Chapter 8

Past:

Dinner that night was a lot more cozy then usual. Paul pulled Suze onto his lap—she wasn't going to fight him at this point—while she ate the food he'd brought with him. He leaned back in the chair, content to just watch her for now.

She turned and smiled up at him. Her eyes didn't show any emotions—at least not any of the ones he was used to seeing there—but he would get used to that. He reached up to touch her bruised cheek, frowning. Pity that it had to come to that, he thought. Ah, well. He would make up for it.

Suze had finished her dinner. Pressing a kiss to her shoulder, Paul stood, letting her slide off him. "Time for bed," he said reluctantly.

Reaching up to put her arms around his neck, Suze pressed closer to him. "I want to stay with you."

Not exactly what he had been planning. Not tonight, anyway. But looking down at her, feeling her pressed up against him… Hell, a man can only have so much self-control. Not that he had ever had very much to begin with.

Gently prying her arms from around his neck, Paul leaned down and kissed her, smiling. "Go upstairs, and wait for me." He glanced at her plate on the table next to his chair, and the plate he had been using earlier under it. He'd have to clean that up. "I'll be up in a bit."

He smiled, satisfied as she left the room. Finally, he thought, grabbing the plates and heading toward the kitchen, which he got to through a door on the other side of the room. Before he got there, though, he heard a shriek and a crash. Dropping the dishes with a thud, Paul rushed out of the room and down the hall, past Suze's cell, to the stares at the end of the hall.

Suze lay there, sprawled on the ground, struggling to get up.

Paul knelt to help her up. "Aww, Suze," he said gently, pulling her to her feet. She couldn't get up the stairs, he realized, feeling just a pang of guilt. He pushed it aside. She would be fine in a few days. Eyeing the bruises that he could see, he assured himself that there wouldn't be any need for that now. "Come on, I'll help you get back. You okay?" At her nod, he smiled. "If I'd realized you couldn't make it up on your own, I wouldn't have made you go without me." He paused, squeezing her hand. "You know that, don't you?"

She gave him a trusting smile. "Of course."

"Good." Paul led her back to the cell. He sat her down on the bed, giving her a quick kiss. "I think it's better if you sleep here tonight." He gave her a reassuring smile, then left the cell, closing and locking the door behind him.

Suze looked at him curiously. "Why do you have to lock the door?"

Paul stopped, surprised by her question. The truth was, he couldn't be sure how strong his control was—for all he knew, it might wear off by morning. Better to keep the door locked until he could be sure. Instead of telling her that, though, he cleared his throat, and said, "Ah, well… I didn't want to worry you with this, but…" he thought fast. What could he say? "I have enemies," he finally offered. "And I'm afraid that they might try to hurt you to get to me." He smiled. "It's to keep them out, not to keep you in."

It wasn't entirely a lie, and she seemed to take his word for it—of course she did. As Paul turned away, he mused that he did have enemies. The minute Jesse found out that Suze was alive—something he probably wouldn't think, not after the knife he'd left in the apartment—he would want to get her back.

Paul considered that for a long moment. He had the suspicion that Jesse had used to crystal himself—he wasn't sure why, but the more he thought about it, the more he was starting to think that it might be likely. He had had it long enough, and, as Paul was beginning to find out, it was hard not to do it, even for the saintly Jesse de Silva.

If he played his cards right, he mused, he might be able to use that in his favor.

Present:

The next couple days were mostly uneventful. Jesse was spending as much time as he could at home, taking care of Susannah. Mostly, that consisted of doing whatever he thought she needed, which was more or less a guessing game for the most part.

Keeping the door unlocked wasn't much of a problem as long as he was home, but he felt uneasy every time he had to step out, though so far it hadn't been for more than half an hour.

Tonight, however, while he was busy getting things out of the refrigerator for his and Susannah's dinner, a call came from the hospital—there was an emergency, and he had to go now.

He couldn't leave Susannah for that long. She could barely take care of herself beyond the most basic things at this point.

Out of desperation, Jesse went across the hall to knock on his neighbor's door.

He tapped his feet impatiently, waiting as he heard the sound of locks turning. He offered his most charming smile when a little old lady opened the door and peered up at him through large bifocals. "Hello, Mrs. Whitby."

The elderly woman smiled. "Dr. de Silva. Hello, how are you? How is your wife doing?"

Jesse glanced back at Susannah through the open apartment door. "Not very good, I'm afraid." He cleared his throat. "Mrs. Whitby, I have a favor to ask you." He explained to her quickly about Susannah's apparent aversion to locked doors. "I can't just leave her here alone, not when I can't even make sure she's safe."

Mrs. Whitby nodded, understanding. "No, of course not." She frowned sympathetically. "The poor dear. Imagine what must have made her like that." Shaking her head, she patted Jesse's arm. "Of course, I'll help you."

Jesse thanked her and took her into the apartment. He walked toward Susannah, trying to smile. "Querida, this is Mrs. Whitby," he said, motioning toward the woman. "I have to go to the hospital for awhile, and she will stay here with you." Turning to Mrs. Whitby, he told her, "I've already taken food out for dinner—"

Mrs. Whitby waved a hand, silencing him. "Oh, we'll be fine, dear." She smiled warmly at Susannah.

Jesse hesitated, then sighed. He didn't have any choice but leave her. "I'll be back as soon as I can, querida," he promised her, then turned to thank Mrs. Whitby, and grabbed his things to leave the apartment.

If he had turned around, he might have seen the stricken expression on his wife's face.

He was leaving.

I sat at the kitchen table while the woman—Mrs. Whitby—bustled around the kitchen, talking animatedly. I wasn't really paying attention, though it didn't matter. No one expected me to respond, anyway.

Had I done something wrong? I wondered, feeling panicked. He claimed he would be back, but what if he didn't? What if he never came back?

Later that night, I lay curled up on my bed, listening to Mrs. Whitby's snores coming from the living room. I didn't relax until I heard the front door open, and heard Jesse's hushed voice as he spoke to Mrs. Whitby.

I shut my eyes tightly when he appeared in my doorway, pretending to be asleep. I heard him come into the room. Before I could scoot away, he leaned down and placed a kiss on my forehead, and murmured. "Goodnight, Susannah."

That was all. Just that. When I cracked open an eye to see what he would do next, he had already turned away and was walking out of the room toward his own bedroom.

Trust, I was learning, was a very hard thing to be gained. Even so… I felt better knowing he was home.

A/N: The Planet's Most Extreme on Animal Planet has been on all day long. I'm a geek. :-P But dang it, I'm a HAPPY geek. lol