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mhalachaiInevitable Sixty-Four: No One's Home (Part One)
by Mhalachai
Disclaimer: Laurell K. Hamilton owns all things Anita Blake. J.K. Rowling owns all things Harry Potter. Only the story is my own.
Note: With this chapter clocking in at 12,991 words, it's the longest ever. EVA. It's so big that I can't post it here in one post! Damn you LJ! I'm making no apologies for the content of this chapter. I write trauma and reactions and can't gloss over the bad stuff. It's mostly Anita and Nathaniel, with cameos from almost everyone. As always, let me know what you think.
Previous parts here.
~~~~~~~
Micah's car disappeared down the road, my Nimir-Raj intent on dealing with the latest emergency for the Furry Coalition, but still I didn't go back in the house. I could face what Olaf had done to me in there, it was over and done. What I couldn't handle was the young man cowering in that house.
I took a deep breath, trying to squash down the anxiety. It was Saturday. The Olaf thing had happened on Monday. Almost a week since that day, and we had only just gotten back to the house a couple of hours ago. Apparently, most of the furniture on the main floor was beyond saving and Micah had arranged to have it carted off to the dump. The place almost echoed, uncomfortable in every way.
I gave up and went back into the house, through the hall to the living room. Micah had the carpet replaced, and it seemed strange to me to see the bright white carpet, gleaming snowy underneath the stacked books and boxes. The couches were gone, and without them the room seemed empty.
I wondered when I'd feel safe in here again.
The hairs on the back of my neck prickled. I swung around to see Nathaniel in the doorway to the kitchen. He held several long, flat boxes in his hands, very carefully not looking at me. "What?" I demanded. It came out harsher than I wanted, and Nathaniel flinched.
It had been almost a week. Almost a week since Nathaniel told me in my hospital bed that this whole mess was my fault, almost a week since Nathaniel had spoken more than one sentence to me at a time. He'd spent his time with me, silent, or with Micah and Jason. I'd been told they played cards or read, but every time I had entered the room, Nathaniel got as far away from me as he could.
Now, Nathaniel griped his boxes a little harder before taking two quick steps into the room and laying his handful on the single remaining table. "I thought we could play a game until Micah gets back," he said, voice a bit rushed.
I stared at him. "A board game?" I asked. "You ignore me for a week, won't sit down or relax or anything while I'm near, and all of a sudden you want to play games?" My voice rose as I spoke, all the frustration I'd been having with Nathaniel spilling out.
Nathaniel gripped the side of the heavy wooden table, breathing heavily. Quick as a flash, he flung the table into the empty bookcase across the room. Wood splintered, game pieces scattered over the floor, and then he was gone.
My heart beating so fast it almost hurt, I stood there, frozen. Nathaniel had never been violent around me, ever. I wanted to find him and say I was sorry, but everything I'd done for him all week, every advance, had been rebuffed. I didn't know what to say to make it better.
Maybe I couldn't fix this.
Blindly, I went back outside and stumbled down the stairs. My legs folded and I barely caught myself on the railing, collapsing onto the bottom step.
What if I couldn't fix this? What if Nathaniel would go on hating me? Jean-Claude had asked me if I loved Nathaniel, and I did, I really did, but I didn't know what I could do to make this better. What if he had to leave? What if the only way for him to get better was to leave me?
My cell phone rang in my pocket. Dully, I pulled the thing out and flipped it open. "Hello?"
"Anita?"
My mouth dropped open in shock at the sound of the voice. "Harry?" I demanded. "Is that you?"
"Yeah, it's me," Harry said, echoing hollow over the line. "How are you doing?"
I blinked hard in the morning sun. "I thought they didn't have phones at your school," I said, feeling a lump forming in the back of my throat. God, I missed him.
"They don't. I told them I was going into Edinburgh to make a call or else I was leaving, and they decided it was better to let me go." I could imagine the sheepish expression on his face at that admission. "But are you all right? How's Nathaniel? How's Damian?"
"Damian's fine, perfectly fine," I said, answering the easiest question first. "He's staying at the Circus for now."
"Anita?" Harry sounded more worried. "What about Nathaniel? What about you? Jason said you'd be fine, but that was almost a week ago."
I stared down at my left hand. The doctors had re-set the bone after I'd hit the wall, and everything had almost healed, except for the shiny scar on my skin. "They say I'll be fine. Thanks to you."
"But what about Nathaniel?" Harry demanded. "Is he okay? He shifted back, right?"
"Yeah." I swallowed hard again. "He's fine, not a single scar. The shift didn't bring back his hair, though." I blinked back tears. "Olaf cut off his hair."
"Oh." Harry was quiet for a moment. "How's he doing with that?"
"I don't know," I said, clenching my fist, ignoring the twinges in my bones. "He won't tell me anything, he won't talk to me about anything and I--" I cut myself off.
"Anita? Anita, are you there?"
"Yeah," I muttered. "I'm here."
"Does Nathaniel have someone to talk to?" Harry asked anxiously. "I thought you guys were like best friends and all that."
I played the fabric on my jeans and gave Harry a shrug he couldn't see. "I guess."
"Maybe he needs to not talk about it?" Harry suggested. "With Cedric, I couldn't talk about it for a long time, and that was okay, until I talked about it with my friends."
"I don't know," I admitted. "I don't know how to fix this."
"Maybe you're not supposed to fix it," Harry said. "Maybe Nathaniel has to fix this when he's ready."
I couldn't find anything to say to that, so I changed the subject. "Jason said you saw what happened?" I said. "With Olaf?"
"Didn't you see me?" Harry asked, astonished. "I thought you saw me. You lifted your hand up to me and everything."
"I did see you," I said. "I just wasn't sure if it was real."
"Even Edward saw me!" Harry exclaimed. "He looked right at me!"
"Edward says he saw a dark hovering shape by my head," I clarified. "But he's a magical null, he can't see specters unless they have physical form."
"I told you I was there," Harry said stubbornly. "In this dream, I was there physically."
I was about to agree with him, when something in his words hit me. "What do you mean, 'this dream'? What other dream would we have had? Are you talking about the thing that happened in August?"
Harry swore under his breath. "No."
"Harry, what are you talking about?'
"Okay, if I tell you this, you absolutely cannot tell anyone!"
"Tell anyone what?" I demanded. "What are you rambling about? If this has to do with what happened with Olaf, I have every damned right to know!"
"Anita!"
"I'm not promising anything until you tell me what happened!"
Harry's voice got closer and more muffled, like he'd put his mouth right up to the receiver. "I've been having dreams about stuff you were doing, while you were awake."
I frowned. "How the hell does that work?" I demanded.
"I don't know!" Harry said defensively. "It wasn't my idea! Even trying to block my mind against dreams didn't seem to work. Hermione thinks it might be because of an energy transfer. She's convinced it started after Richard and I helped lift that curse Bellatrix set on you, in the woods, but I can't figure out why."
"That is the weirdest thing I ever heard of!" I said, uncomfortable that Harry had been spying on my waking hours. "Wait, why didn't you want me to tell anyone? What kind of things was I doing?"
Behind the dead silence, I swear I could hear Harry's embarrassment over the line.
"No," I breathed. "Tell me it was while I was raising zombies, or shopping!"
"I didn't mean for it to happen!" Harry exclaimed. "I swear! Just don't tell Nathaniel, okay? Please?"
I dropped my head to my pulled-up knees. "I can't believe this!"
