"How far did you get?" she inquires of him the next morning - their first morning there - as they are having breakfast at the table that she and Mario used to share. It seems like her husband's presence had lingered, trapped among the things they use to share. Yet Edward himself had not even a single keepsake of Isabella's. He frowns at the thought.
"About two feet," he answers her question matter-of-factly, not meeting her eyes, as he knows she still doesn't want him to. "Last night, I just dug long enough to clear my head. And I'm sure I'll be able to dig a grave much deeper for this Kristen than for the first. She's a lot smaller, and I'm not being rushed."
"Far from it," his breakfast companion replies wryly. "I spoke with the mortuary and it's just as I thought. It's going to take them forever to get through the backlog and engrave Kristen's marker - especially because of our special request."
"But we need it to be made that way," Edward says firmly.
"Agreed," she answers with a slight nod, eyes downcast.
They had requested four baby handprints to be engraved in each corner. Their daughter was special. She needed to be remembered that way.
They each kept to themselves throughout most of the day. Edward spent the majority of the time in his room with Strange's notebook, futility attempting to unlock any useful clues, and she spent her time in her bedroom. They mostly stayed clear of any common areas, like the living room, obviously avoiding each other.
He was still so angry and she was . . .
Well, besides depressed, he didn't really know what she was feeling - or which one of her he had even interacted with that morning. They were losing touch with each other. And the days dragged on that way as they waited for Kristen's marker to be delivered.
But the nights?
Sometimes he was tormented with memories distorted by dreams in a procession of nightmares that he could never truly break free of until that cold compress was on his forehead, delivered by her. And then her warm, comforting hand would always stay securely in his until he fell back asleep. Yet, she never met his gaze. . .
Until one night when he awoke within that cocoon of her hair, her body stretched along his full length.
"Riddler . . ." Hot breath escaped her lips and caressed his face.
Instinctively he reached up to touch her hair and as he opened his eyes, he could barely see hers through the shroud of night. But he could see them!
There was light shining in her pupils as she gazed down at him, but it was so dark he couldn't tell where they ended and her irises began.
"Lee? Doc?"
"Does it matter?"
Yes.
But he didn't have time to answer as she rolled off of him and pulled him right back on top of her. She was fully naked and reaching for the waistband of his pajamas.
He stayed her hand and whispered, "Patience. I just woke up."
"But are you really awake?" she purred.
Good question. Why was she even in here?
"I miss your riddles."
That was . . . odd.
She rolled her hips underneath his and groaned as if frustrated. "Please . . . tell me a riddle."
She bit his neck and he couldn't help but bury his hand deep within her hair to pull her head away roughly in order to kiss her. Deeply.
No. A riddle was the last thing he was going to tell her.
He grew excited as she started moaning and he trailed kisses down her neck all the way to her breasts. His tongue teased her nipples mercilessly and she sighed with impatience.
His teasing kisses trailed further down. . .
It wasn't long before he was the one grasping at his waistband, freeing himself from his confines, becoming as utterly naked as her.
He settled back down between her legs, but he still wouldn't penetrate her. Nor would he give her what she had asked for . . . a riddle.
"Please," she begged with a little whine, her hands in his hair.
He placed the tip of his cock right there and said, "Tell me who you are first."
"No," she said like a petulant child.
His fingers reached between them, and he drew lazy circles at the very top of her hood, which served to make her squirm. "I'm not going to make love to you until I know who you are. Otherwise I have no idea who I'm dealing with, and that's just weird."
She pushed him off of her roughly and was gone within seconds. It was as if she had never even been there. He lay in bed contemplating that.
Had he dreamed it? Had he imagined it all just because he had wanted so badly to see her eyes so that he could know her again? Had he wanted to connect with her so desperately that his mind would concoct anything?
Had it even happened?
Apparently not.
The next morning's breakfast was mostly silent without any eye contact as usual. Hmm . . .
