This is the longest chapter so far. Ready? Go! (Please refer to my profile for further comments)

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By 2:15, all that I had accomplished was that I had kicked my sheets everywhere in a mess to make myself comfortable. I was still wide awake, growing more impatient by the moment. My mind was still racing and it would not be calmed by trying to stay in bed and fall asleep. Therefore, I crept downstairs in a long and heavy flannel shirt, well aware that Walter, too, was still up.

He was sitting at the small table, legs crossed with arms tight across his chest, head lolled down into his chest. The lights of passing cars and the streetlamps barely illuminated his form, stoic and silent like a night watchmen at a museum, ready to spring at the slightest movement.

The floorboards creaked under my feet and he sighed, eyes rolling up, then his head.

"Can't sleep either, hm?" I leaned against the wall opposite him, kicking my rotary away a few inches for room.

He shook his head.

"Yeah…. I know the feeling."

I noted that he looked me up and down once before leaning his head back and closed his eyes. I took the opportunity to sit down cross-legged opposite him and clasped my hands tight in my lap.

The darkness and the silence in his company was immediately calming and I felt that if I curled up on my sofa right over there that I could fall asleep instantaneously. His mere presence was relaxing to my body and I wished there was a way to convince him to lie down next to me one night. He wouldn't have to move, he wouldn't have to touch me. Just feeling his warmth would be like a nice dose of melatonin to reset my internal clock.

"Walter…. I – uh – tonight was nice. I was kind of surprised, actually, that you planned that. But it made me really happy." God, what am I doing, I thought. I was gushing out these words in broken phrases and sighs and smiles, biting a lip in between utterances, wondering exactly what I would say next.

He hadn't moved which made it easier for me to talk if he wasn't looking.

I continued. "I kind of wonder what provoked it, but I know you won't tell me that. It's only been a couple months, and I might have shocked you a few times in the past weeks…. What you told me about your mother –" Here, he opened his eyes to look at me properly. "– explains a few things to me."

A moment.

"Going to ask about my dad?"

Light shake of my head. "Don't have to."

Tongue across to moisten lips and he slapped his hands down on his knees, peering at me through thin eyelids.

"Left before I was born. Thought he was great, though. Wrote an essay in school. 'My Parents.' You have your kids do that?"

I nodded. "Yeah… Some of them don't like it."

"Now you know why." He leaned back and again crossed his arms tight, tucking his hands under his armpits.

Another nod. "Yeah," I sighed. "Guess I do. Look-" There was so much I wanted to say. That I understood where he came from, why he was the way he was and none of it was very bad. He was a good man, thus my feelings for him, something else I wish I could articulate accurately without great embarrassment. Was it possible to feel something like this after such a short period of time? Silly question. And he? What were Walter's feelings? It was too hard to shake from my mind.

"Walter, I…."

"What?"

A hard swallow and I shook my head, looking away into the dark living area.

We sat in prolonged minutes of more silence, the comfortable kind, the kind we had practiced. The kind in which my mind could go blank but refill itself occasionally with images from not-too-distant memories.

"You're not asking me 'Why' anymore, Walter."

"Should I? Don't think I have to."

Which I supposed was a good thing. It meant he was sure of himself now; I didn't have to match my interpretation of him to his actual feelings, but I wondered if I was ever correct or if he just let my words slide.

I didn't like awkward conversations. 'So, Walter, in love with me yet?' Stupid, not something that would ever fall from my lips, not anything I could logically assume. I did wonder, though, and this had increasingly come to bother me as the hours slipped by and I laid in my bed before descending to sit before him - I wondered if he would ever verbalize anything or if I had to guess some more from what was evidenced in the park that night or through the tiny Christmas gift I received.

"Would you do that again?" he asked, disturbing my contemplations.

"Do what again?"

"Go to dinner. Out. Like today."

I laughed. "Yeah. Yeah, of course I would. I'd like that."

"Okay."

He stood, fingertips lightly pressed to the table and peered down at me. I looked back and smiled weakly, wondering if he was going to say anything. He didn't. After another moment he turned away to retreat back to the sofa, maybe in a last-ditch effort to sleep.

I scrambled up after him and swung him around with a tight grip to a bicep, feeling his blood pump under my fingertips. He peered at my hand atop his flesh, trailing his half-lidded gaze up to match my eyes. I wanted to say something, anything, just fucking tell him what was running through my head and wait to see if I could pull a reply of the same magnitude. But I choked, holding to him tight, laughing to myself with head bent down to stare at the creases in his pants.

He said my name. It was an order to look at him, to stop this foolishness that coursed through my veins.

I did look up, confused as to what my mind might have been planning. There was no threat that greeted me, just the blank but slightly inquisitive stare of deep blue eyes that was preserving something for just the right moment.

I immediately released and apologized, ready to turn away and retreat to my own haven a floor above.

He said my name again, softer but harsher. "There something I need to know?"

