"That was a real nice thing to do for the kids," Sully spoke, catching Michaela at the bottom of the stairs, and ascending them, several steps behind her.
"Well, I've a lot of making up to do with them," Michaela replied matter-of-factly, as they reached the top of the stairs.
"Michaela, can we just forget about earlier?" He arrived quickly at his point, pacing along the hallway to her right.
"So now you're taking it back?" She muttered sarcastically.
"No, no, I ain't takin' it back. I just, probably weren't the right thing to say. Weren't the right time." Sully corrected her, trying to be honest.
"Oh, and there's going to be a 'right time', is there?" She was still hurt from the casual manner of his proposal.
"I don't mean that, I mean," he growled lightly in exasperation, "why do you have to turn everything around?" Michaela opened the door to her bedroom, pretending to ignore him.
"You're the one who brought it up, actually," she reminded him, stepping into her room.
"Yes, but because I wanted to apologize, not because I wanted to fight with you." He followed her into the room, not thinking anything of it, until he saw the disapproval on her face.
"Do you mind?" she protested, glancing around at the assortment of boxes and bags on her bed and dressing table.
"No, I don't, what?" He frowned, not understanding her protest.
"You can't just follow me in here. It's not proper," she justified, opening the lid of the first box.
"Michaela, I was in here yesterday," Sully shrugged, taking a curious step closer to see what she'd been buying.
Michaela's jaw dropped and she quickly placed the lid back over the contents. "Well that was different, I was in bed, you had just arrived. You can't simply be coming and going from my room, people will see," her eyes widened to elaborate her point.
"Michaela, for heaven's sake. Brian and I play checkers on your bed every week," Sully rolled his eyes.
"Well, that's different, if you're up here, people are going to think something's going on," she gestured for him to move back towards the doorway.
He muttered quickly under his breath, "I wish something was going on."
Sully rephrased instantly, "Please, can you just hear me out and just believe what I'm saying for the next minute." He waited as she folded her arms, and raised a single eyebrow in his direction.
"All right, I know I've already said this to you once, and you were angry, so perhaps you didn't see where I was comin' from. Earlier, when I said what I said, the only reason I said it so casually, was because I was worried that if I made a big deal out of it, then you'd think that saying 'no' was a big deal. That if I asked you formally, then you'd feel pressured into saying 'yes', because I asked you, not because you wanted to." He looked around the room, not believing she'd managed to remain silent throughout his explanation.
Michaela allowed herself to become transfixed by his rich, blue eyes as he spoke, barely hearing the words. When she realized he'd stopped talking, she looked away, quickly making sense of what he had actually said.
"After this morning with William and then you throwing a marriage proposal to me as if you were asking what I thought we should have for supper, I felt," she drew a sharp breath, feeling the now painfully familiar emotional overreaction sweep over her.
"Michaela, I never meant to make you feel like I weren't taking it seriously. I was. And it weren't just coz a what you said happened this morning, either. I just couldn't stand seein' ya feel so alone," Sully moved back across the room, Michaela having paced around the end of the bed to the window whilst he spoke.
"It just felt like sympathy. Which is exactly what I don't want." She remembered Rebecca's conversation from the night before, and forced herself to be open with her feelings.
"Well, that's good, coz I don't waste my time feeling sorry for people. Just wasted energy. Rather be puttin' effort into helpin' 'em heal." He arrived less than a foot behind her as she turned from the window to face him.
"At least we agree on that. I'm sorry I overreacted." She smiled, still not used to his short hair. It wasn't that he looked like a different person, just not quite as familiar as he had before. Michaela liked it though. It was a new start.
"That's all right, anger I can handle. You've got every right to be as angry as you want at the moment," Sully moved his right arm very slowly from his side, until he brushed her left elbow and upper arm. Still moving, and remaining vigilant for any objection in her eyes, he rested his hand on her shoulder, tenderly squeezing the muscles against his thumb and index finger.
She dropped her eyes closed, willing herself not to tense up; enjoying the soothing quality of his touch.
When she eventually did open her eyes, Sully saw they were wet with tears.
He hesitated, about to move his hand away, when she looked up at him fearfully. "Sully," she whispered, so quietly that he saw her mouth move, more than heard the sound.
