Author's Note: Kyuubi, PLLML, SamanthaJane13, and [m . Autumn] (I kept trying to type your username and every time I saved the document your name would disappear. tricksy little hobbitses)... You guys rock. Thank you for the reviews. Enjoy!
JASON
He felt the change the moment she realized they weren't returning to the cavern. Her muscles tensed, just slightly, and her left hand, which was curled beneath his arm and clasped against his ribs, gripped the fabric of his jacket tight. He twitched when her fingers slid along his ribs.
"Jason?" she whispered. He could feel her moving, lifting her head to look around. The last of the mine lamps dwindled behind them.
She didn't sound frightened, just curious. A little confused, maybe. But not frightened. Never frightened.
Except when she'd been faced with the prospect of being abandoned in the mine, lost and alone.
The one time she'd actually spoken with fear, and it wasn't even about him.
So strange.
"I know it's kind of pointless to ask, because you can't - or won't - answer me, but my human nature demands it… so, uh, where are we going?"
The light faded away to nothing. He paused for a moment so that his eyes could adjust. He had spent many years mapping out these tunnels and caverns, exploring as far as he could without artificial light.
When he could see again, he started forward.
"I mean, I like caves just as much as the next girl," she continued, "but isn't it kind of easy to get lost down here? For… like… ever? I mean, like, get lost and die? You… you don't hate me that much, do you?"
Now the fear was creeping back into her voice. Still not at him. But at the prospect of being lost. Of being abandoned.
Strange.
He followed the sound of water. He was familiar with the path, seeing as he took it at least once or twice a week, depending on the season and what he was hunting.
In his world, it was important to be undetectable.
She was quiet for the rest of the journey. Slowly but surely, the sound of falling water grew louder, until it filled the silence between them and echoed off the walls in a constant roar.
He ducked through the gap in the rocks and came out into the cavern. On both sides, rock walls rose up into the abyss, broken only by a few bright, determined rays of sunlight. It would be enough for her to see by.
He set her down gently, and when her feet touched slick wet river rocks, she made that odd squeaking noise again.
She didn't like the cold.
"It's wet," she murmured, more to herself than to him. She glanced up and around, and when she saw the waterfall cascading down through a thousand layers of glittering granite, her mouth dropped open. "Beautiful," she whispered. She turned back to him, her lips curling into a grin. "Is that… my shower?"
Amusement slid through him, like a warm summer breeze. He nodded.
The cavern was cold, yes, but the cold had never really bothered him. The girl, however… she was already shivering.
He had carved a shallow shelf into the wall of the cavern, where he kept a small stockpile of soap. He picked up a pale yellow bar, one that smelled citrusy, like her, and handed it over. Her grin broadened, and then a thought flickered in her eyes, and her expression shifted again. Her face was always changing, always altering to display her newest thought or emotion. It was really quite fascinating to watch.
"Um. Would you mind turning around?"
Jason tilted his head and took a moment to watch the blush creep up her cheeks. Interesting. When she bit her bottom lip like that, something flared to life inside him, like a tiny, warm flame deep in his chest.
So interesting.
He turned his back to her.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a blur of motion as she tossed her clothes up against the rocks to their right.
He realized she was naked. Standing behind him.
And suddenly, he was mesmerized by that thought.
He could hear her stepping daintily towards the waterfall, and he had to fight the urge to turn around and satisfy his curiosity. What did she look like? He'd seen women naked before, but they were all whores. Sluts. Running around on his land, desecrating his mother's memory, defying her last wish.
But this one, she hadn't been fornicating in the forest. She'd been sitting on the dock by her cabin, singing softly. She had not intruded upon his world. She was not a whore. She had done nothing wrong.
What did a woman, who was not a whore, look like naked?
Rather similar to a woman who was a whore, he guessed.
Except seeing this one naked… the idea of it did not fill him with seething rage, it did not make his hand itch for his blade so that he could cleave her pretty face in half.
In fact, he didn't like the idea of cleaving her face in half at all.
When she stepped under the stream of water, she squeaked again, louder this time, and Jason almost turned on his heel to face her. The urge was so strong in him he had to clench his hands into tight fists to fight it. Her squeak turned into a sharp, trembling gasp.
"Oh m-m-my God, this water is freaking f-freeeezing," she sang, her voice echoing around them. Jason's breath caught in his throat, trapped by his own determination for control. He sucked in a harsh lungful of air and forced himself to remain still.
Curiosity was never a good thing. It always led to trouble.
Always.
After what felt like an agonizingly long stretch of time, she ran back over to her clothes, her feet crunching on the wet gravel.
He prayed that she wouldn't slip and fall, and at the same time, he prayed that she would.
Because then he'd have an excuse to turn around.
But she didn't fall. He simultaneously cursed and thanked God for that. When she finally gave him permission to turn, he found her soaking wet and shaking so violently he could hear her teeth chattering from ten feet away. He took the bar of soap from her and set it back on its ledge.
