Note: This story is probably decades in the making, ever since the show's cancellation robbed its fans of the chance to see Neil and Christy acknowledge their feelings openly. I have half a mind to count up all the kisses David got to indulge in and make sure to balance them out, in here!
The plot that has eaten my brain after a really tough summer is a bit of a reach, but my whole heart has gone into this, and I've constructed it with as much care and affection for the characters and setting as I can.
The fanfiction author's motto has always been, if the thing you want to read doesn't exist, write it yourself! So here, dear readers, few though you may be. Have a story where the tension between Christy and Neil boils over just minutes before they're thrust into a pressure cooker situation. If you're inclined to hop into stories of mine regardless of the source material, please allow me to direct thee towards the you of tubes- and please feel free to ask for a character primer in the comments, if you need. The show is set in 1912, in the Appalachian mountains, and Neil has a rich Scottish accent.
Extended Summary: In the weeks since her ordeal with Jarvis Tatum, Christy struggled with fear and guilt, reliving certain moments every time she closed her eyes. Chief among those images was the bleak look on Neil MacNeill's face as she'd led her captor out of the cabin… but why should that be?
When Miss Alice let slip that he'd expressed considerable guilt regarding Ellie Tatum's death, Christy decided to stop by MacNeill's cabin to check on him. At best, she could distract him from his troubles, and at worst, their inevitable argument might help with her own.
Instead, she and Neil are thrust into an unexpected position that can't help but expose the tension between them. To slay the dragons they're faced with, they'll have to join forces- either in a lie, or something far more perilous: the glorious, dangerous truth.
Chapter One: The Quest
"As long as I'm not imposing, Miss Huddleston," Dan Scott said solicitously.
"Not at all! It's been nice seeing more of you, and I don't mind telling you we have more zucchini than we know what to do with," Christy said, hefting the basket full of the vegetables up to her hip. Dan reached out to help her with it, but she headed past him toward the Mission. It had taken time to train folks to treat her as just another diligent worker in the Cove, and Dan would catch on, soon enough.
"Lordy, please don't be telling me there's more zucchini in that basket!" Ruby Mae burst out as soon as Christy stepped into the kitchen. "I don't rightly know what to cook up, this time!" She leaned over to see Dan standing in the room beyond, hat in hand. "Especially with a guest again!"
"Ruby Mae!" Christy felt heat rise up her neck in embarrassment.
"No, she's right. I've come by more than my share of evenings, last few weeks."
"And we've been blessed by thy presence each time." Miss Alice's voice rang out confidently from behind him. "Please, stay."
Christy gave Ruby Mae a chastising look and walked back into the main room, offering Dan a warm smile. "You are outnumbered, Mr. Scott."
His gentle smile was still wary as he hung his hat on the coat rack, but when Dan turned back around, his body language relaxed. "That appears so. Anything I can help with, in the meantime?"
"There is. I've been meaning to ask thee about your efforts to learn doctoring from MacNeill," Miss Alice said, leading Dan out the front door onto the porch.
"Truth be told, Miss Alice, I haven't seen him in at least a fortnight, and it seems I'm not the only one," he responded before they moved out of earshot.
The mere mention of Neil sent Christy's thoughts reeling back to the last time she'd seen him. Of all the people arrayed around the cabin she'd been held captive in, her eyes had met his first, as though compelled to. He'd looked tortured, his usual blustery demeanor tempered by what looked like true fear. She'd felt a great need to reassure him, despite the Cove's best shooters arrayed around them, her kidnapper's gun in her hand, and the man himself shuffling behind her, head down and contrite.
Christy had lifted her chin and let out a breath, summoning a smile as best she could. Only then had Neil's jaw clenched, the only acknowledgment of their shared moment before he had wheeled around and stalked off without a word.
With a frustrated sigh, she went to her room to freshen her hair before dinner. What did it mean that her mind dwelled so much on that moment? She still had to push away the memories of Tatum's gun pressed to her chest, of his furious, destructive anger as he'd thrown around furniture and screamed at her. Those came and went in flashes, though. In contrast, Neil's expression hung like a painting in her mind, enough for her to recall the lack of wind to blow his hair from his worry-creased forehead.
If it had been anyone else, even David, she'd have gone to Miss Alice about it, but not this, not him. Her mentor had a brittle edge to her when they discussed the doctor, and Christy wasn't prepared to examine why.