He frowned, returning his hand to her shoulder, trying to read her empty expression. He remembered the conversation he'd had with Matthew the night before. Maybe, after everything that had happened, it was the opposite of what he thought. Maybe she actually needed to feel loved.
He took several long, deep breaths, concentrating on the sensation of her shoulder under his hand. Moving his fingers ever-so-slightly, feeling each knotted muscle, each varied texture.
Michaela looked awkwardly from his chest to his captivating blue eyes, a million thoughts flashing through her mind. As she felt her shoulders sink in response to his movements, Michaela heard fragments of the conversation she'd had with Rebecca in her mind.
"Sully." She felt her shoulders rise with nervousness, "yesterday, when you said we could be friends?"
He took another step closer towards her, adjusting his right hand slightly, and replying without hesitation. "I'm sorry I said that, Michaela. I meant it so that you wouldn't feel pressured. I didn't mean that it was all I wanted, never for a moment." He moved his left hand to her upper arm, trying at all times to ensure she was comfortable.
Out of nowhere, a single tear ran slowly from her right eye. She brushed it off hastily. "I thought you meant that that was all you wanted, that we weren't going to have the life we'd planned," she glanced downwards very quickly, and by the time she'd looked back up, Sully appeared significantly closer.
"I love you," he reaffirmed with more strength in his words than he thought possible.
Michaela felt her chin begin to tremble. She knew she was going to start crying, she could already feel the lump form in her throat. She couldn't speak.
Sully saw the fine movements of her chin, saw the tears collect in her eyes. He could see in that moment, proof of her strength. Just in the sheer will she was invoking to prevent herself from crying. She was strong.
Before he'd considered his intentions, Sully felt his head lower and move towards hers. Gently, he felt his lips arrive against the smoothness of her cheek and delivered the heartfelt kiss. He felt her skin leave his lips, realizing it was Michaela who had moved her head back, and before he was able to process the reason for her movement, her soft, delicate lips were on his.
Sully brought his left hand along her arm and moved his right hand back slightly, until both were against her shoulder blades, drawing her closer against him.
He didn't remember taking a breath, although didn't feel the need for one, as he moved his lips against her mouth, first covering her lips, and then feeling her take over, to press his top lip between hers.
His body felt electrified by the mere touch of her. The tips of his fingers pressed into her muscular back, their lips continued their own affectionate battle, one claiming the other, and then the situation would change. This continued until he felt her hands slide up his chest, to glide over his thin shirt, further up, until both her arms were above his, and her hands locked forcefully around the back of his neck.
Michaela had long since stopped thinking about what she was doing. And for once, she gave into feeling, never letting rational thought dictate. She could feel his hands, firmly around the back of her shoulders, she could feel her chest, pressing almost painfully against his, but she didn't want to pull away. She didn't want this moment to end. There was more he was communicating through simple touch than she ever imagined was possible; Love, acceptance, the promise of the future they'd once hoped for.
Sully felt Michaela strengthen the kiss, and suddenly realized there was no longer any space between their bodies. He didn't know how exactly that had happened. He didn't know whether he should perhaps, No. Don't you even think of pulling away from her now. If she wanted to, she would. So, he listened to his conscious mind, and turned his head slightly, dragging his lips from hers and traveling down to her jaw line. As he continued moving upwards, he could taste the saltiness of the tear that had fallen from her eye. Soothingly, he moved his hands from her back, massaging her shoulders and continued on to the base of her neck. His mouth traveled downwards, over her smooth, alabaster skin, and backwards to just under her right earlobe.
Michaela had dropped her eyes closed the moment his hands reached her neck. Her head was back, and her lips slightly parted, as she felt his mouth move over the sensitive flesh. She could feel the softness of his lips, her skin tingling from his touch.
"I love you too," she heard the words leave her mouth, never having processed them.
Sully moved his lips back up to her mouth after she'd whispered to him and slid his right hand along the back of her neck to cup her head. He knew he had to stop. Whether he wanted to or not, whether she wanted him to, there was nowhere to go, that was acceptable. As he held her lower lip passionately between his, Sully suspected that what they were doing right at this moment probably wasn't entirely acceptable in Boston, undoubtedly not for two individuals who weren't even engaged. However, realizing he needed to conclude the intimacy, and actually deciding how he was going to do that, proved a problem.
