Sharp pains shot through Rose's lower abdomen. She pressed her lips firmly together and forced herself to breathe evenly. She couldn't concentrate on the conversation going on around her, the pain in the back of her head was making sure of that. It had begun almost the moment Dylan, Eva, and Lily entered the kitchen. It had started off slowly, as it always did, but it wasn't long before her entire head felt tender and sore. Her pre-cycle migraine was the only time she was ever grateful to be blind; it meant the light could no longer make the pain worse.
But sound still could. She had long since lost track of the conversation. The voices had slowly blended together until she couldn't tell which voice belonged to whom or even which voice was male and which was female. Someone was angry, that she could tell. Another voice was low and soothing. But beyond that she knew nothing.
"C'mon," Jack said softly, putting an arm around her waist. He stood up slowly, helping up as he went. She didn't have the strength to protest as he steered her through the door and then across the house and into their room. She heard the faint click of a lock and then his arms were around her. He gave her a gentle hug and kiss on the shoulder. Rose smiled to herself. He knew exactly what was wrong.
Soon he was back, his hands on her dress this time. She offered no resistance as he undressed her. His movements were brisk yet gentle. It was completely unlike the way he undressed her at other times.
She felt the steam before she made it to the bathroom door. The water was going full blast. With a sigh she lowered herself into the tub. Closing her eyes, she moved forward, creating a space between her body and the back of the tub. A space Jack filled a moment later. He wrapped his arms around her. She sank gratefully against him. Her body was almost too heavy to hold up. "How did you know?" she asked.
"It was obvious," he said, wrapping his legs around hers. His hands moved down her stomach, stopping at the source of her pain. Slowly he began to press against her with his fingertips, gently kneading circles in her skin. "I thought I was hiding it quite well," she said. "My face was perfectly blank."
"I could tell you were in pain," he said. "Your expression might've been blank, but there was misery written all over it." He kissed her neck. "It kept getting worse."
"You're right about that," she said. "But it's getting better now." And it was. The pain in her head had shrunk into a dull ache. The cramps weren't gone, but thanks to Jack's hands and the hot water they would be soon. "What did you tell everyone?" She remembered him speaking, but she had no idea what he had said. His voice had been soft in her ears. "I told them they could continue the discussion without us," he replied. "You needed rest."
"Are you sure they don't need us?"
"They're fine. Lily should've left too. Cal and Eva are the ones who need to be talking, and Dylan too."
"How were things going when we left?"
"Well, they weren't screaming and throwing things. Yet," he added, trying to make a joke and failing. "But they weren't really getting along either."
"Someone was angry. I could hear that much."
"Eva was pissed." Jack paused and shifted his hands down. "Hurts there now, doesn't it?" he said. Rose just nodded. She didn't question how he knew. He just did; he always did.
"I don't blame her," she said as his fingers began to move again. "If he the way he spoke to her was anything like the way he used to speak to me..."
Jack's legs tightened around her. "He won't ever speak to you like that again," he said, an edge creeping into his voice.
"I'm not worried," Rose said. "He seems different now. I still don't like him, but..."
"Being around him feels different?"
"That's it."
"I felt it too." But that doesn't mean I trust him.
Rose turned to face him over her shoulder. "There isn't any reason for him to try and hurt us." She laid her hand against his cheek. "That's over."
There was only a slight twinge in the back of her head when Jack lowered her onto the bed. The cramps were completely gone. Both would be back in the morning, and, as always, they would be worse. "I'll take care of you," Jack said. He pressed her to him, loving the way her bare skin felt against his. She smiled. "I love you."
He kissed her. "I love you, Petal."
While Jack and Rose drifted off the fight in the kitchen raged on. Lily had left and come back twice before finally taking herself out of the fight for good. As much as she wanted to stay and watch the scene-and throw in a few barbs of her own-she was just too tired. Dylan, however, was wide awake. He stared straight into Cal's face, his green eyes almost burning through him. His hand lay on the table, intertwined with Eva's. Her fingers were like ice. Her body was stiff. Her face was that of a marble statue. "I don't see any reason to keep talking about this," she said coldly.
Cal looked pained. "I'm not saying don't marry him," he said, avoiding Dylan's eyes. "I'm just saying you should know what you're going to do after that. Both of you."
"In case you hadn't noticed, there aren't exactly a lot of prospects," Eva snapped.