"Well, that's how I was able to see what happened on Monday," Harry said, flustered. "I'm trying to block my dreams better, really."
I swallowed past my mortification. I didn't want to know details of Harry seeing into me having sex with Nathaniel. It's easier to forget, or ignore something, when you don't know details. "Let's concentrate on how you helped me. You did it, obviously, and I don't know how."
"We mixed magic," Harry said quietly. "It was my magic, but it felt like your magic too, all cold. Have you ever done that before with someone else?"
"Only in the cemetery," I said. "What you're describing sounds like I was acting as a focus, channeling your magic through me to increase the power. I haven't ever done that with someone who's not an animator, and certainly not someone half a world away."
"Maybe it was because of Damian?" Harry suggested.
"I have no idea."
There was a clicking on the phone. "Damn!" Harry said. "I'm running out of time on this calling card."
"Are you going to get another?"
"I can't, I have to get back to school. Dumbledore was pretty annoyed that I was leaving in the first place. Are you guys going to be okay? Tell Nathaniel I hope he's going to be okay."
"I will," I said. "Harry, why did you call Elsa about Olaf?"
"Huh? Oh. I don't know, it seemed like the right thing to do, she's a witch, right? And I wondered if the men she sent to the States had anything to do with it, but she said that wasn't it."
"How did you know Christopher sent two of his wererats to St. Louis?" I asked suspiciously. "That only happened after I got back. Have you been talking to Elsa?"
"She cornered me in Hogsmeade, it was nothing," Harry said, defensive. "She just wanted to see me and be all gothic witchy mysterious, you know? But it's fine!
Another click. We were running out of time. "Harry, you be careful," I said. "Don't do anything stupid, okay, we're fine, I promise."
"Okay," Harry said. "Just help Nathaniel, okay? Tell him I'm coming home for Christmas break and I've got loads to tell him so he has to be okay, all right?"
"I will," I agreed. "I miss you," I added impulsively, but the line had gone dead. Had Harry even heard me?
I did miss Harry, and not the fact that he seemed to pull our asses out of the fire all the time. He was a good kid. A good friend, I corrected. Someone I could talk to that made sense, most of the time.
Slowly, I closed my phone and looked out at the morning. The lawn was getting a bit long, the plants starting to wither as October settled upon us. I didn't want to go back into that house, didn't want to try to deal with Nathaniel again.
Harry's words came back to me. Maybe I couldn't fix this. Maybe Nathaniel had to fix this. I had to be there for him. It had taken me a while to understand how much I loved Nathaniel, how much I would do for him. What I was feeling now wasn't just the guilt that I'd let him get hurt, although that was there.
I just had to figure out what he needed. Taking a deep breath, I stood up and went back into the house.
I couldn't hear anyone moving. Brand new resolve aside, I had no idea what to do with Nathaniel. As I thought, I went into the living room and tried to pick up the table, but it was broken beyond repair, as was the bookshelf. It was easy to forget how strong lycanthropes could be, until they started throwing furniture around.
I gave up on the table and stepped over a pile of Scrabble tiles to get to the game boxes. Sorting out a zillion tiny game pieces took some time, but unfortunately didn't help me clear my mind. Not a lot.
Nathaniel had never wanted to play games before. Not this kind. Sure, he loved playing house, doing things like you see in sitcoms and those old family shows on TV, but I didn't know he wanted to play Scrabble. But then, I'd never asked him about it.
I gathered up the boxes and took them into the kitchen. I'd put them on the island, scrubbed sparkling clean by the clean-up crew, before I spotted Nathaniel huddled by the French doors. He was staring blankly at the spot where the kitchen table had been.
Zerbrowski told me the table was a mess. Micah had gotten rid of it. I'd never seen it. Had it happened in here, what Olaf did to Nathaniel?
I took a deep breath. I might not be able to fix Nathaniel, but I had to be able to help him in some way, right? Carefully, I walked over to Nathaniel and knelt down about a foot away. "Hey," I said. He didn't move. "I, um... I'm sorry about the games. I guess I wasn't comfortable being back here, and I had no right to take it out on you."
Nathaniel didn't respond.
"So," I said, looking around. "Do you want some coffee?" My old coffee maker was gone, but there was a new one, still in the box, on the counter. "I can make us coffee."
Nathaniel pulled his legs up to his chest. "No," he muttered.
"Oh. Okay." I sat back on my heels, then stood. Where the hell was Micah when I needed him? Oh, right, I'd told him to go to work.
I took a deep breath. I could do this. Keeping an eye on Nathaniel, I pulled the gift tag off the box, sent from Jean-Claude, of course, and unpacked the expensive machine. Washing it took a bit of time, as did rooting around in the freezer for the coffee beans. I read the instruction manual several times, then added water and hit the button. It lit up like a small nuclear reactor, but it seemed to work.
While the coffee brewed, I looked around the kitchen. We really needed a table and some chairs. The living room could wait, but I didn't relish the idea of standing up for every meal.
The machine beeped, startlingly loud in the silent kitchen. I rooted around in the cupboard before pulling out my favorite penguin mug. I didn't bother with cream or sugar, just poured a cup and took one sip of the rich dark liquid, then another.
As I drank, I came to a decision. Setting my mug down, I went to the cupboard and pulled out a phone book, rifling through the pages before I was even back to the counter.
"Are... are you going somewhere?" Nathaniel asked nervously.
I gave him a small nod. "We'll deal with the rest of the house tomorrow, but right now I need a kitchen table and chairs." I wrote down the address of a furniture store on a slip of paper, and shoved it in my pocket.
"Oh." Nathaniel stood and stared out the glass door, a dejected slump to his shoulders. I still wasn't used to seeing him without all that auburn hair covering his back, and a tiny shaft of grief straightened my spine.
"So get your shoes," I continued. "We can be back before Micah gets home."
Nathaniel looked over his shoulder at me. "What are you talking about?"
I paused in scribbling a note to Micah. "I mean, let's go. It shouldn't take us too long. Unless you want to stay here?"
Nathaniel ran a hand through his hair, not answering me. I finished my note, left it in plain view on the counter, and went over to him. He'd shied away from any attempt I'd made over the last week to touch him, and I didn't try again.
"Do you want to stay here?" I asked gently. Nathaniel kept staring out the window. In this light, his eyes were a crystalline amethyst, so heartbreakingly unreal. Every line in his face was perfect, but cold and distant. I don't think I'd ever realize how warmly he'd looked at me until that look was gone.
I stepped back, unable to look at him any longer. Suddenly, I had to get out of there, away from any remind of what happened to him and to me.
"I'll be in the car, I'm leaving in five minutes," I said. "You can come if you want, it's up to you."
I hurried out of the kitchen, grabbing my jacket on the way out the front door. Was I doing the right thing? Maybe I was rushing him. Maybe I should have offered Nathaniel another option, called someone to come over and stay with him while I was gone.
I hesitated with my hand on the car door, but finally I climbed into the jeep. I'd sit out here for a few minutes, then if Nathaniel hadn't joined me, I'd go back and get him. That was okay, right? Giving him space if he needed it?
Automatically, I slipped the keys into the ignition. Was this what Nathaniel needed? How was I supposed to know if he wouldn't talk to me? I thought I'd been getting to understand him over the last few years, but right now, I was drawing a total blank. I really wished I could ask someone about this, but Micah was busy with work and Jean-Claude hadn't woken up for the day.
Would Nathaniel want me to leave him alone to make this decision? The uncomfortable sensation in my chest intensified as I thought about that. I'd left Nathaniel alone in that room where Olaf had cut him up, just like that. Oh, God, what the hell was I thinking?
