Note: Well, I am late, but I was out with some lovely ladies yesterday and I didn't have a finished chapter when I left. So, since I can't give you what I don't have, I resolved to finish it today if it killed me. Which, luckily, it didn't. Hope you enjoy, though. :)
Chapter Fifteen: Puzzle Pieces
"You've made no head-way, Stone. Just gave the perp a motive, and that's it. You're not pulling your weight."
Maybe so. Nami drew a circle in the sand with her finger and watched blankly as a little hermit crab crawled across it. Private investigators weren't cheap, and nor were they one hundred percent necessary. When a case got cold, they either became expendable or invaluable.
Apparently, she'd become the former.
She collapsed backwards onto the beach; the tide drew up against her body, soaking her cheap white shirt and capris with its salty touch. She'd always loved the beach here: beautiful, infinite, and ever-changing. Soothing.
A shadow blotted out the sun. "You're really predictable, aren't you?" Gustafa accused from above. "Every time something happens, you run here thinking nobody's going to catch on."
Her eyes fluttered a bit to see his smiling face upside-down above her, and she frowned at his widely brimmed hat before shutting her eyes again. "That's my line. How come every time I want to be alone, you follow me?"
"Because." Gustafa sat down beside her level body and crossed his arms. "I heard you might need a little venting. And it's been my experience that you like shouting at me."
"Gustafa…" Nami snorted and turned her back against him. "I don't get why people always think you have to like being cruel to do something cruel. I only shout because…frankly, because it's easier that way."
To Nami's surprise, he didn't press her further. Instead he nodded and began to hum a little melody she faintly recognized; perhaps she'd even helped him write it, once. "I guess you must be thinking of other jobs, huh?"
"Other jobs?" she repeated faintly. Her countenance became sour as the thought spun in her mind; "I…don't know what I'd do." A pause. "I've never known anything else." Nami's voice sounded so wispy, so fragile even to her own ears; where had the hard edge gone? God, I sound so vulnerable…he must be laughing his ass off on the inside, saying it serves me right… She picked up a seashell and held it to her ear to block out the thoughts: You've become pathetic, Nami. Helpless.
"I got ya. Sort of still figuring things out, then. Makes sense." Once again he nodded. "Well, you'll see things through. I know you will. Someone would have to be stupid not to hire you…but stupid and blind to fire you."
An incredulous laugh broke out from her lips at that; only he, of all people, would think such a thing. "No, this is supposed to happen. I've turned up nothing new in the case this whole season; I'm wasting company money on the inn and other expenses; I'm basically dead weight. I should've known…" She chuckled ruefully. "You should never need something more than it needs you. Including your career, apparently."
"Aw, it's not so bad." Gustafa took the shell from Nami's hands and pressed it to his own ear, commenting, "Sometimes it's just figuring out what's worth caring too much about. Your career? Yeah, it's a big deal. But you've gotta decide whether it should take over your whole life. I mean," Gustafa gestured vaguely about, "look what my music did to me. As far as I'm concerned, I'm living in the middle of the most beautiful valley in the world, doing exactly what I love to do. And you've traveled like crazy and locked up bad guys, which is admittedly pretty awesome."
"But you're happy," she insisted. Nami grabbed a fistful of sand and let it slip, grain by grain, from her fingers. "You're happy, and I've never been."
"So I'll ask you a simple question, then. What's your job done for you?"
"Paid for my living." Nami sat up, hugging her knees. "Given me full use of my mind. Gotten criminals off the streets."
Gustafa laughed at that. "Huh. So you're like a vigilante, then? You never struck me as the type."
"Perhaps because I'm not a vigilante?" was her dry response.
"So, why does your job matter to you, then? Honestly."
There had been a day, sometime ago, where Nami had wondered that question. Of course, it had been in Fall—how terribly recent it seemed now, that day sitting on her bed alone. "I hope you're happy, Detective Stone," Claire had said, eyes smoldering like coals. "I hope you have all the damn happiness you please." Strange, wasn't it, that her little drunken tantrum had struck a chord in the detective? How that one day, having turned the victim into the accused, Nami had for the first time doubted her profession.
