CHAPTER 16
Skinner was halfway down the hall when Vicky started hammering at the door again. With a sigh, he retraced his steps and opened the door.
"Have you any idea how rude it is to slam the door in somebody's face?" Vicky asked.
He sighed again. "Look here, Vicky. Past year since I woke up, I've totally forgotten about you. I mean, we had that...that thing there, once, but no more. I've started over, Vicky. I don't love you any more, so — "
Vicky grabbed him, pressing her lips to his. Skinner resisted, then found himself melting as her body heat mixed with his. He could feel her love, ebbing through their contact as she clutched his sweater, leaning into him. She needed him, his love once more....
What a sight they must be, kissing in the doorway, in the freezing snow!
Skinner was beginning to relax to Vicky when she buried her face in his sweater; it took him a minute to realize she was crying.
"I'm so sorry," she sobbed, and he had to support her from falling on the ground. "I'm so, so, sorry, Rodney...I couldn't take it...it was my fault, my fault that you were in the coma in the first place. If I hadn't been so scared, if I had moved, then you wouldn't have been like that..." She totally broke down on him, and he held her up, not sure what to do.
"Uh," Skinner said, looking over his shoulder. He prayed some one who come out from the hall to check on him, and help him out here. He particularly hoped it was Dorian, with his experience with women being vast as it were. "Uh, Vicky, calm down..."
"I'm so sorry, Rodney," she wet his sweater. "I'm so sorry..."
"Vicky!" Skinner shouted as she passed out from the cold and exhaustion — she had come straight from the train station, right off her train. "Vicky!!!"
Vicky woke up, the taste of brandy strong in her mouth. She was in a comfortable, over stuffed chair in a room she assumed to be Skinner's. Skinner was at the desk, screwing the top of the flask back on. She could hear the sounds of a party downstairs, and she shifted slightly. The invisible man heard her and glanced over his shoulder.
"Thank god you're awake," he said, turning, not letting on how relieved her felt. True, he was touched that she had come back. He missed her, but didn't want to risk love with her another time. "Gave me a pretty shock, you did. Foolish, that's what you are. You should've rested before you came here."
She straightened. "Riight. And risk getting kicked out by you past midnight?" She gave a small laugh. "I think not."
Skinner snorted. He came to stand in front of her, his hands in his pockets. It was then she realized that he had taken her coat off, dusted the snow off it. She was wearing her thick and comfortable blue cardigan, and she picture how warm she would be if she curled up with Skinner in front of a fire.
She reached out for him, but he drew back. She saw the flash of fear in his eyes. Fear of commitment, of getting hurt again. She sighed and put down her hand, letting it rest on the arm of the chair. She looked up at him with soulful eyes, head slightly tilted.
"You really don't want to have what we used to have, don't you?" she asked sadly. She had come back for him, from France, where she had some Elven kin living amongst the humans there. Skinner nodded. Vicky stood up, a bit unsteady on her feet, saying, "I can wait, Rodney, but I'm only human. I can't wait forever."
She didn't hear a crack above them. Skinner did, and grabbed her arm, rolling under the table, as the roof and something caved in on them. It wrecked the room, smashing everything breakable.
Something fell on the tabletop, and the already half-broken desk's top splintered into sharp stakes. Vicky was on top of Skinner, underneath the table, and twisted her body so that a sharp spike, wouldn't pierce her shoulder. Skinner shifted; as the chunks ceiling rained down on them. Vicky rolled out form under the table as the rain of chunks stopped.
The table was a wreck; it had fallen apart, like a little shelter. She glanced around the room and saw a grand piano nestled in the middle of the room, right below the very big hole in the ceiling. She blinked. Of all things, a grand piano had to fall on us.
She then realized that Skinner hadn't come out from under the table. She swore in a mixture of French and Elvish as she went on her knees and started to push aside the debris. Probably got himself knocked out, she thought, a tinge of affection there. Men.
She could hear the footsteps up the stairs, and voice. She stained to hear them as she cleared aside ceiling and wood.
"...caved in..."
"....need to clear..."
"...could be hurt..."
She shook her head and saw a piece of the splintered wood sticking upright, and a hundred and eighty degree angle. She found it strange, but pulled it out anyway. A strangle cry and blood on the pointed part of the wood piece made her drop it and frantically claw the debris away.
"Skinner!" she cried, gathering him up and holding him. The piece of wood had been driven into his chest, and she had pulled it out. Blood was spreading all over his chest, staining his white sweater a ghastly crimson. She shouted at the door, hoping someone could hear here. "Somebody, help!"
"Vicky," Skinner gasped. Blood was bubbling from his mouth, and Vicky knew that the wood had punctured a lung. She turned to look at him, close to tears. "Vicky...Gosh, it hurts."
"Rodney, you have to hang on. They're coming," Vicky whispered tearfully. She could hear the rest clearing the fallen roof from the stairs. "They're coming."
"You fool," he whispered hoarsely, "Comin' here at this time of night. Listen to me, Vicky..."
"I am," she reassured him. "I am."
"Vicky...I tried to pretend that I didn't, but I do..."
"What, Rodney? What?" Vicky glanced at the door as she wiped the blood from Skinner's mouth. "Tell me, please."
"I love you."
He smiled up at her. Vicky checked his pulse.
Outside, the clock struck midnight as a scream of anguish echoed off the streets.
A/N: The end...maybe. I feel like writing an epilogue, but I think it stays nicely like this, y'know? I think you do. Well.
Grayroom74: 'fraid I may not be able to oblige you with that. Maybe. Not sure about that point. And, I think, that I did pretty well, no? She went to look for him, instead of the other way round. Heh.
Clez: the idea of the kids mobbing Tom came from my little cousin's birthday party. I was talking to my aunt when I said the word 'sweets' and all the little brats swarmed me. *shudder*