I grabbed my keys and was about to open my door to go back in the house, when the passenger door opened. Nathaniel stiffly slipped into the seat, eyes straight ahead. He didn't say a word.
I waited for a minute, then put the key back in the ignition. "So, you want to come with me?" I asked, angry at myself for expecting Nathaniel to act like me.
Nathaniel gave a tiny nod, never looking at me, as he put on his seatbelt.
I realized I wasn't going to get anything else out of him. Hoping the shopping trip wasn't a bad idea, I started the car. I knew where I was going, and only half my mind was on the road. What should I say? Micah would know what to say, so would Jason. I tried to remember what Nathaniel would want to do. Sometimes, when he was driving, he liked to listen to the radio. Maybe he'd like that now.
Taking my hand off the gearshift, I turned on the radio. I didn't recognize the station, which meant it was probably one Nathaniel had picked the last time he was in here. I turned the volume up a bit, so he could hear the music, and settled back into my seat. Nathaniel turned to look out the side window, away from me. His hair curled over the edge of the collar of his shirt. He'd switched shirts before he came out here, from a t-shirt to a crisp button-up dark green cotton shirt. Above the shirt, his auburn hair glowed in the morning sun.
"I like your shirt," I said tentative. No response. I swallowed the growing frustration. I wasn't cut out for this. How much of this could I put up with before I started snapping at him, even knowing the reason for his behavior?
The rest of the trip was silent.
~*~
Nathaniel trailed after me into the furniture store. It was the same place I'd bought my sofa a few years before, not overly pretentious. We made our way over to the corner of the store with tables on display. Nathaniel didn't seem to be looking at anything, but I decided to try again. "What about this one?" I asked, pointing at a nice round wooden table. It looked almost identical to our old one.
After a long minute, Nathaniel shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest.
I counted to ten. "What about a square table?" I suggested. "Something in glass? Oak? Metal?"
A salesperson was hurrying toward us, and I instinctively stepped between him and Nathaniel. "Can I help you?" the guy asked, his eyes flicking to Nathaniel, then back to me. "Are you looking for a table?"
"Yes," I said shortly.
The guy beamed at me, like I'd solved a complex math problem. Maybe coming down here in this kind of mood was a bad idea. "Dinning room table?" he asked.
"Kitchen," I said. "Maybe something like that." I pointed at random to a oval wood table.
"Wonderful choice!" the salesman beamed. While he nattered on about finishes and leaves, I noticed a family with a couple of teenagers walking past. The woman was staring at me and Nathaniel, open-mouthed. Her husband noticed, and yanked her past in a hurry.
What the hell was that about? Looking around, I saw a few other people in the store staring at us. I was used to a bit of attention; with my job, Bert made sure I was in the media eye, and I got caught on tape a lot as a federal marshal. But people weren't looking at me: they were staring at Nathaniel.
Nathaniel's fingers gripped his arms so hard that his nails had gone white. He noticed me looking at him, and abruptly held out his hand. "Keys?" he demanded.
"What--" I tried to say, but he cut me off.
"I'll be in the car," he said forcefully.
Not sure what else to do, I handed Nathaniel my keychain. He snatched it out of my hand and walked off, not looking back.
Pressing my lips together, I turned back to the salesman. He was frowning, as if having people interrupt him hadn't ever happened before. "Look," I said. "You've got ten minutes to sell me a table. No more spiels, not fancy talk, just tables. Okay?"
"Okay," he gulped. "How big is your kitchen?"
~*~
I was out of the store in less than nine minutes. No one bothered me as I strode across the parking lot to my jeep. Nathaniel was hunched over in the passenger seat when I opened my door and got into the seat.
"They're going to deliver the table in about an hour," I said as a greeting, holding out my hand for the keys. I almost didn't notice his hesitation, as I stowed the papers from the store on the dash. "Gives us enough time for some lunch, if you want. Sandwiches or..."
My voice trailed off as something wet and sticky brushed over my plan. I looked at my keys, not understanding for a moment why my palm was bloody.
No, I thought dizzily, not my hand. My keys were covered in blood.
The question of 'how' died on my lips as I looked over at Nathaniel. He had one hand covering his opposite wrist, but in the enclosed space of the car, the smell of blood was overpowering. I didn't know how I'd missed it before.
"Show me," I said, dropping my keys. Nathaniel didn't move. "Show me!" I shouted, reaching over and prying his hand away.
There was too much blood for me to see properly, but it looked as if he'd carved a line in the flesh across the back of his wrist, in almost the same place as his hand had been severed by Olaf.
"Fuck!" I dove for the glove compartment, grabbing a handful of take-out napkins and pushing them against Nathaniel's bleeding wrist. "Hold this!" I ordered. Nathaniel obeyed me, which dimly surprised me. I scrambled out of the car and dashed around to the back of the jeep where I kept the first-aid kit. My hands shook as I grabbed the box, so badly that I dropped it on the ground.
Stop freaking out! I told myself, picking up the box. Don't think about why Nathaniel's trying to cut off his own hand with your house key, don't think about it at all, keep breathing.
Nathaniel hadn't moved when I got back in the jeep. I popped open the first-aid kit on my lap and pulled out some gauze. "Give me your hand," I ordered, my voice shaking. Without a word, Nathaniel extended his arm, still holding the napkins.
I brushed his other hand aside, and gently pried the blood-soaked paper up. The wound, which was deeper than I thought, still bled profusely. I pressed the gauze over Nathaniel's wrist. If his lycanthropic healing was working right, then that cut had been even deeper before I got back to the car, probably almost down to the bone. My hands shook as I taped the gauze in place. He'd heal in a few minutes. He'd be fine in a few minutes.
"Is there anything else?" I asked, getting angry. When Nathaniel didn't answer, I had to restrain the almost-visceral urge to reach over and shake him. "Is there anything else?" I shouted.
"No!" Nathaniel shouted back, jerking his hand away and holding it over his heart. "Leave me alone!"
I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw things. But if I started on that now, I don't think I'd ever be able to stop. Instead, using every ounce of self-control I had in me, I very carefully pulled a few alcohol wipes out of the first-aid kit before closing it, and placing it in the back seat.
I'd told myself that I'd do anything for Nathaniel, but I couldn't deal with this. I couldn't deal with him mutilating himself like this, shoving me away.
Carefully I wiped the blood off my keys before inserting the key into the ignition and starting the vehicle. I didn't trust myself to look at Nathaniel right now.
We drove home in silence. I was too afraid I'd ruin thing irrevocably between us if I opened my mouth. I'm not sure what his excuse was.
~*~
At home, Nathaniel was out of the jeep before it was even stopped. I let him go. I was almost sick to my stomach, trying to figure out how to help him, but under it all was an emotion that I didn't even want to name. I sat in the jeep, staring at the blood-soaked napkins on the floor, as the unwanted thought forced its way into my head.
I was tired. Tired of trying and being pushed away. Tired of wanting to help and not knowing how, resenting this helplessness and guilt.
I loved Nathaniel, I did. It had taken me so long to get to this point, welcoming him into my life, but now I was starting to wonder if it was enough.
I didn't know what to do.
In my jacket pocket, my cell phone started ringing again. "Hello?" I said when I got it open.
"Are you okay?" Micah asked, immediately concerned.
"Why?"
"You sound like something's wrong."
