Yo!
So I've been gone for a while. Sorry about that, but I was in a bad place. Let me take this opportunity to apologize profusely for a very immature and foolish act, one I hope not many people were aware of. It was a one-off thing, never to be repeated again.
Once more, my deepest regrets for a failure to deliver the highest quality of service.
Now that this is (partly) taken care of, I present to you part 4 of chapter 3 in the ongiong series that is "constellations."
As always, I do hope you enjoy.
Comment responses at the very bottom.
Sculptor, or shaping the future one day at a time.
In which we learn that an intelligent man who bears a lot of old scars is the epitome of danger, and the fruit ripens best under glaring rays of sun.
Part 4
The Fruit
Helena slept in Bane's cottage again, alone in 'her' room. It was always slightly different to get up knowing someone else was there, especially since last night. After stretching she sat up, rubbing her eyes and scratching scalp with a yawn to get rid of last sand of sleep from her head. The talks were exhausting, but productive; she could feel a sense of repose already seeping tentatively in a warm gust around her.
But then she remembered her date today. The dreaded brunch.
There was still time, she thought, desperately trying to untie the knot her stomach preferred as of late as its default state. So many things to worry about and she chose the most pleasant one as the topic of her fears. Stupid. To think she almost grasped tranquillity before she crushed it herself like an idiot.
The hallway floor was pleasantly cool under her bare feet; a smooth wooden path towards the living area, still somewhat dark but smelling enticingly of fresh pastries and bread.
She stood at the threshold, in the same place where Bane pressed her to the wall just two weeks prior, watching the man reading some printouts on the sofa. There was no mask on his face, but he was irritatingly similar to the terrorist she once knew, his broad frame filling the space not only with his bulk, but with palpable confidence radiating off him even in his now relaxed state. The paradigm shifted last night. Maybe he had enough mourning and pitying, and needed a good cleansing of atmosphere to set out to new beginning.
"Good morning," he said, never raising his head from the fine print he was absorbed in.
"Mornin'."
"There are challah buns for breakfast."
"I'm not hungry." She yawned, smiling through it when she saw him raise his head. "You seem rested."
"I slept. You should eat."
"That's always good to hear."
Blatant dismissal of his second remark resulted in Bane's eyes narrowing visibly.
"Eat your breakfast."
"I'm not into sweets in the morning."
"There are other things."
"Not hungry."
"You need to pay better attention to regularity of your diet."
"I have stuff to do. Have to pick flowers for Grace. Choose what I'm supposed to be wearing at the brunch. Iron clothes. Shower before that. Do my hair." She glanced at the clock. Six AM. "There's so little time."
"We have five hours to get there. It's a ten minute drive."
"As I've said, I don't have time for eating, and it's pointless anyway since we're going for a meal."
With a sigh he got up, strolled so close he almost brushed Helena's body with his. Crouched and threw her over his shoulder.
"What the… Bane!"
"Call me by my actual name, please."
"I'm not in the mood for jokes. Ouch!"
He deposited her at the narrow end of the kitchen bar, leaving her legs hanging off on each side of him.
"I'm not joking."
"What is this then?"
"Breakfast."
"Oh."
Not much she could say to that. He pressed a warm palm to her sternum, keeping her down on the counter.
"I won't be able to eat in this position."
"You misunderstood. I'll be the one doing the eating."
"Oh." The drowned-out sound morphed into a giggle and then a sigh, when he slid hem of her nightshirt up, exposing her undergarments, then wasted no time in mouthing at the juncture of her thighs through the fabric.
"You might want to take off the wrapping," she proposed, a little out of breath but perplexed more than aroused.
"I know what I'm doing," he growled.
Maybe he did, but it had little effect on Helena. Pleasant tingle as he stroked her legs and rubbed stubbly cheeks on her skin never rose to the insistent itch, nevermind the feverish burn of need to have him everywhere. Meanwhile, he already was hooking his fingers at the hem of her panties, straightening to slide them down.
She used the opportunity to place both feet on his chest in a teasing, but restraining gesture.
"It's not really working for me."
Bane scoffed, keeping a hard gaze on her hips, then thighs, following path of the fabric he was taking off of her.
