Authors Note: So, this is the first collaborative piece by GingerRoseProductions. The idea came to us one night, while we were making pizza and watching The Village. "You know who would be perfect together?" "Dennis and Ivy!" being of course that Ivy lived in Philly and wasn't blind. We believe that it will be a romantic comedy, with a not so pleasant ending. Poor Dennis, can't he just get a happy ending once in awhie? Consider this as Dennis Rafkin's back story, as told by two mildly deranged dykes. Enjoy!

My Pen

by

GingerRoseProductions

Chapter One: Craving a Coldcut

The stairwell was flooded with mid-day light, the sun streaming in through the massive window, which stretched from the polished floor to the high ceiling, two stories above. The East stairwell ended at the third floor, he would have to make use of the North stairs if he wanted to go higher than that, which he didn't. His destination was the second floor, to drop off some mail he had forgotten this morning, before heading out on his lunch break.

Halfway up the stairs, with the multiple white and manila envelopes tucked under his left arm, he plunged his hand into the pocket of his Dockers, and pulled out his wad of cash, counting the bills to determine where he would go for lunch. In his excitement of spotting a five-dollar bill, while reaching for it with his other hand, he knocked the only pen out of his front breast pocket

"My pen!" Dennis exclaimed, watching it fall down to the step below. Stuffing his money back into his pocket, he leaned down, carefully shuffling his mail so as not to drop it, and had just grasped his pen, as he felt the familiar lurch of panic in this stomach, signalizing his loss of balance, and imminent fall.

His lean body seemed to fall through space in slow motion, the mail which was so carefully organized scattered in midair, and his beloved pen, which had caused the fall, joined the mail in it's ascent towards the sky.

The first step he hit knocked the wind out of him, that he remembered. The rest were simply painful as he tumbled down. About half way down the flight he hit something green and red and soft, and together they fell for what seemed to be eternity.

At last they stilled on the landing, Dennis ending up on top of the yet unknown green object with an oomph, his head buried in green cotton. He hadn't expected his landing to be this soft. Out of the blue, it seemed, he felt something slender and plastic smack the back of his head before clattering onto the floor, within arms reach.

Still too jarred from his fall to move much, he sought out the pen and once more grasped it.

"My pen. . . " he mumbled once more into the green cotton below him.

"Uhhh . . . " the cotton spoke. Slowly Dennis raised his head, his vision blurred, a sharp piercing pain in his left hand, and ache seeping into every part of his body, as he raised himself onto his elbows and looked into the eyes of the girl he had landed on. No, not a girl, he corrected himself, noting that his head had in fact been buried in her bosom. As her pale eyes stared back at him in confusion laced with embarrassment, he realized he had been touching this person, this woman for more than a few moments and had not seen one flash. But how? Not even one little scene. Was it her? Did she have nothing horrible in her past that would set off his curse? Or was it him? Did he just block her somehow? Or had his ability simply gone away?

"Are you all right?" a quiet voice asked from beneath him. Dennis jerked back into the present, and quickly scrambled off her.

"Oh god," he said, quickly stuffing his devious little pen pack into his pocket before grasping the young woman's arm and helping her sit up. "Oh god, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. Are you all right? Did I hurt you? Are you hurt?"

"No, no I'm fine. Just got the wind knocked out of me," the young woman answered as Dennis gently helped her to her feet. She ran a hand through her curly shoulder length hair, attempting to straighten it.

"Oh no, your glasses . . . ." she pointed to the second to last step where a thick bent frame and some shattered glass lay.

"Yeah, I know," Dennis showed her the palm of his left hand where a particularly large shard protruded. "I wont be able to see well enough to get it out. Son of a bitch!" He ran his good hand over his face, berating himself for what a mess he had made.

"Here, let me see," the young woman reached out to touch his hand, but Dennis instinctively jerked away from her. She smiled gently, then slowly cupped the back of his injured hand and brought it closer to her face. She grimaced.

"This looks pretty bad. Maybe you should go to the hospital."

"No!" Dennis yelled, and startled her. "I mean, no. I cant, I cant go to the hospital," he finished in a quieter tone.

"Well then, is there a first aid kit here?"

"Yeah, there's one on every floor."

"Oh, then come with me. My dad is on the third floor, but I have no idea where his office would be. He called this morning and asked me to bring him a lunch," she said, bending down and retreating a brown bag from across the landing.

