Author's Note: And here we have a new chapter! I know it's somewhat shorter than normal, but I figured an abbreviated chapter was preferable to a longer wait. We have a new voice this chapter, though it is someone you have met before, along with a slight jump in time. Hope y'all enjoy it, and while I'm on vacation this week, I do plan to get started on the next chapter. . .once I figure out who gets to talk this time around. I planned to have a Gavin section, but he stubbornly refused. I think he wants to save all his talking for the last few chapters (as this particular story has only two or three more chapters. Then I have to figure out which story comes next)
Chapter Nine
The Most Wonderful Time of the Year
Wonderful. Another close call. That was the third one in the last two weeks. If she didn't know better, she would swear he was doing it on purpose. However, this was a small town and he showed no sign of recognizing her, much less crossing her path deliberately. So much for their supposedly legendary love story! But even as she considered that, she knew she was being unfair. That had been literally eons ago, and they were both different people. Bronwyn Harris grimaced. Yes. Totally different.
They had met again through the ages. . .she remembered some of those lives, though not all of them. And it un-nerved her, how often those other incarnations fell in love again. There was something about that which made her. . .uneasy. Bron didn't believe in destiny. . .unless discussing the consequences of someone's actions. For instance, a momentary decision at the last minute could lead someone to be in the middle of a disaster. . .or miles away from it. That kind of destiny, she could accept. But believing in predestination, or even worse, believing that one person was destined to marry another? That actually creeped her out. More than that, she believed that choosing to believe in destiny meant giving up her own free will. Worse, certain individuals would claim their actions were not their fault, but they were succumbing to their destiny.
That didn't wash with her. Her mother hadn't died because of someone's destiny, she had died because they were a sadistic bastard who got his sexual kicks by torturing and murdering a woman in front of her seven year old daughter. Perhaps something in his background caused the behavior, but it was never his destiny. He had to make the choice. And if it was her destiny to see such a horrific thing at such a young age, if it was her mother's destiny to die that way, then she wanted nothing to do with destiny. That monster chose to end a young woman's life. . .and she, Bronwyn, chose to protect.
She remembered feeling (and being) so damn helpless during the trial. This very bad man had killed her mother, and that equally bad man was trying to make sure that was okay! How could it be okay? Of course, now she knew that the defense attorney was just doing his job, but the little girl had only seen one bad man defending another. It would have been not entirely accurate to say she swore to herself then and there that she wouldn't allow that to happen to another child. She was seven years old, after all. However, the seed was planted that day, which led her to her career as a child's advocate. And that, in turn, led her to Campbell, North Carolina.
This case actually involved a child. . .legally speaking, at least. No, she hadn't been six or seven when she was murdered, but she was a minor, and thus, she was a child. Over the last few weeks, since Bron's arrival in Campbell, she had worked with the police. . . unofficially. Officially, as a lawyer, she could only work with the district attorney. But she made a promise to her client, and if that meant working with the police, she would do it. The fact that Dalton Robeson creeped her out was only a. . .well, she wouldn't say it was the only reason she wanted him put away, but it certainly didn't help.
And just thinking about Robeson creeped her out, so her mind shifted once more. Unfortunately, it shifted right back to the initial cause of her annoyance. . .namely Marine Gunnery Sergeant Gavin Rafferty (retired). Or, as she had known him more than thirty thousand years earlier, Aragorn Elessar. Then, she hadn't been a lawyer at all (or a barrister, as their English cousins called them), but an Elvish Lady, daughter of a lore master. . .Queen Arwen. Bron supposed that like the Lady of old she had been, she was still a healer (after all, Arwen learned a great deal from her father, Lord Elrond), just in a different way. Then, Arwen, under her father's tutelage, healed hurts and sickness of the body. Now, Bron was healing hearts by bringing closure.
At least, people could look at it that way. But Bron wasn't really anything like Arwen. She didn't look like her for one thing, Elven ears aside. Arwen had been an ethereally lovely creature with raven hair and liquid blue eyes. Bron was pretty, she knew. . .but her hair was auburn, rather than raven, and one of her more poetic boyfriends described her eyes as 'whiskey-colored.' Ooookay. Either way, she didn't look like Arwen Undomiel, and she was certainly no queen. Nor did she want to be. She rather liked being just Bronwyn Harris, lawyer.
