Writer's Note: Thank you for your comments! (And for your comments on my other stories!) I love reading your theories and thoughts, and your kind words are keeping me motivated while I struggle with Coming Home. :)

Chapter Fourteen

Another car drove past, its tyres sloshing through the snow sludge that covered the street, leaving behind ridged trenches of murky grey between the banks of pristine white that ran along the middle of each lane, clumped around the wheels of parked cars and hugged exposed stretches of the kerb. The sky hung in a dull greyish-black haze, while the street lamps and house windows bled out harsh yellow and white light that made the night seem colder somehow.

Henry had arrived maybe half an hour or so ago, but had yet to muster the strength to climb out of the car, collect his duffle bag from the backseat and trudge through the slush to his parents' front door. Instead, he sat in the driver's seat, the chill slowly seeping into his finger and toes.

His Ink had exhausted itself from howling over the past three days and had slumped into the warmth of his right armpit. Occasionally, it would let out a whimper or a whine, as if to remind him of its misery—like he could forget. Its mood probably wasn't helped by the scent of lemongrass that lingered in the car, nor by the sight of the takeaway coffee cup that Elizabeth had wedged into the pocket of the passenger-side door when he'd driven her back from the lake that day.

He wished he could rewind.

He wished he could go back and handle things differently.

But then again, what would he do?

He'd replayed their interaction in the library at least a hundred times, and he still couldn't see how he was supposed to respond. He'd never hidden his involvement with ROTC from her. He hadn't lied to her—or at least not in a way that any rational person would define 'lie'. Maybe he could have told her about his plans for the Marines earlier, but she'd never been interested in finding out more about him, it wasn't like they had regular conversations beyond him asking her questions, and it wasn't something that had ever crossed his mind. Even when he promised her that she wouldn't lose him, that he would never leave her, he didn't think he needed to add the proviso that yes, he was human, so one day he would die. Surely that bit was implied.

He tried to be mad at her for being so unreasonable, her behaviour towards him stepping over into what he would consider unfair, but whatever anger he mustered quickly faded away into a bitter ache that strummed through his chest, a minor chord as plaintive as the Ink puppy's whine.

He missed her. But more than that, he missed the future together they would now never have.

Maybe he should have tried harder to talk to her, maybe he should have tried to work through those fears with her, maybe he should have told her what their life together could be like, but he had been too shocked and hurt and reactive at the time, and he knew there was no way he could ever win if she only wanted to be with him so long as he never died.

A gust swept across the street and buffeted the car, causing it to rock from side to side. His gaze drifted towards the porch of his parents' house. Going home was hard enough at the best of times, but if his family (his mother) were to see his Ink, it would no doubt lead to an inquisition, and how was he supposed to explain that yes, he'd met his soulmate; but no, he hadn't brought her home; and unfortunately, the last time he'd spoken to her and told her that he loved her, she'd said that the one night they'd spent together had been a mistake and she never wanted to see him again?

If God was trying to punish him for dating For Nows, He'd more than made His point.

Henry's breath fogged in front of him as he sighed.

All he had to do was make it through the next few days—without any impromptu appearances from his Ink, of course—and once Christmas had passed, he could make an excuse and head back to campus, and hopefully by then Elizabeth would have calmed down enough to at least talk.

He clutched the door handle, popped open the door with a clunk, and the icy air rushed in.

Maybe he should have learnt to control his Ink like Elizabeth had, but then again, he'd never wanted to hide his feelings for her or what she meant to him.

oOoOo

The next few days he spent predominantly in his bedroom. Fortunately, retreating there to study was nothing new, so it didn't arouse any suspicion, and given that it was winter and his father felt that keeping the house a single degree warmer than sixty was a luxury, covering his skin with long sleeves didn't seem odd. Of course, there were times when he had no choice but to venture out of his room—meals mainly, and church—but the Ink puppy seemed a little uncertain about his family (he didn't blame it), so it took to hiding beneath the collar of his shirt whenever he was around them, the only exception being when it sneaked a peek at his parents' Inks from time to time. Maybe it was curious how their Inks, a tawny-coloured weasel and a brown rat, could pass between his parents with such ease when it couldn't step so much as one paw onto Elizabeth. Maybe it was envious of them for being with their soulmate when it was not.