Then he knelt down and picked her up again. The instant her wet skin and clothes came in contact with his body, steam slithered up around them. He was already worked up from his struggle to avoid looking at her; his blood felt like it was boiling, burning beneath his skin.
This heightened state had jacked up his body heat, and that made it feel like he had just picked up an ice cube shaped like a small human.
The ice cube in question, however, was not as inanimate as she seemed.
As soon as he picked her up, she made a sound that Jason had only ever heard women make while they were fornicating. A mixture of a moan and a sigh that sent a bolt of heat shooting straight through his body. He flinched so violently he almost dropped her; surprised both by the noise she was making and the reaction his body was having to it.
She responded by clinging to him even tighter. She was like a wet little barnacle, her fingernails digging stubbornly into his skin to avoid being pulled away from her only source of heat.
"You're so warm," she whispered, and then she sighed. "Sorry I'm getting you all wet."
Like he cared even the slightest that he was getting wet. He was much more concerned about the frigid, giant leech he'd just thrown over his shoulder. A leech with sinfully soft skin, who smelled like lemons, and who made his skin tingle and his heart thunder.
He huffed out a silent laugh, thankful that the sound of the waterfall concealed it from her.
"You had a lot of s-s-soap back there," she mumbled. "Do you bathe often? Sorry, that was a stupid question. Obviously you do. I was wondering why you smelled like Irish Springs."
At least she didn't expect him to reply. It always annoyed him when people expected him to stop and answer their pleas and panicked demands. Stupid, disgusting flesh bags, always screaming and begging and crying. Such unnecessary noise.
This one usually answered her own questions. And her judgment was surprisingly accurate.
She fell asleep on the journey back to the living area. He felt the tension leave her muscles, and her left hand slid from his side to dangle limply behind him.
When he got to their destination, he set her down gently on the bed. Deprived of his body heat, she immediately curled up into a ball and started shivering.
He left her there, and went to retrieve a thick blanket from a storage area down one of the dead-end tunnels. He paused, glanced down at the pile of blankets, and grabbed a second one. She was still shaking when he returned, but at least she was also still asleep.
The bruise on her temple stood out in sharp contrast to the rest of her pale, blue-tinged skin. He felt a small stab of guilt as he inspected the wound. And then the guilt dissipated as his eyes continued to slide down over her body. She was so small. So… fragile.
He started to drape the thick blankets over her, but then he hesitated, and set them at the foot of the bed instead.
He reached out and touched her shoulder, tentatively at first, in case she jolted awake with a scream.
He hated screamers.
When she remained stubbornly unconscious, he put his hand on her shoulder and shook her, gently at first, and then with progressively more violence, until he was seriously considering whacking his machete against the aluminum pale again.
And then, suddenly and without warning, her eyes snapped open, and she sucked in a sharp, gasping breath.
When her gaze found him, the panic written on her face faded.
And the little flame in his chest flared back to life.
He pointed to the blankets, and then to her.
She glanced back and forth between him and the blankets, eyes wide and confused. She was still shivering.
"You brought me blankets? Th-thank you…" when she reached for them, he stopped her, catching her hand and releasing it almost in the same instant. His fingers tingled where he'd touched her.
He pointed to her clothing, still dripping wet and clinging to her like a second skin. He pointed to the floor, and then the blanket.
She frowned for a moment. Then a slow smile curled her lips. "Right. Take off the cold wet clothes and put on the soft, dry blanket. Good idea. Thanks."
He nodded before he realized what he was doing. Then he stood, and turned his back to her. He waited patiently while she undressed - for the second time - and curled up beneath the thick blankets.
"You can turn around now," she said quietly. Jason turned immediately, and found her cocooned in the blankets, with just her eyes and the top of her head uncovered.
He moved forward, watching her eyes follow his approach. He felt the guilt slithering around inside him again. Was this it? Was this the moment she truly realized that she was his captive? His prisoner?
Was this the moment he lost that smile of hers?
He stopped by the edge of the bed, and knelt down beside her.
Those eyes just stared at him, unblinking and intense.
And calm.
Then, slowly, one small hand slid out from beneath the nest of blankets. Jason wrapped his hand around her wrist, careful to keep his grip gentle. He latched the shackle around that wrist and released her.
She stuck the other hand out. This wrist was slightly bruised from when she'd tried to punch him earlier.
He closed the shackle around that wrist, and found that he couldn't bring himself to meet those quiet, intense eyes.
So he stood, turned his back on her, and walked away.
He didn't like this feeling that burned and gnawed at him from deep in his chest. The more he thought about it, the more it bothered him. He kept walking, and his panic grew. Something was changing inside of him.
He did not like change.
He did not like anomalies.
And he did not like things he couldn't understand.
He needed to get away from her.
Away from those eyes.
Away from this burning flame, this new and unfamiliar pain inside of him.
He needed to get back into his routine. Surely that would bring him back to his senses. Surely that would make the world right again.
Yes. That was it.
He had work to do.
He had traps to check and campers to kill.
At least some things never changed.
That was nice.
And yet, for the first time in many years… it also wasn't.