"You misunderstood again, Helena. This is not for you."
Something in the quality of his voice frightened her more than what he said, what he meant by his words. She observed him bending her knees carefully with his arm on the underside of them, the gentleness laced with something sinister, almost cruel, when he slid her panties off entirely and put them in his pocket. The gesture was familiar, she saw it before.
Right.
"Where are we?" she asked.
He looked up at her, sharp movement of his head reflected in play of muscles visible on his chest.
"Tell me where we are right in this moment," she pressed, trying to sound calmer than she felt.
Realization was evident on his face, of his stumble and her awareness of it. He hunched over Helena, still imposing but now unthreatening, braced on the counter at her sides. His head hung low, so she couldn't see his face anymore.
"For a while I was somewhere else," he admitted.
Then he surprised her, bowing down to her stomach and licking across the scars there. Muscles tensing she threaded fingers through his hair, trying to gain a semblance of control over the situation. She frowned, looking at the ceiling, the lamps over her head a dizzying assembly of circles.
Bane shifted his hands to caress her again, stopping briefly to yank one chair close, to sit while he continued to press open mouthed kisses on her abdomen.
Helena couldn't stop him, didn't have the heart to do it, not when he was so concentrated. She closed her eyes with a sigh, trying to relax into the feeling. Her stomach was still twisted with trepidation, minutes and tasks left until the brunch a constant backfeed in her brain.
The sensation of his warm and wet mouth on her cold and dry nether lips was momentarily unpleasant, a contrast too great to be pleasurable at this stage. She twisted away a bit, feeling him waiting millimetres above her, baiting his breath. When she stilled he resumed, long lick around her core, leaving her shivering from cold and budding irritation.
"This really isn't working for me."
Bane hummed, not deterred in the least.
"Are you listening to me?"
She strained to look at him, able to raise only her head, since he pressed his big palm to her sternum again.
The look that greeted her as she did was frustratingly erotic; she squared her jaw against wave of heat that finally sparkled in her core. Her eyes involuntarily travelled down his splayed hand, thick arm circling around her waist, rising into muscled shoulder. Then there he was, head buried between her legs, just a moment ago lost in the experience of French kissing her pussy.
Now, he was looking up at her, eyes narrowed in the expression she couldn't really place, mouth still working lazily on her body.
She was too stubborn to admit she'd like him to continue.
She was pissed.
He looked fierce and ridiculous at the same time, eager to pleasure her and angry for not participating the way he wanted. Noting her half sceptical, half provoking staring he taunted her, finishing his latest movement with an exaggerated lick, open mouthed and positively obscene.
She thudded her head back on the counter, defeated when they both felt the stab of desire, clenching her muscles, leaving tip of his tongue coated in her essence.
"Shall I stop?"
Fucker, she thought, gritting her teeth and whining lowly in her throat, because he had the audacity to follow that question with another lick, this time languidly circling her clit, engulfing her in his mouth for a long while.
"Shall I stop?" He asked again, infuriating smile audible in the mocking lilt of his words, and then he bit tendon of her thigh, high beside her hip, electing a full-fledged moan and some flailing as she looked to grab him by the head.
He chuckled and deflected, redirecting her palms to the arm still holding her down. She gripped, fingers tense and trembling, on the thick forearm, relishing the play of muscles, splay and warmth of the hand covering her chest.
How did he turn the table this easily?
Helena opened her eyes with a sigh, swallowing and frowning up at him. Bane understood her wordless question. Unerring as ever.
"You're tense, I'm tense, I thought this might be a good way to relax us both." The explanation sounded genuine. Unusual in its lighthearted air.
"What about that episode?"
"Ten seconds long hallucination is hardly an episode." he reasoned. His lips pressed to her stomach again, strengthening his argument. "I must confess, this really is working for me."
Despite herself Helena laughed. So she wasn't in the mood when he started. Okay. Now he had her aroused, and practically laid out as a buffet, and he never left any shred of doubt over how much he liked oral stimulation. Giving and receiving.
Wasn't this the whole point of foreplay, to get to a point of mutual excitement?
A pause in his ministrations and his deep voice, more serious for a change, brought her attention back to the man himself.
