Sorry I was so long in posting this Chapter. What I intended to do as "Chapter 3" became cut up into Chaps 3, 4 and 5. Then, for editing purposes, I split some stuff and it got pushed into 2 different chapters instead. Now, about to post Chapter 3, I realize that 15 typed pages is a bit too much for one chapter so I cut this chapter in half again . . . So we're back to 3 different chapters from my original . . . But I still posted these two chapters together, since I think it's easier to read through that way.
I have this question, maybe one could answer—because it is very interesting to know . . . When I write—am I "hard to follow"? Like . . . I feel like it's hard to read all that write—especially since I usually write quite long chapters . . .
PS--Out Of Character-ness beware
Chapter Three – A Never-Wilting Rose
"Wha . . . ?"
Mu felt himself cock his head at the confusing scene. Too many questions peaked themselves inside Mu's mind—the familiar man's change being quite high on his list. John didn't wait for Mu to piece it together.
With another dark glare sent in the newcomer's direction, John roughly pushed himself away from Murrue. Pausing only to glance back at her, he stormed his way out, making sure to 'accidentally' hit Mu hard in the arm as he pushed past. Mu didn't say a word—just followed the man's exit quizzically with focused eyes.
Murrue's final ounce of strength disappeared as John was lost from view."Mu . . ." Came Murrue's voice—quiet. He immediately spun back around to face inside at her call, but he lost his breath at the sight of his strong Murrue standing there—utterly broken.
The hands she'd held at her side came up, shaking-ly coupling around her mouth. Held tight in one hand was what she hadn't yet let go in all the time He'd been there. Mu recognized the necklace instantly, just from the simple chain that dropped from her closed hand.
His mind figured out everything else quite quickly after that.
He couldn't hear her speak, not over the sudden shattering of everything he'd known.
". . . You know . . . John, don't you?" Murrue trembled. "He's . . .—He was . . .—Um—. . . The truth is he . . ." Tears welled, Mu not waiting for them to fall.
Dropping his own flowers in the doorway, he made his way across the room in a few, quick strides. When he stopped in front of her, Mu didn't even give Murrue enough time to look up before he pulled her into his arms and wrapped his body around hers in tight embrace.
She sunk into him as he held her, hands as if supporting her weight against him. At that moment, Mu's head ran even faster than his heart, it seemed—an impossible pace. He knew, in his head, that holding her, her being so close to him, at that moment, was just making things harder . . . but . . . Mu knew he couldn't have stopped himself—the need of his heart to comfort her was too overwhelming.
But, then, he couldn't even imagine how Murrue felt then—but she wasn't fighting his hold, so he didn't let go.
He didn't ever want to let Murrue go.
Mu forced his eyes shut as he held her.
There was silence between the two, the hold of the other and heartbeats they could feel enough for conversation. Until her voice came—breathless beside his ear.
". . . Mu . . . He's alive. . . ." She choked back tears; his eyes shot open. "He's really alive. . . ." Murrue's thin arms pulled him even tighter, squeezing out whatever space was left. "He . . . I . . . He . . ."
She buried her face in his shoulder to hide the emotion, though the point came across.
It took a bit of strength, but Mu was able to pull himself away from her—gentle and slow in his movements. He still kept her cradled close, but at least he could see her face.
Which he instantly regretted.
He saw her, eyes wide, shaking with confusion and fear, the few tears that managed to escape them left stained trails. Mu wondered as to what his face was like then.—How much of what he felt inside could she see?
"Murrue . . ." His voice couldn't go much above a whisper either. From habit only, Mu found himself reaching up, thick fingers brushing away some rogue strand of beautiful hair.
Murrue found her voice at his familiar touch.
"Mu . . . I'm so . . .—"
"—Tired?" He cut in, pushing a grin. Murrue couldn't hold back a broken smile at his guess.
The word she'd been fishing for . . . 'lost' . . . 'confused' . . . Seemed meaningless to be spoken.
"Tired works too," she breathed, face turned down. Her eyes focused on the way her hand gripped his creased sleeve.
