Part 21
She beams at him at the promise of a life together. When he tentatively mirrors her expression, as convinced of the brightness of their future as she is, her smile only widens.
But they haven't entirely reached that point of happiness together, not yet at least. Clearing his throat, he awkwardly gestures at the gown she is wearing, the only one she's had for – indeed - as long as she remembers.
She can still only vaguely recall the ruined clothes she wore when she was brought to the hospital, but she hasn't seen them since. Someone has probably thrown them away, not knowing what it would be like for her to see those items again, to touch them, to have tangible proof of the life she can't remember.
It's easy to forget now that it's mostly covered by his lovely coat, but the only clothes she has worn throughout her stay in the hospital are the rough, rather ill-fitting fabric that's she's wearing now.
"Do you have anything better to wear for the night, sweetheart?"
She shakes her head in denial, already knowing what his reaction will be. Just a while ago she would have been reluctant to ask him for anything. But now that she knows that he enjoys indulging her, this hesitation has disappeared right after her initial fear and distrust of him.
This time, the burst of purple smoke turns out to reveal a white nightgown hanging over his arm, more gorgeous than she thought possible. It shouldn't really surprise her, not after everything he has done and shown her already, but she gasps in delight regardless when he hands her the almost impossibly soft fabric.
"It's beautiful," she breathes, holding the nightgown in front of her to admire it.
Taking in the long but snug looking gown with wide eyes, she reverently runs her fingers along the texture of it, softer than even the material of his shirt. "I wore this, didn't I? When I lived with you? I'm sure it was a gift from you as well."
"You did, and it was. And it is again."
"Thank you," she says, the loving look in his eyes meaning so much more to her than the dress itself ever could.
"Why don't you try it on?"
She's happy to take the gown and head for the small bathroom that he points out, despite the awareness that the sooner she'll be ready to go to sleep, the sooner he in all likelihood will leave.
But there's no avoiding the inevitable and besides, she looks forward to wearing the wonderful gown. She has no illusions that it might bring back any memories, but just wearing the lovely material - and being seen by him while she does so - is quite the incentive indeed.
She casts one more smile at him when she closes the door of the bathroom adjoining the hospital room behind her. There's no hesitation when she shuts the door and thus can't see him any longer, because she knows in her heart that he'll still be there when she returns, that this isn't a trick or make-believe in any way.
Fully intend on changing clothes as quickly as she can, she becomes aware only then that she still has his coat with her. Just like it has been throughout the majority of the evening, it's protectively wrapped around her, keeping her warm and comfortable.
She takes his coat off with some reluctance and hangs it carefully on one of the pegs on the door, lovingly running her hands over the black material. She's going to miss wearing the coat, the way it keeps her warm and still smells of him.
But the gown he provided her with now is as lovely, albeit in a different way, and at least this item of clothing used to actually belong to her. Does belong, she reminds herself. Just because she doesn't remember doesn't make the gown any less hers, especially not now that he has given it to her again.
It's easy enough to get out of the sad excuse of a hospital gown she's wearing underneath the coat, goosebumps appearing on her skin in the chilly bathroom. It only makes her more eager to put on the nightgown she just received, but she finds that accomplishing this isn't such an easy task.
Much as she wants to, and beloved possession of her former self or not, it proves difficult to get into the gown. It has more fabric than she remembers wearing ever before, fits her body more tightly than any of the loose clothing she had to wear earlier, the material so much more delicate than she is used to. She treats it with the utmost care and patience, making sure to avoid ripping it or ruining in any other way accidentally.
Even when pulled over her head in what she supposes is the correct manner, she has trouble sliding the nightgown down her body and finding the right angle to put her arms where they are probably meant to go.
She doesn't get frustrated though, not with the very lovely material all around her. She happily fusses and fidgets, straightening and gently twisting the gown until it flows down her body the way she presumes it ought to.
It's not difficult to tell when she has managed to wear it correctly. When the hem finally flutters down, almost all the way to the floor, the previously seemingly overlarge gown fits around her like it was made just for her. Knowing her beloved as she does now, it doubtlessly is.
She giggles a bit at the sheer joy of wearing something infinitely more pleasant than any of the few hospital clothes she can remember wearing throughout the years. Although the material of her own nightgown almost fully covers her arms and legs alike, she has never felt less restricted in her movements, the fabric as soft and light as it is warm and solid.