No, no, there's nothing right now. "I…. Yes. But I can't…," I sighed in resignation. There was something, something was forming in the back of my mind like a memory you can't quite retrieve without a cue.

I don't know if he believed me, but he nodded anyway with a soft grunt. "Okay. Don't forget."

Trust me, I won't. A nod and a smile.

"Tomorrow. Should we do something?" he asked.

A smirk, shocked again. "No. Stay here. Weather's supposed to be bad anyway."

He complied by turning away, the signal to leave him alone for the night.

…..

The weather was not so bad that we were trapped. Light flurries and a mix of rain and ice. The soft rapping at my windows was hypnotizing as Walter and I sat and stared at each other until he left.

Returning late that afternoon with a bag of groceries from the only open convenience store a few blocks down, I found Walter writing in a small leather-bound notebook that he quickly slammed shut upon my entrance.

He had left to return home for a change of clothes and a shower hours prior, reentering with my key and was now huddled against a wall in the living space.

"Walter. Hey. Let's go out again. Go –" Anywhere, I thought, waving a hand around.

Silence and a stare were my answers for a few moments until he stood and brushed past me to lay a hand on his coat.

"Park was fine. Now?"

"Oh. Sure. Okay."

…..

I walked a few paces in front of him as we descended into the subway station, crowded with holiday travelers. Despite the weather, people wanted to experience their lives on Christmas. We were inadvertently split up temporarily; Walter stood several feet down from me on the platform. As we boarded the train, I pushed my way through the throngs of people, able to stand in front of him for most of the ride. Generally, the population tonight was well-dressed, out for an evening play or musical with fancy dinner following. The women donned think fur or heavy belted coats. The money was careful not to come into contact with the unemployed. I was curious as to the mixture of classes that rode tonight. Did they not have cars? Did they dare not drive in the wintery mix that fell from the skies? Oh, poor them.

Walter followed my gazes around the subway car, his face and body dangerously close to mine. The turns were always the most awkward experiences on the trains and I tried my best to keep my balance and not fall into him. We stood close to a door, he facing into the crowd and I looked out the window, hand tight on the metal pole to my left. I kept my eyes averted from him, because God forbid anyone thought that we knew each other.

Once he muttered for me to be careful. "Look out." An emergency hand shot out to my back to tug me closer and I thanked him with a smile before his hand dropped back into his pocket.

"Bad tonight. Watch yourself."

A larger man in a decent pinstripe suit stood behind me (I wouldn't have been surprised if he was a relative of the man that came to bother Walter at the shop that day), his ass occasionally bumping me when the train accelerated and sped around bends. He was probably half-asleep and half-drunk when he practically fell against me before regaining his grip on the bar above his head. In turn, I nearly lost my balance, slamming a hand to Walter's chest.

We looked at each other, my gaze in apology for touching him, but thankful that he was so steady. His eyes told me he was about to do something. Before I could stop him, he hissed at the man, "Keep to yourself in public. Find the whores if you need something."

I mentally slapped a hand to my forehead and moved out of the way as much as possible as the man turned around revealing sweat stains through his suit.

"Who the fuck are you? She don't have to stand there."

Walter took a threatening step forward as the other bent down an inch. I had to interrupt.

"It's okay," I waved a hand up to the man in defense. "There's no room tonight. Not your fault. Okay?" A glare at Walter, a smile at the man. They sneered at each other before I returned my attention back to Walter, blocking him from the other man's view.

Walter cast his eyes to the side but the moment I felt a hand on my ass, my eyes widened with a sharp intake of breath and Walter knew what to do. I tossed myself back against the closest door, catching the snicker and then horrified realization on the man's face as Walter punched his nose into a bloody oblivion. Another fist to the stomach and he gripped the man by his jacket at the shoulder.

No one really took notice except for the wives that slapped their husbands - 'Why didn't we take a goddamn taxi?' they screamed. But this was another one of those things that just happened sometimes. A couple kids gawked, the adults stared, and the hoodlums smiled and laughed as a shorter redhead beat the living shit out of a New York mobster.

The man pulled a gun from his suit, eliciting hushes from those close by, but Walter broke his wrists with a resonating crunch.

I half-laughed, half-frowned at the situation. Here was Walter, destroying a man for the third time in my presence. Walter shot a glare back to me – 'What do you want me to do?' I shrugged - grunting as the man huddled to the floor and Walter sat on his back, like a cowboy on one of those fake riding bulls, with hands clenched against the base of the man's neck.

"How many women have you done that to? How many were able to file charges before you shot them?"

I thought then, as I watched him harass the man in the pinstripe suit that these mobsters didn't travel in groups anymore. There just weren't many left and those that remained were being caught by the vigilantes, wherever they were these days. Others were beaten by men like Walter, who had some sense of moral absolutism left.

Bingo again.

