Chapter 7 - Perchance to Dream

Myria checked on Jonathon periodically throughout the day. If he was asleep, she merely stood in the doorway and watched him for a few moments before returning downstairs to help in the bakery. She found that seeing him there was calming, reassuring, even if she didn't speak with him or touch him.

Other times she would reach the upstairs and hear that he was awake, but he would be speaking with his uncle and she did not wish to intrude. There was an uncomfortable feeling in how Pars looked at her when she was around Jonathon, and so she began avoiding that situation.

Thus it was late afternoon before she managed to slip upstairs to find Jonathon both awake and alone. He was lying quietly, propped up with pillows, and smiled slightly when she entered the room.

She felt her face smile in response. "You are awake."

"And feeling better," he answered quietly. "Sit with me for a minute? I've missed you."

"I have been 'keeping busy' as your aunt says. It appears to make time pass more quickly." Myria moved the wooden chair closer to the head of the bed, and eased into it as she looked Jonathon up and down, from chest wrapped with bandages to an impressive bruise on his cheek. "You appear to be recovering well."

"Definitely. It only hurts when I laugh." He smiled a bit broader, then looked pained. "And when I move my face too much, apparently."

Myria studied his expression carefully. "Is that a way of saying something else, or do you actually mean that it hurts when you laugh?"

"I mean it really hurts when I laugh. Or cough. Or take very deep breaths. But other than that, as long as I don't try to get up, I feel pretty good. The bandage helps, mostly because it keeps me from taking very deep breaths."

"Then you should stay in your bed, and continue to do none of those things."

Jonathon gave Myria a look. "Now you sound like my aunt."

"She is a wise woman."

"Great, another female in the house on Team Rosemarie. Can you hand me that glass of water? I'd rather not do the reach."

"Of course." Myria retrieved the half-full glass from the bedside table and handed it to him. She thought for a moment. "Jonathon, that is the second time today someone has referred to it as a competition with sides. Your aunt accused me of betraying her side earlier when I suggested that Jessica was correct."

Jonathon shrugged with the glass in his hand, and winced. "That's just chatter, I guess." He took a couple of sips, and handed it back to Myria to place back on the table.

"I am less sure." She leaned back in the chair. "After consideration, I think that there are sides, and they change depending on the situation. I think…" she looked to Jonathon for affirmation, "that it is important not to be seen always agreeing with one person and disagreeing with another. But I am still evaluating that."

Jonathon tilted his head, eyes unfocused for several seconds. "Hmm. I think you've hit on something there." Another thoughtful look. "You know Myria, it's strange. For someone who doesn't understand humans very well, you keep making these leaps in intuition that make me have to think about the things we do and say."

Myria's mouth tightened, and she felt her eyes threaten to tear up. Selfish body. It would not be fair, she thought, to cry now in front of Jonathon. He was the one in physical pain; the body's emotions should not interfere. She turned her head slightly away, trying to hide it, without success.

"Oh, Myria I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say-"

She cleared her throat and shook her head. "Please Jonathon, do not apologize. We both know what I am, and what I am not. Wishing does not make it otherwise."

He reached out and rested his hand on her arm gently, which felt nice but in some ways made it worse. "I know, but I can tell it hurts you. It was thoughtless of me to just make an offhand remark like that."

"I have learned," she took a deep breath, "that sometimes the truth is painful." She ignored the tightness in her chest and forced her face to smile slightly, even though she was not actually happy. The result was not quite what she intended, falling somewhere between "I have just eaten a strange mushroom and now I can hear colors" and "My name is Norman, welcome to my inn. You remind me of my mother!".

Jonathon looked confused and slightly concerned for a moment, then smiled in earnest. "That was a good attempt, but I'd practice in front of a mirror before you try that out in public. It definitely needs some work before anyone else will buy it."

For some reason his remarks eased the ache in her chest, and the urge to become weepy retreated enough that she was able to give a small but genuine smile. "I am learning. Your family members are good teachers."