Odd . . . he's wearing his sleeves long today?
Her other hand still held tight to that necklace.
". . . Then let's see you get some rest, Murrue," Mu smiled—or at least attempted to. Taking a step away from her, Mu put some distance between them, yet still held on to her arm. They walked together, back through to the kitchen—and the connected bedroom. Mu stopped her at the door.
"Now, Murrue," Mu truly grinned, voice naturally a mock-scold. He could recall times before. . . . "No cheating, all right? I want you to take some nice, long, relaxing time to sleep. . . .—You need it more than you know, you know." . . . to calm your nerves, he finished silently, if even a little.
He didn't need to worry for her understanding, for she could see it in his eyes—hear it in his tone. She, though, began to worry.
Murrue started to push her door open, but faltered, suddenly spinning around. Her thin hand found his thick arm again—her amber eyes shimmering.
"Um . . ."
He chuckled that reassuring chuckle.
"Don't fret, Murrue.—I'll be right here when you wake up."
She weakly smiled her thanks before slipping behind the closed door.
Mu stared at it for several moments after that before turning around, running his hands through thick hair. As if I'd leave you alone right now. . . .
"That's the last thing you'd need," he spat beneath his breath. He went to sit down, but before he could, Mu's eyes landed upon the bouquet of blue flowers he'd helped, unknowingly, pick out. They'd been left. By Him.
"No . . ." Mu muttered slowly. "Maybe my being here is the real last thing you need. . . ."
"—Ah—Stop it," he growled at himself, shaking his head.
The thoughts had already started to come, even in the short time, but each coming thought was quickly shaken away.
With a groan, Mu stretched, easing away the sleep from his muscles. He had a long wait ahead of him—because he'd promised Murrue he'd wait. He glanced at the clock, surprised at the time. Three in the afternoon.—Time really did fly by fast . . . that day, at least.
Needing something to do, Mu circled the kitchen aimlessly. His mind traveled from the roses he'd dropped, still littering the doorway, to Murrue, to John's left bouquet, shedding petals on the counter, to Murrue. Half-conscious, Mu quickly cleaned those blue petals away before wandering off to find their original owners some water.
Water . . .
Mu stopped in his tracks to listen to the small house around him . . . and it's oddly comforting silence. Forgetting the flowers, Mu slowly made his way over to Murrue's closed door. Should I . . . ? Mu swallowed, waiting, before resolving himself.
"Murrue?" he whispered, with one quick, but soft, rapt to the door.
Nothing. Unsure, of everything, it seemed, Mu kept going even so.
"Murrue? Um, incase you cant sleep—even though you want to . . .—I . . . I think hot water would be the best . . . like a long shower. . . . It'd be really relaxing for you. Oh—Wait—Women like baths, right? I say shower, but you can take a bath, okay?" Mu paused, gritting his teeth at his obviously kiddy-like choice of words.
He leaned in, listening for who he knew was on the other side.
". . . Murrue?"
Waiting only a moment more, Mu made himself turn the knob, he slowly easing the door open. He smiled. Murrue's room was just the way it was that morning. Nothing much had changed.—only now, Murrue was curled up in the bed, splayed over the covers as if she'd collapsed there.
No wonder she hadn't heard him.
"Seems you were more tired than we both thought, Murrue."
Mu slowly walked over, careful to miss that one squeak in her floor as he stood beside her bed. "Angelic"—that was the only word to describe what he saw.
He fashioned a smile, reached down to grab the comforter and pulled it up, to lay about her bare shoulders.
Murrue nuzzled herself closer into the warmth . . . soft smile to her face.
Mu relaxed at the sight. He even calmed down enough to have his mouth say aloud what his mind was thinking.
". . . Which face are you seeing now . . . ? Past . . . present . . . or future?"
Mu slowly shook the haunting thought away, knowing instantly it was another thing he absolutely did not need at the moment.
He left her room, and closed her door—all without another sound.
------
When Murrue woke up, it was dark outside. No light came in from the window. Not even the faint glow of a moon.
Taking a moment to place where she was, she suddenly remembered all she'd gone to sleep to forget.