Maybe that was also true of Gavin Rafferty. Bron frowned, sipping the sweet tea she had ordered. The first time she met the man was about two weeks earlier, shortly after her initial meeting with Captain Anders and Dr. Trask. She left the police station, feeling more than a little pleased with the progress she made. Their conversation lasted more than three hours, and it covered everything from Zarina Andrews to her mother to Dalton Robeson to Campbell to Washington State.
Perhaps that was why she wasn't entirely paying attention as she left the building, that could explain it. Bronwyn was very cautious about her surroundings (no doubt, yet another legacy of her mother's murder). . .normally. But, on this particular day, she had run straight into the chest of Gavin Rafferty. He was good-looking. . .that was the first thing she noticed. His dark hair was cut short. . .not exceedingly short, but it was a respectable length. He had bright blue eyes, and he smiled when he put his hands on her arms, stabilizing her.
She hadn't recognized him as Aragorn's reincarnation during that first meeting, or even during their second. It was only in the last week that she recognized him and it was then that life seemed to start throwing them together. That lack of awareness at first answered a question, which nagged her from the moment, she began remembering her past as Arwen, at the age of twelve (and they wouldn't discuss how traumatizing that was). As a teenager, Bronwyn often wondered what would happen if she met any of the people she loved in those lives? Not just Aragorn, but Arwen's father and two brothers? Would she recognize them? Would they recognize her? And in the end, did it really matter? The only person it might matter with was Aragorn, as Arwen's father had sailed for The Undying Lands. Her brothers . . .Bron couldn't remember their fates. However, even then, she was questioning if she was fated to love Aragorn in all his incarnations. (And studiously ignored one of her favorite memories of Aragorn. . .seeing her husband sweep their small son Eldarion into his arms)
The irony, of course, was that if Gavin hadn't been Aragorn's reincarnation, she would have asked him if he would like to have a coffee with her. During her second encounter with him, she had recognized him as Arwen's husband. . .and that destroyed any possibility of a relationship between them. Of course, it didn't help that his marriage had been a disaster, as she learned the hard way. While Gavin hadn't told her the details, what little he did say told her enough. She could appreciate an honest man, especially when he was a retired Marine (there was a reason there were no better friends, and no worse enemies).
Once she got over this uncomfortable sensation whenever she was around him, they could become friends. He seemed like a gentleman and someone who could be trusted. That was all she wanted. Gavin had no desire to marry again, and Bron wanted a commitment when she herself was ready to commit. Unfortunately, her biological clock was starting to tick quite loudly. She wanted a husband and children, yes. . .had always wanted children eventually. But she wasn't interested in becoming Arwen once more. And she certainly wasn't interested in reenacting Aragorn and Arwen's love story, thirty millennia later. . .
Was she?
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It would have been an understatement of epic proportions to say he took the long way around. . .but through all the years he had lived in North Carolina, he had little opportunity to drive around most of Raleigh, much less Wake County, much less the rest of the state. For the first few days, he drove around Raleigh, seeing the State Capitol grounds and the neighboring North Carolina Museum of History, then shifted his attention to the southern outskirts and the North Carolina Museum of Art. He had lived here almost half of his life, and this was the first time he had seen many of these places. Ronan Daly wondered what else he missed while he was working.
Probably best not to ask. Instead, he focused on the future. Pelagia hadn't told him to 'get thee to Campbell,' so he took his time and enjoyed himself. One could spend the entire day at both the Museum of History and the Museum of Art. And so, he had kept one day for each. Actually, the truth was, one could spend an entire week at both museums and still not see everything. But that was usually the case in museums. He debated briefly about going to the Zoo, but decided against it. In the first place, it was too bloody cold, and in the second, his joints weren't up to the walking. Maybe he would attempt it in the warmer months. One thing Ronan learned rather quickly when he arrived in North Carolina. . .this was the South, but it could get damn cold in the winter.
