Where Holly awoke was considerably more cushy than the tiled bathroom floor she'd fallen asleep on. She opened her eyes slowly, indulging them in the time to adjust to the morning light, and saw the top canopy of her four-poster bed above her. She smiled and stretched, reaching up to press the heel of her hand into the wall above her head. Her gaze fell onto a slumped-over, raven-haired form sitting with his head in his arms on the bed.
Her arm snapped back into their normal position and she sat bolt upright. What was he doing here? Why was he in her room? Her bedroom, lying in her bed? Well, okay, half-lying. Still, it was way beyond enough to make her extremely uncomfortable. Especially when she took note of the fact that she was in her underwear.
Making as little disruption as possible, she shimmied out from under the covers and crept towards her closet, where she knew a bathrobe awaited her. She made it there, grabbed the doorknob cautiously, pulled…
…and flinched as it creaked loudly. A glance over at Artemis told her that she'd woken him, and she whipped the door the rest of the way open and threw herself behind its shelter, stuffing her arms into the white plushiness of the robe and tying it securely around her waist. Finished and now at least clothed somewhat, she stepped outside the closet. Artemis's eyes landed on her at once.
"How are you?" he asked blearily, rubbing at his eyes and then kneading the muscles in his neck.
"Fine," she said, shutting the door behind her.
There was a pause, and then Artemis looked back up at her. "Sorry, what was that?"
"I'm fine," she reiterated, louder this time.
He winced. "I heard you," he mumbled, pushing himself to his feet slowly, "I just… forgot." He shook his head and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Sorry."
Her brow creased as she watched him support himself against one of her bed's slender wooden pillars. 'Dishevelled' didn't even begin to cover how he looked, and she couldn't help but feel badly for him. How much sleep had he gotten last night? Presuming that it was him who had brought her to her bed, he would have had to excuse himself from the guests, find her, and then carry her—no small feat at her current size.
"You okay?" she asked unnecessarily. He was not okay.
"Yeah," he nodded and turned away, "Just tired." She bit her lip guiltily. "You sure you're okay?"
"Yeah," she said softly, fiddling with her sash. "Yeah, I'm good."
"Good," he muttered, "What happened last night? You were so pale—I… I was worried."
He was worried? She'd known that he would be at least a little (hopefully), but it was kind of nice to hear it from him. It was almost like a compliment, in its own way.
"Did you… did you manage to get any sleep?" Why was this whole thing so awkward? Why was she scared of him seeing her in her underwear? Why was she stuttering, for Frond's sake?
"Not really," he said honestly. "I think I did, just for a few minutes before I woke up. I had to make sure you weren't going to throw up again while you were lying down. You know, choking and all that."
She nodded again, touched by his kindest. Hesitantly—there was that shyness again—she took the five steps to him and set a light hand on his shoulder. "Thank you," she whispered. He turned, just a little, his eyes looking first at her hand and then at her face. He offered a slight smile and, after another moment of silence, she set her other hand on his shoulder and let them slip downwards, under his arms, and around his chest, meeting in the middle and clasping together, enfolding him in a hug as she laid her cheek against the wrinkled fabric of his suit's undershirt.
He seemed startled by the contact but relaxed quickly, putting his hand over both of hers. She sighed quietly, closing her eyes. It was awfully tempting to kiss him—all she had to do was tilt her head a little and stand on tiptoes and she could reach his neck—but she wasn't willing to risk her dignity should it turn out that he no long felt anything romantic for her.
But, then, he slowly started to turn in her arms, and she found herself staring up at him. Not of her own accord, she realized she was stretching toward him, her chin lifted and her heels rising off the floor, and he wasn't backing away. In fact, he was doing anything but that. His hand, so large in comparison to hers, was at the base of her skull, bringing her ever closer until, just barely, their lips brushed briefly. Oh so briefly.
Holly opened her mouth, not quite touching him but wanting to be, and passed her lips over his again…
And realized what was happening, what she was doing, and all the awkwardness of the moments before she'd touched him came rushing back. She pulled away from him as though he was a live wire, hoping the searing embarrassment she felt wasn't on her face. No, he hadn't resisted, no, he didn't seem to hate her, no, he didn't seem to be embarrassed, yes, he had pulled her to him. So why was she so scared that he had no feelings for her?