"Shall I stop?"
Her thighs trembled a bit, the left caressed with his palm, right braced awkwardly on the edge of the work counter. She was a bit cold and more than a little uncomfortable.
But there was something childlike in his defiance, a perverse challenge giving some semblance of pride over making her wet despite her initial indifference, thinly veiled stubbornness to continue more than the desire to please either of them. Like he had to endure, like giving up halfway would be a failure.
Did she want to stop him from worshipping her body, especially now that he finally wrenched favourable response out of her?
"Oh hell no," she grinned. "Knock yourself out."
Her eager reaction surprised him, so much that she noticed how he relaxed, the tension he was talking about and she didn't see herself before leaving his frame in an instant. She let herself fall back down, boneless and smug.
There was absolutely no point blowing this situation into a problem, dismantling every aspect of it for discussion and observation. So he thought for a while he was somewhere else. It happened. Lingering on the matter accomplished nothing but souring their moods. They both needed distraction of some silly activity, and sex seemed like a gateway drug for leisure, to prepare them for challenges waiting through the rest of the day.
"Where are you?"
She blinked and looked down at Bane, aware that she just spaced out.
"I'm here."
Involuntary twitch of Helena's legs, an upward movement like in preparation to flight, brought a predatory smile to his lips. It never reached his eyes, giving the scribe an idea what his expression might have been most of the time when he was wearing his mask. The stillness with which he regarded her reminded her of a wolf stalking its prey.
He looked lethal. Dangerous. Powerful.
It turned her on like nothing else.
"Are you sure?"
His right hand left her chest and he straightened, looking down at her nearly dispassionately. She did notice his arousal, so the effect was a little off. Or maybe that was his intention, to show her exactly enough to put her at ease.
"Yes?" She managed to whisper out, watching nervously as his palms stilled at her hips. Thumbs teased with delicate stroking at the hollow near her pussy.
He was doing nearly nothing at all. And she felt her breaths grow heavier, her abdomen clench in sweet anticipation, his demeanour affecting her faster and more potently than his actions.
"What's my name?"
He made her laugh, and incredulous rising of her eyebrows smoothing over almost instantly.
That was new. She expected this kind of question from one of her former ingenues, a playful way to ensure the person they were with used them with the knowledge of who was on the other end.
Maybe he wanted to play-pretend?
"Bane," she said in a throaty, buttery tone.
He didn't smile back. His thumbs stilled then pressed painfully for a second. He shook his head, never stopping watching her.
"Oh fuck," she muttered. It was getting her hotter than a tin roof on a sunny day. Probably because she knew deep down it was an excuse, an act to bring them both to the same place. Want and demand, and absolute focus.
Bane narrowed his eyes again, slowly lowering back to his seat, sliding his palms down to her knees, pressing them open even more.
Helena grasped the counter more securely.
He leaned down, looking into her eyes when he licked once at her clit.
"My name."
Shudder went through her at his tone. It was more of a growl than anything. She was sure he used that same exact way of speaking ordering mercenaries around. Her pussy clenched under the fleeting caress of his warm breath.
If not 'Bane' what could she call him?
"Tony, " she gasped out with a little scowl. It sounded wrong.
But he rewarded her, latching onto her clit with mind blowing dedication, putting her legs over his shoulders. That warmed her up alright, especially when he moaned contented over her flesh. She smiled into the sensation of vibrations travelling up her body, lazily playing with her breasts with one idle hand.
"Excellent," he growled.
Helena really was beyond what he meant by that, focused entirely on his actions for a change. Zipper rasped quickly, velcro complained as he yanked on the strap keeping lapels of his slacks together. She couldn't see what he did from his position hidden between her legs, but she had a pretty good idea from the way his right shoulder shifted under her thigh.
The knowledge affected her more than his caress.
"Bane…"
Sudden stop of all contact startled her up. She looked down, propped on her elbow, hard surface of the counter unforgiving under her bones as she shifted her legs for missing purchase.
He was shaking his head, as if displeased. A shit eating grin plastered on slightly glistening lips, a threat almost, as he leant comfortably on his chair.
"Not my name."