"I am aware of the current economic crisis," Cal said, adding a new layer of ice to his aristocratic tones. "Only a complete moron wouldn't be. What I am not aware of, however, is why you don't seem at all bothered by the idea of living in one of those camps at the edge of the city."
"That won't happen," Dylan said calmly.
Cal looked at him with renewed interest. "I don't suppose you would care to explain how."
"I..." Would it be best to just be honest? "I don't know," Dylan admitted. "I really don't." Cal's interest became irritation. "But I do know I can take care of her," Dylan added. He laid his other hand on top of hers. Her mouth curled up in a small smile. "I know I can," he said firmly.
When the door finally closed on Cal's back Eva let out a heavy sigh. She dropped her head into her hands. "What the hell just happened?"
Dylan pulled her into a loose hug. "That was your father lecturing and questioning us for a few hours," he said. She shot him a look. "Sorry. I knew it wasn't funny even before I said it."
"That was a Lily remark," she said.
"Yeah, I guess it was." He gently lifted and slid her into his lap. She raised an eyebrow but said nothing. "I meant that, you know, about taking care of you," he said. "I will. I promise."
Eva leaned down and gave him a soft kiss. "I'm not worried about that. I know we'll take care of each other just fine."
...
Cal walked slowly, Dylan's words humming in his ears. What did he know? How could he be so self-assured? "Just like his father," Cal muttered, scowling. "So damn sure everything will work out for him." But everything had worked out for Jack. Everything had worked out perfectly for Jack. "And what do I have?"
He had Eva, but she wasn't his, nor was Deidre, who under normal circumstances barely mattered to him at all, though after the events of that evening he felt a strange urge to talk to her. He would have to tell her about seeing Eva, of course. And then she would want to see her. The thought of going back, of seeing Jack and Rose again filled him with a mix of unease and envy.
His scowl deepened as he remembered the look in Jack's eyes. I won, it said. And the way he had been with Rose. It was as though he could read her thoughts. Cal still didn't understand how he was able to sweep her out of the room so easily. Or why. "He coddles her," Cal told himself. She's blind. "There's still no need to treat her like a porcelian doll. If she were my wife-"
But she isn't. She's his. And that's what you're really angry about, isn't it?
"I stopped caring about that years ago." Cal unlocked the door and stepped into the small room he and Deidre had rented. A bare bulb was the only light source. It had no private bathroom. A brass bed was the only furnishing. Deidre was curled up on top of the blanket, fast asleep.
…
Jack's arms were wrapped tightly around her. Smiling, Rose nuzzled his neck. The scent of him filled the air. "You feel ok?" he whispered.
"I feel perfect," she murmured, punctuating the statement with a kiss on his neck.
"You sure?"
She kissed him again, lingering this time. "Quite sure, Jack."
She could already feel him growing hard against her thigh as he rolled her over. Her smile widened. "That took a great deal of persuasion," she said. She lightly ran her nails down his chest. "I expected to spend the better part of the morning trying to get you to see things my way."
Jack's hands rested against her hips. Her eyes, though sightless, were bright; they laughed up at him. Her curls were spread across the pillow, creating a kind of glow around her milky skin. "I don't remember you ever having to do much persuading," he said with a soft chuckle. He brushed his lips across hers. "In fact I don't remember you ever having to do any persuading." His lips moved to her throat. "But if you'd prefer, miss..."
Rose wrapped her arms around his neck. "I thought we weren't doing that anymore?" she said.
Jack kept moving his lips down. "Doing what, miss?" He gently closed his mouth over her left breast.
She squirmed, sending a jolt of pleasure through him. "You know what I mean," she said, sounding slightly out of breath. She tried to keep talking, but all that came out was a low moan. Good with his hands didn't even begin to describe Jack.
Rose floated through the rest of the morning. The pain she had been expecting never made an appearance, and though she was sure she would pay for it after a few days she couldn't seem to make herself care. Jack couldn't take his eyes off her during breakfast; she was glowing. There was a thin layer of tension in the air, but it didn't touch either of them. Lily propped a copy of Living My Life by Emma Goldman against her glass of orange juice. She ate with a practiced ease. Dylan and Eva almost sat on top of each other. They did most of the talking.
Pausing to breathe, Dylan turned to Rose. "Do you feel better, Mom?"
Rose nodded, breaking into a grin. "I do." She squeezed Jack's hand. "I feel wonderful."