The time was nearing noon when a rap-tap-tap shook through Henry's door, swiftly followed by the rattle of the handle and the scrape of the lower edge of the wood across the carpet as the door arced open. The Ink puppy had been lying somewhat forlornly across the tendons on the back of his hand, its eyes wide and glossy, its chin rested between its paws, but at the sound, it scrambled to its feet and scuttled away beneath the sleeve of his flannel shirt.

"That's more than enough studying for today," his mother said as she bustled into the room. She strode over to where he sat at the small desk next to the window that overlooked the snow-laden backyard, reached around him, and snapped shut the textbook he'd been pretending to read.

He opened his mouth, ready to protest.

But she cut him off with a stern look. "It's Christmas. You can spend a little time with the family. Especially seeing as I know you'll be coming up with some urgent excuse as to why you need to head back to Virginia tomorrow."

His mouth hung open for a long second, his tongue poised.

Then he pursed his lips.

That was precisely what he'd been intending to do, but he didn't want to admit it.

"Dinner'll be ready at two," she said as she turned and bustled out again. "You can either help me and the girls in the kitchen, or you can sit and watch whatever your father and brother are watching, but no more hiding in this room." Her voice faded away along the landing.

Henry paused a moment while the creak, creak, creak of his mother's footsteps heading down the stairs quietened until they could no longer be heard over the drone of the television. He was tempted to open the textbook and start 'reading' again, but he had no doubt that his mother would return five minutes later and forcibly remove him from the room, and besides, maybe being around the others would help take his mind off Elizabeth for a while, so he braced his hands against the desk and eased to his feet, the legs of the chair scuffing over the carpet behind him.

He trudged down the stairs, one hand running along the rough oak of the bannister. The aroma of roast turkey drifted out from the kitchen and weaved its way throughout the house. He'd thought about calling Elizabeth several times. (Several times as in the thought had crossed his mind several times, not several times as in calling her repeatedly.) (Again.) He wanted to see how she was doing, to wish her a merry Christmas and to let her know he was thinking of her, but the telephone was in the living room, where someone was always around to listen in, and he didn't know whether she was at her apartment or not, and even if she was, there was a good chance she would ignore him.

The fact that she'd come around to the idea of tutoring offered him a glimmer of hope, but at the same time he knew that this was different. Back then, she'd needed his help so she'd tolerated being around him. Now…now, he was the problem: the one she feared she would love and lose and who would cause her to hurt again. Though he definitely didn't want her to suffer, part of him hoped that maybe being without him would cause her as much misery as being without her caused him. Maybe then she'd come around to the idea of being with him.

He grabbed himself a bottle of beer from the refrigerator and then took a seat at the end of the couch. Shane lounged at the opposite end, his father in the armchair, both staring at the screen. Henry stared at the screen too, though he didn't have a clue what they were watching. He wasn't concentrating, but instead tuning in to the prickle of his Ink as it crept up his arm to its vantage point beneath his collar and still debating whether or not to call Elizabeth.

oOoOo

They were in the middle of Christmas dinner when it happened.

The Ink puppy had managed to stay out of view while Henry stared at the television and then later set the table. On the couple of occasions when it did peek out, no one noticed and he was able to shoo it back beneath his shirt without incident. However, when he reached across the dining table during dinner to pass Erin the bowl of butter-roasted potatoes, the Ink puppy lolloped out from beneath the cuff of his sleeve, onto the back of his hand, and then stopped and sniffed at the bowl.

"Thank—" Erin began. But then she caught sight of the Ink puppy and her eyes widened, a flash of alarm lighting their whites; she stared at the Ink, the rest of the phrase forgotten.

Henry's gaze darted to the back of his hand, and at the realisation, his eyes widened with his own panic. He looked to Erin again and shook his head, silently begging her not to say anything.

But it was too late.

"Your Ink!" she practically squealed. "You met your soulmate!"

The buzz of conversation stopped dead, and the silence that flooded in was as thick as the fog of oven-heat that still hung in the air.

Everyone looked to Henry.

Then their gazes drifted to the back of his hand.

The Ink puppy continued sniffing at the bowl of roast potatoes, oblivious. Then, perhaps sensing everyone's gazes on it, it stopped and craned its neck around, looking back.