Though Murrue did remember everything, it didn't hurt like before. Having everything happen at once like that . . .
It had taxed her out.
After all that time of empty dreams, nothing had really changed . . . John was back. And he was there. . . .
Even so, Murrue felt like her normal self again—both physically and mentally strong. The sleep had definitely helped. Just like Mu had said.
Mu!
Murrue wrenched herself from the warm bed, forgetfully leaving behind a silver coffin pendant on her pillow. Soft feet on a cold floor, she ran from her room, only to find him then, passed out, sitting at her kitchen table. The light above the table was on, though it wasn't very bright at all—one couldn't see anything else besides its occupant. Walking over, she silently giggled at how he drooped in thick sleep, splayed out like that. Then she saw the table he was sitting at.
A tiny vase with, basically, pulled garden weeds still rested in the center. It was carpeted in shadow.
Mu had pulled out three large vases from their various hiding spots and set them there. Only one had flowers. One, beautifully crafted of red glass, sat beside the 'weeds' in the center. It displayed a bouquet of richly beautiful . . . violet-blue blooms. The other two vases were pushed off to the side, red roses lain between them. Petals of the two newest bouquets had fallen, mixing together across the table top.
Softly smiling, Murrue picked a lone violet sprig from his thick hair. She set it back on the table.
Gently grabbing his shoulder, she shook at him.
"Mu.—Mu, wake up!"
He slowly opened his eyes at her voice. Murrue knew the instant those thin slivers of blue sleep recognized her as the standing there. They lit up, involuntarily dancing.
"Ah, Murrue," he mumbled, picking himself up, stifling a yawn. "Oh . . . How was your . . . ?"
"Dreamless."
He blinked, unrequited sleep interfering with his ability to connect the two. Murrue stood straight, hands easily finding her hips.
"Mu, how long have you been sleeping like that?" She wondered aloud, voice filled with worry. She could tell the places of his face once lying on the table were quickly turning red.
"Oh . . . I don't know . . ." Yawn. ". . . What time is it?"
Murrue traversed through the darkness of the kitchen to flip on a light. As the rest of the large room became suddenly bright, Murrue held in a smile at the way Mu winced.
"Ten-thirty."
"At night?" He asked, both incredulous and suddenly awake. The darkness couldn't lie.
"Yes." She answered, quiet yet laced with gentleness.
Her eyes never left the man she'd recently become to know. However 'recently' they'd met, it didn't change the fact that she knew him . . . everything about him, it seemed. Nothing about him surprised her anymore . . . though he surprised her so often.
He noticed her focus, and grinned in return, as he busied himself flattening down his hair.
But . . . the word was "seemed."
"Ten-thirty, eh?" He ruffled his newly flattened hair. "—I have to go."
"What?" Murrue's face broke into surprise.—But which kind? "It's ten-thirty, Mu.—Where would you be going?"
She took a few steps forward, taking away some space between them. Mu didn't move—he only sighed.
"Home." He said, a certain faint finality to his tone. But his blue eyes smiled for her. "I should really . . . be getting home."
They didn't smile anymore.
"It's too late to walk that far," she countered.
"Oh, I've walked farther," he quickly dismissed turning from her to gather his coat.
"No, you haven't," Murrue glared. "—Especially not in the dark."
He faltered. It was true. Murrue leaned back into the wall, arms close around her. "Just stay . . ." She asked, bordering on a plead.
Mu, back turned towards her, absently played with the hem of his coat pocket.
"Thanks for the offer, but . . . No.—I . . . I have to get home. . . ."
He began to make his way from the kitchen, course set straight for the front door. Murrue quickly followed after him.
"What—Have work in the morning?" she forbiddingly teased. It wasn't hard to figure out the truth of earlier that day. It was easy to tell he had truly been on vacation that day, though the reason why was still a mystery.
Mu paused before the door, spending time to actually think.
". . . Maybe," he answered lightly, turning to face her with a smile—however soft. Murrue straightened.—that wasn't the answer she'd been expecting. Not at all.
Mu continued to smile half-heartedly—knowing.