Dylan chose to ignore the implication of her gesture. Their parents' private life was something he and Lily had known existed since they were children and had come home early unexpectedly from school. As far as they knew Jack and Rose never even realized they were there. The door to their room had been open just enough for them to see their parents in bed, wrapped in an embrace. They had crept outside as quickly as they could.
"I don't think we were supposed to see that," Dylan had said.
"Why not?" Lily asked, logical as always. "They looked happy."
"Well yeah, but-"
"And it's not like we haven't seen them kissing. Or dancing."
"Well, yeah, but-"
"But this is different."
"I think so."
Lily pondered for a moment. "I think so too. I wonder why?"
She had been nine; he had been almost eleven. A few years later, when they discovered exactly what they weren't supposed to see and why, it barely affected them. Physical affection between their parents didn't carry the same trauma that it did for some children. But despite that Dylan still didn't want to think about it if he didn't have to. "I'm glad," was all he said.
"You didn't look well at all last night," Eva said, concern in her voice. She liked Rose. She liked her energy and her quiet intelligence. She liked the way she would listen to a conversation, her face betraying none of her thoughts, until she felt the need to speak. Lily was brilliant, but Lily was loud, outspoken, and always ready to debate to the death. Eva had a feeling Rose had done her own share of debating when she was Lily's age.
"Was it that obvious?" Rose said, frowning slightly.
"No," Eva assured her. "Not until you left."
"Haven't you already read that?" Jack asked, sensing a change in subject was needed. Lily glanced up from her book. "I've read Anarchism," she said. "Several times, actually. I got this one just before we came out here."
"Emma Goldman is still writing?" Rose said.
"She is," Lily said. "And her feelings about free love are strangely more interesting in a depoliticized context." Suddenly self-conscious, Lily closed the book with a loud thump. She could talk politics for days without needing a break, but other things gave her a bit more trouble.
"Go on," Dylan teased. "What's that you were saying?"
"Don't bother your sister," Jack said.
"I wasn't."
"You were." And that was that.
...
"We'll have to see my father again," Eva said. Dylan nodded. Lily walked briskly ahead of them, a stack of papers tucked under her arm. She seemed oblivious to their presence. They were only there because Jack didn't like Lily going out on her "missions" by herself. "She doesn't think about what could happen," he said. "And she's just like her mother. So go with her."
Refusing had not been an option, though Dylan hadn't tried since he was fifteen. Lily had been thirteen, almost fourteen, when she discovered politics, specifically anarchism and the works of Mikhail Bakunin and embarked on her first attempt to educate others. The look in Jack's eyes had been enough to make Dylan see the error of his refusal.
His father didn't hit him; he had never even so much as raised a hand to either of them-], and he didn't have to. Neither had Rose. It wasn't anger that Dylan and Lily feared, but rather, disappointment.
It was that fear of disappointment that was sending Lily out of the house every afternoon and onto the streets. She could hear Dylan and Eva talking behind her, but she ignored them. They were discussing her parents, a subject which Lily had mixed feelings about. She didn't like Cal, but Deidre was another matter. She had been interesting. But at that moment Lily had a goal to think about. She straightened her back and smiled brightly as two women approached. If she was going to be a fullt\-time revolutionary, then she was going to be a damn good one.
"Has she always been like this?" Eva asked. "This determined to change the world?"
Dylan said. "Pretty much. She wasn't as focused about it when we were younger though."
"It's nice that your parents don't mind."
"Mind? Hell, they've pretty much encouraged her all along."
"Even when she dropped out of school?"
"They don't know about that yet," Dylan said quietly.
Eva looked surprised. "She hasn't told them? I didn't think your family kept secrets."
"We don't, usually. I think she's been waiting for the right time. They've never pushed either of us to do anything we didn't want to do, but going to college was what Lily wanted to do. So..." He shrugged. "She did."
"And now...?"
"And now I don't know what she wants. Besides a dictatorship of the proletariat," he added, a trace of scorn in his voice.
"At least she has ideals," Eva was quick to point out. "And she does live by them."
"It isn't her ideals that bother me. I don't entirely disagree with her. I'm just worried about how she'll wind up."
Eva slipped an arm around his waist. She met his raised eyebrow with a grin. "What? Only you can have the privilege of waist holding?"
Dylan put an arm around her shoulders. She leaned against him, resting her head on his chest. "It doesn't matter if we have to see him again," Dylan said, switching topics.
