my heart is thrilled by the still of your hand
that's how i know now that you understand
Hozier, "No Plan"
July 10
He sat on the porch reading a Nora Roberts book, basking in the sun like a lizard. The umbrella was unfurled overhead and he had a tall, sweaty glass of mint tea laced with honey at his elbow. He wasn't entirely satisfied with the book. She was a great writer, but there was nary a bodice to be ripped. It did kind of make him want to move to Ireland and open a pub, though. He wondered how Kai felt about Ireland, and pubs.
He paused a moment to consider, his eyes scanning the lake without really seeing it, when movement in the yard caught his eye. It was the woman herself, returned from her walk, and she had a large basked tucked over her arm. She waved at him and jogged the rest of the way.
"I found raspberries!" she signed when she was close enough. "A whole ton of them!"
His mouth fell open in dismay once he got a good look at her. "Did you pick them or go to war with them?! Kai, you're bleeding!"
"What? Oh." She frowned down at a long, thin scratch on her arm. "Yeah, it got a little rough. I'm fine, though. Do you want raspberry muffins? I could probably make raspberry jam, too! You're gonna be so goddamn sick of raspberries."
He set his book aside and pushed himself to his feet. Helped her up onto the deck and took the basket from her. "Why don't you go get in the shower, then meet me back out here so I can do something about all…this." He made a gesture that encompassed most of her body, because there was very little exposed skin that didn't have at least one scratch.
She gave a long-suffering sigh. "Fine, mom. Put those in a colander to start rinsing, and I'll be back in like ten minutes. Hey, are you wearing sunscreen?"
His mouth quirked. "Yes, mom. Ten minutes. I'll be waiting."
Once inside she dropped her clothes in the bathroom hamper and took the quickest shower she could. She was glad Nick couldn't hear the little yelps, whimpers, and hisses she made from the hot water and soap as they hit her (multiple) wounds. She hadn't realized it was that bad until each and every one of them felt like it was on fire. Smarty pants bossy face Nick Andros, she thought with a good-natured scowl.
She ran a comb through her wet hair and tossed on a pair of cutoffs and a tank top, the same outfit she'd had on during her raspberry run, so that none of the scratches would be covered up.
He was waiting for her on the deck as promised. He'd moved the chairs and spread out a towel, and he sat cross-legged reading that Nora Roberts book. The one that made her want to open a pub in Ireland. She was surprised he liked it, what with the lack of bodice-ripping.
He waved her over and she saw that he had the first aid kit and the jar of her honey ointment. "Can I just spread this on?" he said. "Or will that make a mess?"
"Mess," she said. "Also attract every bee in a two-mile radius. You can spread it on some bandages, and use it to stick them to me. No need for tape."
"Good idea." He studied her a moment through his dark sunglasses. Took them off and indicated that she should turn around. She did, and he tugged the hem of her shorts to have her sit.
There was a deep scratch that started on the back of one shoulder and extended across the opposite shoulder blade. He started with that one, carefully tugging the straps of her bra and her top down so he could get to all of it. He dabbed gently at the inflamed skin with a hydrogen peroxide-soaked cotton ball, and once the fizzing stopped, he cut a bit of gauze the right size, smeared some of the honey ointment onto it, and pressed it against the scratch.
She stayed steady throughout, and when he tapped her shoulder she flashed him a thumbs up. Next he went for a smaller one along the back of her arm. Her skin was so soft it was distracting, and this close the smell of her mint and rosemary soap and green tea and honey shampoo enveloped him in familiar sweetness.
He finished what he was doing and hesitated a moment. The tattoo between her shoulder blades peeked up above the edge of her tank top, and he was intrigued. He ran the pad of his thumb over it, and her head turned, eyebrow lifted.
"No scratches there," she signed with one hand.
"No. I'd like to see it sometime, though. If you'd like to show it to me."
She scooted around to face him and pulled her knees up almost to her chest. "It's not a secret. Come swimming with me sometime and you can get a good, long look at it."
He made a face. He couldn't swim and didn't have much desire to learn, but that didn't stop her from trying. "I'll…keep thinking about it."
"You do that. You know where to find me if you change your mind."
"Right here, getting coated in honey because you declared war on a raspberry cane." He tapped her knee and she stretched out her legs with an annoyed sigh.
"I didn't declare war on it. It declared war on me. I was just innocently picking raspberries." She chewed her lip for a moment. "But maybe next time I should consider a more suitable uniform."