Michaela opened her mouth slightly, as he kept his lips locked tightly over hers. She could feel his muscular chest through the thin cotton of his shirt, and could picture him, as she had done four months ago. Just as they had today, although with considerably less clothing on, Michaela had kissed his bare chest; Sully had gripped the backs of her shoulders.
Is that what this is? This moment is it the chance to start again from that time? To erase the past and to reclaim our lives?
Michaela slid her arms from his chest, around to his back, as her eyes closed tightly, and she pressed herself firmly into him.
Sully gasped unconsciously, as he felt her chest against his own, he tried to remember if they'd ever shared a kiss like this in the entire time they'd been courting. The only moment that even came close was that afternoon in the cave. Although she'd been in too much pain to feel passion like this.
It wasn't until her lips began to sting slightly, that Michaela realized that they were still in the guest bedroom of her sister's home; in Boston. They would be being called for dinner at any moment.
She removed her hands from his back, and only her mouth enough to speak, "Sully," she mumbled, feeling his lips pull away from hers.
She paused for a moment whilst he stood back and cleared his throat. "It'll be supper time and,"
"Yeah, ah, it will be," Sully ran his hands over his white shirt, straightening it out.
Michaela drew several slow breaths, choosing to change the subject. "Would you like to see what I bought?"
He nodded with a smile, and watched eagerly as she opened the first box once again.
"I didn't see the point in pretending it's not happening," she sighed, Sully admiring the dark green dress, very similar to the one she'd worn the day before the horse race, however significantly more generous, and much less revealing.
"I'm glad you enjoyed spending time with your sister," Sully rested a hand on her back, as she reached for the second box.
"Rebecca has never been one to judge, Sully. She's the most like Father in that respect. Never form an opinion, without being in possession of all the facts." Michaela showed him a sky blue blouse, a brown patterned skirt, and a salmon colored dress, with precise stitching, and mother of pearl buttons.
"I should still be able to wear some of my old clothes, the blouses at least," Michaela felt slightly guilty at the array of clothes around her.
"Up to you. Long as you're comfortable. Nothin' matters 'sides that," Sully reached for her right hand, which rested on top of the box in front her. For the first time, he allowed her to see that he was actually looking beyond that. In her new outfit, Michaela had appeared to gain an extra ten pounds and it was now impossible to miss her condition.
She quickly noticed his gaze, and cringed, looking across the room for something to distract herself with.
"Michaela," he paused, about to pick her up on her awkwardness. He saw her mouth drop as he spoke her name, realizing she expected him to launch into a long lecture. He swiftly decided against it and brightened his tone. "Next train leaves for St. Louis in the mornin'. At ten."
She turned her head, not having expected the subject change. "Oh," she considered, swallowing and feeling apprehension rise from her stomach. Not that it was apprehension.
"Yeah, next one's not 'til Saturday, but then there's not a stage until Tuesday and so we'd have to spend a night in Denver. If we leave tomorrow, we only have to change trains in St. Louis, and then don't have to stay in Denver at all. Get into Colorado Springs Monday afternoon." Sully slid the lid back over the large box slowly and moved it from the end of the bed to the floor.
"It just seems so sudden. I mean, we haven't even been here a week. Won't the children and you be exhausted?" Michaela reached for the silver handled hairbrush on the corner of the dressing table and ran it slowly through the knotted ends of her long, auburn hair.
"Well, we don't have to, if you're not ready?" He smiled lightly, watching the long, shiny tresses move against the bristles of the brush.
"No, we need to return home. The children are away from school, and Matthew will be missing Ingrid. I would never want to impose on Rebecca and her family, I," she paused beginning to see faces of the townspeople as she stepped from the stagecoach, "No, delaying is pointless."
Sully smiled, his eyes alternating between her hair, and her reflection in the mirror in front of him. "Only if you're sure," he whispered, as he stepped slightly closer and reached for the hairbrush.
"Tomorrow," she asserted more confidently, feeling him bring the brush down the fine strands of her long hair.
He nodded, his smile widening, as he continued several more strokes, the room silent.
"No!" Both looked up at the sound of a child's angered, high-pitched voice. They met eyes at the sound of a door slamming down the hall.
Moving quickly out into the corridor, Michaela and Sully found Brian striding briskly along the hallway, his arms folded, head down.
