They were coming back.
Concentrate.
Traditional tolerant attitudes towards witchcraft began to change in the 14th century, at the very end of the Middle Ages, Rachel read. Her pencil scratched over her notepad as she took diligent notes.
They were coming back.
He was coming back.
Rachel! she scolded herself sharply.
She cleared her throat and lifted her pencil to her mouth. It'd been four months since she'd met the Winchester brothers. In all that time, they hadn't any reason to come back to New Haven, not even when Rachel had stumbled across a wahwee in a nearby lake.
She'd called them right away and invited them down to but Sam had been convinced she could handle it on her own. He'd talked her through how to kill it, which she had with only a sprained wrist and chewed up ankle, and then sent her a bouquet of chocolate flowers and a card that read, "Congratulations on you first solo hunt. Little sis is all grown up. Dean smiled when I told him. Love, Sam."
Not a week went by when she didn't talk to Sam. They e-mailed back and forth every few days and, when they were both online at the same time, would instant message. Rachel didn't remember when Sam had started calling her little sis, but the joke had stuck. She kind of liked it.
Dean, on the other hand, almost never communicated with her. A line on the card Sam sent for her birthday, a link sent through e-mail about a supposed sighting of Anne Boleyn at the Tower of London. Phone calls when he needed information that generally didn't last longer than a few minutes.
Except, once, a few months ago, Dean had called out of the blue without any particular purpose evident.
He'd sounded odd, like he was in pain. She hadn't recognized his voice at first and had been about to hang up when he'd said, "Rachel, it's Dean."
"Dean? As in Winchester?"
"You know many others?"
"I know other Dean's exist," she had said, feeling stupid. Of course it was Dean Winchester and, no, she didn't know any others. "You could be the Dean of my college calling."
"He usually call himself by his title?"
Rachel had cleared, feeling her cheeks warm. "Well, uh, no. She doesn't."
Dean had laughed. "Right Well, anyway, I'm sorry for the confusion. Didn't mean to mess with your head."
"It's fine. It's just, you don't call me much. Something I can do for you?"
There was a pause before Dean answered. "No, not really. I just thought I'd call. See how you're doing." There was another pause. "So. How are you doing?"
"I'm... doing fine," she'd said, all the while thinking that it sounded like he was struggling to breathe.
"How are your classes?"
"Good."
She'd wanted to ask again if he was all right, but, at the same time, she'd known that Dean would never admit to any weakness. He could be dying and he wouldn't admit it.
So, she'd gone with it. For well over an hour, Dean had asked her questions about school and life. They'd talked about movies and music and books they'd both read (she'd been surprised to find that Dean was actually pretty well read; when she'd, as tactfully as she could, expressed her surprise, he'd pointed out that he spent long hours in the car with nothing else to do). They'd swapped childhood tales about growing up with ghosts as real threats and not just stories. They went over firsts--first lost tooth, first school, first time they said the wrong thing to the wrong person, first supernatural being they ever actually saw. It was only when they got to the more intimate things--first crush, first school dance, first kiss--that Dean cut the conversation off.
"I need to go, Rachel," he'd said, awkwardly.
"Okay. Are you sure you're okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. Look, I just wanted you to know that... that I'm really glad I met you."
Rachel had twisted the phone cord around her finger, convinced something was wrong. "I glad I met you, too."
"I wish..." He let it trail off there, before he said, "Bye, Rach," and hung up.
It was only much later, through a slip of the tongue on Sam's part, had Rachel learned how close the world had been to losing Dean. She'd gotten the full story out of Sam painfully: the Rawhide, Dean's injury, the faith healer, the Reaper, Sam's guilt. He'd told her everything.
"Why didn't you tell me he was dying?" she'd demanded. "I would have been there. For both of you."
His answer had been, "Because I wasn't going to let him die."
She'd talked to Deana few other times, but usually it was about research. He kept her at a distance, and she knew it was for her own good. Rachel understood that. She still hadn't found any information on whatever it was that had killed his mother and Sam's girlfriend, and she knew that, until she did, Dean would hold her forever at arm's length.
Not that it was necessarily a bad thing. Rachel didn't want to die pinned to the ceiling and bursting into flames.
Something touched the tip of her ear.