A second later, it shrank down, lowering itself as much as possible, as if that might somehow make it invisible, and then with its tail between its legs, it scurried away beneath his sleeve once more.

Everyone turned their gazes on Henry.

But before anybody could say anything, Henry pushed himself up from his seat, so sharply that the chair legs screeched across the vinyl flooring, strode out of the kitchen, past the tattered couches and armchairs of the living room, and up the stairs to his bedroom.

Was it childish? For sure. But he wasn't about to sit there and wait for their ridicule.

oOoOo

"I hope you didn't walk out on your soulmate like that."

Henry sat hunched the edge of the bed, facing towards the window, his head in his hands. The Ink puppy now hid on his lower back; the skin around it tingled as it quivered. At his mother's voice coming from the doorway, he scrubbed his face—a silent groan. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Would you rather I sent your father up instead?"

Henry stayed silent. Why was it that whenever he came home, his family did their utmost to make him feel like he was ten years old again?

The mattress dipped beside him as his mother took a seat. She folded her hands over her knees and twisted to face him. "How long were you planning on keeping it a secret?"

Henry raked one hand through his hair, and then copied her stance. He tried to sound casual, but his tone was more than a little bitter. "What? That I met my soulmate, found everything I want and need, only for her to tell me she'd rather spend the rest of her life alone than be with me?"

His mother stared at him for an age. It felt like she was analysing each word he'd said one by one, turning them over and tasting them with her mind.

Then her gaze narrowed on him. "What did you do to her?"

"I didn't do anything to her!" His voice shot up.

"You'd think with all your experience with For Nows—"

"Do we really have to go back to that?"

"Is that the problem? She knows that you were unfaithful to her?"

"I wasn't unfaithful. People date For Nows. And she doesn't care about that."

She shook her head as her gaze sailed out towards the fogged window. "Well, you must have done something to upset her, otherwise I don't see why she wouldn't want to be with you."

With the edge of his thumbnail, he scratched at the denim over his knee, as though trying to scrape away a stain, though there were none. "Not everyone wants to be with their soulmate."

"So she's taken up with some For Now? Is that it?"

"No." His voice strained. "And will you quit going on about For Nows?"

His mother humphed. At least half their conversations since he moved away from home must have centred on his decision to date For Nows. "Then why doesn't she want to be with you?"

Henry's chin dipped and he shook his head. His tone softened once more. "She lost people that she loves and she doesn't want to go through that again."

"So her plan is to be alone?" His mother's words were filled with so much skepticism that he didn't need to face her to see the incredulous look she gave him.

"Yes."

There was a long silence. The chink of knife edges striking plates, the murmur of voices, and the drone of the television still switched on in the background drifted up the stairs.

"Have you tried talking to her?" his mother asked.

"Of course I tried talking to her—" His voice strained again. "—and we seemed to be getting somewhere, until she found out that I'm in the Marines and said she never wanted to see me again."

"Your father warned you about joining the Marines."

"He lectured me on how taxes ought to be put to better use than funding the military—somewhere in the middle of his speech on why college was a waste of time and money and how I think I'm so much better than everyone else because I want an education. He certainly didn't tell me that my soulmate wouldn't want to be with me because I'm serving my country."

"Maybe you don't have to serve in the military."

He met her with a hard look—well, the hardest look he could give his mother. "You know that's not an option." He paused a second, holding her gaze. Then he turned away again and stared at the wall next to the window, with all its framed certificates, a shrine to his adolescence, as though he could see through the plaster and bricks and peer into the distance. "And it probably wouldn't help anyway. There are a million ways I could die, and that would only eliminate one of them."

"Maybe she needs to talk to a professional," his mother muttered.

She wasn't wrong to suggest that Elizabeth's fear might be a touch pathological, but given what Elizabeth had told him the night of the party, he doubted she'd want to speak to a therapist—and she certainly wouldn't appreciate the suggestion.

He returned his attention to the denim that stretched over his knees, his head bowed slightly. "She's been through a lot. She's just trying to protect herself."

There was a pause.

His mother's gaze prickled against his cheek; it was intense enough that it felt like his Ink had crept out from hiding again—though, there was no real reason for him to worry about that anymore.