Helena frowned, panting, biting her lips when she saw him lick his. Her eyes sneaked down, but the counter was too high, obstructing her view. Regardless, she knew he was still fisting himself.
She swallowed.
"Dear doctor Dorrance," she said spitefully. "Kindly put your mouth back over my pussy, please."
It didn't sound like a plea. Not one bit.
"I think I need some more incentive to continue."
She gasped, and sat upright.
"Oh fuck," she moaned before she could help herself. He was sitting there like her every wet dream, shirtless and relaxed, save for the crucial part of his physique. Sliding dangerously close to the edge she reached to clasp his jaw.
He let her bring him close for a kiss. Sloppy and needy entanglement of mouths and tongues, without a hint of finesse. Pretense was obsolete. She wanted to finish, careless of his intentions, of her own doubts before he got her really aroused, and she didn't care in the least what would be the means to get her there.
"Fuck me Tony," she moaned, still shaking her head in resentment, still unease about the context of what she was saying.
He panted over her mouth, smiling, searching for the right words to describe what he wanted from her.
"I used to think of all your taunts when we emailed. All the times you flirted with me. All the opportunities to ask you for pictures, or videos, or just an outright admittance of your willingness." His hand kept working over his cock, slowly and leisurely, mesmerizing Helena, drawing her gaze away from his face. He kissed her again, brought his free hand to angle her head, fisting a bunch of hair for better grip. "And I denied myself all that. So that one day, perhaps like this one, one day I could sit and hear you say those words. Knowing you want me, and only me, not some construct of your imagination, not a memory of someone else."
There was no chance for her to answer. Once more he licked into her mouth, sinful like a decadent fabric sliding over naked skin, sweeter than the best chocolate, as intoxicating as the smoothest whisky. Rising from his seat he brought her closer, enjoying slide of her skin, tracing soft lines of her neck. Calloused fingers guided her to lay back down, boneless yet again, rendered speechless.
He resumed his original position, sitting on the chair, head buried between her thighs. This time she was perfectly attuned to his every stroke and kiss, moaning with him when he pushed in the right places, when his tongue slid slickly over her clit, when he thumbed her opening. Now, she was burning up, desperate need making her restless. Bane was strangely timid, obviously holding back for some reason.
Helena felt the constrictions building inside her, slowly into feverish inferno, impossible to satisfy without more stimulation.
Then she understood why he said earlier this was for him, not her.
"Please Tony," she whimpered, "please let me finish. Please make me come."
Panting, he moved away, licking her essence off his lips with obvious gusto.
"In or out?"
That harsh tone he used, the hard edge to his stare, brought forward everything she remembered about Bane. But this time, she had to make herself consciously think of him not by his mercenary alias, but by the name he has taken as his. Dorrance the shy astrophysicist. Tony the quirky and faithful friend.
Standing at her feet like the conqueror that he was, fisting his cock in preparation to fuck her silly.
It was for him. She reminded herself.
"Out."
He grinned and then laughed, throwing his head back. Slightly terrifying sight for Helena, braced with her head straining to stay steady, not knowing what he had planned for this answer. Then he gathered her close, sliding into her pussy without effort, and carried her towards the sofa.
There he pounded into her, a delightfully rough treatment just what she needed to get this much more aroused. His harsh grunts were mingling with her loud moans, heavy breaths chopped and uneven. She strained beneath him, arms over her head in an effort to steady herself on the armrest, brace for unrelenting impact of galloping thrusts.
"My name," he gritted out through clenched teeth, taking his cock out, stroking it almost automatically.
"Fuck, Tony," Helena complained, nothing in her head but the impending release that was snatched away.
"Full sentence please," he mocked. He looked elated, on the very brink of orgasm himself.
"I changed my mind, I want you to finish inside," she pleaded.
"A word is a word," he teased. His head lowered over her pussy again, the soft skin there reddened and swollen. Again he gorged on her essence, relishing every sound she made, each feeble attempt to get more of his skin on top of her.
"Please Tony, get in, in, in, please, just put it back in." She babbled, her previous poise forgotten.
He pressed two fingers inside her, fully aware it wouldn't be enough, even with his continuous assault on her clit.