Jonathon was quiet again for a minute. She was beginning to recognize that particular tilt of head as meaning 'I am deep in thought. Please wait.' Finally he continued, "You have changed, Myria."

Myria frowned and leaned forward. "What do you mean? In what ways have I changed? Should I change back?"

Jonathon laughed quietly, careful with his ribs. "Well, you seem more confident for one thing, at least until just then. And no you should not change back… Could you? Change back I mean?"

"I do not know. I was not aware I was changing at all. But… " Myria pulled up a vision from memory, a picture in her head of clinging to him in the house on Kings Way, terrified he would leave her alone, and compared it to how she felt now. "I can see that I have changed. I feel less anxious about," she struggled to find the right word, "living. About being who I am."

Jonathon nodded and squeezed her arm in affirmation. "Yeah. I notice you haven't been waiting by my bedside every minute of the day. I half expected them to have to kick you out of the room."

"You have slept most of the day. I have been upstairs to check on your health. But I determined it would not be reasonable to take up the limited space in this room while your family was tending to you. And I wanted to be of use. And yes, I feel less panicked by the idea of being away from you now." She covered his hand with hers, enjoying the quiet closeness.

There was a long quiet moment. It was one of those moments where two people gaze into each other's eyes and contemplate the depth of feeling they share, just before one of them is fated to say something stupid and completely screws up the moment.[1]

Jonathon decided fate could go screw itself.

"Kiss me."

"You wish me to kiss you?"

"Hah. That's what I said. I would kiss you, but I am not as mobile as I'd like. Now be quiet and kiss me." Myria felt suddenly hesitant, and didn't understand that at all. They had kissed before, and it was very enjoyable. She would, perhaps, ask Jessica about this later. Taking a deep breath, she leaned further forward in the chair, feeling her eyes begin to close of their own accord.

"Wait," Jonathon interrupted, and she froze and frowned slightly and opened her eyes to look at him.

"Yes?"

"Make sure, if you decide to pass out again," he smirked a little, "that you don't fall on me. I don't want to end up with broken ribs again."

For some reason, that lightened the mood instead of upsetting her. Myria could tell that he was teasing her. "I will try to not be overcome. And I will be gentle." It was probably a chemical thing, but she felt like giggling, and gave in to the urge, and laughing leaned in and kissed him softly.

Immediately she found herself half enthralled by the impact of the kiss, and half trying to moderate the effect so she didn't lose herself completely in it. She was at least successful enough that she merely felt dizzy. Then again that may have been because she'd forgotten to keep breathing. She considered further that while light-headed, she also felt very much alive, as if the blood in her veins and arteries were spiced with…. with chocolate. Yes that was it.

It seemed an eternity later when she heard the sound of a cough, followed by a clearing of a throat, in the doorway behind her. For some reason, the sound automatically caused her to sit up, and she felt her face become warmer. Embarrassment? Jonathon's hand was still grasping hers; their fingers had intertwined, but he was looking past her with an expression that seemed a mix of amusement and something else. "Uncle?"

Myria felt her body react, as if it were trying to compress itself into the chair and become smaller.

Pars continued, his voice neutral. "Jonathon needs to rest, and Rosemarie needs help downstairs."

Myria responded, "Of course-" at the same time as Jonathon's "I'm fine Uncle-." They paused, realizing they had spoken over each other, and Myria jumped into the gap. "Jonathon, they need my assistance. I will return downstairs." She quickly got up and walked past Pars, neither looking at the other. The last she heard as she made her way down the stairs was Jonathon's voice, sounding troubled. "Uncle, what was…"

When evening mealtime arrived, Jonathon was asleep, and as a result Myria ended up sitting in his usual place at the table, her own 'special meal' in front of her. She had been proud of this batch of waferbread, as she had prepared it herself and could not wait to tell Jonathon about her success.

Unfortunately, that feeling was tempered quickly by a feeling of discomfort. The primary reason was that Jonathon's uncle seemed to be unwilling to speak to her or look at her. She was unsure of his aunt's feelings, but she was sure that his uncle was unhappy with her for any number of reasons, most of them probably valid in her estimation.