I looked away from the scattered bloody evidence of Nathaniel's self-mutilation. "I don't know," I said finally, closing my eyes.
"Do you want me to come home?" he asked.
Over the phone, I could hear voices in the background. "What are you doing?" I asked, trying to deflect his question.
"I'm with one of the werewolves, he's having problems with his custody again, but I can come home if you need me."
I wanted him here, to deal with Nathaniel, but I couldn't pull him away from his work. Other people were having problems, not just me and Nathaniel. "No, we'll be fine," I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. "You stay there."
"Anita..."
"Things will be fine," I said. "I'll see you when you get home."
Reluctantly, Micah said goodbye and hung up. I put my phone in my pocket and slowly got out of the jeep. The walk up to the front of the house had never seemed to take as long, but finally I got to the porch steps. Nathaniel was leaning on the wall by the door. In the sun, I could see how much blood he'd gotten on himself, soaked all down the front of his jeans and painting his shirt black.
Clenching my jaw, I unlocked the front door, and stood there with my hand on the latch. "Nathaniel, I think we need to talk," I began. As soon as I opened my mouth, Nathaniel pushed himself off the wall and knocked my hand away to open the door. He was inside before I could figure out what to do next.
I was not a patient person, I knew that. But somehow, when Nathaniel had pushed me aside, like I was nothing, all the frustration and pain and guilt in me twisted, going straight toward anger.
Kicking the door closed behind me, I followed him to the bedroom. He was already stripping off his jeans when I got to the doorway.
"What the fuck are you doing?" I demanded. "What the hell kind of sick game are you playing?"
Nathaniel pulled on clean pants, hands moving quickly. "This isn't a game," he said, sounding as angry as I felt.
"No fucking kidding!" I shouted, gripping the doorframe hard. It was the only solid thing I had right now. "Trying to saw off your hand with a house key isn't any kind of game!"
He whirled on me, so much fury in his eyes that I actually took a step back. He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, the doorbell rang.
Nathaniel flinched back against the wall, abject terror on his face. His eyes unfocused as he curled in on himself. If he hadn't been at the wall, I think he might have fallen over.
Before I could figure out what to do, he straightened up, wiping the fear away, to be replaced by a face so completely devoid of any emotion that it frightened me even more. "You'd better get the door," he said.
"It's the movers with the table," I said quickly.
"Then you'd better get the door." As he continued to speak in that dead voice, he picked up his dirty t-shirt from this morning off the floor and pulled it over his head.
The doorbell rang again. I swore under my breath. "I'll be right back," I promised, dashing down the hall. I looked through the door peephole, my hand on the butt of my holstered gun. All I could see were two bored looking delivery guys balancing a large table.
As soon as I opened the door, one of them said, "Delivery for Anita Blake?"
"That's me," I replied. "Leave it out on the porch."
The other guy raised his eyebrows, snapping his gum. "We're supposed to take it in for you, part of the delivery fee."
"Leave it on the porch," I repeated curtly. "You're still getting paid."
The first guy jerked his head, and together he and his buddy moved the table around the porch, out of the way, then went back to their truck for the chairs. I signed their delivery sheet and handed them a twenty, then waited impatiently for them to drive away.
As soon as their taillights vanished around the corner, I slammed the door shut. When I turned around, Nathaniel was leaning on the wall against the wall, watching me.
"Nathaniel, what's going on?" I asked, trying to breathe, trying to keep my voice low and helpful. "Is there anything I can do?"
Nathaniel shook his head, his hair falling in front of his eyes.
I walked a bit closer. "There has to be something," I pressed. "At least let me try, please."
I stopped next to him and put my hand on his arm. Always before, Nathaniel craved physical comfort, the wereleopard in him wanting touch. Now, he stared at my hand like it was a poisonous snake.
"Nathaniel--"
He whirled around, spinning me with him until my back hit the wall. In a blur, I saw his fist flying toward me and instinctively put my arms up to protect my face.
The sound of the wall breaking was deafening. It took my body a minute to realize it hadn't been hit; the noise itself was like a physical blow. Shaking, I lowered my arms.
Nathaniel pulled his fist out of the wall, plaster dust hanging in the air as he placed his hands flat on the wall on either side of me. "Just leave. Me. Alone." He pushed off the wall and ran up the stairs.
My knees gave out, and I slid down to the floor. The plaster dust tickled the inside of my nose, but I didn't sneeze. I couldn't do anything. Couldn't help Nathaniel, couldn't make this all better.
Nathaniel had never raised a threatening hand to me. He'd shaken me, once, when I was about to get hysterical, but that was it. He'd never thrown a table across the room, never punched a wall beside my head, never screamed at me to leave him alone.
Everything I tried to do to help, only made it worse. Maybe I couldn't help Nathaniel fix himself.
I pulled my legs up to my chest, squeezing myself into a tight ball, as if I could keep myself from falling apart. There was no noise upstairs. I didn't know what Nathaniel was doing. Maybe that was the point. What if I was hurting him more?
I stared at the hall floor. It took me a few minutes to realize that this was where I'd fallen after I'd come into the house, that day with Olaf. Where I'd fallen, helpless and unable to move.
I sat there for a very long time. The sunlight patterns on the carpet had slowly crept across the floor, climbed over my toes, and vanished into shadows when finally a key turned in the lock, and Micah walked through the door.
"Anita," he called, looking back outside over his shoulder, "Why is there a table on the porch?" He swung his head around as he finished, going still when he saw me. Quick as a flash, he dropped the bag in his hand and was on the carpet beside me, touching my face, my arms. "Are you okay?" he demanded. "What happened?"
I blinked up at him, trying to remember how to talk. "I messed things up," I said, brushing away tears that welled up in my eyes. "I tried to help Nathaniel, but everything got all fucked up."
Micah sat back on his heels. "So why is there a hole in the wall? Why is there plaster in your hair?"
I shook my head.
"Are you hurt?" Micah demanded. "I can smell blood."
"It's not mine," I said, hugging my knees tighter. "Nathaniel... he hurt himself in the car." I wasn't able to tell Micah that Nathaniel had tried to cut off his hand with my keys.
"Where is he?" Micah asked, sitting back on his heels. "Is he upstairs?"
"Micah, leave him alone," I said. "He wants to be alone."
Micah ignored me, heading up the stairs. I shakily stood up, pulling myself up on the banister. I strained to hear, but couldn't hear a thing.
After a few long minutes, Micah came back down stairs. His face had that blank expression he used when he was trying to hide his emotions. He spotted me looking at him, and gave me a small smile. "I brought home some lunch, in case you were hungry," he said.
"Is Nathaniel okay?" I asked. "Is he upset?"
Micah paused, then put his hand on my arm. "Anita."
I stepped away from him. "It's a legitimate question," I snapped. "I'm still his Nimir-Ra, I have a right to know about that."
Micah looked at me with his yellow-green eyes, worry in his gaze. "Physically, he's fine."
I nodded. When I could speak, I said, "We should move the table into the house. Get it off the porch."
"Anita, what happened?" Micah asked. "When I left, things weren't nearly this bad."
"I don't know," I said, crossing my arms over my chest. "Maybe it's me, maybe I'm the one who's keeping him like this."
"Anita, that's not true," Micah chided. "You're not hurting him."
"Well, I'm sure as hell not helping."
"Maybe you should reconsider Jean-Claude's offer for tonight," Micah said.
"What, go over there for dinner?" I asked. "I just spent a week at the Circus."