"It will pass," she whispered. For some reason, it didn't feel right to pray for such a thing, not in the way she'd asked God to lift her fears and chase away the bad memories of her kidnapping. Her conscience twinged at this, but she told herself it wasn't because of his lack of faith. There was something… wrong about praying to stop seeing a friend's pain, particularly when that pain had been linked to her own.
The solution wasn't to pray that feeling away. It was to confront the source of her concern and try to help fix it.
oOoOoOo
As if she'd sensed Christy was wrestling with something she hadn't planned to mention, Miss Alice sought her out on the porch after their dinner guest left and all the chores were finished.
"Something troubles thee."
Christy let out a little sigh of capitulation and turned toward the other woman, plastering on a bright smile in a last-ditch effort to deflect. "That's normal, isn't it? After…" She hugged herself, rubbing her hands on her upper arms against the chill that always came when she thought about Tatum. "Every day that passes, I see more light in Sam Houston's eyes, and that should be enough to chase away the darkness in my dreams."
"'Should be?'" Miss Alice quoted back. Christy blinked, suddenly hearing her own words more clearly.
"Is that what I said?"
Her mentor walked over and looked out at the tranquil landscape in front of them. "It is. You blame thyself."
Frustration welled up within her, and Christy blurted, "If I'd been better at sending Sam Houston away, if I'd known better what to say, I might not have so enraged Mr. Tatum-"
"Do not give voice to the devil's doubts in thy head, Christy Huddleston. That is unkind to thyself and to those of us who sought your release." Miss Alice's voice was implacable. She turned her head, eyes glittering with purpose in the halflight. "Are you under the mistaken belief that any of those men with guns would have turned around and gone home if they'd known exactly what you said to Jarvis Tatum?"
Christy faltered. As usual, Miss Alice had reframed her doubts in a way that made them seem almost foolish in the face of Quaker logic. She squared her shoulders and said, "Maybe not. It's hard not to second-guess myself."
"I do not intend to make that process more difficult, Christy." Miss Alice set a cool, comforting hand on her shoulder, rubbing it across her back in a gesture that made her miss her mother's physical affection keenly. "Our doubts multiply when we hoard them. Speaking them aloud helps our loved ones to refute. Take Neil- when thee and David were missing, he blamed himself."
Something in her chest leapt at the name, but was that guilt or something else? "What?"
Miss Alice pulled away gently to grip the railing, equal parts frustration and self-support. "It was his prescription for Laudanum that Ellie Tatum used to harm herself. He felt directly responsible for Jarvis's fury, and I- I could not get through to him." She looked down.
"There's no way to predict such a thing! How could he have known-"
In a tone Christy had hardly ever heard her use, Miss Alice said, "That is the sort of truth Neil MacNeill will never accept."
"So David being shot, Sam Houston-" Christy caught her breath. "Miss Alice, I could not help but overhear Mr. Scott saying something about not seeing the doctor for a while. Do you think this is related?"
Miss Alice was looking at her most peculiarly. "Christy," she started, sounding so skeptical that Christy interrupted, defensive.
"I'm not trying to question his work ethic, but if he's upset, if he blames himself-"
"You think that is thy problem to solve?"
"What have I done to anger you?" Christy whispered.
Miss Alice rested a hand to her stomach, the way she did when she (oh, so rarely) overstepped. The thought occurred to Christy that she only ever saw the other woman do this when MacNeill was involved. Reaching out her other hand, Alice grasped Christy's, on the railing.
"You haven't angered me, you've exposed my weakness. Thy passion reminds me of my daughter's, and she so often spoke in riddles and layers, meaning to force me to falter. Forgive me for accusing thee of such manipulation, if only in my own mind?"
"Of course!" Christy found herself enveloped in Miss Alice's warm embrace, though confusing guilt lingered. "There's no motive, only kinship in guilt, I promise. I just thought, if the doctor blames himself for something he couldn't have predicted, maybe we can persuade each other we're wrong."
Miss Alice's arms tightened around her for a second before she stepped back. The peculiar look had returned. "You intend to confront him?"
Christy was full of determination. The man was as stubborn as she was, and she wasn't yet convinced her guilt wasn't justified. That meant an argument, and despite herself, she did enjoy her spats with MacNeill. "Right after breakfast."
"Be wary of seeing Neil as a dragon to be vanquished, Miss Huddleston. His armor is thick and his sword sharp, in defense." With those words, her mentor turned and made her way back into the Mission, leaving Christy behind to wonder what parts of her behavior had once again reminded Miss Alice of Margaret.
oOoOoOo
That night, she dreamed of the kidnapping again, but this time, her kidnapper was Miss Alice. In the dream, Christy was lashed to a chair with leather covered in Bible verses as her beloved friend and mentor accused her harshly of sinning in her heart.