"And it doesn't matter that you didn't have an answer last night," Eva said.
"You really don't mind?" he said. "The country's in turmoil, people are starving, getting shot because they're asking for jobs, and you don't mind that we don't have a plan? Not even the beginning of one?"
"Dylan, how could we have a plan? Think about what you just said. And don't worry about my father. He's just trying to make you feel not good enough, which, strange as it may sound, is his way of showing affection for me."
"You're right. That is strange."
"Not for the world we come from. I'm sure your mother would understand."
Dylan nodded, suddenly uncomfortable. "I guess she would."
...
Cal walked quickly. He had to be back before Deidre, and he had no idea how long it would take to convince Jack and Rose. When he had woken up that morning it had been with the realization that Deidre must never find out about his past with them. She knew he had been engaged before he met her, but as far as she was concerned Rose had died on the Titanic. And he wanted it to stay that way.
He wasn't surprised to find the front door unlocked. "Of course," he muttered, stepping inside. "Why would they lock it?" He knocked on the doorframe. "Hello?" he called. He heard the sound of light footsteps and then Rose appeared. For a brief moment he was sure she was looking right at him, but then he realized she was listening at him. "Um, Rose," he said awkwardly, "it's-"
"I know who you are."
Her calm tone startled him. "Oh," he said. "I suppose you could tell from-"
"Your voice? Yes. And your step."
"My step?"
"Everyone walks differently," she said, motioning for him to come toward her. "You step heavily, not exactly purposefully, but..." She searched for the right words. "As though you're important. And you want everyone to know it."
"That's a bad thing, I'm assuming?" he said smoothly.
"Hubris usually is."
"I wouldn't call myself hubristic."
"I would."
Now they were standing face to face. Cal was so close Rose could smell him. His breath was minty. His hair was freshly pomaded. There was a thick scent of soap and various skin creams; detecting the actual scent of him was almost impossible. "You haven't changed at all," she said. She could tell his face was the same even without touching it.
"How do you know?" he asked, more curious than he would have liked to be.
"You occupy space the same way," she said simply. She turned and walked over to a chair next to the fireplace. A knitting basket was next to it. She sat down and picked up a ball of blue yarn and two pencils. "You can sit down," she said, beginning to knit.
"You realize those are pencils, don't you?" he said. From his position on the couch he had a perfect view of her. Her curls, still long despite the change in fashion, were pulled away from her face in and held by a green ribbon. Her dress was simple but elegant; someone with a good eye had chosen it. He chose it. Of course he did.
"I know they're pencils," Rose said. "I couldn't find my knitting needles, but I could find two of Jack's pencils." She knitted quickly, her progress not at all hindered by the pencils. "I moved them, but I didn't put them back," she said in answer to his unasked question. "And I forget to ask Jack to find them for me."
"I guess he would have to." Cal looked around. The room was bright; the sun spilled in from a large open window that faced the ocean. It was a medium-sized room, roomy without feeling too big. A full bookshelf covered one wall. Books were stacked on the floor around the couch and on the table and mantel. Photographs, all from various points in Jack and Rose's marriage and travels, covered the empty spaces on the table and the mantel. Paintings, at least one of them Jack's, hung on the walls.
"He's outside," Rose said. "Working. Painting," she added.
"Oh. That's what he does," Cal said awkwardly.
Rose smiled slightly. "You didn't come here to talk about that. In fact, I doubt you even care. So, why are you here?"
"He won't like that you're alone with me."
"I'm not alone with you. He's ten feet away from the window. There isn't much you could manage to do before he made it inside. I'm not worried."
"Oh."
She frowned. "But you're right. He wouldn't like it." She moved to stand up.
"Don't call him yet," Cal said quickly.
She paused, surprised. "Why not?"
He wasn't sure how to respond. Why did he want to be alone with her? It wasn't to look at her. He could do that just as easily with Jack in the room, and in fact it was more fun that way, with Jack's eyes smoldering and his free hand clenched into a fist. "May I ask you something?" he said finally, "before you call that gallant knight of yours?"
"Sure." Rose crossed her arms over her chest. "What is it?"
"Why him?"
"As in, why him and why not you?"
"Well, yes, but also, just why him, of all people? Why not someone else, if not me?"
"Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same," she said. "And yours or anyone else's is as different as a moonbeam from lightning, or frost from fire." She shrugged. "That's the best I can give you." He just nodded as she stuck her head out the window and called Jack's name.