Gaby, Patrick, Scott, Jimmy Duran, and any others you don't recognize are mine.
Violet is... ?
Rated PG-13 : Harsh language; violence; sexual content.
Reviews are appreciated, please take a moment to leave one.
Eric looked up, alarmed, as he heard a yelp and a crash from the next room. In a moment he was off the ladder and through the doorway, stopping abruptly at the sight that met his eyes.
Gaby was on the floor, on her hands and knees, obviously picking herself up after a fall. A large can of paint was overturned in front of her. With a curse she grabbed it, but not before most of it had spilled, spreading slowly over the plastic drop cloth laid over the floor.
"Shit! Oh, crap!" she exclaimed. Hastily she picked up a brush and started ineffectively to try to shovel paint back in the can. Eric couldn't help it, she was half covered with paint, and looked so grim… He burst out laughing.
"Very funny, laughing boy. Why don't you help, before you get the rest of the can in your face?"
"Sorry… You just look so funny…" He managed to tone it down to a chuckle as he knelt next to her. "Here. If we both pick up the plastic, we can pour it back." Between them, they got most of the paint back in the can. "What happened?" Eric asked.
"Oh, I slipped," she said in an irritated tone. "All this paint, and the plastic…"
"You okay?"
"Yeah." She looked up at him, a smile beginning to lift her face. "Some nerve, laughing at me." With a sudden move, she stroked the paintbrush over his nose.
"Hey!" He began to laugh again, with her joining in this time, as he wiped paint from his nose, only succeeding in getting it over the rest of his face.
"Don't try to distract me. Let's see what kind of progress you're making." Eric looked around the room. It hardly looked like the same small, dingy kitchen he had been living with for the last two and a half years.
He had been lucky, damage from the fire Norman had started had been confined almost completely to the outside of the house. The basic structure was unharmed, and insurance had paid for most of the new siding, new windows, and resurfacing of the roof.
Inside had been a problem too, even after the smell had faded; there was damage to the paint and some of the furniture, partly from the smoke and partly from the water that had sprayed in through broken windows as the firefighters did their job. New furniture was on the way, and Gaby had suggested -- insisted, really -- that they repaint the entire house. Ever frugal, Eric had wanted to do it himself, and she had joined in enthusiastically, claiming that they could do at least as good a job as a hired painter.
And now here he was, spending most of his days off, like today, doing something as ordinary and domestic as painting walls. Surprisingly, he had come to enjoy it, the mindless, repetitive task soothing some of his tensions, the beginnings of pride in his home making an unfamiliar appearance in his heart. He had wondered if he had made a mistake by buying the house a year ago, especially when it was damaged, but now he was glad he had done it.
It was a lot of work, he reflected, but it was beginning to be worth it. Now almost completely covered in a very pale yellow, the kitchen seemed larger, warmer, and infinitely more cheerful than before. "Not bad," he murmured.
"Not bad? It's great! Now I want to see how you're doing in the living room."
Gaby had chosen a color that looked like sand to him for this room. At first he had been skeptical, but he had to admit it looked good, adding warmth and a softer quality than the plain white he had initially wanted.
"So? What do you think?" he asked.
"Not bad." She grinned at him. "At this rate, you could move back in pretty soon."
"Yeah, I guess so." Eric watched her smile again and turn to go back into the kitchen, caught off-guard by disappointment when she showed no sign of regret.
Just about five months that they had been living together, counting the time he had spent as her live-in bodyguard. At times he would have preferred to be alone, and he suspected she had sometimes felt the same way. It had taken some adjustment and a few compromises, but it had turned out well. The thought of it ending was starting to bother him. A lot.
But he had to be careful. No need to rush into anything, after all, and good reasons not to. They had been thrown together out of necessity, because she needed his protection. Now, with Norman presumed dead, that was no longer true, and things might change. Don't risk it, the darker side of his mind insisted. You trusted Wes, and look what happened. What makes you think Gaby is any different?
Wes got out of his car, his heart already starting to pound. The farmhouse loomed in front of him, his imagination already picturing Patrick and Scott turning him away, refusing to let him see Violet, already hearing the excuses they'd make. But nothing was going to stop him. With a deep breath he marched up to the door, rehearsing what he was going to say. He didn't get the chance. Even as he raised his hand to knock, the door swung open.
"Violet!" he exclaimed.
"Mr. Collins." She smiled at him, a little tentatively. "I -- I was looking out the window…"
"And you saw me. I'm glad." Wes forcibly restrained the way his heart was surging, and returned her smile. "You're the one I came to see."
"Really?"
"Really." He glanced around, reluctant to go inside, where the others would be likely to interrupt them. "Could you come out and talk with me?"
"Well…" She looked uncertain.
"Please. I promise not to kidnap you."
She giggled, raising a hand to her mouth. "Maybe just for a few minutes. But I'm not supposed to go far from the house."
"No problem. We can just walk around to the back."