"But you didn't spend it with Jean-Claude," Micah pointed out. "You should go, just you and him. Give yourself a little space."
I looked at the hole in the wall, my insides twisting. I didn't want to leave Nathaniel for that long, even if I was only going to be across town. The thought of being so physically far away from him almost hurt.
But he didn't want me around. He wanted space. Maybe that was the best I could do for him.
"Maybe I will," I said reluctantly.
Micah kissed me on the forehead. "I'm sure things will be fine," he said.
I wanted to scream at him that things weren't fine, Nathaniel was putting his hand through walls and mutilating himself and not letting me in, but instead I shook my head. "We should move the table."
"Anita..."
"Just let it go, Micah."
Shrugging, Micah opened the door wide and went out to porch. "Come on, we can deal with this thing together," he said, putting his hand on the table.
~*~
I was finishing the final touches on my mascara when I heard a tap on the bathroom door. "Yes?"
Micah poked his head into the room. "Asher's here."
I put the mascara back on the counter and turned around. "Why?"
Micah shrugged. "He said he's your escort."
"Escort," I repeated. I tied my bathrobe tighter. "I don't need a bloody escort to the Circus!"
"Tell him yourself, he's in the bedroom," Micah said, ducking back out of the bathroom.
A growl on my lips, I stormed out of the steamy bathroom and down to the hall. I flung open the bedroom door, to find Asher poking through my closet. "Asher!"
The golden-haired vampire turned around lazily. "Ah, Anita. What are you going to wear this evening?"
I hurried over to him, brushing his hands off my clothes. "What are you doing here?"
Asher reached around me to draw a dark red dress out into the light. "I am to assist you in any way, cherie." He gave me a sly smile. "And at this rate, you will be needing all the help you can get."
I yanked the dress out of his hands and threw it on the bed. "Is this some kind of fucking crack about how I can't protect myself?" I demanded.
The amusement was wiped off Asher's face. "No, not at all," he said, somber. "Jean-Claude expressed a desire for your safety tonight, and I offered my services."
"Why?"
He turned away from me, cold and aloof. "I can see I was in error, I will leave."
I caught his arm. "No, Asher, wait." I took a step around him so I could see into those beautiful ice-blue eyes. "I am glad to see you, it was a bit of a surprise. I hardly saw you at all this week."
"Jean-Claude expressed the need to spend his time with you, this week," Asher said, the cold frost thawing a little. "I was taking care of the businesses."
I put my other hand on his arm in a caress. "Thank you," I said, smiling. "That means a lot."
Hesitantly, Asher smiled back at me. "I must confess, I had an ulterior motive in offering my services tonight," he said.
"Oh, really?"
"Really." Asher took my hand in his, kissing my knuckles. "To spend an uninterrupted twenty minutes with you, that is all I ask."
I sighed. "Okay. But if there's any trouble, I can deal with it."
Asher nodded, hair falling over the scars on his face. "As you wish."
I hesitated, then reached up to brush his hair back. Going up on my toes, I pressed my lips to his. His hands went around my back, deepening the kiss. His lips were silky and cool under mine, a delicate kiss. He hadn't fed tonight.
Slowly, he released me. A strange haunted expression lingered in his eyes, but I didn't push him. Giving him another smile, I went over to the closet as he lounged on the end of the bed. "What will you wear tonight?" he asked.
"I could wear a burlap sack and Jean-Claude would be happy to see me," I said, flipping through my clothing.
"But that would not nearly be as much fun," Asher said, fiddling with the red dress on the bed.
"When was the last time you wore a burlap sack?" I asked, shaking my head and going over to pull the red dress out of Asher's hands.
He pretended to think about this. "Four hundred year ago, give or take. It itched."
I raised an eyebrow at him. "Vampires can itch?"
"They can when wearing burlap."
I rooted through my underwear drawer until I found a matching bra and panties. "Get out, so I can get dressed."
"Oh, do not mind me."
I gave Asher a look. "You're usually around for me taking them off, but putting the clothes on isn't as much fun."
Asher leaned back farther, settling in. "I am willing to forgo the fun."
"Have it your way."
Getting dressed wasn't really that big a production. With my makeup and hair done, the most time-intensive thing was the garter belt and hose. After I slipped into the panties and bra, I slid the dress over my head.
"Can you help me zip this up?" I asked Asher, going over to the bed.
He sat up slowly. Putting his hands on my hips, he turned me around, then slowly drew the zipper up my back. When he was finished, he stood and wrapped his arms around me in an embrace.
"What's up?" I whispered, leaning back against him.
"It used to take Julianna hours to prepare for a night out," he said. "Corsets and petticoats and so many layers. She seldom let me watch; whenever I did, we became... distracted."
I turned around and put my arms around his waist. I didn't know what to say. I could count the number of times he had mentioned Julianna to me. Even after three hundred years, that pain was too raw.
"And then, Jean-Claude almost losing you..." Asher kissed the top of my head. "You are not mine, Anita, but to have you taken from me--"
I pulled back and put my finger on his lips. "Shh." I moved my finger and kissed him gently. "Whatever happens, I do love you."
Asher quirked an unhappy smile at me, then kissed my cheek. "We should be on our way," he said. "Jean-Claude awaits."
"Asher."
"I heard you, ma cherie," he said, stepping away. "But you will forgive me. I would rather not speak of this further."
I bit back a sigh. "Then we should be on our way."
I watched Asher take a moment to rebuild himself. "Shall I drive, then?" he asked, back to his old self.
"No." I breezed out into the hall, Asher on my heels. "I'm driving."
Micah came out of the kitchen as I was stepping into my high heels. "You two on your way?" he asked, a book in his hand. He saw me, and a slow grin spread across his face. "You look amazing."
"Thanks," I said, going to him. In these shoes, I was a few inches taller than him and I had to lean down to kiss him. "Is everything going to be okay?" I asked when we broke apart.
"Things will be fine," Micah said.
I glanced at the ceiling. Nathaniel was still upstairs. "Call me if anything goes wrong," I instructed, slipping into a coat. I'd trained them well; neither Asher or Micah offered to help me. "I'll have my cell."
"Anita, it'll be fine," Micah repeated. "Just go. We'll see you tomorrow morning."
I sighed. "I guess. I mean, it's just dinner with Jean-Claude. What could go wrong?"
~*~
by Mhalachai
Disclaimer: Laurell K. Hamilton owns all things Anita Blake. J.K. Rowling owns all things Harry Potter. Only the story is my own.
Note: With this chapter clocking in at 12,991 words, it's the longest ever. EVA. It's so big that I can't post it here in one post! Damn you LJ! I'm making no apologies for the content of this chapter. I write trauma and reactions and can't gloss over the bad stuff. It's mostly Anita and Nathaniel, with cameos from almost everyone. As always, let me know what you think.
Previous parts here.
Micah's car disappeared down the road, my Nimir-Raj intent on dealing with the latest emergency for the Furry Coalition, but still I didn't go back in the house. I could face what Olaf had done to me in there, it was over and done. What I couldn't handle was the young man cowering in that house.
I took a deep breath, trying to squash down the anxiety. It was Saturday. The Olaf thing had happened on Monday. Almost a week since that day, and we had only just gotten back to the house a couple of hours ago. Apparently, most of the furniture on the main floor was beyond saving and Micah had arranged to have it carted off to the dump. The place almost echoed, uncomfortable in every way.
I gave up and went back into the house, through the hall to the living room. Micah had the carpet replaced, and it seemed strange to me to see the bright white carpet, gleaming snowy underneath the stacked books and boxes. The couches were gone, and without them the room seemed empty.