Although the material is quite tight around her, at least much more so than she is used to, there is for as far as she can tell nothing indecent or unseemly about the dress. It shows considerably more of the shape of her waist and chest than the gown from the hospital did, but it covers almost as much of her skin. The collar of the gown isn't as high as the one she wore before, but not in a way that makes her uncomfortable.
That's not because she has seen women in seemingly scandalous clothing roaming the hospital, leading her to the believe that it's normal for females to dress as such in the real world. Her continued comfort is due to the realization that she wouldn't mind at all for him to see her like this. He may have seen her in such a state plenty of times before, possibly without a lot less fabric covering her, but she wouldn't feel unpleasant if he were to see her – quite the contrary.
Throughout the past few days she has made sure to ignore the narrow but full length mirror next to the door of the bathroom, convinced that she were to feel only worse if her reflection would confirm the pathetic state she is in.
This time, she purposefully faces the glass.
She lets out a little cry of joy when she sees her reflection. Although she has nothing to directly compare this image to, it couldn't be clearer to her how much she has changed since she truly got to know him this evening.
It's not because she sees herself wearing the beautiful nightgown, fitting her – suiting her - in a way she didn't know possible. It's because of the face that looks back at her in the mirror, her face, although it might as well have been someone else's - the woman's who she ought to be.
But while dressed like this, she feels yet more that there might not necessarily be such a huge difference between the woman whom he remembers and the woman whom she can't recall.
She feels the joy and confidence of the woman who is reflected in the mirror, because she is happy for the first time.
Already there is a hint of color on her cheeks, some shine already returned to her formerly limp, dull hair. There's a sparkle in her eyes that has never been there before, a strength in her posture which she couldn't have imagined earlier.
She feels yet better when she can take a proper look at the braid in her hair, the one he made with gentle, assuring fingers which are clearly accustomed to the task.
She looks exactly like the woman who she must have been before her memories were taken from her, when she was strong and brave... loved.
Not weighed down by the slightest of doubt that he might not feel the same way, she opens the door back to the room where he is waiting for her. Leaving the hospital gown right where she left it, she fondly picks up his discarded coat to take back with her.
There were a few things she expected when she returned to him, all of them closely related to the joy he'd hopefully experience upon seeing her like this again. But the way his jaw almost drops when he lays his eyes on her again certainly wasn't one of them.
"What's wrong?" she asks, the old insecurity returning much more quickly to her than she would have liked. She doesn't have a clue what might have caused his obvious surprise, only that it probably won't be a good thing.
After all, the evening has been very good so far and he has never looked at her remotely like this.
She glances down at herself, wondering what could possibly have caused his reaction. She supposes that she's wearing the dress correctly, if only because the way the fabric is wrapped around her feels completely right. But maybe she isn't dressed like she used to be after all, having made some sort of mistake when pulling it on in her ignorance of her old life.
Considering that possibility, she runs her hands down her limbs, making sure that the material is covering her just as much as it did when she looked at her reflection in the mirror. She mentally confirms once more that this gown leaves hardly anything more bare than her previous clothes, even when his jacket was still on her shoulders.
But even if the gown were to be indecent, surely he would have known in advance... He wouldn't appear to be so very surprised, looking at her as if... well, she can't exactly define it.
The same goes for the way her own body reacts when his gaze lingers for just a fraction of a second on her chest.
For the first time since she has been in the hospital, for the first time since she can remember, she wonders if she actually needs medical help. Her heart is doing strange things, beating so much faster all of a sudden. She can't breathe properly any longer and that unfamiliar heat is rising within her again, just like when they touched in the hallway.
"You look lovely," he breathes, not sounding quite right either. His voice is hoarse again, like it was when she kissed his face, anywhere but his lips.
Judging from the way his chest is heaving beneath all the layers of fabric he wears, he has trouble breathing too. At this point she isn't certain any longer that the redness on his cheeks is only her imagination.
But then he abruptly looks away and those strange, rather alarming feelings gradually pass before she can discover what all of this could possibly mean. He clears his throat and appears to return to his normal state as well.
"Thank you," she murmurs, at last saying the first thing that came to her mind when he gave her the beautiful and obviously sincere compliment.
There's still a hint of redness on his cheeks and judging from the heat in her own face, the same goes for her.
There's so much of their past she doesn't know yet and at least just as much of the present of which she doesn't know what it means.
It doesn't bother her nearly as much as it did before.
She may not yet be aware of everything that has happened between them or even understand what's going on exactly between them right now, but she is convinced that she will eventually find out everything.
With his help, that will probably be sooner rather than later.
And in case it won't be... well, as long as she has him, she doesn't mind either way.