Arc VI

Chapter LII

Tame That Fire

"I did not find him absurd. I saw he was kind, that he was on the verge of real love. I thought it would be nice for me to be in love with him, too."

Françoise Sagan ― Bonjour Tristesse

Walking down the streets at night, hand in hand, still didn't feel right somehow. There was a certain resentment for the past, an unhealable wound carved deep into their skins, lacerating their visions and tarnishing the fragile bond keeping them together against all odds. Too much had happened in only seven days. Their lives had changed in unthinkable ways. His past had been larger than he imagined; her past had not waited for her to come back. They had both romanced death; waltzing the final tune of darkness and oblivion. Rosario was dead. Now they were married and the notion of such a sacred union seemed both impeccably tailored and whimsically meaningless. Yet the feeling was there, underneath their skins, subjugated by regrets and the sorrow, barely struggling to survive.

He had seen it in her eyes. Sparkling faintly through the clouds, barely visible. But real, nonetheless.

A few blocks away from their destination, the cowboy's march came to a halt. He knew how much she disliked his room and although their new positions as heir and manager of the House of Pleasure were almost ensuring the fact that they would soon have to move back to the brothel, the man understood that the least he could do for that woman was to try to offer her a pleasant, quiet night away from the chaotic visions of tomorrow.

They walked back East, just a few blocks past the Barristers' Office, to the only bar in town that was still open: a godforsaken little redoubt mostly deserted except for the occasional drunk sleeping with their faces touching the filthy counter. Not exactly a romantic destination, he knew, but at least her face was beginning to show some signs of life.

They sat by the last table, the one facing the largest window in the room. Candlelight struggled to maintain the mood of such an awkward night as the timid flame flickered in the air, fighting to stay alive. Their drinks, much like the place, were nothing special. Outworld liquor was sour and arrogant in its own way; a cheap imitation that could never become the very thing it was trying to emulate. Still, her smile didn't look forced or unnatural, far from it. At least, she seemed happy enough; happy he had decided not to take her to his house, happy that, at least, they would have one night to themselves before hell itself burned them both to the ground.

It felt like a responsibility to him to at least provide her with a night of tranquility after everything they had been through.

As tense as he was, Black couldn't hide his surprise when the doctor cupped his hands with hers. So much had happened in the last week that now it was hard for the man to remember she could be warm and affectionate from time to time. But when the time came for the newlyweds to make a toast, both of them chose silence over words. Just the clicking of their surprisingly clean glasses broke the soundless scene, sheltering their minds from the events of such confusing days. As soon as their glasses were empty, Black stood up and walked up to the bar. He paid for their drinks and then made his way back to the table where the doctor was waiting for him. He moved her chair and offered her his hand for the woman to stand up but instead of guiding her towards the exit, the gunman signaled the stairs at their back. A tremulous shiver ran down her spine as she realized the man had booked a room for the night.

Her polite smile was not enough to completely masquerade her uneasiness. Still, when the time came, his steady hands guided her upstairs and into a simple room with a large window and only one bed.

He sensed her nervousness the second he closed the door. It was heartwarming, in a way.

"I bet this is not how you imagined you'd spend your wedding night," he said, carefully avoiding the fact that, in the first place, she had never imagined she would be sharing her wedding night with him.

The woman nodded once, allowing a minuscule grin to curl up her lips.

"Then you better wait till the honeymoon," Black joked, causing her timid grin to turn into a full smile.

"Any destination in mind?" She asked, deciding to join him on his attempt at breaking the ice.

The gunslinger scratched his chin and offered her a questioning look; his eyes, seemingly lost in thought, were trying their best to help her find some peace.

"I hear the Kove is nice this time of the year," he offered. "Sorry, were you thinking about Rome, or maybe Paris?"

She laughed out loud and ultimately nodded her head, playing along as she moved closer to the petite table placed beneath the window; the one with many bottles of wine and two small cups.

"Some liquid courage…" She reckoned with a quick glance over the shoulder. "Special service for newlyweds, I assume?"

Black shook his head as he walked up to her.

"I just told them we needed a room to spend the night. Technically, we've been married for over a week now." He was right. Yvo's plot had put an exact date to their imposed union and bending such margins was a risk they could not afford to take. "Do you need it, though? Liquid courage? 'Cos, I know I sure do," he lied as he took one of the bottles and poured some wine for them.

He proposed a new toast, this time, with words. "To my second wife," he began, purposefully avoiding eye contact. "I thought one was more than enough but here I am…"

The doctor drank her wine in silence, noticing the growing distance in his eyes - those cloudy eyes of his, the ones she had learned to read like an open book. She grimaced as she let her now empty cup rest on the table and moved towards the bed, taking off the tunic Yvo had given her to help her blend in. When she heard him sigh ever so softly, the doctor sat cross-legged on the bed, ready to let him guide her through the night as if in need of a compass, a North to show her where to go, what to do.