"Fuck yes, just like that," she encouraged, words escaping her in quick short bursts, along with too shallow breaths. She gulped down the air in between moans, thrashing on the pillows of the sofa in search of any kind of relief.
"More?" He asked.
"Yes!"
"Fingers?"
"Fuck you Tony," she whined. "You know I want you to fuck me."
Bane smiled at her phrasing, and kept up his mirth when he slid inside her again. This time he was taking greater risk teasing her like this. His cock swelled at the snug warmth around, at the feel of her nipples under his fingers and in his mouth. She gripped him in a desperate hold, not willing to let him part.
He felt her orgasm before she could voice her satisfaction, the ripples around his body transferring to him in a tidal wave of pleasure.
"Yes, Tony, fuck me just like that!"
He laughed at that, carelessly letting himself indulge into another time at her pussy, feeling under his lips the last tremors rocking her body. He was losing his head, enjoying how she cradled him closer, how she chanted his name, the steady prayer of 'Tony, Tony, Tony' ringing in his ears until he was continually moaning into her heat, the last instinct as he came to straighten up and mark her with his seed.
He contemplated the way his come splattered on her skin, tracing soft lines of her twitching belly and heaving chest with appreciation.
"That was intense," she whispered.
Humming in agreement, he finally plopped on the cushions to let his overworked muscles wind down.
"I think I blacked out there for a moment," Helena continued.
Bane smiled, pleasantly tired with exercise she put him through, more than a little pleased with himself.
"Shower?" He proposed mildly.
"I'd rather take a bath."
"Not enough time," he smirked. "We lost over half an hour."
"Somehow I don't care about that anymore."
He smiled triumphantly, content with his double win.
oOo
"Are you nervous?" Bane asked, palm sliding over Helena's waist. He pressed himself close while they scored through wooden path to the house; she wished her trench would be thick enough to hide delicate tremors bunching her muscles in regular intervals. Fat chance.
"Excited." She grinned, a last-resort kind of a smile, strained and too toothy to look even remotely genuine.
"I thought they were friends." Bane furrowed his brows. "We can still leave."
"I'm fine."
The door opened before they had a chance to ring the bell. At the entrance stood a very distinguished gentleman, neat mop of silver hair brushing slightly the upper beam of the doorframe. Helena smirked at Bane's momentarily surprised face.
"Not the only freakishly tall person in the room for once. This will be fun," he remarked.
"The sentiment is appreciated and reciprocated, Mr Ferguson."
"Graham, please."
"Tony," Bane offered, shaking hands with the man.
"Hello Graham," Helena quipped from behind Bane's back. She didn't even flinch when Bane introduced himself, his earlier exercise in familiarizing her with the sound and use of his name a vivid reminder that she should stop using his alias altogether.
Their host sent a somewhat apologetic look towards Bane, and released his hand to embrace the scribe tightly.
"You neglected us for way too long."
"Oh, I'm sure you weren't lonely."
"That's beside the point, young lady." He herded them over to the closet and took their coats. "To atone I'll have you sitting by our star guest."
"Not Alex!" Helena gasped looking at the host in the mirror. The stage whisper was calculated to sound both outraged and incredulous. Graham chuckled.
"And our benjamin, Magnus Bentsen, who is a theology student."
"Message received. I'll be visiting every week from now on." She finished arranging her shawl, careful not to leave any part of her bruised throat visible to others. The marks were fading, but she wouldn't dare putting makeup on them as the only disguise.
"I have a witness," Graham looked over to the other man, who nodded solemnly, "so now you can't back out of your promise."
"Can't you get selective amnesia?" she implored Bane.
"That would be very dishonourable." While he said that, his eyes smothered down Helena's frame, appreciating tight fit of her backless dress. The plunging neckline was cut into broad 'v' at the front and back, kept decent with long sleeves and the fact that she added flowing silk to cover her neck.
"A man after my own heart," Graham noted, smiling at their banter. He gestured them over towards the sitting room. Grace welcomed them at the entrance a bit flustered with preparations, but very much pleased with their tokens of gratitude for the invitation; decorative challah wreath with red-dyed eggs and a simple bread from Bane, psalm calligraphed in style of Byzantine icons, adorned lavishly with gold leaf from Helena. And a fresh bunch of lily of the valley mixed with some lovely bluebells.