After multiple pleas, she couldn't get this nightmare version of Miss Alice to clarify what she meant, but deep down, she knew. Over a year before, when she'd first come to the Mission, Miss Alice had likened her to Margaret, Neil's wife. She'd accused Christy of stealing MacNeill's heart away, coming just short of saying that Christy had designs on the man- and at that time, Christy had been flabbergasted. Now, though…
The door of the dream-room she was confined in burst inward, and an imagined version of Neil strode in, shouting for her release. Just as he reached out to untie her, Christy woke with a start, her hands immediately going to her wrists to soothe the memory-ache of the tightened bonds.
"Were you scared the verses would burn him?" she whispered into the darkness of her bedroom. "What a situation!" Deep in her heart of hearts, something lingered, perhaps a longing to know what a heroic version of Neil would do, once he'd freed her.
When morning came, Christy couldn't bear to face the real Miss Alice after a dream like that, so she slipped away to the schoolroom to collect her thoughts before heading to MacNeill's. As luck would have it, David was already there. He seemed to be tightening the screws at each of the long desks the children sat on for class.
After greeting him, she was disconcerted that her private musing plans had been interrupted, and decided to focus on what he was doing. "I suppose I never really thought about all the little things that go into keeping things in good shape for the church and the school."
"We bathe and brush our teeth for the health of our bodies, we pray and do good deeds for the health of our souls, it's only right to do regular maintenance for the health of the buildings," David said, straightening and giving the piece of furniture a good shake. It moved as a solid block, and as Christy watched, he moved to the next in line. This one rattled loudly, and he grinned at her.
"I'm truly glad you've recovered enough to do work like this, even if you can't do anything more strenuous yet. I'll leave you to it," she said warmly. Christy picked up a random book from her desk as though it had been her morning's errand and started toward the doorway. To her surprise, David stepped into her path, halting her in her tracks. "Something I can help with?" she asked innocently.
He crossed his arms. "You can tell me why you're being evasive."
"What?"
"It's not a school day. You missed breakfast. You seemed unhappy to see me, meaning whatever you're up to, you'd hoped to slip out without seeing anyone."
David really was too perceptive for his own good. Christy retreated to her desk and the safety of imagined authority. "I am always happy to see you, David."
He reached out and set down his tools, giving her the distinct impression that his entire focus was on her. Given his spoken (and unspoken) intentions towards her, she decided to confess in the hopes that she could escape the full brunt of David Grantland's powers of persuasion.
Crossing her own arms, Christy said, "If you must know, Dan said something about the doctor keeping to himself, and Miss Alice outright told me he feels like our ordeal was his fault." Including David in the statement was a blatant attempt to soften the blow of where she was going.
It worked, almost.
"I've heard the same," he said, letting his arms fall to his sides and coming over to look down at her, concern etched on his face. "You might want to lead with something about my recovery instead of launching right into his mental state. He can be fairly rough when he's wrestling with those demons of his. Are you sure you know what you're doing?"
"Absolutely," she said.
That assertion traveled on the breeze from the schoolhouse to swirl around Cutter Gap and whisper doubt into her ear as she approached MacNeill's cabin. The first thing she noticed was how bare his porch looked, bereft of the stacks of supplies, draped laundry, and other evidence of a well-lived mountain life. Once she got up onto the porch, a sour smell wrinkled her nose, and Christy saw two filthy socks resting where they'd clearly been individually thrown from inside the house.
Drawing up all her courage, she knocked on the door. If Neil was as David said, he might not want to see anyone at all, much less her in particular.
There was no answer, and no sound from inside. Christy knocked again, using the side of her fist rather than her knuckles, this time.
Still nothing.
"Doctor MacNeill? Are you there?" With all her strength, she pounded on the door, feeling an instant ache in her hand.
"Go away!"
He couldn't see her, which was just as well, because the smile on her face would make no sense to him at all. He'd spoken to her, and that meant she'd found a chink in his armor.
"We're- I'm worried about you, doctor. Will you open up, just for a little while?"
Would he see the symbolism in that statement?
It seemed he would not, as MacNeill fell silent again, prompting her to try two more rounds of knocking and calling out.
"Cease your racket, woman! I'm not fit for company!" he finally roared.