She wanted to apologize, to shout that she was sorry and then get the hell out of there, but something was keeping her from opening her mouth. A moment later, as she backed toward the wall in the general direction of the door, she realized she had her fingers on her lips and yanked her hand back to her side. Instead, she pressed her lips together between her teeth and turned, bare feet flying over the marble floor as she made her escape.
"Holly!" Artemis called after her, giving chase and quickly catching her—quite literally. As she went through the doorway, her foot caught on the door and she pitched forward, flinging out her arms reflexively for a harsh impact that didn't come. He caught her with apparent ease and returned her gallantly to her feet. "Are you alright?"
"Yeah," she said. Hadn't they had this conversation just minutes ago? Granted, it was for a different worry…
"Why are you running?" he asked, his now-wide-awake eyes confused.
"I'm not running," she pointed out, making a motion at her still feet.
"Holly…" he sighed. "You know what I was referring to."
"Yes, I do," she returned and artfully dodged the inquiry, "but I've already answered the question, and a question only gets one answer, or else all the other questions would feel hard done by, wouldn't they?" Well, that was witty. What's next, you going to pull a rodent out of a hat to distract him while you make a break for it? Why are you running, Holly? Ignoring her inner voice, she pulled her arm out of his hand and walked away.
"We can forget that even happened," he called after her, "though I don't see why we should." She stopped. "Why are you so afraid to touch me?"
She turned, hands folded across her chest defensively. "I'm not—"
"You are," he interrupted, "I can see it every time you come near me. It's as if you think I'm going to hurt you. I'm not. It's me, Holly." He stepped toward her, stopping just a foot from her, and slowly put a hand to her cheek. She closed her eyes and exhaled deeply, struggling against her confused feelings. Half of her wanted to badly to throw her arms around him, to kiss him, to take him back though that bedroom door… while the other half prompted memories of the same hand, touching her cheek tenderly, a hundred years ago. That stirred guilt that she had feelings for this newcomer, this clone, this… this imitation, and when that came up against the desire for said copy, it was like two fronts meeting. A storm lurked overhead.
So much for her tabula rasa.
But then again, he wasn't just a clone. He was more than that, wasn't he? He wasn't just an imitation of an original. The first Artemis would never have acted as this one did, never would've said or done some of the things he'd done, so could she really dismiss him as a copy?
That taken into consideration, she back away to get his hand off her and said, "Yeah, it is you. It's you, not him, isn't it?" She shook her head and continued while he watched, looking pained for her tormented expression, "I don't know. I don't know anything! He's my husband, and I'm having your baby?"
"You still love him." It was a question buried shallowly within a defeated statement.
"No!" she put a hand over her right eye, pulling down and away as if to drag away imaginary tears, "I mean… I don't think—no. No, I don't love him, not anymore. But—" Now, the hand wiped away real tears as they bubbled up. "I miss him. I miss him!" The other hand joined its counterpart on the opposite eye and its owner barely managed to dodge a sob with a harsh breath.
The arms that wrapped around her were not, surprisingly, horrible. They were familiar, and when that familiarity was often torturous, for now, they comforted and they held her fast to a warm, solid chest, with a warm, solid heart beating inside it. She put her forehead against that chest, feeling the heartbeat on her skin, and surrendered.
The servant who happened to be bringing new towels for Holly's bathroom was greeted with a rather inappropriate sight for a servant to see. The young Master and his 'guest' were against the wall, their arms around each other, without an inch of space for the Holy Ghost between them.
It was not, of course, as the servant perceived, but the poor girl's mistake can be excused as she only had a passing glimpse of the two, though that was more than she should have seen, because just ten minutes later, the entire laundry staff knew that young Master Ortega and Miss Holly had been making out in the hallway, in plain view for all the world. How indecent!
Okay, short chapter. But I'm leaving tomorrow for another holiday and I won't be back for a month. So, isn't it better to have it now (and short), than in a month? Right? Anyway, I didn't have time to read it over (sorries), so please pardon my mistakes. I hope I didn't call Holly a he again. I did that in chapter ten or something like that, as a friend pointed out to me. Eheheh. Anyways, see you all in a month!