They walked together in silence, Wes watching her out of the corner of his eye, trying not to let her notice. She glanced up, caught him, and smiled. He found himself smiling back, but with a pang in his heart. She seemed so much like a child, innocent and vulnerable, very different from the strong, determined, very adult woman he remembered. Like Jen when she was a little girl, maybe. He found himself wondering what she had been like then, long before they had met, before her experiences in Time Force had hardened her. But she had always had a soft side, too, playful even, with him…
"What do you want to talk about?" She was watching him, head tilted.
With a start, he realized they were in the back, sitting on an old wooden bench that looked hand-made. He glanced around, seeing the back yard looking as uncared-for as the front, more fields stretching into the distance, uncultivated, the whole view speaking of disuse and neglect.
"I guess you don't do any real farming here," he said, following his thoughts, wanting just to make conversation for the moment.
"I want to have a garden." She pointed towards the house. "Scott said I could plant one, over there. I've been pulling up weeds. He's supposed to get me some seeds."
"What are you going to grow?"
She shrugged lightly. "Scott says tomatoes and stuff would be useful. But I want flowers."
"Maybe you could come to my house sometime. We have a beautiful flower garden." He watched her carefully and added, "You -- I mean Jen -- used to love it."
She held his eyes, smiling slightly. "What was she like?" she asked. "If you don't mind talking about her."
"I don't mind." He sighed. "She was pretty. But you know that, just from looking in the mirror."
Violet giggled. "I know what she looked like. I mean, what was she like? On the inside?"
"Strong. Tough, I guess. She could be intense. Sometimes people thought she was hard, but I thought -- she believed in what she did, enough to stand up for it. Loyal, sweet, kind… Loving, when she felt close to someone…" He stopped, trying to control his voice.
"Did you love her very much?"
"Yes. Very much."
"Were you going to get married?"
"Yes…" He took a deep breath, staring blindly into the distance.
"I'm sorry." She startled him with a gentle touch on his arm, quickly withdrawn. "I shouldn't have asked."
"No, it's all right. That's what I wanted to talk to you about, actually."
"You still think I'm her."
"I'm not sure, but… maybe." He met her eyes again, looking closely. "Violet -- are you sure? Don't you remember anything from before -- before you woke up two months ago? Just an image, or a feeling…"
"Sometimes. But Scott says it's just the ghost. A few of Jen's memories that got transferred to me."
"Ghost…" He looked away again, the word disturbing and depressing him.
"I'm sorry," she said again. She stood up. "Maybe I should go back in."
"No!" He jumped up. "Look, why don't we take a walk? You can show me around the farm, tell me what you guys do all day." He hesitated, then saw her eyes light up when he continued, "I can tell you about Silver Hills."
"Okay." She smiled again, rather shyly. "Well, I haven't been allowed out much, so I can't show you a whole lot. But now Scott says it's okay, since you've already seen me. Maybe we can do some exploring together…"
"So... What are you going to do now?" Gaby asked, her brows creasing.
Eric shrugged. They had gone out to an early dinner, relaxing after a long day of painting and cleaning up. Inevitably the conversation had turned to Jen -- or Violet -- and Wes.
"Gunn's doing a background check on the Ryder brothers. Wes went out to the farmhouse today to try to talk to Violet."
"What's he trying to find out?"
"Whatever he can. Maybe he can bring out some memories in her. Maybe he can persuade her to give us a DNA sample."
"What would that prove? Her DNA would be the same as Jen's."
"Gunn said something about cloned chromosomes being abnormal."
"That might not prove anything either. They seem to have an explanation for everything. And whatever Norman did was something new; it might create normal chromosomes."
"Yeah, that's pretty much what Gunn said."
"I still don't see how it's possible to develop a complete, adult clone in a few days."
"I don't believe it either. But as long as she says it's true, what can we do?"
Gaby shrugged. "Well, if she is Jen, if anyone can get her to remember, it's Wes. He's out there now?"
"As we speak."
"Eric..." She hesitated, fiddling with her fork. "What's going on with you and Wes?"
"I told you what happened. Nothing's changed."
"You never told me exactly what he said to you, when you were in that silver mine."
Eric frowned. "Not worth repeating."
She paused again, then spoke with a resolute attitude. "He was drugged. Not responsible for what he said. I don't think it's fair for you to hold it against him."
"In vino veritas," he answered, not looking at her.
She shook her head. "Not a fair comparison. Alcohol may bring out the truth, but the drug Norman used caused delusions, paranoid fantasies. Not truth."
"Whatever it brought out was something Wes thinks about me. Something ugly."
"Everyone has ugly thoughts. We can't help it. Can't you give him the benefit of the doubt?"
He looked at her, suddenly and unreasonably annoyed. "Whose side are you on, anyway?"
Gaby sighed. "Yours, of course. This is hurting you as much as Wes." Eric shook his head in denial. She reached out to take his hand. "You know it's true. Use some of that honesty on yourself."
He pulled his hand back and picked up his fork again, jabbing it into a piece of potato. "And how about you?" he asked. "What kind of ugly thoughts do you have?"
She didn't pretend to misunderstand or avoid the question. "You sure you want to know?" she asked. He nodded. "Nothing I wouldn't say to your face. Sometimes I hate the way you lose your temper. When you start yelling, and won't listen." Her eyes avoided his face. "The way you hold a grudge."