"What was all that about, young man?" Michaela reached for his shoulder, looking back up to Penelope's closed door.
"Nothin'," he mumbled, still keeping his eyes downcast.
"Did you slam that door?" Michaela reached for his chin, pulling his head back up.
"Yeah," he jerked away from her hand, glaring back towards his cousin's room for a moment.
"Why?" she pressed, trying not to become frustrated by the child's avoidant behavior.
"Dunno," he shrugged.
"Brian," Michaela raised an eyebrow, looking to Sully and then back to the boy.
"Answer ya ma properly, Brian," Sully folded his arms.
"Penny's annoyin' me, keeps wantin' to play with her dolls and pretend like we're married. I just wanna play on my own." He dropped his arms back to his sides and looked up at his mother honestly.
"I know, Brian. She's just pleased to have someone her own age to spend time with," Michaela tried to reassure the young boy, although he was not convinced by her words.
"Yeah but it's been days now, and she always just wants to do what she wants to do, never what I wanna do." He rolled his eyes, catching a glimpse of understanding from Sully.
"Well, Brian we'll be traveling home tomorrow, so you won't have to be around her any longer," Michaela sighed, realizing that telling Brian actually set it in stone.
He frowned and his face gradually melted into confusion. "What, all of us?" he stated deliberately.
"All of us, Brian," Sully dropped his hand to the crown of the boy's head with a small chuckle.
"Do Colleen and Matthew know yet?" His face brightened.
"No, go on," Michaela shook her head as Brian raced for the stairs, eager to be the one to break the news.
Sully had heard the sigh in Michaela's voice earlier. "You sure?" he repeated, as they moved towards the top of the staircase.
"I rather think it is a little late not to be; now," she gestured to the blond-haired boy as he jumped from the last step and disappeared in search of his siblings. "But, yes," she reinforced, "I'm sure."
~.~
X.O.X
~.~
Jake stepped back inside the barber shop, having just shaken out the off-white cape from the day's business. He closed the small doors, turned the lock and flicked the wooden sign to 'closed'. He blinked several times, feeling overwhelmed with exhaustion, having spent the day fighting tiredness. Crossing the room, he stared down at the razor soaking in the white metal bowl, filled with alcohol. Rubbing his eyes, they blurred slightly, and he blinked again, startling when he heard an impatient knock on the glass behind him.
"I'm closed!" Jake bellowed, as he turned around.
"Ain't a shave I want, Jake. Open up!" Loren knocked again on the glass.
Jake waved him off, but Loren tapped more fiercely on the glass. Both men regarded each other for a moment, Jake realizing that Loren had no intentions of leaving.
Shaking his head and unlocking the wooden door, Jake stood aside as Loren stepped forcefully into the room.
"What do you want?" Jake demanded, having a suspicion of exactly what Loren wanted; an explanation for his drunken sleepwalking the night before.
"I reckon you know. What's been goin' on with you lately?" Loren neatened his vest and pushed his hands deep into his pockets, as Jake moved hastily around the small shop, looking for the odd task or out of place item to busy himself with.
"Oh, you mean last night?" Jake removed the razor from the bowl, carefully laying it on a clean towel to dry overnight.
"Yeah, I mean last night but not only last night. Why I heard from Hank you been over there twice this week alone. Started drinkin' shots a whiskey like it was sarsaparilla. Then you come stumblin' over to my place in the dead of night, still drunk, barely dressed," Loren sat down on the long cushioned bench, indicating he wasn't about to leave without a decent explanation.
"Look I, been havin' a bit a trouble concentratin', that's all. Just need the odd drink, calm me down, help me sleep," Jake reached for the small black brush, and dusted hair clippings from the dark red velvet chair.
"But alcohol ain't gonna help ya sleep, Jake. Just gonna make ya sick again. Then you remember how tough it is comin' off the stuff. You really wanna go through that again?" Loren rested his left foot on his right knee, trying to speak rationally.
"Course I don't wanna. Don't wanna be feelin' the way I'm feelin'," he shrugged, changing the subject, "What, Dorothy got you over here did she? Tryin' to get me to mend my ways." He glanced out towards the general store.
"No, Jake. Came because of the way ya were actin' last night. Things ya said," Loren pulled his lips around his teeth, awkwardly.