The sitting room was enormous, at least thirty square metres, and ceiling scaling up to the roof. The outer wall was littered with French windows leading to a terrace with magnificent view of the sea. Seating was plentiful, low furniture scattered around in clumps and groups providing zones for different groups of people if necessary. Here and there there were high and bushy tails of potted plants, yucca and ficus and some posh nameless ones Helena didn't bother to know. On the right were double doors leading to the dining room, closed shut still. On left, beside the fireplace, was Graham's study, and conveniently beside the entrance a cabinet full of alcohol and glasses.
Three guests were in already; a family of local police officer, his wife and daughter all huddled on a sofa near the centre.
Much to everyone's astonishment the man knew Bane.
"Doctor Dorrance, nice to see you again."
"And you, officer Torp. Although under the circumstances I must insist you call me by my name."
"Likewise. May I present to you my lovely wife Tirill and my daughter Anna, who we call Jack. Don't ask why." He stopped for a dramatic second. "I mean it. Don't."
"I wouldn't dare now," Bane joked. Helena smirked behind him, sending a wink to both women who she knew anyway.
"An aperitif before we start?" Graham offered, taking their orders in stride. Helena requested a martini; she knew she'd get it very dry which was just the way she needed to get through the whole ordeal of a brunch. Whoever thought this was a good idea?
Bane was sticking to non-alcoholics since he was driving, but she saw him sneak to his bedroom before they went out, presumably for a last-moment puff of his 'medicine.'
Next guests to come in were local doctor and his daughter; the same Sven who asked about Helena's wellbeing prompting an impromptu visit from Grace. And the Anna who was responsible for spreading rumours about her new 'friend', a teacher and part-time receptionist at her father's clinic.
They smiled pleasantly and talked about nothing in particular, and Helena drained her drink in record time. Ever attentive, Graham brought her a new one, under a watchful gaze from Bane who was unable to intervene, tied up close by the terrace with Jack's questions on his cottages. Apparently she was an avid fan of the studio which designed them and wouldn't let Bane go until he parted with every shred of information. He seemed to have a soft spot for inquisitive young women anyway, so he didn't look too pained by the interrogation.
More guests arrived; a marriage of a writer and a researcher, Tom and Lucy Helpern, both young, withdrawn and dressed in black head to toe. Helena had no idea what their connection to the Fergusons was. Then a young man knocked shyly on the door - a mister Bentsen, the benjamin of the group as Graham called him, studying theology by the grant of the hosts. Immediately he was smitten with Helena, having seen and admired her work but had never before been able to meet her in person at the parties he was invited to. He gazed at her reverently and tried not to stutter too much talking about the weather.
"Ugh. Overcast again. At least we had some sun yesterday. That was so great."
"Yes, absolutely," she replied absentmindedly. "Magnus, was it?"
A benevolent smile resulted in sudden explosion of colour on his cheeks.
"I have prepared a little work for Grace, I think she won't have any qualms in showing it to you. Psalm sixteenth."
"An exquisite choice." The declaration was backed by undoubtedly more extensive biblical knowledge than Helena's. She just googled which citation would be appropriate for the occasion. But he didn't have to know that.
As if summoned, Grace came close chatting away with the doctor, arms linked and fond smiles on both their faces. Magnus lost no time in getting the hostess' attention.
"Mrs Ferguson, I have an urgent request."
He whisked her away before she had a chance to gather her wits for an evasive manoeuvre, still looking curiously over her shoulder at the doctor and the scribe.
They sipped their drinks watching pensively after the pair.
"Will she ever come back?" the man asked wistfully.
"Perhaps," Helena mused. "If she kept my gift separate from other stuff I made for her."
Unlikely, both knew it just as well.
Sven didn't inquire further; he grabbed Helena's arm, gently steering her towards a more secluded part of the room.
"Your newest friend looks interesting," he commented.
"He is."
"Not as much as the marks on your throat."
That was to be expected. The man lived from his observational skills.
"Do they show much?"
"A bit."