I was mesmerized by his voice and the ease at which he could make these criminals repent for their wrongdoings. And he said he didn't want to get into crime fighting. It would be a big responsibility; that would be his loss of humanity. But something really big had to happen to make him change his mind.

The man was jabbering nonsense into the floor and people were trying to call for the subway authorities.

"Fucking Jesus, Walter. Come on!"

He might not have heard me, but a stop was approaching fast and Walter got up, brushing off his pants and coat, readjusted his hat, and stepped over the idiot. The moment the doors slid open, Walter grabbed me by the hand, tugging me away to melt into the crowds that collected in masses up the stairs.

It was only about a five minute walk into the Park where we stopped on the sidewalk, surrounded by dead trees with thin layers of white on their skeletal forms, remnants of birds' nests tucked away high above. The Pond was partially frozen, reflecting any streams of star or moon light that were able to filter down.

He released me and muttered a 'Sorry' in case any of the blood from his gloves transferred to my hands. There were small splotches, not too visible, nothing I couldn't rub off on my coat.

He hushed my name as we stood beside each other. "I don't know why you're still around me. Not usually like this. Reverting back to how I was as a kid, lashing out."

"Walter, nothing you've done has put me off. I would have run after you caved in the counter with that man's skull. This is the third time you've beaten someone who's taken a step towards me."

"Deserved it. Probably repeat offenders."

I was right that he never did anything to help me personally, but of course it still meant something to me. He looked at me for a moment before returning a blank stare out at the people that meandered past, at the dead foliage, the evergreens, the rock formations. I wondered what he was thinking as he flexed his hands at his sides.

"You okay?" I asked.

A nod, peering sideways at me, before kicking a rock further into the pathway. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do," he uttered. He tugged his coat tighter, popping his collar as protection from the chill gusts.

"Supposed to do about what? Your job? Your life? Your-" I could stop guessing when he looked at me again, his tired and sad gaze glossing over my face. "I don't care," I said. "Do what you feel like. Keep doing what you're doing. I'm not going to ask you to be like other men. I don't want that. That's why I'm here with you. Just keep being who you are, that's-" That's the man I'm falling in love with. But I couldn't complete my verbalization and redirected my attention to the few passersby.

"'What?" he asked, looking at me again from the corner of his vision.

"That's all. I can't tell you what to do with your life or how to act with me. Stop doubting yourself like that. You've got beliefs and ideals, right? Do what they tell you to do."

A pause between my lingering words and his next statement as he huddled into himself tighter.

"… Exception," he whispered. "You're the exception to those rules. Never trusted women."

Because of his mother. I knew. I've seen it before with some of my students. When the parents don't care about their children's grades or even about the child himself, there's suffering. On both ends.

"Didn't expect this. Don't even know if I like it."

"Walter…. What's new is frightening to some," I said, reaching out to lightly take him by the arm, smoothing out little creases in his overcoat. I was now only slightly worried about his attitude. "You haven't kicked me away yet, so that says something about you."

I turned to face him properly, taking his face lightly in both hands. His eyes held steady but he was grimacing slightly since people were walking by. It was dark enough. I didn't care. He was going to listen.

"You want me to make you a promise?"

He pried my hands away to drop back at my sides and shook his head 'no.' "I don't like promises. Never know what might happen."

"I know enough. And you better damn well believe me-" I took a step forward and hushed my voice when more people went by, fighting against the wind – "that I am nothing like the type of woman you hate."

By now, any precipitation had subsided and everyone could go about their business dry and warm in each others' arms, to Broadway and Rockefeller Center, to go home to families or have sex by their glowing fireplaces. I wondered where we would go when we were too frozen to move.

"I'm sorry," I said after a moment.

"Nothing to be sorry for." Reaching up a hesitant gloved hand to tuck under my coat collar to my neck, he said, "But if I've been difficult, I understand."

"Except you haven't been. I told you. I enjoy you as you are. Let's not – try to rationalize this out anymore, okay? What's going to happen will happen, but I will do everything I can not to leave your side unless you treat me like those men you've beaten."

"You won't ever do anything to deserve it."

"You're right. I won't."

After another few moments in silence, except for the passing traffic and honking of horns which I had just acutely become aware, we returned to the closest station to wait for a train.

I could not lie to the man beside me that dealt out retribution with a heavy fist. I also believed that he would never lie to me; he couldn't. It was not his way of things. But as his blank gaze observed the scurrying of rats down the train tunnel, and scowled if someone accidentally brushed against him in passing down the platform, I wondered if his eyes would reveal the truth to me one day so his words would not have to. He was still young. He recovered from his childhood without being incarcerated and I was waiting until he punished more men than just those I had witnessed.

He stood inches to my left and did not know that I was looking at him, readjusting his collar against the chilly air, his hat concealing his red hair and abundant freckles on his forehead.

It was December twenty-fifth, 1963 and I asked myself, Is it too soon?