The blood from Phoebus's wound soaked her fingers, the hot liquid seeping onto her frozen shirtsleeve. Her breath froze into an icy plume in front of her, short, frantic bursts of white fog clouding the air. He grunted a little, his strong features twitching as his hand jerked spasmodically, reaching for the source of his burning pain. It was a good thing she couldn't see the stain of crimson fluid slicking his tunic, otherwise she would have passed out yet again, setting a record for the amount of times she had passed out in a week. Her hair hung in a fiery red curtain around her face as she bent over him, fighting to get her hyper breathing under control, hands shaking erratically as she thumbed the vein on his wrist. She couldn't tell if she was doing it right, but after a heart-wrenchingly long time, she managed to hear a thick, steady pulse beating soundly in his wrist. Amelia rocked back on her heels, reached automatically up to swipe her fringe of red hair out of her eyes, unconsciously smearing a stripe of blood across her cheek. The slash of red painted her in a ghastly, savage light, and she felt foolish, crouching near the Seine in the middle of France, covered in blood – thankfully, not her own – and guarding a body.
Her quick, sensitive ears pricked up, and she swiveled, hearing the approaching sounds of footsteps. It hadn't crossed her mind that the soldiers would come back – what should she do? Should she make a run for it and leave Phoebus? But that would also mean leaving him at the mercy of his own soldiers. She was just about to give up and make a dash for the nearest scrubby bush when she heard Esmeralda's familiar tones striding through the crisp January air. "Amelia? Amelia, where are you?"
"Over here!" Amelia hissed, trying not to sound panicked and frightened and failing abysmally. "Over here, right here!"
Not much could be seen in the dim light, but she felt Esmeralda's presence near her, and another, sturdier shape near her shoulder. "This is Carltoz, a friend of mine," Esmeralda explained hurriedly. "He's a healer, and related by marriage."
Amelia was beginning to think Esmeralda was either related to or friends with half of the city. Carltoz ignored Esmeralda and knelt near the injured captain, ripping apart Phoebus's tunic with two brawny hands. The sound of material ripping was a short, rabid snarl, and Amelia winced in spite of herself. Esmeralda felt the frayed, shredded nerves of her friend, and realized that Amelia was not used to this at all. Esmeralda had practically grown up tending to injured gypsies and running from guards, but judging by Amelia's squeaky breathing, this was all new to her. It wasn't entirely unexpected – gadje were soft, unaccustomed to the daily trials a gypsy went through, simply because they looked dark and sly. Carltoz's thick, calloused fingers danced around the sticky patch of blood, and then he announced in a surprisingly low, gentle voice, "He'll be fine. The arrow just missed his heart, so once we remove the head and disinfect the injury, he ought to be perfect." Without another word, he scooped the broad-shouldered Phoebus up without blinking an eye, and then turned to Esmeralda. "Where to, Esmeralda?"
Esmeralda bit her lip. Where could she possibly take him? The Court of Miracles was too far away entirely, and Phoebus needed medical attention right away. They couldn't see an dancing cricket in this light, and she needed someplace quiet and cool. Someplace out of the way, a place where she could tend to him undisturbed. The answer came to her quickly, a blinding flash of realization. "The Notre Dame Cathedral," She said briskly. Amelia's jaw dropped.
"Are you nuts?" Amelia snapped. "The last time we went there, we had to jump off a building! Now what are we going to do?"
"We're going to take him to the Notre Dame and claim sanctuary," Esmeralda retorted bitingly. "Frollo is expecting me to return to the Court of Miracles, not the cathedral. And anyway, he thinks Phoebus is dead and that I don't care for him."
Amelia arched an eyebrow in spite of herself. "So you're admitting you like him?"
Esmeralda knew that her clever tongue had tripped up, and she felt a heated blush prickle unpleasantly across her face. "No, I mean, I just – Never mind! I don't have to explain myself to you!" She said, but Amelia was looking at her with exasperation and mild indignation.
"Enough woman talk!" Carltoz growled. "Are we taking him to the Notre Dame or not?"
"We are." Esmeralda snapped.
"No." Amelia said at the same time. The two women glared at each other, hands on hips. "I'm not going to that death trap again as long as I live!" Amelia declared. Esmeralda folded her arms tightly across her chest.
"If you don't come with us, the rest of your life will be about five minutes. You can't survive out here on your own." Esmeralda snapped. "Now come on, Phoebus is getting worse by the minute, and if I have to drag you by your hair, I will!"
"No!" Amelia said, and Esmeralda saw that there actually was a very deep stubborn streak in the redhead – it was just buried too deep to see all the time. "I don't need help from a gypsy! Go away! I'll be fine on my own!"
"Amelia, if you leave us and get captured, I'll never forgive myself!" Esmeralda hissed impatiently. "I'm not the kind to leave a friend behind!"