His brow quirked in agreement. He draped her legs over his and tugged her closer, until she was nearly in his lap. Her hand fell to his bare shoulder (he wore an undershirt and his usual dark trousers) to steady herself, and he cupped her face in his palm. For a moment her pulse fluttered in an odd state of anticipation, from the heat of his breath and the intense concentration as he studied her. She dipped her head toward the spot where his long neck curved into his shoulder and took a deep breath to absorb the smell of his warm skin. The fingers of her other hand curled into his shirt and she tried to keep her breathing even. His lips parted and his good eye focused on hers and for just a second she watched pupil swallow deep, dark brown—but then he pressed a cotton ball to her cheek and she winced, and the moment was broken.
"Sorry," he mouthed, with a sympathetic grimace.
She shook her head as much as she was able with him holding her in place. "It's fine," she mouthed back. "Don't stop."
Her breath was a warm whisper across his skin and he suppressed a shiver. He had a job to do, and he couldn't get distracted by the images those two little words put into his head. He finished with the cotton ball and leaned back to reach for the gauze, but then paused.
"I don't think I need to bandage your face, do I?"
"Maybe just dab a little honey onto it. I don't want it to leave a scar."
"No?" He tapped the crescent-shaped scar under his good eye. "And here I thought you were copying me."
"It does lend you a certain roguish charm," she said. "Not sure I'd look quite so pretty, though."
His head tilted thoughtfully as he used the pad of his thumb to spread the ointment up and down the scratch on her cheek. "While it's true deaf-mute men are, as a rule, exceptionally pretty, you give me a decent run for my money. And you've got great legs."
She let out a surprised laugh and shoved him away. "Get off, Andros, I'll do the rest myself."
"Okay, okay!" he said. "You're exceptionally pretty too!"
"Too late, damage done, no more playing doctor for you!" She started to stand, but he pulled her back down and held up a finger to silence her protests.
"Let me at least get this one," he said and tapped her chest just above the scratch. "It'll be hard for you to see."
It started near her collarbone on the right side and sloped down to end just below the edge of her tank top on the left. "Fuck," she said with a glower. "My tit!"
"A definite attempted kill shot."
"Maybe I was trying to copy you."
He frowned and dampened a new cotton ball. "Maybe next time copy my sunny and jubilant personality and leave my many injuries for someone else, okay?"
"Good idea." She tilted her head back to give him better access, but then dropped her chin to pin him with a look. "Are you sure this isn't just an excuse to try to cop a feel?"
He put on his most affronted expression. "I would never!"
Mock skepticism lifted her brow and tilted her mouth.
"If I wanted to cop a feel, I'd just ask," he said.
Her eyes narrowed. "What makes you think I'd say yes?"
He lifted a shoulder in a shrug. "You wouldn't. Not today." His lips curved in that lazy half-smile. "That's why I'm not asking."
Her mouth quirked in reply. "Smart boy," she said. She lifted her chin again and shook back her hair. "Get on with it, then. The spoils of war await, and I'm thinking raspberry sorbet."
July 12
Though she no longer rose before dawn, she still got up earlier than he did, and so it was no surprise that he was still asleep as the sun rose high and strong in the morning sky. But she was impatient, and it was nearly nine, and as grumpy as he could be when she woke him up, she thought maybe it would be worth it.
She set the full mug of coffee on the bedside table and stood studying him a moment as he slept. His dark curls were a tousled halo that needed trimming. The bruises on his face were gone, and the cut had healed well. His eye was still bandaged, but his thigh wasn't, and the scar there was pink and healthy-looking.
He'd filled out some in the last two weeks. She couldn't count his ribs anymore, and the planes on his face had softened and eased. She reached for his shoulder, to awaken him, but at the last minute pulled back. She loved touching him, the familiarity that had grown between them in the last two weeks, but she knew she was treading dangerous territory. One wrong step and she'd fall, or he would, and that would be that.
She shook off her worries and leapt onto the bed. The mattress squeaked beneath her and he bounced a good inch or so off of it. His mouth opened in a silent cry of surprise, and when he saw her his good eye narrowed.
"What the fuck?!" he signed once he had his bearings. "I thought it was an earthquake."
"Nope!" she said. "Just a tsunami." She grinned. "Get it?"
He glared at her. "Yeah. You're hilarious. What time is it?"
"Almost nine, Nick. I've been waiting for like two hours!" She sat down and crossed her legs. "I have a surprise for you. Two surprises!"
That perked him up a little, but only a little. "I hope one of them is coffee."
She sighed. "Okay, three surprises." She reached behind her for the mug and waved it under his nose. "Surprise number one, as requested."