"I'm not company, Neil MacNeill!" she shouted right back. Her hand was probably bruised at this point, and she darn well wasn't going anywhere till she'd at least seen him. "I'm your friend!"
Christy counted thirty seconds of silence before she lifted her fist to try again. It seemed foolish to swap and end up with two sore hands- but just as she was about to slam her agonized fist back into the brick wall that was his desire for privacy, he opened the door.
Neil was a wreck.
He was barefoot, dirty, and his hair stuck out in all directions (she hoped it was because he'd pulled on it in frustration that she wouldn't do as she was told and leave). The shirt he was wearing was unbuttoned all the way and hanging open, leaving her gaze skittering across the expanse of hair and muscles up to his face.
That was when she took a step backwards, not before.
His expression was thunderous, but he bowed sardonically and swept his arm out as though to welcome her inside. This was her chance to show him that his well-being was what mattered to her, so Christy walked in with her head held high, faltering only when he stood up and she caught a whiff of the alcohol on his breath.
"What's the matter, Miss Huddleston? Is the cabin not up to your Asheville sensibilities?"
Just for that, she continued further in, noting with as serene an expression as she could manage that he hadn't kept up with his indoor chores either. Dirty dishes were stacked on multiple surfaces, and it seemed that many had been there for some time.
"I know you're trying to get me to turn on my heel and leave, but you made a mistake, doctor," she said, circling around to favor him with a smile.
"Did I, now?" Neil's combative stance let his loose shirt gap oven even wider. It took her a few seconds to drag her startled gaze back up to his eyes, and the smug grin that formed on his face was infuriating.
Christy told herself she would not blush. This man was her friend, and he was clearly suffering, even if that suffering took a shape indistinguishable from a common scoundrel.
"You did. You didn't say 'the big city,' you said Asheville, the place I'm from. That's personalized. I'm not just any visitor, like I said." He looked away from her for a second, and she pressed her advantage. "I've heard you're keeping to yourself lately, that you're…" Christy let out a breath and lifted her chin. "-dwelling on what happened." It wasn't how she'd wanted to phrase it, but standing there faced with the man, her thoughts had scrambled before she'd seen his disheveled state.
Neil pointed at her. "I'm not one of your charity cases, and I've not asked you for your opinion! I'll handle the stress of my profession in the way I see fit-"
"But you aren't handling it!" she interrupted, taking a distressed step forward. "You've retreated into yourself, like some kind of… of selfish punishment, denying the Cove the chance to see you, to ask your advice. When's the last time you allowed yourself any self-care?"
His lip had curled up in derision when she'd started speaking, but when she emphasized the word 'allowed,' a ripple of something like respect crossed his face before it twisted again.
"That is none of your business."
"Isn't it? I was directly affected by what happened, doctor. So was David and Sam Houston. Do you think any one of us would want this for you?" To emphasize her point (and distract from the memories mentioning that awful day always engendered), Christy started for the nearest pile of plates, meaning to scrape off their rotting contents onto one, and stack the rest.
As she ought to have expected, a rough hand caught her upper arm before she'd gotten a chance to do more than pick up a single dish.
"Now you're contradicting yourself. Which is it, Christy? Am I selfish or not?"
He was inches away, all exposed skin and booze-fueled aggression. Neil's hand tightened on her arm, and she looked up at him, again losing her train of thought. Something about MacNeill always did this to her, but now there was nothing to obscure the raw masculinity he presented. Her heart pounded, and the dreaded blush suffused her face.
It wasn't fair that he could so thoroughly derail her carefully-prepared attempt to make him feel better with nothing more than an unbuttoned shirt and a surly attitude.
Christy felt like an animal in a trap turning on its captor, which was maybe a little too apropos for this particular conversation. "You are selfish, but not for drinking or leaving your kitchen a mess," she said, trying to tune her voice to the same one Miss Alice so effectively used to scold herself and David, when she was disappointed in them. "By hiding away, you've denied your friends the chance to help you, and you to help them."
His eyes blazing with renewed fury, MacNeill released her arm with a sound of frustration and stalked over to the stove. "Fat lot of good my help has done anyone, on the balance of it!" he snapped, thrusting soiled dishes into consolidated, though unsteady piles. He shot a withering look over his shoulder. "I suppose this is really about Dan Scott, isn't it?"