I wondered when I'd feel safe in here again.
The hairs on the back of my neck prickled. I swung around to see Nathaniel in the doorway to the kitchen. He held several long, flat boxes in his hands, very carefully not looking at me. "What?" I demanded. It came out harsher than I wanted, and Nathaniel flinched.
It had been almost a week. Almost a week since Nathaniel told me in my hospital bed that this whole mess was my fault, almost a week since Nathaniel had spoken more than one sentence to me at a time. He'd spent his time with me, silent, or with Micah and Jason. I'd been told they played cards or read, but every time I had entered the room, Nathaniel got as far away from me as he could.
Now, Nathaniel griped his boxes a little harder before taking two quick steps into the room and laying his handful on the single remaining table. "I thought we could play a game until Micah gets back," he said, voice a bit rushed.
I stared at him. "A board game?" I asked. "You ignore me for a week, won't sit down or relax or anything while I'm near, and all of a sudden you want to play games?" My voice rose as I spoke, all the frustration I'd been having with Nathaniel spilling out.
Nathaniel gripped the side of the heavy wooden table, breathing heavily. Quick as a flash, he flung the table into the empty bookcase across the room. Wood splintered, game pieces scattered over the floor, and then he was gone.
My heart beating so fast it almost hurt, I stood there, frozen. Nathaniel had never been violent around me, ever. I wanted to find him and say I was sorry, but everything I'd done for him all week, every advance, had been rebuffed. I didn't know what to say to make it better.
Maybe I couldn't fix this.
Blindly, I went back outside and stumbled down the stairs. My legs folded and I barely caught myself on the railing, collapsing onto the bottom step.
What if I couldn't fix this? What if Nathaniel would go on hating me? Jean-Claude had asked me if I loved Nathaniel, and I did, I really did, but I didn't know what I could do to make this better. What if he had to leave? What if the only way for him to get better was to leave me?
My cell phone rang in my pocket. Dully, I pulled the thing out and flipped it open. "Hello?"
"Anita?"
My mouth dropped open in shock at the sound of the voice. "Harry?" I demanded. "Is that you?"
"Yeah, it's me," Harry said, echoing hollow over the line. "How are you doing?"
I blinked hard in the morning sun. "I thought they didn't have phones at your school," I said, feeling a lump forming in the back of my throat. God, I missed him.
"They don't. I told them I was going into Edinburgh to make a call or else I was leaving, and they decided it was better to let me go." I could imagine the sheepish expression on his face at that admission. "But are you all right? How's Nathaniel? How's Damian?"
"Damian's fine, perfectly fine," I said, answering the easiest question first. "He's staying at the Circus for now."
"Anita?" Harry sounded more worried. "What about Nathaniel? What about you? Jason said you'd be fine, but that was almost a week ago."
I stared down at my left hand. The doctors had re-set the bone after I'd hit the wall, and everything had almost healed, except for the shiny scar on my skin. "They say I'll be fine. Thanks to you."
"But what about Nathaniel?" Harry demanded. "Is he okay? He shifted back, right?"
"Yeah." I swallowed hard again. "He's fine, not a single scar. The shift didn't bring back his hair, though." I blinked back tears. "Olaf cut off his hair."
"Oh." Harry was quiet for a moment. "How's he doing with that?"
"I don't know," I said, clenching my fist, ignoring the twinges in my bones. "He won't tell me anything, he won't talk to me about anything and I--" I cut myself off.
"Anita? Anita, are you there?"
"Yeah," I muttered. "I'm here."
"Does Nathaniel have someone to talk to?" Harry asked anxiously. "I thought you guys were like best friends and all that."
I played the fabric on my jeans and gave Harry a shrug he couldn't see. "I guess."
"Maybe he needs to not talk about it?" Harry suggested. "With Cedric, I couldn't talk about it for a long time, and that was okay, until I talked about it with my friends."
"I don't know," I admitted. "I don't know how to fix this."
"Maybe you're not supposed to fix it," Harry said. "Maybe Nathaniel has to fix this when he's ready."
I couldn't find anything to say to that, so I changed the subject. "Jason said you saw what happened?" I said. "With Olaf?"
"Didn't you see me?" Harry asked, astonished. "I thought you saw me. You lifted your hand up to me and everything."
"I did see you," I said. "I just wasn't sure if it was real."
"Even Edward saw me!" Harry exclaimed. "He looked right at me!"
"Edward says he saw a dark hovering shape by my head," I clarified. "But he's a magical null, he can't see specters unless they have physical form."
"I told you I was there," Harry said stubbornly. "In this dream, I was there physically."
I was about to agree with him, when something in his words hit me. "What do you mean, 'this dream'? What other dream would we have had? Are you talking about the thing that happened in August?"
Harry swore under his breath. "No."
"Harry, what are you talking about?'
"Okay, if I tell you this, you absolutely cannot tell anyone!"
"Tell anyone what?" I demanded. "What are you rambling about? If this has to do with what happened with Olaf, I have every damned right to know!"
"Anita!"
"I'm not promising anything until you tell me what happened!"
Harry's voice got closer and more muffled, like he'd put his mouth right up to the receiver. "I've been having dreams about stuff you were doing, while you were awake."
I frowned. "How the hell does that work?" I demanded.
"I don't know!" Harry said defensively. "It wasn't my idea! Even trying to block my mind against dreams didn't seem to work. Hermione thinks it might be because of an energy transfer. She's convinced it started after Richard and I helped lift that curse Bellatrix set on you, in the woods, but I can't figure out why."
"That is the weirdest thing I ever heard of!" I said, uncomfortable that Harry had been spying on my waking hours. "Wait, why didn't you want me to tell anyone? What kind of things was I doing?"
Behind the dead silence, I swear I could hear Harry's embarrassment over the line.
"No," I breathed. "Tell me it was while I was raising zombies, or shopping!"
"I didn't mean for it to happen!" Harry exclaimed. "I swear! Just don't tell Nathaniel, okay? Please?"
I dropped my head to my pulled-up knees. "I can't believe this!"
"Well, that's how I was able to see what happened on Monday," Harry said, flustered. "I'm trying to block my dreams better, really."
I swallowed past my mortification. I didn't want to know details of Harry seeing into me having sex with Nathaniel. It's easier to forget, or ignore something, when you don't know details. "Let's concentrate on how you helped me. You did it, obviously, and I don't know how."
"We mixed magic," Harry said quietly. "It was my magic, but it felt like your magic too, all cold. Have you ever done that before with someone else?"
"Only in the cemetery," I said. "What you're describing sounds like I was acting as a focus, channeling your magic through me to increase the power. I haven't ever done that with someone who's not an animator, and certainly not someone half a world away."
"Maybe it was because of Damian?" Harry suggested.
"I have no idea."
There was a clicking on the phone. "Damn!" Harry said. "I'm running out of time on this calling card."
"Are you going to get another?"
"I can't, I have to get back to school. Dumbledore was pretty annoyed that I was leaving in the first place. Are you guys going to be okay? Tell Nathaniel I hope he's going to be okay."
"I will," I said. "Harry, why did you call Elsa about Olaf?"
"Huh? Oh. I don't know, it seemed like the right thing to do, she's a witch, right? And I wondered if the men she sent to the States had anything to do with it, but she said that wasn't it."
"How did you know Christopher sent two of his wererats to St. Louis?" I asked suspiciously. "That only happened after I got back. Have you been talking to Elsa?"