He left the capital city on the morning of the third day and headed south. Ronan had never seen Fayetteville (or really, any city south of Raleigh), except on occasional newscasts that primarily dealt with Fort Bragg and Pope Air Force Base. The girls often drove into Fayetteville for FireAntz games (the FireAntz, he learned, were a semi-professional hockey team), and occasionally accompanied Megan and Kristin's cousin Gavin, a retired Marine, onto Fort Bragg and Pope. The twin bases were closer than Camp Lejeune, the Marine post, according to Megan.
Ronan smiled a little, remembering how her eyes lit up when she told him about the static display. . .old airplanes, some from the Second World War, some from Korea, some from Vietnam. The planes had been hollowed out and placed on cement supports. The light in her eyes dimmed a bit when she added that the static displays would be coming down, with the changes wrought by the base realignments, or BRAC. She understood the necessity, of course. Megan was sometimes brutally practical, he had noticed. But she mourned the loss of that history. The young cop hadn't mentioned exactly what would happen to the planes, but he hoped they weren't destroyed.
He found Fayetteville as charming as the girls described. Hay Street, in particular, became a favorite of his over the next few days, visiting the Transportation Museum one afternoon and the Airborne Museum the following afternoon. Like the Museums of Art and History in Raleigh, these visits easily took a day a piece. . .the Airborne Museum in particular. He made a note to visit the Fayetteville Museum of Art sometime in the future, then headed north through Fort Bragg. He was able to see very little of the base itself, protected as it was by a concertina wire and trees. However, he did know from conversations with various military personnel that bases were small, self-sufficient cities. If he had the chance to meet Gavin Rafferty, he would be interested in hearing more.
Over the next week, he spent a great deal of gasoline and almost as much money, simply driving around the area, discovering towns like Aberdeen, Southern Pines, Pinehurst, Carthage, all in Moore County, which was known for its golf courses. In fact, he learned, in the summer of 2005, the US Open had been held in Southern Pines. He didn't follow golf (he actually preferred hockey, as it reminded him of football. Irish and English football, not the American variety), so he hadn't known about that. He was coming to learn there was a great deal about his adopted state which he didn't know. Oh, there were the usual facts, such as the current population and the general history of the state. But he hadn't known about the golf courses, or about the pottery shops around the area.
There were also blacksmith shops, though somewhat further north and to the east. Still, it was mind-blowing that such arts still existed in the early years of the twenty-first century. Even more mind-blowing was that many of these smiths had a website. Talk about combining eighteenth century workmanship with twenty-first century sensibility. . .that was a prime example! It was truly wondrous to him, a man who remembered his memories from thirty millennia ago, how these resourceful people could find a way to blend the past and the present. He doubted if it wasn't effortless. . .but it was successful.
Nearly two weeks after he left Raleigh, Ronan saw the welcome sign for Campbell, North Carolina. But rather than making contact with Megan (and he did have her cell phone number. . .the sweet girl had insisted on giving it to him before she left) or the other girls, Ronan chose to make himself familiar with Campbell. It was, as he had been told, a small city. . .no more than ten thousand people. Although, Kristin had told him, rolling her eyes a little, that was subject to change. Quite frequently, too. With the base realignment, more and more military families were settling not just on the bases and in Fayetteville, but Sanford (which was due north of Fayetteville) and Campbell, as well.
He could tell, too, in the construction he noticed around town. Restaurants, drug stores, even hotels. The girls hadn't told him about that, but he hadn't seen them for several days. And they had been in Raleigh for almost two weeks. They might not have known, or it might not have occurred to them to tell him. In addition to the construction he noticed, there was also the usual bustle that came in the weeks leading up to Christmas. He stayed away from the stores and shops as much as possible, choosing instead to learn what he could about the town from the owners and patrons of local diners. He quickly grew fond of Lady J's, a hot dog/hamburger joint which was owned and operated by one Janithy Talbot, who reminded him a bit of that USA commercial, 'characters welcome.'