Christy's jaw dropped. Despite the alcohol she'd smelled on his breath, the man was certainly finely focused on particular grievances. "It most certainly is not! What, I can't want to show up at a friend's house and find out they're… that you've-" She broke off, as his shirt was caught on the handle of a soup pot, and if he moved any farther to the left, it would-
"Well, spit it out!" Neil thundered, snatching up the pot with a clumsy move that sloshed some of its rancid contents onto the stove. "Or get out, like I told ye from the first!"
"I'm trying, all right? It's just a little overwhelming in here, and not just because of the mess. I'm here to help with your mind, not your housekeeping skills!" she cried out, setting her hands on her hips.
"Overwhelming? What in the blue blazes is so overwhelming?" Neil said, turning toward her so quickly his unbuttoned shirt flapped all the way open.
Christy had never expected to know so much about male nipples before marriage. Somehow, everything had gone sideways, and the thing she wanted above everything else was to prevent Neil MacNeill from knowing she felt out of her depth. So, with the tatters of her dignity fluttering metaphorically around her, she marched right up to where he stood in front of the stove and took hold of his shirt edges.
Then, she started to button it.
His silence was deafening. So was his stillness.
In their entire acquaintance, she'd never known him to quiet himself in an argument like this- but something, an instinct perhaps, told her that if she looked up to see what was written across his face, she'd almost surely run right out the door.
So, Christy Huddleston worked on the third button, her fingers shaking. Though she could still smell alcohol, it wasn't as potent as before, and the bad food smell had faded, probably because she was used to it. In their place was a warm, musky scent that was wholly unfamiliar to her. She had to stop herself from leaning closer and breathing deeply of the shirt between her fingers, because she felt lightheaded enough as it was, with his proximity.
Then, realization struck her. Her father had used a liniment that she'd come to associate with him, and she'd never truly been this close to any other man than David, who always smelled of soap. What she was smelling was Neil, not his shirt.
It was… intoxicating.
"Have you lost your nerve, then?" he whispered, his voice uncommonly gentle.
Christy shut her eyes tightly against the way his tone made her feel. It was like she was on fire but freezing cold, all at once. "No. Yes. Maybe," she said, frustrated. The words crowding in her brain flowed from her lips without a chance to stop them. "I've assisted the students, you know, and I've helped in a medical setting, but I've never buttoned a man's shirt like this, especially not when they're so-"
She pressed her lips tight to stop herself, shooting a nervous glance up at him without realizing she'd resolved not to.
The burning chunk of ice churning in her gut shot icicles in all directions when Christy saw the look in his eyes. Neil was still angry, but there was the strangest undercurrent of tenderness to his expression.
"Finish the sentence, Christy," he said, the gravel in his tone making her name sound different, more grown-up, somehow. "So angry? So drunk? It's been an hour since I've had anything."
Her lips twitched, trying to hold back her incredulity. "It is scarcely nine in the morning, Neil!"
He swayed toward her briefly at the sound of his name, which meant his chest came into contact with the hands she had left poised in position to continue buttoning him up. This was enough to coax out the thing she'd been too shy to say seconds earlier.
"It's improper."
Neil's lips curved into a wicked smile, furthering the odd, burning path of excitement in her stomach. "If this is so improper, why don't you run away- or even better, finish what you've started?" His eyes burned with intensity, daring her to pick either one.
He was always a step ahead of her! Now if she did either thing, she'd be obeying him, in a sense. Her pique drew out the truth.
"I'm intimidated, that's why!"
"Not nearly intimidated enough," Neil growled, and suddenly one hand was cupping her face, the other sliding behind her to press at the small of her back. Then his lips were on hers, rough and hot. An aching, desperate feeling of joy tore through her. His chest under her hands was warm and solid, but his lips brushed fire with each confident movement. It had to be the worst possible sin to feel this good.
His fingers sank into her hair, tangling in it and keeping her steady as he angled his head, sucking her lower lip into his mouth. Now she could taste the alcohol that had pushed him to be so reckless- but the not-unpleasant flavor heightened the danger of the moment in a confusing, exhilarating way. Christy felt her knees buckle, and that's when he lifted his head, tucking his thumb underneath her chin so she couldn't avoid his gaze. Then he said something that was every bit as dizzying as his outrageous kiss had been.
"If you don't want to be mine, clear out of here."
Christy stared at Neil in shock, barely feeling him let go of her and step back. It was just a few inches, but given how close they'd been just now, it might as well have been the whole distance of the train line.
End note: Bear with me, I know this is a fairly outrageous thing for him to say, even after he's been drinking! In the time between chapters, just allow me to say that Neil is mostly trying to scare her away, but he wouldn't complain if she chose to stay...