"She cornered me in Hogsmeade, it was nothing," Harry said, defensive. "She just wanted to see me and be all gothic witchy mysterious, you know? But it's fine!
Another click. We were running out of time. "Harry, you be careful," I said. "Don't do anything stupid, okay, we're fine, I promise."
"Okay," Harry said. "Just help Nathaniel, okay? Tell him I'm coming home for Christmas break and I've got loads to tell him so he has to be okay, all right?"
"I will," I agreed. "I miss you," I added impulsively, but the line had gone dead. Had Harry even heard me?
I did miss Harry, and not the fact that he seemed to pull our asses out of the fire all the time. He was a good kid. A good friend, I corrected. Someone I could talk to that made sense, most of the time.
Slowly, I closed my phone and looked out at the morning. The lawn was getting a bit long, the plants starting to wither as October settled upon us. I didn't want to go back into that house, didn't want to try to deal with Nathaniel again.
Harry's words came back to me. Maybe I couldn't fix this. Maybe Nathaniel had to fix this. I had to be there for him. It had taken me a while to understand how much I loved Nathaniel, how much I would do for him. What I was feeling now wasn't just the guilt that I'd let him get hurt, although that was there.
I just had to figure out what he needed. Taking a deep breath, I stood up and went back into the house.
I couldn't hear anyone moving. Brand new resolve aside, I had no idea what to do with Nathaniel. As I thought, I went into the living room and tried to pick up the table, but it was broken beyond repair, as was the bookshelf. It was easy to forget how strong lycanthropes could be, until they started throwing furniture around.
I gave up on the table and stepped over a pile of Scrabble tiles to get to the game boxes. Sorting out a zillion tiny game pieces took some time, but unfortunately didn't help me clear my mind. Not a lot.
Nathaniel had never wanted to play games before. Not this kind. Sure, he loved playing house, doing things like you see in sitcoms and those old family shows on TV, but I didn't know he wanted to play Scrabble. But then, I'd never asked him about it.
I gathered up the boxes and took them into the kitchen. I'd put them on the island, scrubbed sparkling clean by the clean-up crew, before I spotted Nathaniel huddled by the French doors. He was staring blankly at the spot where the kitchen table had been.
Zerbrowski told me the table was a mess. Micah had gotten rid of it. I'd never seen it. Had it happened in here, what Olaf did to Nathaniel?
I took a deep breath. I might not be able to fix Nathaniel, but I had to be able to help him in some way, right? Carefully, I walked over to Nathaniel and knelt down about a foot away. "Hey," I said. He didn't move. "I, um... I'm sorry about the games. I guess I wasn't comfortable being back here, and I had no right to take it out on you."
Nathaniel didn't respond.
"So," I said, looking around. "Do you want some coffee?" My old coffee maker was gone, but there was a new one, still in the box, on the counter. "I can make us coffee."
Nathaniel pulled his legs up to his chest. "No," he muttered.
"Oh. Okay." I sat back on my heels, then stood. Where the hell was Micah when I needed him? Oh, right, I'd told him to go to work.
I took a deep breath. I could do this. Keeping an eye on Nathaniel, I pulled the gift tag off the box, sent from Jean-Claude, of course, and unpacked the expensive machine. Washing it took a bit of time, as did rooting around in the freezer for the coffee beans. I read the instruction manual several times, then added water and hit the button. It lit up like a small nuclear reactor, but it seemed to work.
While the coffee brewed, I looked around the kitchen. We really needed a table and some chairs. The living room could wait, but I didn't relish the idea of standing up for every meal.
The machine beeped, startlingly loud in the silent kitchen. I rooted around in the cupboard before pulling out my favorite penguin mug. I didn't bother with cream or sugar, just poured a cup and took one sip of the rich dark liquid, then another.
As I drank, I came to a decision. Setting my mug down, I went to the cupboard and pulled out a phone book, rifling through the pages before I was even back to the counter.
"Are... are you going somewhere?" Nathaniel asked nervously.
I gave him a small nod. "We'll deal with the rest of the house tomorrow, but right now I need a kitchen table and chairs." I wrote down the address of a furniture store on a slip of paper, and shoved it in my pocket.
"Oh." Nathaniel stood and stared out the glass door, a dejected slump to his shoulders. I still wasn't used to seeing him without all that auburn hair covering his back, and a tiny shaft of grief straightened my spine.
"So get your shoes," I continued. "We can be back before Micah gets home."
Nathaniel looked over his shoulder at me. "What are you talking about?"
I paused in scribbling a note to Micah. "I mean, let's go. It shouldn't take us too long. Unless you want to stay here?"
Nathaniel ran a hand through his hair, not answering me. I finished my note, left it in plain view on the counter, and went over to him. He'd shied away from any attempt I'd made over the last week to touch him, and I didn't try again.
"Do you want to stay here?" I asked gently. Nathaniel kept staring out the window. In this light, his eyes were a crystalline amethyst, so heartbreakingly unreal. Every line in his face was perfect, but cold and distant. I don't think I'd ever realize how warmly he'd looked at me until that look was gone.
I stepped back, unable to look at him any longer. Suddenly, I had to get out of there, away from any remind of what happened to him and to me.
"I'll be in the car, I'm leaving in five minutes," I said. "You can come if you want, it's up to you."
I hurried out of the kitchen, grabbing my jacket on the way out the front door. Was I doing the right thing? Maybe I was rushing him. Maybe I should have offered Nathaniel another option, called someone to come over and stay with him while I was gone.
I hesitated with my hand on the car door, but finally I climbed into the jeep. I'd sit out here for a few minutes, then if Nathaniel hadn't joined me, I'd go back and get him. That was okay, right? Giving him space if he needed it?
Automatically, I slipped the keys into the ignition. Was this what Nathaniel needed? How was I supposed to know if he wouldn't talk to me? I thought I'd been getting to understand him over the last few years, but right now, I was drawing a total blank. I really wished I could ask someone about this, but Micah was busy with work and Jean-Claude hadn't woken up for the day.
Would Nathaniel want me to leave him alone to make this decision? The uncomfortable sensation in my chest intensified as I thought about that. I'd left Nathaniel alone in that room where Olaf had cut him up, just like that. Oh, God, what the hell was I thinking?
I grabbed my keys and was about to open my door to go back in the house, when the passenger door opened. Nathaniel stiffly slipped into the seat, eyes straight ahead. He didn't say a word.
I waited for a minute, then put the key back in the ignition. "So, you want to come with me?" I asked, angry at myself for expecting Nathaniel to act like me.
Nathaniel gave a tiny nod, never looking at me, as he put on his seatbelt.
I realized I wasn't going to get anything else out of him. Hoping the shopping trip wasn't a bad idea, I started the car. I knew where I was going, and only half my mind was on the road. What should I say? Micah would know what to say, so would Jason. I tried to remember what Nathaniel would want to do. Sometimes, when he was driving, he liked to listen to the radio. Maybe he'd like that now.
Taking my hand off the gearshift, I turned on the radio. I didn't recognize the station, which meant it was probably one Nathaniel had picked the last time he was in here. I turned the volume up a bit, so he could hear the music, and settled back into my seat. Nathaniel turned to look out the side window, away from me. His hair curled over the edge of the collar of his shirt. He'd switched shirts before he came out here, from a t-shirt to a crisp button-up dark green cotton shirt. Above the shirt, his auburn hair glowed in the morning sun.