She was also a veritable gold mine of information, of things he did (and didn't) want to know. From Janithy, he learned about the town. The mayor's name was Thomas Farrell, a former police detective and, in Janithy's words, 'a handsome devil.' There was also the city council. While Janithy was obviously fond of Mayor Farrell, the same wasn't true of the council. She had friends who informed her that the morons had wanted to blame the police for the death of a young local girl, Bethany (if Ronan's memory served, it was the murder of that poor girl which caused such scars for Megan and Elena). Her eyes had blazed with a righteous fury when she told him about that.
They weren't bad people, Janithy told him, most of 'em were actually pretty decent. But as ever in any organization, there were idiots and people who let their emotions do their thinking. It may have been okay to follow your heart as an individual, Janithy observed, but it wasn't such a smart thing when you were responsible for other people. She went on to tell him about Lydia Anders, the police captain. A divorced mother of one daughter, she moved to North Carolina from New Jersey. For her own part, Janithy was a transplant, moving up from the Wilmington area about twenty-five years earlier. 'Round the same time Ronan came to North Carolina.
He learned that she opened Lady J's about fifteen years earlier, and served all kinds of people here. . .government officials, cops, factory workers. And running Lady J's, she learned all sorts of things. People weren't always circumspect while they were eating lunch or dinner. That made sense. Ronan knew from listening to his mother, who had been a maid, that people did that around individuals who served, period. What made his mother (and Janithy) successful was, they kept what they heard to themselves.
It was from Janithy that he learned about the upcoming Christmas Festival. A few jackasses had tried to change it to the Winter Festival a few years back, but that idea got shot down real quick. Janithy had grinned quite gleefully at that, which made Ronan think she was a driving force behind the downing of that suggestion. In any event, it was held every year at the community center. It was a good place to meet the people of the town and get to know them. Ronan promised he would think about it, and Janithy provided him with directions.
The community center turned out to be an abandoned warehouse in the center of town which was cleaned up about twenty years earlier. Attending this town's Christmas celebration would help to ease his mind, knowing who would be helping to take care of Boromir. He wondered if the girls would be there. . .he hoped they would be. He'd like to see Elena, Kristin and Megan in a social setting, rather than a professional one. It would be nice to wish them a Merry Christmas in person.
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As a child, Christmas had truly been the most wonderful time of the year for her. She loved the way Campbell (and her own home) was decorated. She loved listening to the Christmas carolers as they came to the house, and the magic of Santa Claus bringing her what she only told her mother or father about. But as the years passed and she became adult, she learned painfully that there were times when the phrase, 'Bah, humbug,' not only seemed to work, but was actually rather appropriate. This week was quickly turning into one of those times.
To say that Megan Rafferty was becoming grumpy as Christmas approached would have been something of an understatement. In the last several days, ever since she, Kristin, and Elena returned from Raleigh with Michael, Megan's normally unlimited patience had been taking a beating. Not from her new roommate, who constantly pushed himself to regain his strength, and not from her cousin, who practically moved into her apartment to help with Michael. Not even from her more annoying brothers and sisters in the department. No, the person most likely to drive Megan insane before the holiday actually arrived was her very own, dearly-loved mother.
And it all centered on one issue. Hence her grouchy attitude toward Christmas. The annual Christmas Festival at the community center was at the end of the week, and her mother was quite insistent that Megan should attend with Michael. It was a Rafferty family tradition, started the year Francis and Ailsa brought Kristin home from Korea. Usually, Megan was fine with that. . .if she had time off, she even helped to decorate the center. However, this year, Megan wasn't so sure just how involved she would be with the party, and made no secret of her hesitation. . .largely because of her guest.
While Michael was a grown man (quite obviously), Megan was responsible for him and she wasn't sure if he was strong enough to deal with the crowd. She wasn't even sure if she was strong enough to deal with the crowd, and she wasn't recovering from life-threatening injuries. She loved this town and she loved the people here, but she knew how curious they could be. . .especially under these circumstances.