He took it with a grimace of thanks and swallowed several long gulps despite the temperature. As he lowered the mug he read it and rolled his eyes, but he couldn't help the brief grin that broke through.
"Your favorite," she said, and tapped the handle of the mug.
"Sure, right. Thanks."
The stupid, ugly mug said NUMBER ONE FISHERMAN in huge red letters, and it had become something of a joke between them. She'd been trying to teach him to fish for over a week now, but it just wouldn't take. They'd set up by the lake, in the sun or the shade, and she'd start casting her line and reeling in fish both big (to keep) and small (to throw back), and inevitably he'd fall asleep. Doze right off like an old man. He'd often wake to her smearing sunscreen on his nose, or sometimes poking him in the shoulder and handing him the full basket to carry back to the house.
He had some of his best naps on those fishing trips, and it amused her far more than it annoyed her. She'd found the mug buried in the back of the cabinet sometime last week, and it had been his ever since. Neither of them thought Doc Soames would mind.
He set the coffee aside after draining nearly half of it. "Do you think I could pee before surprise number two? I don't know how surprising it is, and I'd hate to embarrass myself."
"Yeah, go ahead." She waved him toward the bathroom. "But hurry! I'm dying here!"
"Yes, ma'am. Hurrying, ma'am!" He gave her a mock salute and rolled out of bed. Even now he delighted in how easy it was to do something simple like walk to the bathroom. Two weeks ago she'd had to help him get anywhere, and for the first few days he'd barely moved from the bed except to pee and, once, take a bath.
By the time he returned she was practically bouncing with impatience. He gave her a lazy grin and climbed up to sit across from her. "Okay, I'm ready. Surprise me."
"Hold out your hands and close your eyes."
He frowned. "Kai—"
"Humor me. Please?"
He sighed and did as she said, and a moment later something dropped into his spread palms. He opened his good eye to stare down at a little package wrapped in matte navy blue paper and tied off with a gold bow. She'd glued shiny gold moons and stars to the top and everything. How long had she been awake?
"What is it?" he said.
"Open it and find out, silly."
He gave the pretty package a dubious look. "Can I rip the paper?"
"Of course you can. It's your present."
He carefully untied the bow and tore through the elegant wrapping to find a little white box, like maybe from a jewelry store. He glanced up at her, then back down at the box, before he opened the lid and pulled out what was inside.
She watched him with anticipation, but at the last minute quailed. What if he hated it? What if he thought she was making fun of him?
"It's an eye patch," she said. "I thought—I mean—I figured—you can't keep wearing a bandage, you know? I thought this would be more comfortable and, hey, pirates are cool, right?" She chewed her lower lip as he sat studying it in silence. She couldn't read his expression, and she worried she'd made a huge mistake.
He ran a finger across the buttery soft leather patch. Flipped it over to study the red silk that lined it. There was something padded between the two, so it would sit comfortably over his eye. The strap was adjustable. He squinted, turning it this way and that, and at last he looked at her.
"Where did you get this?"
"I—I made it. I got the materials at that fabric store in town and I've been working on it the past few mornings while you slept. If you hate it, I can—"
He grabbed one of her hands to stop her. Squeezed it gently as he broke into a slow, beaming smile. "I love it, Kai. You made this? For me?"
Her own mouth quirked. "Well yeah. The only ones I could find were, like, plastic. Halloween costumes. That might work in a pinch, but not longterm. I know the light hurts it, and everything's all shitty and blurry, so I just wanted—you to be comfortable."
"I didn't even know you could sew."
"Oh, I can't. Not really. God, you should see all my failed attempts. I can keep working on it if this one doesn't fit right or it's uncomfortable or anything."
He offered it to her. "Put it on me and let's find out."
She blushed a little and took it from him. "Okay, um, lean closer. So I can reach around your big ol' head."
He shot her a wry look and did as she said. First she carefully peeled away the bandage over his eye. He winced; the tape had started to make raw places on his skin, and she frowned when she saw it. "I'll put something on it later," he said.
She gave a distracted nod and studied him a moment, then ran her fingers through his hair to settle it, but it was a hopeless cause.
"I should cut some of this," she said.
"No way. I've seen how you cut hair."
"Ouch, Andros. Low blow. Fine, cut it yourself."
"Then you wouldn't have any excuse to mess with it all the time," he said with a little grin.
She lifted a brow. "I'm sure I could figure something out. Okay, sit still. I don't wanna poke your eye out the rest of the way." She looped the patch around his head and settled it into place. Fiddled with the adjustment thingie until he gave her a thumbs up.