"Look, if I was drunk, and was sayin' stuff I shouldn't, then I really am sorry. Was just the liquor talkin'," Jake raised his hands, palms up, forwards in apology.
"Weren't anything wrong with what you were sayin', but don't reckon it was the whiskey talkin' either," Loren felt increasingly nervous, more vivid fragments of Jake's ramblings coming back to him.
Jake cleared his throat, placing the brush back on the small table beside the chair. He looked up, quickly spotting the broom in the far corner, and paced across to get it. "Well, was nothin'. You heard me, was just drunk," he dismissed, moving to the back of the chair with the broom clasped tightly in his right hand.
"You were talking 'bout Dr Mike, Jake. 'cept the stuff you were sayin' weren't makin' no sense," he hesitated, scratching his forehead for a moment, "You were saying that we had to go find her and I tried to tell you she was in Boston but you were confused. You were talkin' like it was back in May, when," Jake cut him off quickly.
"I, I remember. Don't, please, you don't have to remind me," he shook his right hand very firmly in a dismissive manner; able to see the dog soldiers' camp in his mind's eye as soon as Loren had mentioned her name.
"Well see, ya gotta quit drinkin'. It's messin' with ya mind," Loren nodded, sounding strict and stubborn.
"Ain't the drinkin', Loren. I mean, least with the drinkin', I, I don't have to know what's in my head," Jake stared down at the small pile of hair on the floor at his feet, and carefully rested the broom against the wooden dresser.
"I don't understand, Jake," Loren saw the worry on his friend's face.
Jake looked away from the broom, carefully resting his hands on the edge of the pine wooden dresser. His voice was low. "Been havin' nightmares."
Loren felt the skin on his forehead wrinkle. "Well, wouldn't that be the alcohol? The DT's. They made ya confused last time, were sayin' all sorts,"
"No!" Jake exclaimed loudly. He collected himself and lowered his voice. "I mean, it ain't like that. Started gettin' 'em several weeks ago, didn't know what it was to start with. Would just look down and there'd be all this blood on my hands." He glanced downwards, the palms of his hands turning upwards as he spoke.
"Jake?" Loren looked between the barber's outstretched hands and his torn face. He was becoming concerned by his friend's dark tone.
"And, and then, a few nights later, I'd be riding, riding around but didn't know where I was going. I'd look down, and the blood would still be on my hands." He stumbled slowly across the floor, gradually sitting down on Loren's left side. "Weren't until last week, I realized what the nightmares were all about. I'd be standing in the middle of nowhere and I'd feel this weight in my arms. Look down and it's Dr Mike," he finished, his elbows resting on his knees, arms still outstretched.
"That's why you said what you said last night, Jake. Musta been havin' another nightmare," Loren hesitated before reaching across to place a hand on Jake's right shoulder.
"Guess," he took an emotional breath, "Least with the drinkin', I don't remember the nightmares anymore," Jake whispered.
Both men looked down as his right hand began to shake slightly. Jake quickly tucked it back in his trouser pocket.
"Why didn't ya say somethin', Jake, 'stead a keeping all this to yourself," Loren turned to face him, his voice tender.
"Coz I don't want people thinkin' I'm," he flicked his left hand in the air, "well, goin' crazy or somethin'. It'll stop, once Dr Mike gets home," Jake nodded, trying to convince himself.
"Jake, she might not be comin' home," Loren rubbed his right hand over his upper lip.
"What ya talkin' about, said she's just gone for a few weeks and Sully and the kids gone after her," Jake dismissed quickly.
"Yeah, guess you're right. Be home soon," Loren muttered, although not able to shed the uncertainty from his mind. "Listen, Jake, you just take care a yourself. If ya needa talk, can always talk to me but drinkin' is only a temporary measure," Loren patted his hand against Jake's shoulder several times, before removing it and rising to his feet.
"Yeah, ah, thanks, Loren," Jake replied, getting to his feet also.
"Come see ya again tomorrow," Loren paced across towards the door, Jake remaining quiet, as Loren slipped back outside.
Jake waited until Loren was very definitely out of sight, before removing his right hand from his pocket. Brushing his hands vigorously together, he stared down at them for several moments, before shaking his head and reaching for the broom against the dresser.
There was no blood.