She and Elena went to Raleigh, just the two of them in one car with Nico, and they came back with a badly injured amnesiac and two cars. Add to that the holiday insanity that happened every Christmas (such as the one she just escaped at Wal-Mart. . .what was with those people?), and Megan was inclined to say, 'bah, humbug' to the whole thing. However, she kept such sentiments to herself (and occasionally Kristin), because it was, after all, Christmas, and 'the most wonderful time of the year.' And if you weren't happy during the most wonderful time of the year, clearly, you were one of those depressed people who thought about or actually did try to kill themselves during the holiday season. That, in turn, resulted in more attention. . .and that was the last thing Megan wanted. Just to make herself feel better, she muttered under her breath, "Bah, humbug."
Michael looked up from watching television when she spoke and frowned at her thoughtfully. Even if he didn't recognize the words, he was clearly no idiot and recognized the tone of voice. She had thought she'd spoken the words too softly for anyone else to hear, but apparently not. Dammit. She really needed to work on that. Michael was already becoming protective of her, and he needed to concentrate on his own recovery. . .not worry about his grumpy current guardian. Megan offered him a reassuring smile, and his confusion turned to concern. Obviously sensing something was amiss and unable to understand exactly what, he chose the fight he could win and nodded to the screen, saying, "Crockett."
That did make Megan smile (which, in turn, made him smile). . .Gavin had been a huge fan of Miami Vice when they were teenagers, and had been thrilled to find it on cable in re-runs. Much to her mother's chagrin, her father's amusement, and Kristin's shock, her cousin started using the glitzy tv show to teach Michael English. Elena just shook her head and muttered he should be using Knight Rider instead (not that this was a surprise, considering the number of David Hasselhoff posters that decorated Elena's room when they were teenagers). Gavin countered that he did that as well, along with a few other more traditional educational shows.
Looking back, Megan wasn't sure which part of that conversation was more interesting, Gavin's simple explanation or Elena's obvious grouchiness. Though they both had grown and changed over the years, her best friend still had a serious soft spot for David Hasselhoff, and probably always would. Gavin went on to inform them that they also watched Transformers and GI Joe. Megan could see Transformers especially. . .even if Michael wasn't a thirty foot robot who turned into something else. It was the entire idea. Transformers were new to this world, and Michael was. . .well, he often seemed to be not of this time. While it was certainly not Megan's first choice, teaching their new friend English using television shows, she couldn't deny that it worked. Michael's English was steadily improving.
Even if he had 'asked' Elena and herself earlier in the week if they were Crockett. It took the two detectives a few minutes to realize he meant they were in the same profession. They assured him this was the case, and then glared at Gavin until he actually blushed. After that, her cousin took great pains to teach Michael the word 'cop.' They would wait to teach him 'police officer' and 'detective.' There was only so much he could handle at one time, and for Megan's money, he was doing very well, indeed.
For now, she smiled gently at him and agreed, "Crockett." He beamed back at her, looking very pleased with himself. Megan wasn't certain if he was pleased with himself for identifying the character, rather than the profession, or for making her smile. It could go either way with Michael. He seemed to derive a great deal of pleasure in making Megan, Kristin, and Elena smile. If he managed all three at once, that was even better, it seemed. In that respect, he seemed almost child-like.
Over the last few days, as he grew stronger, more of his personality began to shine through. With each passing day, he needed less sleep and hurt a little less. And for the most part, Gavin bowed to her wishes with regards to the food Michael ate. There was one time, a few days earlier, when he gave their new friend pizza when she wasn't sure he was ready for it. . .and he had to deal with the consequences (which included cleaning up her bathroom after her toilet flooded). Unfortunately, he wasn't the only one who had to bear the consequences. . .so did Megan (who had to smell the mess for the next several hours) and so did Michael.
To her relief (and slight suspicion), Gavin meekly submitted to Megan's ire after she comforted the now-resting Michael. He also said something very strange, along the lines of forgetting that Michael's system wasn't used to pizza. That was filed under the ever-growing file of 'strange Gavin behavior,' along with his habit of talking softly to Michael until she entered the room. That mental file was growing larger and larger every day. And sooner or later, she would be finding out what was going on with that. She wouldn't call Gavin on it right now, because knowing him as well as she did, he would probably clam up, and she'd never find out. No. No, for now, she would pretend not to notice.