"Why don't you tell me about her?" she suggested eventually.

Henry's jaw tensed, like he was preparing for a cringe.

Did he really want to talk about the woman he loved with his mother?

Then again, admitting that the woman he loved wanted nothing to do with him was probably the worst of it. And anyway, she was hardly going to take 'no' for an answer.

As if on cue, she nudged her knee against his. "Tell me. What's she like?"

"Does it matter?"

"She's your soulmate, of course it matters."

He paused a moment, one last show of resistance. Then he let out a long sigh and scruffed his hand through his hair.

He began.

At first, he offered up basic information, which made it sound more like he was reciting a missing persons ad or job application form than describing the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, but soon he found himself telling her about Elizabeth's laugh—the one that came with a little snort at the beginning and made her cheeks pinken—her dry sense of humour and her penchant for teasing him, her intelligence and the way she saw things differently to anyone he'd ever met before, how she made him feel both flustered and emboldened, how she fascinated him and how he could never tire of talking to her. Though his thoughts were disorganised, flitting and meandering, one thing was certain: He couldn't give up on her, he couldn't give up on them.

"Maybe I should call her and try and talk to her," he said, "or maybe I should go see her."

He looked to his mother as though she had all the answers, even though he was old enough now to know that parents were as human and clueless as everyone else.

His mother shook her head. "You aren't going to convince her to love you or to be with you; that's a realisation she needs to come to on her own." She stilled. Her gaze turned distant. A moment later, she tilted her head to one side and added, "Possibly with the help of a therapist."

Henry ignored that last comment. "So I do nothing?"

"You give her the space and time that she needs."

"What if that's not enough?"

She placed her hand atop his where it rested over his knee and gave a gentle squeeze along with a stiff smile. "Have faith and be patient. She's your soulmate. She'll come back to you."

He huffed. Faith and patience—of course…

But maybe if he'd been patient in the first place, maybe if he'd suggested that he and Elizabeth take things slow rather than jumping straight into bed, they would be together now.

"Come downstairs." His mother squeezed his hand again. "I didn't spend hours slaving away in that kitchen just for dinner to go cold." She patted his thigh and pushed herself up from the bed.

But Henry remained seated. He stared at the floor in front of him. "I'm not hungry."

"No one will say a word about your Ink if you don't want them to."

He hesitated. His father and Maureen would love nothing more than to point out his failings—the fact that he'd managed to drive away his soulmate would entertain them no end—but despite how much his mother went on about his choices, like college and the Marines and For Nows, he knew that he could count on her to stick up for him.

She gestured as though ushering him towards the door. "Come along now."

He paused a moment longer, and then eased up from the edge of the mattress and let her lead him from the bedroom, out into the shadows of the landing.

"I think you should spend the rest of the holidays here." She spoke over her shoulder as they headed towards the top of the stairs. "It won't do you any good, pining alone in that apartment."

oOoOo

Elizabeth lay on her back on the couch in Aunt Joan's apartment, facing the window. Outside, snow flakes filtered down to join the delicate blanket that covered the sidewalks and streets below. It made the world seem quieter somehow. Maybe there was a scientific reason for that, the layer of powder acting like an absorber and dampening the waves of sound, or maybe it was because it reminded her that while everyone else was huddled inside with their families, sheltering from the cold and swapping presents and jokes, she—once again—was alone.

Well, not quite alone.

The Ink kitten had curled up on the skin of her throat, and it stared towards the window ledge, possibly watching the snow, but more likely watching the phone.

She found her gaze occasionally drifting towards the phone too, and the glowing red 'zero' of the answering machine, though there was no reason why it should. She wasn't expecting any calls. She didn't want any calls. She'd told Henry she never wanted to see him again—and she meant it.

So why did she miss him? And why did some small part of her hope he might call?

The Ink kitten let out a silent half-mewl, as though making the whole sound would take more energy than it could muster. For the first couple of days after she'd brushed off Henry in the library, it had spent most of its waking hours yowling at her and digging its claws into her skin—perhaps its idea of punishment for the way she'd treated him—but since then it had been quieter and more lethargic than usual, traipsing around before collapsing and lying motionless on its side for a while and then hauling itself to its feet and beginning its aimless wandering again.