Gasping, Rachel sat bolt upright, heart pounding.
A soft chuckle wrapped around her seductively. "You're a little jumpy today."
It was impossible to hold back the grin or the blush. She turned in her seat to find a young man standing behind her, flower in hand. "You startled me."
He touched the lily to her nose softly. "I'm sorry, beautiful." He pulled out the chair next to her and sat. "How long have you been here?" The flower traced down her face, outlining her lips before sliding down her chin to her throat.
Warmth spread through Rachel's body. "Kit, please."
"Please what?" He leaned into her, his blue eyes hotter than flame.
She just sighed and pulled him to her. "Please just kiss me already."
Kit smiled and complied. "You are so beautiful," he breathed, sliding his fingers into her hair. He kissed her again, his mouth hot, tongue lapping at her own.
"Kit," she whispered, half enflamed, half embarrassed. They were in public. In the library. What if people were watching?
The part of her that was wrapped up in Kit's mouth and his hands in her hair whispered back, "Let them."
"Do you know how much I love watching you study?" he asked, resting their foreheads together.
Rachel could feel the flower tapping against her head. "I have a clue," she replied breathlessly. "It's how we met."
"One week and three days ago tomorrow." He kissed her softly. "You were sitting at this table, ink smudged on your cheek, wrapped up in your note-taking." Kit laughed. "I found you enthralling, so I cam over to watch. Almost an hour later, you finally noticed me."
"I was busy," she laughed, cheeks burning. "You know how important these essays are."
"I'm not saying I don't understand," Kit laughed back. "But, I do have t admit, my ego took a bit of a bruising. I never knew I was that unnoticeable before." He ran his hand through his bright red hair.
"You're really not." Rachel tilted her head, a soft smile crossing her face. "I don't know how I ever could have missed you; you were practically burning next to me."
"Burning, huh? I think I like that. You think I'm hot." He preened.
She laughed and smacked him on the arm. "You are so conceited."
He grabbed her by the wrist and kissed it. "And you are so beautiful."
"Stop," she murmured pulling her hand away.
"As my lady wishes." He leaned away. "So, I thought you were done with all of this."
"I was," she replied, putting her stuff away. "And then, last night, I realized I wasn't. I had to check on this one last article."
Kit ran his thumb down her cheek. "You can come back for as many other articles as you need, Rachel. I'd just love to come with you."
She laughed. "Trying to rub in the fact that you're already done?"
"Not at all. Just because my intellect is such that I was able to pound out a forty-five page paper way before the deadline, doesn't mean I expect everyone's to be."
"You are such a..."
"Some people," he continued, pulling Rachel onto his lap, "have slow, contemplative brains that pick through every detail and find every connection before they can write." He kissed her cheek. "And, while they, are perhaps, not as fast as I am, they are definitely no less brilliant."
Rachel put her arms around Kit's neck. "You are not like anyone I've ever met," she said. "Are you for real?"
"Of course I am." He kissed her. "So, I dropped by your apartment to see if you wanted to get coffee. You weren't there, and I knew you weren't at work, so I thought I'd check here. Looks like I got lucky."
"You know me too well."
"I know my scholar," Kit said, lips curved in a smile that Rachel hadn't quite learned how to read yet. It was mysterious and definitely sexy, but it almost felt like he was hiding something behind it. "So, dinner?"
Rachel checked her watch. "Um, just something fast. I have guests coming into town and I want to be there when they arrive." She began packing her belongings.
"Why don't I come with you? We could all go out together."
She hesitated as she slipped her laptop into its bag. It was stupid. When it really came down to it, Rachel barely knew Dean. Except for that one, intensely long conversation with him, she mostly communicated with Sam. And yet it was Dean she was attracted to. But, she was dating Kit now. It was still a new relationship, and while in some ways, she felt that they were moving incredibly quickly towards true intimacy, in other ways, it was a very formal sort of courtship. There was a lot of talking, a lot of hand holding and long walks and kissing. But it hadn't moved past that. While Rachel had never been one to think that sex was the only thing that made a relationship serious, she and Kit had yet even to have a talk about where they wanted this to go.