Returning her focus to Michael's health, Megan acknowledged that yes, he was getting better on a daily basis, but was he strong enough to handle the crowd, the inevitable curiosity? Was he strong enough to handle the likes of Dorcas Merriweather? Most completely-healthy people really weren't equipped to deal with Dorcas Merriweather on a regular basis for more than an hour or two. Three at the most, and that was if someone was in a very, very good mood.
Megan made a face at the thought of that woman. She was raised to behave in a ladylike manner (for the most part), but she had no use for Mrs. Merriweather. For all her charitable work, and despite her claims of being a good woman, Megan didn't believe that someone who spread lies and gossip about people because of this imagined slight or that snub was any more likely to get into heaven than Megan herself was. And given the nature of her work, of the things she found it necessary to do in the line of duty, Megan had her doubts about her own self getting into heaven.
She didn't know for sure, but it seemed to Megan that Mrs. Merriweather did her charitable work more as a way of saying, 'see how good I am' than actually because she cared about her 'causes.' While Megan acknowledged that it really shouldn't matter, so long as people got the help they needed, there was something about the attitude that set her teeth on edge. Besides. While Megan was quite aware of how Mrs. Merriweather and her merry band of biddies saw her assistance of Michael, she didn't care what they said about her. When they attacked her family, that was another story entirely. No one insulted her family and got away with it. No one.
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Meg was worried about something. Even as she returned her attention to the book she bought that afternoon while out shopping (though he had never seen her quite so exhausted or out of sorts when she returned from her shopping trips), Mikal kept an eye on his new friend. She was worried, no matter how much she tried to reassure him. Mikal had a sense that it was the upcoming Winter Festival that concerned her so much. Gavin mentioned something to him about it while they watched teevee (speaking that unknown language they both understood), though he called it something else the first time. Most likely the proper name, then. He would ask about it later. Gavin also mentioned that it was causing some awkwardness between Meg and her mother. Again, that was not the word his new friend used.
However, it was close enough. He frowned, briefly distracted by his trouble communicating. While Mikal could speak individual words, they had not yet attempted sentence structure in the new language of English. In the last several days, he added many new words to the ones he already knew. Not enough to make him understood, but he was making progress, and he knew Gavin was pleased. One thing Mikal had learned during the last several days however, even with this language they both spoke, there were some things Gavin could not explain to him.
So, since Ronan was not here to answer his questions and to supplement his new knowledge, Mikal fell back on his old method of learning: observation. Since he couldn't ask Meg if she was all right, he began observing her expressions. He knew when she bit her lower lip, and her brows were drawn in a thoughtful expression, she was concentrating. . .and if he wanted her attention, he would have to call her name more than once. He also noted that when her eyes were very dark, she was angry. Even if she was smiling, if her eyes were that dark, it was wise to stay out of her way. Mikal may not have lived with Meg for a long period of time, but even he knew that he did not wish to have a guardian angry with him. That would be sheer foolishness. Meg was small, indeed, but that made her no less dangerous.
He also learned that there were things he could do to help her. The day before, after she returned home, he assisted her when she covered items with brightly colored paper. Admittedly, he was exhausted when they were finished (and he only held the packages still), but it was something she did not have to do. Her smile when he awkwardly indicated his desire to assist was enough to make him smile. She showed him where to place his hands on the paper, to make sure his fingers were not attached to the box, then smoothed her own hands over the box to signal they were done with that particular gift.
He knew very little about the gifts she bought, though he did recognize books and the occasional ceedee. He also recognized them when she put them in to play. They listened to ceedees while they worked. Mikal didn't understand any of the words, but he liked the harmony. He liked listening to Meg's music, whether they were here or in that strange wagon she drove. They only went out once (much to his relief and dismay. . .relief because he was exhausted by the time they returned to the building, and dismay because he was so terribly exhausted. He should not be so blasted exhausted while riding in that odd wagon. . .he wasn't doing anything, after all!