"I'll rearrange the shawl then." She tried to give an air of ennui while she turned her back to the room and fussed with the fabric, but it didn't work on the man who could tell condition of her liver by her complexion.
"Was this voluntary on your part?" he asked.
"No. But it's not… What one might think." She finished lamely. It was exactly what one might think.
"Do you require assistance?"
Did she? A slow sip of martini was her only diversion and it wasn't nearly enough time to think of a good diversion.
"Yes. Tony has to find a therapist." It was best to be honest. "For what happened in Gotham. Can you refer him to the one you found for Nick?"
Niklaus, the ex-FSK guy, who she was still in contact with. Why didn't she think to ask him about it?
Sven nodded, never stopping eyeing Bane from across the room.
"Is he really a physicist? He looks like a dangerous man."
"He is an intelligent man," Helena supplied.
To her it was just the way he looked - always had been like this. But she could see how threatening he could seem to other people. A wolf in sheep's clothing; scarred and muscular, tall and confident. At the same time unerringly kind and polite, sharply dressed in woollen three piece suit in light grey, crisp white shirt and moss green knitted tie. A walking contradiction in brown leather oxfords.
"An intelligent man who bears a lot of old scars is the epitome of danger," Sven said sententiously, switching to measure Helena's response for a few seconds.
She didn't have appropriate retort to that.
"Lupus in fabula*," the doctor murmured, raising his glass in a silent greeting when Bane approached.
They nodded respectfully, exchanging secretly calculating glances. Bane rested one hand at the small of Helena's back, at once reassuring and possessive.
"I think you caught it already, but Sven here is my family physician."
"Dorrance," Bane said, making Helena raise her eyebrows in confusion. Why didn't he offer his name like he did with others until now?
"Torstein," Sven replied with a hint of superiority.
What was with these two, she thought.
"Sven was the one who sent me to the surgery. Saved my life."
That deflated Bane a bit. The doctor however looked more smug than was appropriate given the topic of their conversation.
"All in a day's work."
"I was just asking his advice on a matter that you might find interesting," she continued. Bane's palm pressed slightly firmer into her back. "I think I'll leave you two to work out the details, I just remembered I have to ask Tirill about her school's curriculum."
She didn't wait for them to try and stop her, and sauntered away, gulping down the rest of her drink as she went. That was a bit underhanded, she had to admit even before herself. Bane couldn't follow her without making a fuss. He wouldn't do that. Not yet.
The police officer's wife sat with Graham, giggling and looking enormously pleased with herself.
"Oh, Helena come, I have a confession to make," she waved her over with a laugh. "I was just telling Mr G I went into the dining room and switched the placing cards so that I could sit by your date."
"Huh," was all the scribe could say. Was there anything else to do beside raising her eyebrow and looking over to poor host sitting there in mortified silence?
"I know it's hardly appropriate. But I'll have no way of snatching him away from Jack, and I need to ask him a favour."
"Today?"
"Forge while the iron is hot," she snickered.
How could anyone be mad at her when she's so refreshingly honest, Helena thought.
Ten years her senior, which placed her nearly exactly at Bane's age, Mrs Torp was a dedicated and much loved teacher and youth counselor. She knew how to talk with people, and she actually cared about what they were telling her about. In exchange, she never beat around the bush herself, for better and for worse.
They chit-chatted awhile, about movies and the weather, at one point left by Graham to investigate whereabouts of the missing two guests.
Good quarter of an hour after she left Bane with the physician, Helena turned finally to locate the two. Sven was in a hushed conversation with Grace again, the pair close together like best friends or lovers, Helena thought. Bane was standing alone at the window, back turned to the room, sipping his tea.
She excused herself and beelined towards him, hiding behind tall plants whenever anyone seemed interested in stalling her progress. She slithered her hand in the crook of his elbow, thumb rubbing reassuring circles on the inside of his arm.
"Are you good?"
She watched intently for any sign of discomfort or displeasure, but apart from his conversation with the doctor, Bane was perfectly composed.
"I'm well."
"To be honest I didn't think this type of gathering would be a comfortable place for you."
"How do you mean?"
"Well, I suspect you didn't do social calls in your previous line of occupation."