None of which meant anything. Dean, even if he still found her attractive, even if they got to know each other better and found they were perfect for each other, wouldn't risk her life by taking it any further than flirting. Kit was the sweetest, nicest man she'd ever met and, even if they hadn't talked about it, had made it clear that he was interested in a real relationship with her. And she would like it to work out with him.
And yet, for tonight at least, she wanted to keep the two separate. She'd never been in a relationship like this before. She'd also never had friends quite like Sam and Dean before, and she didn't really want to try and explain them all to one another.
Especially not until she decided what she was going to tell Kit about her life.
"I kind of wanted to have some time with them alone," she finally said. She slipped her computer bag over her shoulder and picked up her books. "I hope you don't mind."
"That's fine." He slung his arm over her shoulder. "I understand." He kissed her cheek. "So, where to?"
They had a quick dinner, sitting outside as the sun set. The glow of it lit Kit's hair on fire, and, until it had disappeared, Rachel couldn't talk. The man was so beautiful, and she had no idea what he was doing with her.
"I can't believe you're finished with your senior essay already," Rachel said when she was no loner distracted by his looks. "I'm so jealous."
He smiled. "Please, how much do you really have left? You keep telling me you're done."
"Well, yeah, except then, I'll be lying in bed and another idea will flash through my mind. Usually, it's something that I skimmed over while I was taking notes, so I have to go back and integrate this new thought."
"I think that, maybe, we need to find something new for you to do in bed." Kit took her hand and rubbed his thumb over the back of it.
Rachel felt her cheeks warm and she looked down at their hands. "Yeah, well, definitely not until I'm done. I won't be able to concentrate on anything else until it's done, printed, and turned in." Except this new case the Winchesters were bringing to New Haven with them.
Kit leaned forward and picked up both her hands. "Well, I know something we can do that doesn't require concentration."
"With my friends in the next room?" Her heart was in her throat.
"You're probably right." He kissed the inside of her wrist. "I think that your devotion to your studies is admirable. I'm still surprised that you haven't yet applied to grad school."
Rachel pulled away and crossed her arms over her chest. "Yeah, well. I'm planning on going. Eventually. But I kind of want to take some time off first. Just... relax."
"I thought you wanted to be a historian."
"I do. I just think that maybe there are other things that I want to do before living the rest of my life."
"Like what?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. Live, I guess."
"The life of a virtuous scholar is a hard one, bao bei, I know. But it makes you all the more beautiful."
Rachel looked at him. That was a really strange remark. Flattering, of course, but strange. And what had he called her? It wasn't baby, but it was close. Something... foreign or something? And, somehow, not totally unfamiliar.
She checked her watch and stood. "I've got to go. I'll see you tomorrow?"
"I'll count the minutes." He picked up the lily and held it out to her.
"Bye." Rachel took the flower and kissed Kit.
She liked him, she really did. He listened better than anyone she'd ever met. But, at the same time, he could be really intense. Sometimes annoyingly so. All the flattery made her uncomfortable, which had to be the opposite intent.
She would just have to tell him. Talking was more stimulating than listening to her virtues being listed. And, in some ways, being called virtuous felt like being damned with faint praise. He probably didn't mean it in any way but a good person, but she couldn't help but take it another way. And while being a virgin didn't bother Rachel, it definitely didn't feel like something she should be praised for. Circumstance wasn't the same thing as virtue.
When she saw the Impala parked in the street, her heart lurched in a way that was completely inappropriate. She was coming off a date. With a guy she could have a future with. Maybe.
That didn't stop her from running up the steps to her apartment. From inside, she could hear the TV and the sound of people talking.
She took out her keys and opened the door.
"You ever dance with the devil in the pale moonlight?'" Dean was saying as Rachel stepped inside. Then, apparently feeling Rachel's eyes on him, he turned away from the television.
For a long moment, they just looked at each other, not saying anything. Time seemed to drag out. The air was electrified.
Finally, Rachel cleared her throat. "Batman?"
"Um, the Joker. Nicholson." He crooked a smile. "My man Jack always gets the best lines."
"Yeah, he does."
Dean hesitated, then stood and crossed the room. "It's good to see you again." He hugged her, squeezing her so hard the air left her body in a whoosh.
"Yeah." She hugged him back, feeling how threadbare his shirt was under her fingers, and how powerful the muscles underneath were. "You too."