The redhead seemed slightly taken aback. "We're not friends," She said, but perhaps a bit too uncertainly. It wasn't a foreign term to her – friends were something you had so you could go someplace else besides your own home. But Amelia had never been into making friends at school – it wasn't that she was unpopular; she was decently nice and dressed well, and probably could have made a small circle of friends, but she just never had the inclination. Her violin had been all that she needed – her violin didn't chatter about boys, or Justin Bieber, or throw stupid parties and not invite people. Esmeralda's glittering green eyes narrowed in exasperation.
"Yes, we are friends! Are you happy now, you crazy girl? Can we go?"
Amelia pouted, drawing her brows together and pulling her lower lip, and this triggered a memory of Clopin. Twice, Amelia had pouted in front of him, and both times he had laughed and looked almost...well, affectionate. Considering the two had fought like a tomcat and a mutt the last time she had seen them, the affection had been entirely out of place, and therefore, memorable. The warmth had been in his eyes a mere moment, but Esmeralda's woman's intuition had pricked up, and she was seldom wrong about things of that sort. Esmeralda felt a little jerk of anger inside her – Clopin had been her best friend growing up, her only ally when she was in trouble. He was like an older brother to her, and the idea of him getting involved – Oh, what a word – with anyone made her a bit ill. And she wasn't going to lose him to this useless little redhead who was selfishly attached to her violin and unable to stand squarely on her feet for five seconds. Without another word, Esmeralda turned to go, marching quickly up the street.
"Wait! I changed my mind!" Amelia said, and ran up behind them, panting. "Fine, I'm sorry. I'll come with you. But no roof-jumping, okay?" Amelia said. Esmeralda locked her jaw and said nothing.
The courtyard to the Notre Dame was blessedly empty, with nothing but long milky shadows from the full silver moon, and a few snow drifts here and there like forgotten piles of sugar. A glassy puddle, covered thickly with a sheet of slippery icy, marbled the cobblestones, filling in the tiny crevices and irregularities in the carefully lain stones. Esmeralda pulled her hood up over her face, holding Djali closely to her, feeling the thin bones of her pet ripple against her chest. He knew better than to move or bleat when he was being carried, and he tucked his damp, dark nose into the crook of her elbow. Amelia was fumbling along behind them, tripping over her own feet, stepping on cats' tails, and knocking over trash bins. Twice, Carltoz had hushed her, and Amelia had honestly tried to be quiet, but her uncoordinated feet wouldn't match up with her brain. Esmeralda threaded her way through the shadows, and then dropped Djali onto the cold cobblestones when she reached the huge, sleek oaken door. Her small, dark fingers wrapped around the burnished gold knocker, and she opened the door with barely a creak, the well-oiled hinges sliding contentedly. A wide bar of white light struck out against the darkness, and the three dark shapes entered the silent, ominous cathedral.
Quasimodo watched from the rafters, hardly daring to believe his luck. Esmeralda, the beautiful, kind gypsy who had talked to him, laughed with him, smiled at him, was back! Along with the silly little girl, the redheaded one who had thrown such a fit at being taken out of the cathedral. With them was a wide, burly man carrying another figure in his arms. When Quasimodo dropped to the polished marble floor, all three of them jumped guiltily and looked towards him with big, frightened eyes. "Quasi? Quasimodo? Is that you?" Esmeralda asked, her voice high, tight with strain and an underlying current of anger and worry.
"Esmeralda!" Quasimodo cried, coming towards them shyly, his auburn thatch of hair hiding his eye as usual. "You're all right! I knew you'd come back." He smiled with such genuine happiness that it almost broke Esmeralda's heart.
"You've done so much for me, my friend," Esmeralda said, her voice a low whisper, "but I'm afraid I must ask one more favor of you."
"Anything. Anything." Quasimodo said, his eyes alight with obvious delight. Esmeralda gestured to the unconscious man in the burly gypsy's arms.
"This is Phoebus. He's wounded, and a fugitive like me. He can't go on much longer, and I knew he'd be safe here. Please, can you hide him?" Esmeralda asked, and she had that queer desperate note in her voice that only women can obtain when they are about to lose something they hold very precious. Quasimodo, having never heard that distinct little undercurrent of pleading in a woman's voice, simply took off up the stairs. But Amelia's quick brain put two and two together – Esmeralda liked Phoebus. Well, that in itself wasn't surprising. He was a strong, blonde man with good looks, and she was a beautiful, slender woman with an amazing figure. Realizing that her romantic musings had set her behind the rest of them, she followed them up the stairs hastily.