Jessica on the other hand seemed oblivious at first, until she apparently realized that she was carrying three parts of a four-person conversation. Soon the only sounds were the clink of cutlery on plates and mouths working on processing food for digestion. Myria noted when Jessica began glancing from her aunt and uncle to Myria, a frown forming.

"Um, what's going on here?"

Pars glowered at his plate, and Rosemarie shot her a look and a quietly murmured "Later." Myria determined that she should not answer the question at that moment either.

But not answering seemed to make it worse. It felt, somehow, like the room was slowly becoming smaller and smaller, and Myria had the urge to flee. She found herself unable to finish her meal, meager though it was. Her stomach kept signaling that it was, well, unhappy with her, though she did not know what she could have done to it.

Excusing herself quietly, she fled to the downstairs and discovered the joys of being sick in the utility sink.

The situation in the upstairs was little better. Jessica dropped her fork onto her plate with a clatter and crossed her arms. "Ok, what in dragonsfire is going on here, da?"

Pars frowned more deeply and gave her a careful look. "You mind your manners Safflower. I am your father, not one of your 'rocks' friends."

That response did not help matters. For one thing, Jessica hated being called Safflower, except in that loving, teasing way that fathers have with their children, and this certainly didn't fit the bill. For another, she was sixteen, almost seventeen and 'practically grown up'. And for a third, she had just been through a little personal hell.[2] She gritted her teeth.

Okay, you want to play that card? Fine. "Alright." She put on a neutral face. "Father, may I ask what is going on here?" Her mother widened her eyes at that.

Pars looked at her carefully. "Nothing that's your concern."

Jessica felt like her head was going to actually explode, and threw her hands up instead. "Seriously? This whole meal, everyone has been staring at the table and trying not to look at each other. A blind troll could tell you are mad about something, and no one is talking about it. And you say it's not my concern?"

"This is between adults, Saf-"

"Don't you dare Safflower me and tell me it's none of my business. I am sixteen, not some runny nosed- ow!" That last because her mother had just poked her in the leg with her fork.

"That is enough, both of you!" Rosemarie stood up. "Jessica, I need to speak to your father. I suspect that Myria could use some company."

"You're just trying to get rid of me."

"Yes I am. But it's still true."

Jessica looked at her mother suspiciously. Being told the truth had thrown her off a bit. "Well. Fine then. But I'm still not a kid any more. You can't just pretend there's no problems around me."

"I know that, maybe better than some do," she threw a glare over her shoulder at the only male in the room. "Now shoo and let me talk to your father."

Jessica put in the obligatory huff, the required 'shoving of the chair' and the mandatory stomping off, and found Myria downstairs sitting at the counter looking miserable and slightly green, having just finished rinsing the sink and her mouth out with clean water.

"Wow, you look terrible? What happened?"

"I am not sure. It is possible that I did not prepare the waferbread properly. My digestive system malfunctioned."

Jessica put an arm around her in sympathy. "Ah. Threw up did you?"

"I believe that may be the term, though it is not exactly accurate. It was more out than up."

"Ick. Still no fun either way. Probably wasn't the food though. Probably it was the situation."

"What do you mean?" Myria turned to peer at Jessica.

"Well being nervous or upset can make you throw up. Not sure why." She shrugged with one shoulder.

"I see. Yes then that is a more likely explanation. I was very upset."

"Yeah. What gives?"

"I am sorry?"

She shook her slightly. "What's wrong, Myria?"

"They are angry with me. I think it is because I am here, and it is my fault."

"What the heck are you talking about?" Jessica's tone took on some of the edge it had gotten upstairs.

"I believe that your father blames me for the condition of you and your cousin. It upsets him. And it is my faul-"

"Oh will you stop?" Jessica gripped both of Myria's shoulders and gave her a good shake at each syllable, which shocked Myria enough that all she could do was stare wide-eyed at the young girl. "Look Myria, yeah none of this would have happened if you hadn't stumbled into Jonny. But that's the point. None of this would have happened." Myria tried to look away, but Jessica moved her hands up to either side of Myria's face, holding it in place. "Myria, I've never seen him as happy as he was, before everything went wahoonie shaped. And you are responsible for that too. Get it?"