He noticed.

"It's just a paper," he said. "We don't have to do anything. It can be just a formality, it's completely up to you."

She rubbed her hands against her legs, trying to get rid of the sweat covering her palms, then she looked down.

He noticed.

He noticed her.

"I want to make a deal with you," Black offered. "Let's leave Earthrealm back in Earthrealm." His simple words were saying much more than what was plainly contained inside those syllables. He was trying his best to build a bridge between them; a solid bridge that could last during the storm waiting ahead.

Alexandra grinned quietly to herself as she beckoned him to move closer to her.

"It's gonna be tough," she whispered, her mind flooded with painful memories of Earthrealm. "But I can try… I will try, but you have to do the same." Those demanding eyes of hers were about to make a deal with the devil; those eyes were begging him to seal that portal and never look back on everything and everyone they had lost along the way.

It was the only way.

Her hands landed on his chest, as he stood in front of her, still and stoic, giving her time and space to decide what she wanted to do. When her fingertips began to draw concentric circles across his torso, Black held one of her hands in place and stared deeply into her eyes as she kneeled on the bed and moved closer, unbearably close to him. The doctor pecked him on the lips, shyly, then nuzzled her face on his neck, breaking all possible distance and allowing his free arm to wrap her waist in its warm, comfortable embrace. There she stayed, for a little while, until he released her and helped her down on the bed. She lay on her back, eyes trained on the ceiling as the man loomed over her and moved his body, arms and legs soaring, creating figures in the ceiling.

She deduced, from the shadows moving all around her now, that he was taking off his clothes.

"Have you ever wished for something so badly that in the end, even waiting for it to happen became ridiculous?" She asked, propping herself up with her hands.

All his movements came to a halt as the man loomed over her once more, hands landing at the sides of her shoulders. One of the doctor's hands brushed against his tattoo, carefully tracing each line with nervous fingertips.

"When did you get this?" Alexandra asked, trying her best to delay the moment for as long as possible and Black smiled quietly as he sat on the bed, offering the woman one of his hands for her to sit up as well.

"Back in the seventies," he said as he cupped her hand with his own. "I needed to cover a rather gruesome scar. I never really minded scars, chicks dig 'em after all…" he laughed, "but this one was different. I didn't want to keep this scar."

The woman kissed the design, trying her best to find the wound with lips eager to explore. Yet time had already worked its magic, fading the pain, hiding its original texture.

"And why did you choose to keep this one instead?" The woman stared into his eyes as her hands found the brand on his shoulder.

He smirked, bitterly.

"Because that brand is a testament to me."

"You're not the only one," Alex whispered, standing up and taking off her clothes. The number tattooed on her ankle and the brand on her shoulder were still there, corrupting her anatomy. He could still remember the first time he had laid eyes on all those marks. He would never forget.

They had never really talked about what they felt for each other; they never really had the time. Finding the right moment and searching for the exact words to say were tasks they could not bring themselves to complete. And suddenly they were married. Naked. Exposed. And nervous. Just like a couple of inexperienced teenagers toying on the very verge of adulthood.

He kissed her gently on the lips before getting into bed, covering his body with the bedsheets and crossing his arms over his chest. The woman stared at him from the small window of distance he had just created; eyes wandering his face as if searching for something. A certainty, or maybe an answer.

"Tomorrow morning, when we get home, your eyes will want to move the walls around in order to make the place more spacious… but they won't succeed," he began, stretching one of his hands and caressing her shoulder. "I got nothin' to offer. Nothin' worthy of a wife. Maybe the brothel, as lame as that place is, could be a better place for you."

"And for you, as well," she said, moving closer again, seeking contact. "We're married now; we're supposed to live together, Erron. Like husband and wife."

His hand stopped all possible motions, landing heavily on her forearm.

"Like husband and wife," he whispered pensively, letting the echo of his baritone voice linger in the small space between them. "I don't want you to feel that kind of pressure. Things have always been complicated for us, ever since we met… it's always been hard for us. For me to get through to you, for you to get through to me…" Black went on as Alexandra let her head rest on his chest, arms anchored to his figure. "We don't have to do anything, really."

"Black…"

He cupped her hands in his, sweetly.

"I know we feel closer to each other now; Earthrealm has done this much for us. But things are changing this side of the portal as well: Rosario is gone, we both know it affects us both professionally and emotionally. Now we are part of a plan we didn't exactly plan for ourselves," he felt her fingers digging into his skin, as if trying to chain themselves to his body. "I know it's frightening; it should be frightening. Even for me."