Quasimodo led them to a small alcove off in the left wing of the cathedral, a bed partitioned away from the room by a ragged cloth. Quasimodo drew back the material and tucked it into a crevice in the wall, allowing Carltoz to lay Phoebus down on the small cot gently. Esmeralda heard the guttural intake of breath from the blonde captain, and she pushed back his bangs, taking in the wound on his chest. She busied herself with removing the arrowhead, embedded not far below the surface of his hardened flesh, and she tossed it aside. His chest was bare and exposed to the flickering, elusive torchlight in the sconces, and she saw he was heavily muscled, with a thick line of blonde hair leading into his leggings. With a brutal snap, she tore a strip of cloth from her sleeve and wrapped it tightly around his torso, lifting him up by his back with all her might. He was heavy, and as she wrapped this bandage around him, she realized he was almost uncomfortably close to her. Blushing in spite of herself, she let him fall back amid the blankets and finished tying the knot over his arrow wound. He arched his back a little, coughing up a bit of fluid and then opened his astonishingly blue eyes. "Esmeralda?" He asked, confused, uncertain. Smoke-filled images crowd his mind, and he tossed them away.
"Shh," Esmeralda soothed, laying a hand on his chest. "Stay still. We're hiding here until you can move." Her hand dipped into her hip pocket, and she withdrew the small flask of alcohol she had used to revive Amelia. With her teeth, she uncorked the bottle and spat the cork away.
"Great. I could use a drink," Phoebus said gratefully, but instead, Esmeralda soaked his bandage thoroughly with the brandy. He hissed in pain, clenching his teeth together, his jaw turning into a firm ridge. "Ouch. Feels like a 1470 brandy. Not a good year."
Esmeralda looked at him seriously. "The Millers owe you their lives. You're either the craziest soldier I've ever met, or the bravest."
There is a wintery snap of irony in his words with he answered. "Ex-soldier, remember?" As if realizing his tone was bitter, he forced a tight smile on his face. "Why is it, whenever we meet, I end up bleeding?"
Esmeralda ignored his question, focusing instead on her suddenly fumbling fingers, trying to force down the heat in her face. She just realized she was kneeling very close to him, and her skirt has ridden up perhaps a fraction of an inch, but it's enough – her calf and his hip made contact, and the searing feel of skin-on-skin was doing strange things to her brain. "You're lucky. That arrow almost pierced your heart."
He felt the contact too, and his calloused hand gripped her wrist, surprisingly firm. "I'm not so sure it didn't," He said, the low voice sending shivers down her spine.
She never remembered who kissed whom – all she remembered was the feeling on his lips on hers, that softness mingled with the pleasant brush of his beard against her cheek. There is that unattainable heat, a simmering fire ready to spark to an inferno at the barest breeze, a caged lion ready to pounce from its tethers. She had kissed men before, but none of them had felt like this. This, this was more than a kiss – this was a sealing, a promise, an alliance, a commitment. This meant something, meant something to her and meant something to him.
Amelia felt a dry heat raise the hair on her neck, and she stepped unconsciously away from them, a blush flaming her cheeks. Whoa, they are totally making out, Amelia thought to herself, wanting to examine Phoebus's kissing techniques but feeling very uncomfortable at the same time. She didn't know whether or not to clear her throat and remind them of reality, or to leave and let them have some privacy. But she heard an almost inaudible sniff near her, and she saw the hunchback wiping tears from his eyes. And they weren't tears of happiness – they were bitter, broken, hurting tears, tears that hurt more emotionally than any physical wound. Amelia reached for him automatically, trying to let him know that there was human contact, her hand touching his shoulder. But he flinched abruptly, drawing away from her instantly, cowering in the corner with his face over his eyes.
Two hearts joined in that moment, and two hearts broke – one from grief, and one from longing.
A/N: Sorry for the long wait! It's been an ABSOLUTE MADHOUSE, trying to buy Christmas presents for everybody I know, and decorating, and cooking, and sending Christmas cards, and all of the crazy stuff that goes on around Christmas. Anyway, think of this as my early Christmas gift for you guys! Enjoy!
Firestorm N.: Yeah, that scene was awful. However, I find it a bit weird that the entire house and windmill took about two seconds to catch on fire, when it takes James fifteen minutes to get our wood stove working. Aww, you have problems at school? I know how you feel. –.- If it wasn't for my best friend Gabbi (may she rest in peace), I would have totally blown a gasket during my high-school years and done something crazy. Hope this chapter cheers you up!
Fickle'Fan'Girl: I hope I got all the emotions right in this chapter – my mind is a bit scattered, so that's kind of how this chapter came out. As for the weather, BRR! at least you have white Christmases. We usually have white thanksgivings and brown Christmases...Oh well. My husband is a huge fan of Sarah Palin (and Newt-somebody, for that matter), but I don't know that much about politics. Everybody just seems too angry on the TV and the radio, so I just listen to my twangy country music and try and keep my nose out of it. All I know is this: Why is milk at $3.89 a gallon!
CappySam: Ah, there will be some Clopin/Amelia moments coming up. Although, I can't imagine him being too pleased she snuck out...xD
Everlastingflower96: Wow! I'm glad you like it! I like writing about redheads – I'm a ginger, so I always identify with them. Although long hair is a pain in the butt, so I cut it short. xD Anyway, I hope you like this chapter! 8D
Nostalgia's My Best Friend: Soon, I promise! Next chapter, there will be some nice realizations and some arguing. Kitty fights! xD