"…It's all I have." Nami bowed her sandy head. "I have no family. I have no friends. This job is all I've got."
The musician hesitated, and murmured, finally, "But you've got me." Gustafa inched closer and Nami stiffened: He's going to do something, I know it, he's going to wrap his arms around me and pretend that just because I'm weak I'm going to have no choice and give in and oh God why now—?
"…I'm not going to kiss you, Nami. So please don't give me that disgusted look."
The guitarist pulled away, and even with his sunglasses, the hurt on his face was painfully apparent. Nami attempted to compose herself; just because he was an annoying little lovelorn fool didn't mean she wanted to hurt him, even if it was too late for that.
"Gustafa—"
"I know, being in love with someone is a crime. Caring about someone besides yourself is a waste of time. I get it. I'm sorry I didn't know friendships counted against me, too."
"But don't you see? That's why you're so nice to me," she insisted. "You're only nice to me because I'm, for some ridiculous reason, appealing to you. If I were ugly, or a man, then…" Nami covered her face in shame. "You shouldn't care about me so much. I'm not going to return the favor."
"Well, maybe so." Then Gustafa smirked, and to the redhead's shock, he put his arms around her shoulders in a simple, innocent embrace. "But don't be stupid, Nami. Don't you think I know what I'm getting out of this? Nothing at all. Which is absolutely fine with me."
His eyes met hers, and Nami fidgeted before replying, "I suppose, then, that I have enough time to waste with a friend, don't I?"
"That's the spirit," he encouraged her. Then, with a mischievous grin, he commented, "The question is…how shall we waste it?"
Claire had been waiting for Gina Aires for a good hour and a half. Admittedly, the psychiatrist wasn't late; Claire just couldn't sit still waiting for her session. Kate had quit trying to bring her back to a remotely sane state ages ago ("You're much easier to deal with when you're gloomy, lady") and now the farmer had nothing but anticipation to bounce off her joy. Trent had been forgiving. Trent had been kind. Trent had still loved her.
He loved her. Even now.
The thought sent Claire twirling about the room in a silly little fantasy world; oh, she knew how low the chance of reestablishing bonds with Trent was, certainly, but this step gave her so much hope. Had she ever expected to even get this far?
"Good day!" Claire fairly pounced on the door at Gina's greeting, and the nurse chuckled despite herself. "Well, don't you look happy today. I guess writing that letter helped, then?"
"He still loves me!" Claire blurted out. Her cheeks were rosy like a schoolgirl's, and she continued brightly, "He called me on the phone, and I don't know, Miss Aires, but I think this could be it. The catalyst we needed."
"I'm very happy for you," she replied gently. "It sounds like things are cooling down, then?"
The blonde grinned. "Hopefully. I'm sorry, I'm just—I'm so excited, and I've forgotten to even invite you to sit down."
"Don't worry yourself about it," Gina answered as she sat herself down. "Would you like me to brew some tea, or are you just too anxious to waste a minute?"
Claire bit her lip and glanced from the kitchen to the nurse. "…If you don't mind, the tea can wait."
"I don't mind at all."
Claire took her cue and sat down instantly, her mouth running faster than it ever had before. It surprised her just how acutely she remembered her conversation; everything from his words, his coughs, and his sighs remained imprinted in her memory with impeccable detail. Gina didn't say a word, but kept nodding, her smile brightening with each syllable.
"It's certainly all that I could have hoped for you," the nurse congratulated her patient. "Why, it almost makes what I'm going to say all that much easier."
"What is it?" the blonde exclaimed; somehow the euphoria was tempered by the nurse's tone. "Nothing's wrong, is it?"