Jessica dropped one hand, leaning back. "So enough of the blaming thing. We're fine." Myria started to speak and Jessica covered her mouth with her free hand. "Ok not fine. But we're alive and we're going to be fine. Better than fine. I like you. You're like the kid sister I never had. Yeah I know you're like older than me, but you're so clueless most of the time it's like having a kid sister." She smiled and moved her hand away. "You can talk now."

"Well, actually you are correct. In experience I am only a few months old."

"See. And you're gaining a sense of humor too." She noted the look of confusion on Myria's face. "Ok maybe not. But that's not the point. Jonny is all gallant knight over you. I mean throwing yourself in front of a spear for a lady? That's like so romantic it's stupid, and kinda sickening, but I could sell books about that and make thousands."

Myria struggled, as usual with Jessica, to determine which statements to address. Several of them seemed to have factual errors. She opted for what seemed the most important. "Jonathon may not feel the same way now."

Jessica snorted. "Riggghhhttt. And the King will come back to Ankh Morpork and appoint him the next Patrician. Look Jonny's crazy about you, and mom and dad will just have to deal with it."

Myra wanted to believe her, but upstairs she suspected things were much more complex than Jessica would admit. Suddenly she felt very, very tired. Too tired to really absorb all of this. She felt her mouth gape open and her body reflexively inhaled deeply.

That seemed to snap Jessica out of her rant. "I'm sorry, Myria. You're exhausted aren't you? How many hours did you work today?"

Another yawn. "I am unsure."

"Well how many hours were you downstairs in the bakery."

"Not counting time when I was taking food upstairs or attending to personal needs, 8 hours and 23 minutes."

"Geez Myria, no you don't subtract off those. And all that after being awake since before dawn? No wonder you are exhausted."

"I am not sure I was-"

"Whatever. We need to get you to… hey wait a minute. Where are you staying now?"

Myria realized that she had not even considered this. She must be more tired than she had realized. "I do not know. I had not considered it." Her face betrayed her concern. "My previous dwelling is not suitable for habitation due to extensive damage. And I do not have access to any funds to obtain alternate lodging."

"Well then you have to stay here tonight, at least."

"I do not believe that your father will approve."

"Right now, I don't care if they have a rat's ass[3]."

Myria blinked at her. "I suspect that-

"Oh forge-" Jessica sighed. No, telling Myria to 'forget it' won't work either. "That was another saying. It means I don't care at all. The point is, you have nowhere else to stay, so you are staying here. End of discussion."

Myria sat, swaying slightly and just looked at Jessica.

"Well, don't you have anything to say?"

"But, you said it was the end of the dis-"

Jessica grabbed her own hair and tugged. "Gods Myria, sometimes you are impossible. No, don't ask. I'm too exasperated and angry with my parents right now to explain anything without making it more confusing. Come with me." Not waiting for an answer, she took Myria by the arm and walked her up the stairs. They could hear Pars and Rosemarie having an intense and moderately loud discussion from their bedroom as Jessica led Myria into her room before plopping her on the bed. She pointed at Myria. "You. Lay down here. Go to sleep. Do not go anywhere else. That's an order." She pointed a thumb back at herself. "I'm going to go have the mother of all teen rebellion moments with my parents, and it's gonna be ugly. Like Music-With-Rocks-In ugly." She looked almost giddy with the prospect as she closed the door behind her.

Alone and on an actual bed for the first time since before Jessica had been kidnapped, Myria surprised herself by quickly falling asleep, despite the familial midden-storm she knew must be brewing nearby. Her last thought was to wonder what the world would look like tomorrow.

[1] Usually resulting in the next 1 hour and 45 minutes of the movie being spent trying to repair the damage in either a humorous or heartbreaking manner.

[2] For those unaware of the term "Fire Triangle" this is a pretty similar mixture.

[3] Rat's Ass [n] MWRI slang for a really bad scene.