"What's his name?" Dennis asked.

"Michael Radcliffe."

"Oh yeah, I know where his office is. He gets shit loads of mail. Come on." He led her up the stairs this time without falling, and opened the door on the very last landing. As he weaved in and around the path that lead through the many cubicles, Ivy stared in amazement at the amount of people crammed into such a small space.

The young man stopped in front of an office, of which two walls were made entirely of glass. It was empty.

"I'll just leave this on his desk. Now, where would that first aid kit be?"

"Ouch!" Dennis jerked his hand out of the young woman's grasp, and shielded it with his other arm. "Christ that hurt!" he exclaimed, clutching his wrist, as if cutting off the blood flow would make the pain ease.

"That was the rubbing alcohol. And I told you it was gonna hurt."

"But I didn't know it was gonna hurt that freaking bad!"

"I'm sorry, but it had to be disinfected. Now, let me see your hand again."

"No, I think I've changed my mind. Fuck the glass. It can just live in there forever." The young woman simply glared at him before turning her attention to the first aid kit, which sat next to her on the bathroom floor. For a few moments she rummaged through it, then finally pulled out a pair of gloves.

"You aren't allergic to latex, are you?"

"No," Dennis answered, still sulking, as she pulled them on. She reached for his hand, and he flinched at her initial touch, not quite used to this new freedom she had granted him. Touch was simply something he just wasn't used to.

"You ready?" she asked, now holding his hand, palm up. Before he could answer, she began to move towards the shard buried deep in his flesh.

"No!" he answered. She sighed, waiting for him to gather the courage, or the balls, to let her do him this favor.

"What is it?" she asked.

"What's your name? I mean, I've known you for almost half an hour, and you're about to dissect my hand, I think I should at least know your name." She smiled gently.

"I'm Ivy, Ivy Radcliffe."

"Dennis Rafkin."

"Nice to meet you. Are you ready yet?"

"I think so," Dennis answered, his face screwed up against the inevitable pain. He felt her hand brush against his fingertips and for once had the chance to marvel at the heat she radiated. Who knew that human beings could be so warm? He felt movement on the palm of his hand, and a twinge of pain when he opened his eyes to see the shard lying on the floor, and Ivy holding gauze to his bleeding wound.

"That wasn't so bad," he said, surprised she had already removed the offending piece of glass.

"No, it wasn't. I told you the alcohol was gonna be the worst of it," Ivy answered as she replaced the bloody gauze with a fresh one and secured it with some tape. As she finished up, taking the latex gloves off, she held Dennis' hand with both of hers, checking to make sure the bandage would stay. He stilled, and looked at her face, for the first time truly taking in her appearance. She had auburn blond hair that fell in loose curls to her shoulders, and fair freckled skin. Her eyes, which now studied her handy work, were a pale greenish blue.

Once she was finished with her inspection she looked up and their eyes met. For a moment the pair simply stared at each other, captivated by the current that surged between them. But the spell was brief, and they both looked away in embarrassment.

"I was going to stop at the coffee shop at the corner on my way home. Would you like to come with me?" Ivy asked, not quite meeting his eyes, as he stared at her in surprise. "If you don't want to-" she continued, taking the look on his face as rejection.

"No!" he interrupted loudly, making her jump. "I mean, no, I would love to! Just let me- Fuck!" He clutched his head with his hands.

"What is it?"

"My lunch break has been over for five minutes already, and my ass is about to get reamed. Son of a bitch," Dennis yelled in frustration. Ivy looked back at him in mild shock. "I'm sorry. It's just, not everyday a beautiful girl fixes my hand then asks me out to lunch with her. And I'm just a little frustrated with my job at the moment. I'm sorry . . ." he finished, in what he felt was a lame.

"It's alright. What time do you get off from work?"

"Six o'clock, usually."

"Well, then. Meet me there at six fifteen?" Ivy asked, smiling. At that, the mysterious man in front of her seemed to perk up, and he smiled back at her, nodding his head yes. "Good. I better let you get back to work. I'll see you later." Ivy got to her feet, and Dennis did the same.

"Thank you."

"No problem. You better go, you're gonna be late, well, later than you already are."

Dennis rushed out of the womans bath room, in his rush clumsily bumping into a female co-worker who merely looked appalled as the young man ran down the hallway, racing the clock.