"Not wrong at all." Still, Gina hesitated. "You've made wonderful progress, and I haven't even been with you for that long of a time. To be honest, I think you were on the road to recovery even before I arrived. I knew you could overcome your troubles—I knew, just from looking at you. You're a strong person, Claire. Sometimes you don't realize it, but you are." Gina delicately took out a tiny slip of paper and handed it to the farmer. Claire glanced from it to the nurse and raised an eyebrow.
"A phone number?"
"I've been offered a job," Gina admitted, blushing. "It calls for my expertise—there's a young girl suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder, and she's being held in a new Sanatorium that's being built quite a few towns away. I don't see how I can visit with you and take on this position both at once."
"O-oh." The truth crashed down hard; Claire turned away and began to finger the fringe of her sleeve. "Um, I guess I should be congratulating you."
Gina bit her lip. "I know you don't believe you're ready to be without me, Claire. But believe me, there's nothing more I can do for you. I strongly believe you can handle your marital problems on your own now."
"And Willow?" Claire challenged softly. "And Skye?"
"I also believe that your husband can help you in those areas much more than I can." Standing up, Gina began to pace the room, her blue braids bouncing with each step. "Besides, you can stand on your own two feet now. I wouldn't be accepting this job now if I didn't know that. And if you must know…" The blush came on brighter. "You're not the only one in love with a doctor." Before Claire could react, Gina added hurriedly, "Oh, no, not your doctor! This doctor is different…his name is Alex, and I went to the same medical school as he did. My grandmother works with him, and with their clinic opening a Sanatorium, they need more hands. So, I owe them both, I suppose."
Claire trained her eyes on the floor; Gina's shadow swayed back and forth on the wood, finally turning so that the farmer could see the frills of her skirt. "I'm happy for you." She cleared her throat. "I really am, it's just…I don't want you to go."
"Oh, Claire, you don't need me," the nurse insisted. "You're going to be just fine—"
"But I'm going to miss you." Her eyes watering ever so slightly, Claire wrapped her arms around Gina in a grateful hug, and she whispered, "You've been so good to me. I couldn't have dealt with this alone, I really couldn't have."
The psychiatrist hugged her back fondly, her glasses misting as well. "It was a pleasure. I hope with all my heart that your husband and your child come back to you. I honestly do."
"I know you do." They pulled away, and Claire smiled sheepishly before asking, "So…how much longer do you have?"
"A week or so. Which means," Gina added with a little laugh, "that we have time for some tea."
"You know, I never get over just how beautiful the sky is on this festival." Gwen sighed dreamily and laid her head on Skye's shoulder, smiling the faintest of smiles. "I always thought the little stars were fairies when I was little."
"I thought they were diamonds," Skye chuckled to himself. "I always wondered if someone could catch a shooting star whether it'd shine like one."
"You know, I bet it would," she laughed. Skye could feel himself melting with this girl in his arms; she smelled so sweet, like honeysuckle and dewdrops. Despite himself, he ran his fingers through her soft blonde locks, and she snuggled closer in this frigid winter air. "Steiner…do you love me?"
He paused long enough to let surprise cloud his features. "Of course I do."
"Can you say it?" she murmured. "Please?"
"I love you."
Gwen smiled and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "You don't know how good that sounds. It feels like…God, forever since someone said that to me."
"I suppose I don't count?" Skye commented, and she laughed.
"No, I mean someone besides you. Uncle Doug is a sweetie, but he's so gruff…and Mom and Dad, well, they go without saying." She furrowed her brow then turned to gaze upon him. "Did I ever tell you about my parents?"
Skye shrugged. "I didn't think it polite to ask. But no, you did not."
"I didn't think so." Gwen straightened up in his hold, and she wet her lips; this story was one she'd doled out often, and yet she felt the need to prepare for it this time. "There was an accident. I was younger, and they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Someone was drunk and driving, and well, the story tells itself." She squeezed his arm and looked up at him with curious eyes. "But I think my parents would've liked you."
"Do you, now?" For some reason Skye found this amusing; most parents or relatives wanted him as far away from their daughters as possible. After all, a thief wasn't a good prospective husband, now was he? Not that Skye had ever been serious about marriage or any real commitment until now.