His impeccable sense of comprehension surprised her once again. It was nice to be with someone who could see clearly through the smoke, it was nice to know he was willing to try his best even when she was certain the man was mostly seeking revenge. In her mind, the vertiginous torrent of change was already in motion; the House of Pleasure was destined to become their base of operations, she would be the one behind the money and he would be the one shaking hands with friends in high places, juggling foes and power in order to survive.

They were partners.

Finally.

When she felt his lips on her forehead, the woman looked him in the eye and propped herself up with her elbows, sitting awkwardly on his stomach. Svelte fingers removed the rest of her clothes, exposing her anatomy entirely for his eyes to reckon her as his. But her eyes succumbed to the pressure as her forehead reached for his chest. He guided her chin up, eager to find her eyes, but she looked away.

He sat up straight on the bed, flexing his knees, containing her in his warmth.

"I can book a separate room for me if you want," he offered. "I can sleep on the floor, I don't mind."

She laughed, bitterly.

"Erron Black, a true gentleman… who would have thought."

He smiled.

"A true gentleman would be wearing some clothes," he said. "A true gentleman wouldn't have you naked on top of him."

One adventurous hand landed on her chin and descended slowly; a thin, strictly straight trajectory across her neck, her breasts, and her belly.

"At least I didn't have to worry about the groom misbehaving during his bachelor party," she said, welcoming his touch, learning his skin.

"But now your husband is the manager of a brothel. Funny, huh?"

She punched his shoulder lightly then laughed.

"Well, at least I married the manager."

The woman bit her lower lip, forcing him to lean his body forwards and trap her entire mouth in his. Then their smiles coalesced briefly, forehead against forehead.

"You know, growing up, everyone used to tell me not to marry a whore," he whispered.

"I haven't been a whore in a very long time, Black."

He nodded. Proudly. Satisfied.

The cowboy kissed her gently on the lips before sitting on the edge of the bed, his hands resting on his thighs, her hair brushing his shoulders. She was trying her best to be brave, even when the man could feel her uncertainties – to fall for a man that cannot age, to leave her whole life behind and face a brand new threat… breathing softly through parted lips, the mercenary felt her lips traveling across his collarbone.

"I've always had a thing for older men," she said. "When I found out Nathan had lied to me about his age, that he was younger than me… I nearly killed him."

That name again, ill-natured and deprived of all plausibility, was exiting her lips again.

It wouldn't be easy, he knew. It wouldn't be fast; it wouldn't be magical.

When he looked over his shoulder and trapped her adventurous chin with his fingers, the man sensed the doubt inside those big, blue eyes of hers – if he was the right man for her or not, if she was ever going to feel what he was feeling.

"Is that why you like me?"

The fire ignited inside her eyes, made him see his own face inside that eternal bonfire of hers. With one swift movement of his arms, he had her trapped in his lap, his hands roaming every piece of her anatomy. Her body was a lesson he was willing to learn; such hunger, he knew, such thirst, could not be satisfied with mere crumbs.

The unexpected knocking on their door prevented his lips from devouring hers once again, so the man stood up and wrapped the sheets around his waist to cover his naked body. Then he walked up to the door with quiet steps and an unreadable expression on his face.

"Excuse me, sir," the waiter began, apologetically. "I forgot to mention: breakfast is served between 8:30 and 10:30."

Black nodded in silence, patting the young man gently on his shoulder. Then he closed the door and walked back to the bed.

She was asleep.

Pulling the hair back from her eyes, the ancient gunslinger lay beside her, stretching his arms only to pull her closer to his chest. He closed his eyes feeling the warmth of her cheeks against his skin. A peculiar feeling of completion overwhelmed him as he rocked her in his arms ever so tenderly.

It was good she was asking him for time.

Time was the only thing he had to give.

Author's notes: Such a long time, I know… For all those who follow me on Tumblr, you must have noticed that I've put this fic on hiatus. It's not a full hiatus, if I had to be honest – but since I'm writing two different stories for two different fandoms, updates won't be as frequent as they used to be in the past. Also, this story is coming to an end and I'm having some trouble letting go, but that's a completely different matter.

Anyways, I just wanted to give you guys one more chapter, albeit short, before this year is over. This has been a particularly tough year for me, so I wanted to thank each and every one of you for your kind words and your constant support – This year I fell off the stairs at home, I had to move and find a new place to live, my husband had an accident and, to top things, my 6-year-old dog, a Cocker Spaniel named China, died two days ago in the most ridiculous way so I cannot wait for this shitty year to be over. I guess, what I'm trying to say is that writing has helped me lots during this macabre concatenation of months that doesn't even deserve to be called a year – and you guys over there, helped me lots too.

I hope you have a merry Christmas, and an awesome 2018.

Oh, and Synnocence, I can't believe you read this whole story in such a short time, thank you so, so, so much!

Love,

E.