There were other things that he either didn't like or didn't appreciate. On one hand, while he very much liked the taste of peetza, he was not at all fond of the way it made him feel. He had been very ill after he had eaten it, and his gut had ached for several days afterward. For reasons he couldn't name, he kept telling Meg that he was sorry after it happened. Perhaps because she was taking care of him, when she should have been eating herself. . .perhaps because she looked so very worried about him. Either way, it would be some time before he ate peetza again.
That little experience also taught him that he would much rather eat bland food that had no taste whatsoever than go through what he did with peetza a second time. Before the peetza incident, he had started chafing at the food Meg gave him. Not again. She proved beyond any question that she knew what she was doing. He would question her no further, not while he was still recovering. There were too many circles under her dark eyes, and he would not contribute to worrying her further. He didn't like the way he felt after he ate peetza, and he didn't like worrying Megan.
Returning his attention to the things he did like. . . Mikal also enjoyed listening to Meg sing. She did that on occasion, singing along lustily with songs. He didn't understand a word she was saying, and Gavin blushed when he asked him. Perhaps it was best not to know, though none of them sounded like tavern songs. Certainly no drinking songs he ever heard sounded like that. He had no idea how he knew that. . .he just did. And slowly, he was coming to accept that. There were still flashes of that mysterious white city and people whom his heart recognized even if his mind didn't, but. . .that white city was growing less and less real. The flashes of people's faces were growing less clear, less real. What was real to him was the dark-haired young woman sitting across from him, legs tucked neatly under her body as she read. What was real was Gavin, Ronan, Layna, and Kristin.
What was real were Meg and Kristin's parents, Nico, and Nico's owner, Mistress Johanna. He saw Kristin nearly every day. . .when Gavin wasn't there, Kristin was. She looked after him while Meg was at work. When Kristin was here, she taught him words in English, just as Gavin did. But where Gavin taught him using their language and the teevee, she began teaching him something called the 'al-fa-bit.' It took him just a few minutes to realize she was teaching him letters. That actually took less time, but he was still learning what the words meant. She would sometimes read to him, as she did before. It didn't matter that he didn't understand a word she was saying. He just liked hearing her voice. And, of course, they watched teevee.
Where Gavin liked Croket and Tubs, and Mikal and Kit, however, Kristin liked rather strange things. It seemed to be about women talking, most of the time. When the women weren't talking, they were often shown in bed with men. (Usually) Mikal had no idea what the plays were about, or why Kristin liked them. It made him wish he could genuinely read in English, so he had something to do other than watch the teevee or sleep. He loved spending time with Kristin, just as he loved spending time with Meg and with Gavin. . .he just didn't think much of the things she watched. He saw no point in the plays she watched on the teevee.
There were also times when Layna came over. She didn't stay as long, and while she was there, Mikal often found himself sleeping. He could watch whatever he wished, but the soft conversations between the two boon companions often lulled him to sleep. They made him feel safe, he realized. When they talked, he felt as if he was a child again, listening to his parents talk. Did something like that ever happen? He didn't remember. But for him to know about it, he had to have experienced it. . .wasn't that correct?
However, he tried to avoid thinking about that too much, as it caused too much pain. It reminded him of everything he couldn't remember, and everything he must have lost. And he must have lost something, more than just his memory? Had he not had parents, perhaps even a brother? That. . .seemed right. A brother. A younger brother. What had become of him? What had become of his parents, of the people not here? Following those thoughts could only lead to madness. . .tears, at best. His abdomen still ached terribly, though more than a fortnight had passed since his arrival at Meg's home.
The pain wasn't as intense as it had been, but he still tired quickly and still hurt. He had only to remember their only outing so far (aside from eating with her mother and father), to comprehend that. He'd been so tired by the time they returned home from that incredibly crowded marketplace, he'd slept for the rest of the day, rousing just long enough to eat dinner, then slept until midmorning the following day. Not an experience he cared to repeat. He would recover, but it would take time to heal. He would heal and find a way to repay Meg for her kindness and compassion to him. He would find a purpose, even if he never remembered his true name. And he would be grateful for his life, for something inside told him that he was fortunate indeed to be alive.