"Is that all?" Eric asked, his voice tight.
"Isn't it enough? But none of that means I don't..." She blinked, hesitating. "I know you have flaws, we all do. Doesn't change how I feel about you." She smiled. "Now, you can tell me what you don't like about me."
"Huh." He found himself smiling a little. "Just that you like to butt into my business."
"I'm not butting in. I'm concerned."
"Call it what you want." His smile deepened as she raised an eyebrow at him and picked up her fork again.
"I like to sit out here and watch the highway. Imagine I'm in one of those cars, going somewhere important. Having a job. Talking to lots of people. Walking around in the city..."
Wes watched Violet's face as she spoke, a pang going through him at her wistful expression. They were sitting several yards away from the farmhouse, on a tree stump, big enough for them to sit almost side-by-side. From here they could see the road, occasional cars zooming by.
"You feel left out, don't you?"
"Yes. Left out of the world."
"What would you want to do, if you went into the city? If you could do something important, like you said?"
"I -- I don't know." She smiled. "Maybe I'd like to be a cop, or a detective, like on TV."
Wes caught his breath. "A cop?" he asked, after a moment. "Violet... How much do you know about Jen?"
"I didn't even know her name until yesterday."
"Scott and Patrick never told you about her?"
"No. Why?"
"Well... maybe I'll tell you later."
She pouted. "You sound like them. They're always going to tell me stuff later."
"I'm sorry. It's just that Jen... always wanted to be a cop." It wasn't really a lie, Jen had wanted to be a cop, and had in fact been one, both in her own time and in the present. He didn't tell her all of the truth because he didn't want to plant ideas in her mind. If memories came later on, he wanted to be sure they were genuine, not fantasies created from knowledge about Jen's life.
Violet was smiling. "Really? Maybe I really am like her."
"Yes." Wes smiled, another pang going though him. "You are, very much."
"So, excited about moving back into your house?" Gaby's face was quiet, not showing much one way or the other, as she asked.
"I guess."
"You don't sound excited."
"Too much other stuff going on."
"Mm."
He watched her as they waited for the check. The realization hit him again that he didn't really want to move back, not if it meant leaving her. For her protection, of course. He cleared his throat. "Maybe I should stay at your place a little while longer. We still don't know for sure if Norman's dead."
She looked up quickly, face neutral. "You can't watch me forever."
"No. But a few more weeks. At least until we figure out what's going on with Patrick and Scott."
"And -- you want to stay at my place?"
"Or..." He hesitated. "We could move into the house. More room."
"Eric..." She seemed uncertain now. "Are you sure that's what you want? I have the pager and the cell phone, I could call you if anything happens. You don't have to be with me all the time."
He blinked at her and blurted out, "Don't you want me around?" without thinking, instantly wishing he could take it back.
But she smiled. "Of course I want you around. I thought you'd be getting tired of being around me all the time by now."
He returned the smile, relieved. "If I was, I'd tell you."
"Yeah, you probably would," she said with a smirk. Then her expression became serious, and she lowered her eyes, fingers plucking at her napkin. "You just seem like the kind of guy who wouldn't want to be -- you know -- tied down. I thought you'd be anxious to get back in your own place."
"Well, I'm not. I mean, I am, but I think you should come with me." He watched her smile. "As long as there's any chance Norman might still be around, I still want to make sure you're safe, after all."
"Yeah, you can make sure I'm safe."
Had he seen disappointment in her face, quickly hidden? But then the waiter came, they were busy with paying, and then getting up to go, and he didn't really know what he wanted, or what he could say to her, anyway.
"Do you have to go?"
They were at the front of the house again, Violet gazing at him, her face troubled. Wes smiled, resisting the impulse to take her in his arms. She wasn't Jen, after all, even if she was, she wasn't, not without Jen's memories, her mind. But she was so much like her... It was almost painful to be with her, and yet all he wanted was to see her again. It occurred to him to wonder if this was what Jen had felt, years ago, seeing him after losing Alex.
"Sorry. But Scott, or Patrick, is watching. I'd better go before he comes out with a shotgun." He nodded toward the front of the house. A face was looking out between the curtains, like a protective father, making sure his daughter's date didn't try to go too far.
"Oh... I hope he won't get mad..."
"You're an adult, as he pointed out to us. He can't tell you what to do." He took her hands. "I had a wonderful time, talking to you."
"Can you come back?" She blushed slightly and dropped her eyes.
"Of course." He tightened his grip on her hands. "How about tomorrow? Maybe I can take you out?"
"Out?" Her face was radiant as she looked up. "You mean to a restaurant, or a movie? Like a date?"
"Yes." He couldn't help chuckling at her eager expression. "Just like a date."
"I'll have to ask Scott."
"Tell him I'll be a perfect gentleman. And I'll have you home before curfew."
"Now you're teasing me." She smiled again, giving him a sideways glance that took his breath away again. So much like Jen...
"Yes. I'll come back tomorrow. Same time. Ask Scott."
"I will."
As he drove away, he could still see her in the rearview mirror, standing there, waving. He strained his eyes until she was out of sight. The rest of the drive passed in a blur. Tomorrow. It was all he could think about.
TBC...