death he knew he was forever bound to her in some incomprehensible way. After their time in Sandhamn was spent in uninterrupted peacefulness, he recalled the pain that stemmed from her disappearance and what drove him to stalk her after, he did not know. Blomkvist only knew he missed her. Not only did he savor her companionship, he genuinely liked her. To this day, the dirty bloody sight of her at Zalachenko's Göteborg farmhouse reached out and squeezed his heart. He had almost lost her. This only reaffirmed that he did not and would never want to be without her.
Salander took one last drag and carelessly tossed the butt to the ground. She sat surprisingly close to Blomkvist, seeming unusually timid.
"We could still go after my session. I could pack everything tonight...We'll leave on the first ferry to Sandhamn after my appointment," she practically pleaded for that to be the plan, " Yeah?"
Blomkvist patted her thigh and muttered, "Yeah."
His hand settled on her thigh and this was a time in which she did not recoil. Through his peripherals, he noticed she was cradling her stiff right hand with her left. He wanted to ask about it, but was side tracked when he gazed down to see her left hand hovering over his own. She hesitated. In a flash, she pulled her hand back.
She wanted to hold his hand, but she couldn't bring herself to initiate in that type of affection. This type of thinking was embedded in her.
An overwhelming urge to embrace Salander came. Instead, Blomkvist leaned over and kissed her on lips. For a moment she was eager, kissing him with a raw passion he only saw in the privacy of a bedroom. When she pulled away, he realized his kiss must have lingered longer than she was comfortable with, at least in public.
Coming to her feet, she asked for a cigarette.
Blomkvist, himself, felt like a teenage boy with a crush. In the pit of his stomach, his pulse was racing and he was attempting to catch his breath. He took out the pack while announcing, "We're down to the last two."
The couple each smoked, steadying their hearts. The smoke seeped from Salander's nostrils, and billowed into the air. She was aroused, but the bastard on the adjacent terrace was holding his camera and staring. Being unsure of his motives prompted her to wrangle up her excitement.
Feeling irritated and slightly vengeful, Salander stood in front of Blomkvist, gazing down into blue steal eyes. Peering up at her from the bench he mumbled, "Hmm?"
"That man to the right of you, has a camera."
Blomkvist searched seeing what the man was doing. As far as he could tell, the man was fiddling with his camera.
"I don't think he wants to take pictures of us," he reassured.
"He was staring."
Standing up, Blomkvist smirked at Salander before kissing her cheek and muttering, "Let him stare."
She desperately wanted to kiss him, to cave, to let her emotions and affection free flow, but it wasn't in her. Salander knew she still had many hurdles to overcome.
Blomkvist placed his hand on the small of her back, willing her to walk away. As they paced further down Monteliusvägen, Salander noted that she couldn't see or believed this man had changed, in any shape or form. Yes he was slightly older, but he was also a few pounds lighter. Healthier. He rarely interfered in her life, unless it concerned Sötnos. It why she didn't berate him for ordering her to take a week away from Stockholm. At his temples, his hair was slightly grayer and the whiskers on his chin were entirely white. That pigheaded man was attractive as ever. Who knew it was possible to fall in love with someone over and again?
Author's Note: So...this chapter WAS longer. I decided to post what I have written and I'll post the second half sometime soon. OKAY! So how was it? I know I promised three chapters but this story has stretched from a one shot to a multi-chapter mini story. Expect one, maybe two chapters more. Three at the most. I hope that's okay with ya'll? Also, I will most likely RE-edit and repost this chapter in the next few days. AS I ALWAYS DO... [I suck at editing] Anyways in this chapter you can sense some insecurities exuberating from Blomkvist. It's kind of pathetic, though endearing. He knows Lisbeth is who she is, and he accepts her but he merely wishes she was more open with him. (i.e. her life plans, her daily plans, physical intimacy, even piddly things like food she prefers or weather she likes) Personally, I feel with their relationship, her taciturnity will always be a constant struggle. Thanks for the support and past reviews! Remember reviews get previews! Much Love and Happy Reading!
[THIS IS A RE-EDIT]