Maybe it was depressed.

Did kittens get depressed?

Did Inks get depressed?

Hopefully it would perk up again soon; the grey mood that lumbered around with it, like its own personal rain cloud, was dampening her mood too.

"It's okay," she told it in a murmur. "You still have me."

The Ink kitten yowled so hard that she jumped—"Jesus."—causing the popcorn to leap out of the foil bag that rested on her stomach and spill onto her chest and tumble down onto the couch.

Clearly it wasn't a fan of that thought.

She strained to lift her head from the cushion and then plucked up the popcorn two pieces at a time and stuffed them into her mouth. The salt tingled on her tongue. She didn't know how she ought to feel about the fact that her Ink preferred Henry to her. To be honest, she preferred Henry to herself right then.

She could still feel the bump of his lips against the top of her head as he kissed her goodbye, and she could still hear the mix of hurt and desperation in his voice as he murmured, I love you. You hear me? I love you. She could still smell his scent, as warm and as comforting as spice, and the mix of sweat and sex, and she could still taste his tongue, intoxicating against her own.

Those feelings would fade with time, she told herself.

But part of her didn't want them to.

He would be in Pittsburgh right now, surrounded by his family and eating a proper meal—not resorting to popcorn because anything that required heating was beyond her culinary skillset and all the usual takeout joints were closed. (She'd like to say a bag of popcorn was the most dismal Christmas dinner she'd ever subjected herself to, but the year before, when she'd been snowed in at Houghton Hall, she'd ended up eating a box of stale Dixies Drumstick Snack Crackers washed down with some rather questionable apple juice.)

She tried to picture what their dinner would be like—people chatting and laughing, jaunty music playing in the background, the warmth of loved ones gathered together, real food—but the image was fuzzy. She didn't know anything about his family, other than that his parents were soulmates. Did he have siblings? For some reason, she assumed so; though, he'd never told her about them if he did. But, once again, maybe that was because she hadn't asked—hadn't given him a chance. She'd been so set on keeping him at a distance that she'd never gotten to know him.

And yet she'd slept with him. A stranger.

He wasn't really a stranger, though. Somehow it felt like she knew him, the real him that lay beneath all the facts and history and details, that sense of a person, his soul.

She knew how he was, without knowing why he was. But was that enough?

She tried to force her thoughts away from him—she was supposed to be putting him and whatever feelings she had for him behind her, after all—but she found her mind drifting beyond the present and back to Christmases past instead.

No specific memory came to her, but instead waves of images that washed over her, building from a single feeling to an immersive crescendo, before fading away and giving rise to something new: the smell of horsehair and the warmth of a snort as Maisie nuzzled against her for the first time, her and Will's groans of 'gross' as their parents kissed beneath a sprig of bright green mistletoe, the taste of hot chocolate with whipped cream and cinnamon and the richness of her mother's nut roast, the sound of logs crackling and spitting in the hearth and the flames that mesmerised her with the way they flickered and danced, her father telling silly jokes that made her and Will laugh while their mother tutted to herself (though a smile crept through, too)…

Henry had said, Sometimes remembering the good moments can help, and as she lost herself in those memories, a warmth spread through her body, starting in her chest—not a physical warmth, but an emotional warmth, that indefinable feeling called home—and it made her feel a little less alone.

But as her mind slowly drew back to the silence of the apartment, that feeling ebbed, and she remembered that what she'd said, It can also remind you of what you no longer have, was also true.

An ache of loss rippled through her, like an echo spreading through a dark cavern.

Would it have been easier if she didn't have happy memories of her parents? Would the loss not have hit her so hard?

Maybe.

But she wouldn't give up those memories even if she could.

The skies outside faded from pale grey to deep blue. Elizabeth still lay on the couch, watching the snow falling beyond the telephone. By the time she'd come to accept that she'd been waiting all day for Henry to call, it had also struck her that he wasn't even thinking about her, not after how she'd treated him, and perhaps that was best for both of them.

She eased up from the couch, her muscles stiff and straining against each movement after having been inactive for so long. Then she tugged on her hiking boots and wrapped herself in her duffle coat and scarf, collected the sealed envelope that contained her application forms from the desk-cum-dining-table, and left the apartment.

Time to move on.