". . . It's better than staying home and doing nothing, right?—You're going to be busy tomorrow, after all, so . . ."
"Hm . . . ?"
She drained as the meaning of his words sank in.
"No!—Mu—I'm not—"
". . . Just give him a chance, Murrue," Mu finally muttered, dropping the words darkly. The way his face was turned, she couldn't see his eyes, nor could he see her face.
"What?"
. . . Don't make me say it again, he inwardly growled, pleading.
When Mu raised his head to her, he smiled at Murrue. He smiled that smile—That wholly supportive one. And it was. In fact, he was surprised at how true that smile felt.
He grimaced in frustration, though, unable to focus his words the way he wanted.
"Look . . . Once you love someone . . . you never truly stop, Murrue.—No matter what." Mu muttered, force faltering sweetly. ". . . Not even for me."
His smile flashed, familiar and known. Though his words unsettled her, she could tell it was somehow growing into a perfect moment—a perfect time—to say those words . . . those cocky, arrogant know-all words of his.
She waited in the silence, but he never did answer her musings.
"This is him, right?" Mu started, forceful once more, almost staring Murrue down. "The man you loved . . . and lost? Right? . . . You've been given a second chance—a very rare one. And I want you to take it. See where it takes you.—I don't want you to regret anything. Not with this."
"Mu . . ."
"Give him a chance," he coaxed, turning to a genuine, jovial laugh. "—like the chance you gave me!"
She couldn't help the huffed roll of her eyes as she glared over at the open man.
"I didn't give you one. Mu. You took it."
"Ha, I did?" Mu laughed, grinning at his new information. "Well then," he teased, "Give him the chance you would've given me if I didn't steal it first."
Murrue's soft laughs brought Mu back to seriousness. He couldn't help but be so close. He checked himself, and struggled with the soft objective way he had had before.
"But . . . really . . ." His eyes drifted away. "Give him a chance, and . . . when the time comes, Murrue . . . you'll have to send him away . . . or . . . send . . . me . . . away. . . ."
Mu drifted into breathlessness, face suddenly wide beneath his falling hair. It was as if he'd suddenly realized everything . . . with the coming of his own words. Quickly noticing the silence he'd left hanging, Mu jumped back into a smile.
His breathless voice was eagerly shallow.
"When that happens, promise it'll be your choice alone, 'kay?"
"—But—Mu—" Murrue's mind blurred, "What you're saying, it—it . . ." isn't like you. . . . Her amber eyes shimmered in confusion—but he didn't see.
"Hm?" Mu cocked his head. "Whadja say?"
Her head dropped.
"Yes." She nodded in agreement, oddly defeated. By what, she didn't know. Why she was acting the way she was—she didn't know. Why her heart, in that moment, beat so fast . . . she didn't know the reasons.
"Good!" Mu beamed. "You're giving him a chance—no matter the fact that he's . . . still just a kid." Grumbling, he remembered the man he'd met earlier as Murrue pinked devilishly beside him.
"'Kid'?" she softly snickered. "Mu, I don't think you can say that one. . . . John's older than you are, after all."
"What?" Mu blinked. "No . . . he can't be . . ." Mu glanced over at the hall's mirror.
The blond looked so much older. ". . . No . . ."
"Yes, he can.—By a couple months, actually," Murrue's face glinted, playful—knowing exactly where it hurt. "In fact, Mu, at the moment, he's—"
"—What does age matter, anyway?" Mu huffed, quickly waving the point away. Murrue smiled.
A silence fell down upon the pair. It wasn't 'awkward' per say, but it wasn't the most comfortable they'd had either.
Mu's hand was still on the door knob.
Murrue's sight fell anxiously to the floor and his scuffed shoes.
"I . . . I should be going now . . . right?"
Her face lit up with hopeless thought. Reaching over to the small table, she grabbed a small flashlight and thrust it into his hands. "Don't forget this." She was so serious, Mu could only laugh.
"You shouldn't worry about me, Murrue, but . . . Thanks."