And then, strangely enough, he remembered that he had been—that it was the whole reason he was in this village at all.
"Did I say something? Steiner?" Gwen shook him, alarmed. "You just went completely pale. What is it? Did I do something wrong?"
"N-no. Not at all." He shook Claire's face from his mind—her haunting stare, those ruby lips curled into a snarl, the way his heart used to beat faster at the sound of her very name—and he held Gwen all the closer, insisting, "It's nothing, really. I'm just remembering some things about my past, too. That's all."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"No, fair maiden."
"Are you sure? I'll listen," she persuaded. Her hand grazed his cheek, and Gwen added, "I hate it when you do this. It makes me feel so helpless, y'know?"
Skye smiled. "Maybe that's not such a bad thing."
"Maybe you need to knock off your cryptic replies. I'm your girlfriend, you idiot; it's my job to hear you whine sometimes." She paused. "But not all the time. Because that would get old very fast."
The thief laughed, hard. "Have I told you how much I love you, Gwen?"
"Not often enough," she shot back, and even as they leaned in to kiss, she demanded, "But you're not off the hook, you know. I want to know what's on your mind."
"Well." He closed the distance between them, then answered, "If you must know, Gwen, it's you."
And the last thing I want is to lose you. Or hurt you.
"I don't want to know your little surprise."
"Oh, come on. It'll be fun!" Gustafa patted Nami on the back assuredly. "Come on, Nami. Why are my surprises always bad things?"
"Experience," she retorted. Then, glancing behind her anxiously, the redhead insisted, "I really need to go back and pack my things, Gustafa. It's been…nice being with you…but I ought to leave my room before Ruby charges me for another night's stay."
"Believe me, you'll want to see my surprise first."
Skeptical, Nami raised an eyebrow, but she humored the guitarist and followed him down the hill. She followed his bobbing green hat past some trees, some villagers, until finally they stood in front of his multicolored yurt. "This is your place," Nami said slowly.
"You detectives are an astute bunch."
"Shut up. So why are we here?" she interrogated him.
Gustafa turned to her, grinning, and pulled her hand to the doorknob. "Go inside," he instructed her eagerly. "Go on, I don't have a bomb or anything in there. You can trust me."
"You'd better be right." Still, Nami creaked open the door with caution, and part of her wanted to flinch when it gave way inside. One step, then two, brought her in the incense-scented home, and she glanced about at all the familiar guitars, drums, and assorted décor that made Gustafa's home so unique. Then her eyes centered in on something new.
"What the hell is this?"
"That," Gustafa announced with a cheeky little smile, "is your luggage, Miss Stone. Welcome to your stay in the Gustafa Inn."
If looks could kill, Nami would gladly have committed first degree murder right then and there. "I repeat: what the hell is this?"
"I know you need a place to stay," he explained calmly (which was saying something, since Nami looked as if she might explode), and he continued, "I don't' want you wasting money on a place that's just going to overcharge you, so I figured, why don't I let you chill here?"
"Simple. We don't have that kind of…well…relationship," she worded delicately. "I can't do this."
"Oh, give me some credit, Nami. You think I'd ask you to stay if we were going to do something like that? I know you'd say no." Gustafa patted the bed and laughed. "Nah, I figure you can sleep here and I can go hang out under the stars. I've been meaning to try some camping, anyway, and I couldn't let a young woman—heartless or no—sleep outside in this weather."
Nami could feel her tongue fumbling. "I—well, but surely—it's ridiculous that—but I can't have you sleep outside."
"So you want me with you, then?" he replied mischievously.
"Wha—? Hell no!"
"Then outside for me it is." Gustafa winked at her, and then looking at her suitcase, commented, "I'd suggest getting your things together now. I don't like using much lamp-fluid at night; don't want the yurt to catch fire, y'know."
To her complete shock and dismay, Nami really didn't have any other options.