He grunted dismissively, an amused smirk twisting slightly his marred lips. Helena had to hide her surprise when he decided to indulge her curiosity and leaned down with an explanation whispered huskily into her ear.
"I only ever read about parties like this, or watched them from the shadows. To be finally a part of one, as an equal among other guests… I'm thrilled. It's like living inside of an Agatha Christie novel."
Lull in general conversation had Helena's laugh reverberate musically through the room, drawing curious and amused glances their way.
"And who would you be? Poirot? Shall I call you Hercules?" The attempt at French accent was bad, but it did succeed in making Bane grin.
The entrance door opened and shut with a loud bang, turning all eyes towards darkened corridor. Helena felt Bane tense beside her, turning discreetly so that he shielded her with his body. Slow and drawn out thumping steps echoed off the walls, tension building with each second. Deep and pleasant baritone rumbled from behind a dark fedora, precariously kept secured on the head of the mysterious figure with a gloved hand, shielding their face as well.
"All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts.** And this man, ladies and gentlemen," the stranger stepped forward into full light and bowed deeply to the room, "just landed a lead role in 'Macbeth'!"
"Jesus fuck, Alex!" Jack complained.
"Anna Torp, behave please like an adult not an adolescent," Anna chided.
"I apologize." The younger woman swallowed her pride in an admirable show of magnanimity towards her former teacher.
Meanwhile congratulations poured from other guests, along with some teasing remarks and playful insults. Introductions were made and in truly grand fashion the thespian was revealed to be the last guest to attend the brunch. As Graham explained, local judge was meant to be there, but she was delayed by a personal matter. Since they lost enough time waiting, pushing their scheduled start a quarter of an hour late, Grace stepped forward immediately, clearing her throat dramatically to grab everyone's attention.
"I am sure we all read some murder mystery novel at one time or another, be it a classic like Christie, or something more contemporary, modern and grim. At any rate, I think we're all familiar with how these things play out. So I want you to enjoy our food and time together, but remember - the murderer is lurking amongst us! The doors are sealed and the deed will happen with everyone in the room." She chuckled and looked around to measure response of her guests. Graham did a little clapping motion, but nearly soundlessly, supporting her at her flank. Barely anyone else responded with something more energetic than a flash of a smile. "Well, let's not be idle. The brunch is served."
*Lupus in fabula [lat.] "Speak of the devil" :D *wink, wink*
**William Shakespeare, "As You Like It" [Act 2, Scene 7]
Please leave a comment if you enjoyed! Be sure you do if you didn't! :D
Review responses:
Lia: This is stuff you shouldn't be reading at work, and i shouldn't be writing it there... :D Lemme just leave it at that and bask again in the warm rays of mutual understanding.
Kiara Exodus: I responded back then but again - the honour is all Helena's. She's really writing herself, I'm often left frowning at the things she says and does. It's hella entertaining though, right?
WorryFree: Yes, and yes; it is set exactly when you figured and that is the same lacy lingerie that we see in the Scientist. I thought back then adding another chapter with smut would be too much of the good stuff... Concerning the jealousy, well, you're reading my mind, so maybe I should change what I have planned next. Hmm.
Esperanza: Yay, please eep reading and leave a word or two from time to time. It does help tremendously.
Reader: The power balance is tricky, so your comment made me doubly glad. So thankful there is someone who notices!
Guest: Thank you so much for your encouraging words. I have been unusually down, but I think I'll be taking things slow and steady now, without too much strain and promises adding unnecessary weight over myself. It's so awkward to read words like yours, about the quality of the story and the uneasiness of not "meeting the same level" in a comment. in reality, even broken, one word sentences are meaningful. Writers are needy like that. :) We live (and publish) for those rare and short glimpses of attention from readers, for crumbs of appreciation and perhaps also satisfaction of completion.
Adarya: I thought you abandoned Bane, Helena and me. So glad to see you again! I'm happy you liked the 'November' chapter, and i'm again at a loss, because i always feel so inadequate while responding to you. :) Hoping this installment will be good read a few times over too, do let me know if you enjoyed.
Last but nor least:
IT'S SO GOOD TO BE BACK! :D