He took it from her, but as one hand took the light, the other slipped itself into her hand. Or . . . was it her hand that slipped into his? His blinked surprise melted into a genuine loving smile.
"I'm glad," he muttered. Murrue cocked her head.
"Hm?"
I'm glad that . . . I had to make you agree to do this.
Mu only smiled.
It seems you were thinking of me, after all.
His smile only worsened her confusion. He sighed, grinning but shoulders falling, if only a bit.
"Now, go back to sleep, Murrue," he ordered. "—Or, knowing you . . . Stay up all night and defy everything I just said. . . . After all—I can't tell you what to do," he chuckled, grinning knowingly. "—Think I would have figured that one out by now, eh?"
"Maybe," Murrue returned quietly.
Letting go of her hand, Mu came close enough to kiss her good-night and good-bye—a soft peck . . . on her forehead. Very friendly-like.
He didn't say a word after that; he just looked over the tiny light he'd been given. The front door opened, and he stepped away. With a loud laugh, Mu left, disappearing into the cloud-carpeted night.
Murrue followed the light of her flashlight as far as she could before finally closing the door.
She shook off a shiver from the cold.
The house suddenly seemed very empty.
------
Murrue sighed, staring into the hall mirror. No matter what she'd done that morning, her face still gave away how tired she felt. She pulled at her eyes, hoping half-heartedly that every move could somehow spring them back into the open orbs she'd come to know.
Rolling those sleep-darkened eyes, Murrue pulled on the rest of her light jacket, giving up. Picking up her purse, Murrue fixedly counted to make sure she had everything together. She pulled out her keys, ready . . . before she paused, hand on the knob.
The phone lay silent on the couch of her 'opening hall'.
Her eyes drooped even more.
He still hadn't called.
Not even a simple word—not even to say he'd gotten back safely. Walking that far, alone, at night? I know it's Orb, but . . . I can still worry, cant I?
Honestly, Murrue couldn't figure out which worried her more: the need for him to call . . . or the reason why he didn't.
Doesn't he know that?
Her house keys jingled between her fingers, alerting back to her mission. She wrenched her front door open.
"Oh, why do I have so much to—!"
She instantly swallowed her outburst.
John was sitting on her front stoop. Just sitting.
Upon seeing her, the open file of papers in his lap instantly folded closed as he stood to greet.
"Murrue!"
"John?" Murrue hated the way her heart seemed to flutter at the way his face brightened just by his name. She stayed stunned, standing in between her home and outside.
His face creased with care.
"I'm sorry for coming so early, Murrue. It's just . . . I really didn't like how I left things off yesterday—between us." He chuckled softly. "See, my temper kind of got the better of me again. And I—"
Murrue finally held up her hand to silence him, amber eyes wide with worry.
". . . How long have you been out here, John?"
He blinked, glancing down at his watch-less wrist.
"I don't know . . . what time is it?" Murrue caught her breath for an instant, mind flickering on the same recent memory of another's voice.
She shook the connection away.
"—You could have just knocked," she snapped, "instead of waiting out here. It's cold. What if you got sick?"
John laughed.
"Don't worry about me, Murrue. . . . The only reason I didn't ring the bell was because I didn't know if you'd be sleeping or not.—Sleep patterns at home and sleep at war are a bit different, right? I didn't want to risk waking you up."
Murrue faltered realizing he hadn't answered her question. It was going on Nine in the Morning. What if he'd been out there since . . .
"That's very kind of you, but . . . next time, just wake me up," she growled, stern.
"Oh, I'm sorry. . . .—Ah, where are you going?" He cocked his head—puppy-like. "Work?"
". . . No. I have some errands to do in town."
Murrue's eyes drifted slowly around to dash up once to his face, ever shy. "Um . . . Would you . . . like to come?"
"Of course!" He lit up, his missed childish-excitement taking her heart back to the sky again. "—Of course, Murrue!"
She couldn't help it.
It was overwhelming.
He grinned, holding out his hand—a sight she could remember seeing many times before. But, after a moment's pause, and a moment's thoughts . . .
He held out his hand—and she took it.
Give him a chance . . . right?