"How does that feel?" she said.
He wiggled it more firmly into place and ran his fingers over it. Frowned. "Strange. Different. It'll take some getting used to." Some of the tension in his shoulders eased. "But better than the bandage. Much better. I can't believe you made this for me."
She shrugged. "You needed it."
"Yeah, but still. Thank you. It's a great surprise."
She tilted her head in embarrassed acknowledgement. "Well good. I'm glad you like it. Go check yourself out in the mirror, see what you think."
"You said three surprises."
"I did! Surprise number three won't be ready until tonight, though, so you'll just have to wait."
"Wow!" He staggered back and pressed a hand to his chest. "Wow, way to yank the rug out from under me. Have pity, I'm only just back on my feet."
"Drama queen. Hurry up and get dressed. I want pancakes!"
They'd both agreed his pancakes were better than hers, though he used her sourdough starter to make them. She was too impatient, flipped them too soon and too many times. For him the act of pouring the batter and waiting for the bubbles to appear, pop, and stay was meditative. Zen and the art of breakfast.
She hopped off the bed and bounded for the door, then stopped to cast a look over her shoulder. "I like it," she said. She smirked. "But then I've always had a thing for pirates."
Once in the bathroom he decided he liked it, too. It did make him look like a pirate, especially with his wild hair and scruffy beard. He rubbed his chin and thought about shaving, but decided against it. It was too much trouble to do every day, and besides, he looked sixteen without facial hair.
They had pancakes, then washed the dishes together. After that was yoga, then a shower, and he settled onto the couch to read. He'd finished the Nora Roberts, and now he had a real bodice-ripper going, and he needed to know if the virtuous deb would succumb to the roguish duke's charms, or marry the cute-but-boring prince.
Kai appeared from the bedroom with her hair in braids. She wore a t-shirt over her bathing suit and had a towel tossed over her shoulder. "Swim?"
"I don't swim, Kai. You know that."
"A girl can keep trying, can't she?" She smiled and circled the couch to wrap her arms around him from behind. He took her hand and kissed the center of her palm. She gave him a squeeze, pressed her lips to his temple, and ruffled his hair.
"I think she should choose the prince," she signed.
He craned his head back to look at her, expression incredulous. "Go away. We don't allow nonsense in this house."
"A strict nonsense-free zone?"
"Exactly. Take your nonsense outside where it belongs." He shooed her toward the door and she went, flashing him a laughing grin before she slipped out into the sunshine.
He watched her pick her way across the yard and out onto the dock. She paused at the end of it, a small figure silhouetted against the bright water, to drop her towel and shed her shirt. She stretched a little, then disappeared from view as she dove in.
He sighed and settled back into his book, but he was distracted. Maybe he should let her teach him how to swim. How hard could it be? Dogs could do it. Newborn babies could do it. Somewhere along the way he'd lost the knack, but maybe it was like riding a bike.
Eventually he gave up trying to read and set the book aside. Crossed his arms over his chest and dozed. Naps didn't usually bring dreams, or at least not the big ones, and so his sleep was easy and peaceful, and he didn't wake until she tousled his hair again.
His eye opened slowly, because for a moment he savored the mineral-and-loam scent of lake water that clung to her skin and tangled in her hair. When he finally looked at her she smiled and settled down on the coffee table.
"Morning, sunshine," she said.
"Hey. What time is it?"
"Next gift I'm getting you is a watch."
He rubbed his wrist with a rueful frown. The tan line there had faded. "I had one. Booth and his boys stole it."
"Sorry, kid. Next time we go into town we'll find you a new one. Maybe something fancy. I don't think they traffic much in Rolexes around here, but I'm sure we can find something up to your discriminating standards."
"Why would I need that when I can just ask you?"
"I don't know. I might accidentally shoot myself and be in and out of fever-driven delirium for several days. Shit happens."
He considered that a moment. "Good point. We'll see what we can find."
"Smart man." She rose and handed him his book. "Shower for me, then maybe Scrabble?"
He nodded, then knocked on the table to get her attention. "You never told me the time."
"Sure I did, bud. Time for you to get a watch." He threw his book at her, but she just skipped away with a laugh. "You walked right into that one. I'm not even sorry."
obviously a lot of heavy shit happens over the course of The Stand, so these interlude chapters are my attempt at injecting a bit o' levity between heaviness. consider it your creamy center of goodness before they have to rejoin the scariness of the real world.