"I like your shirt," I said tentative. No response. I swallowed the growing frustration. I wasn't cut out for this. How much of this could I put up with before I started snapping at him, even knowing the reason for his behavior?
The rest of the trip was silent.
Nathaniel trailed after me into the furniture store. It was the same place I'd bought my sofa a few years before, not overly pretentious. We made our way over to the corner of the store with tables on display. Nathaniel didn't seem to be looking at anything, but I decided to try again. "What about this one?" I asked, pointing at a nice round wooden table. It looked almost identical to our old one.
After a long minute, Nathaniel shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest.
I counted to ten. "What about a square table?" I suggested. "Something in glass? Oak? Metal?"
A salesperson was hurrying toward us, and I instinctively stepped between him and Nathaniel. "Can I help you?" the guy asked, his eyes flicking to Nathaniel, then back to me. "Are you looking for a table?"
"Yes," I said shortly.
The guy beamed at me, like I'd solved a complex math problem. Maybe coming down here in this kind of mood was a bad idea. "Dinning room table?" he asked.
"Kitchen," I said. "Maybe something like that." I pointed at random to a oval wood table.
"Wonderful choice!" the salesman beamed. While he nattered on about finishes and leaves, I noticed a family with a couple of teenagers walking past. The woman was staring at me and Nathaniel, open-mouthed. Her husband noticed, and yanked her past in a hurry.
What the hell was that about? Looking around, I saw a few other people in the store staring at us. I was used to a bit of attention; with my job, Bert made sure I was in the media eye, and I got caught on tape a lot as a federal marshal. But people weren't looking at me: they were staring at Nathaniel.
Nathaniel's fingers gripped his arms so hard that his nails had gone white. He noticed me looking at him, and abruptly held out his hand. "Keys?" he demanded.
"What--" I tried to say, but he cut me off.
"I'll be in the car," he said forcefully.
Not sure what else to do, I handed Nathaniel my keychain. He snatched it out of my hand and walked off, not looking back.
Pressing my lips together, I turned back to the salesman. He was frowning, as if having people interrupt him hadn't ever happened before. "Look," I said. "You've got ten minutes to sell me a table. No more spiels, not fancy talk, just tables. Okay?"
"Okay," he gulped. "How big is your kitchen?"
I was out of the store in less than nine minutes. No one bothered me as I strode across the parking lot to my jeep. Nathaniel was hunched over in the passenger seat when I opened my door and got into the seat.
"They're going to deliver the table in about an hour," I said as a greeting, holding out my hand for the keys. I almost didn't notice his hesitation, as I stowed the papers from the store on the dash. "Gives us enough time for some lunch, if you want. Sandwiches or..."
My voice trailed off as something wet and sticky brushed over my plan. I looked at my keys, not understanding for a moment why my palm was bloody.
No, I thought dizzily, not my hand. My keys were covered in blood.
The question of 'how' died on my lips as I looked over at Nathaniel. He had one hand covering his opposite wrist, but in the enclosed space of the car, the smell of blood was overpowering. I didn't know how I'd missed it before.
"Show me," I said, dropping my keys. Nathaniel didn't move. "Show me!" I shouted, reaching over and prying his hand away.
There was too much blood for me to see properly, but it looked as if he'd carved a line in the flesh across the back of his wrist, in almost the same place as his hand had been severed by Olaf.
"Fuck!" I dove for the glove compartment, grabbing a handful of take-out napkins and pushing them against Nathaniel's bleeding wrist. "Hold this!" I ordered. Nathaniel obeyed me, which dimly surprised me. I scrambled out of the car and dashed around to the back of the jeep where I kept the first-aid kit. My hands shook as I grabbed the box, so badly that I dropped it on the ground.
Stop freaking out! I told myself, picking up the box. Don't think about why Nathaniel's trying to cut off his own hand with your house key, don't think about it at all, keep breathing.
Nathaniel hadn't moved when I got back in the jeep. I popped open the first-aid kit on my lap and pulled out some gauze. "Give me your hand," I ordered, my voice shaking. Without a word, Nathaniel extended his arm, still holding the napkins.
I brushed his other hand aside, and gently pried the blood-soaked paper up. The wound, which was deeper than I thought, still bled profusely. I pressed the gauze over Nathaniel's wrist. If his lycanthropic healing was working right, then that cut had been even deeper before I got back to the car, probably almost down to the bone. My hands shook as I taped the gauze in place. He'd heal in a few minutes. He'd be fine in a few minutes.
"Is there anything else?" I asked, getting angry. When Nathaniel didn't answer, I had to restrain the almost-visceral urge to reach over and shake him. "Is there anything else?" I shouted.
"No!" Nathaniel shouted back, jerking his hand away and holding it over his heart. "Leave me alone!"
I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw things. But if I started on that now, I don't think I'd ever be able to stop. Instead, using every ounce of self-control I had in me, I very carefully pulled a few alcohol wipes out of the first-aid kit before closing it, and placing it in the back seat.
I'd told myself that I'd do anything for Nathaniel, but I couldn't deal with this. I couldn't deal with him mutilating himself like this, shoving me away.
Carefully I wiped the blood off my keys before inserting the key into the ignition and starting the vehicle. I didn't trust myself to look at Nathaniel right now.
We drove home in silence. I was too afraid I'd ruin thing irrevocably between us if I opened my mouth. I'm not sure what his excuse was.
At home, Nathaniel was out of the jeep before it was even stopped. I let him go. I was almost sick to my stomach, trying to figure out how to help him, but under it all was an emotion that I didn't even want to name. I sat in the jeep, staring at the blood-soaked napkins on the floor, as the unwanted thought forced its way into my head.
I was tired. Tired of trying and being pushed away. Tired of wanting to help and not knowing how, resenting this helplessness and guilt.
I loved Nathaniel, I did. It had taken me so long to get to this point, welcoming him into my life, but now I was starting to wonder if it was enough.
I didn't know what to do.
In my jacket pocket, my cell phone started ringing again. "Hello?" I said when I got it open.
"Are you okay?" Micah asked, immediately concerned.
"Why?"
"You sound like something's wrong."
I looked away from the scattered bloody evidence of Nathaniel's self-mutilation. "I don't know," I said finally, closing my eyes.
"Do you want me to come home?" he asked.
Over the phone, I could hear voices in the background. "What are you doing?" I asked, trying to deflect his question.
"I'm with one of the werewolves, he's having problems with his custody again, but I can come home if you need me."
I wanted him here, to deal with Nathaniel, but I couldn't pull him away from his work. Other people were having problems, not just me and Nathaniel. "No, we'll be fine," I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. "You stay there."
"Anita..."
"Things will be fine," I said. "I'll see you when you get home."
Reluctantly, Micah said goodbye and hung up. I put my phone in my pocket and slowly got out of the jeep. The walk up to the front of the house had never seemed to take as long, but finally I got to the porch steps. Nathaniel was leaning on the wall by the door. In the sun, I could see how much blood he'd gotten on himself, soaked all down the front of his jeans and painting his shirt black.
Clenching my jaw, I unlocked the front door, and stood there with my hand on the latch. "Nathaniel, I think we need to talk," I began. As soon as I opened my mouth, Nathaniel pushed himself off the wall and knocked my hand away to open the door. He was inside before I could figure out what to do next.
I was not a patient person, I knew that. But somehow, when Nathaniel had pushed me aside, like I was nothing, all the frustration and pain and guilt in me twisted, going straight toward anger.
Kicking the door closed behind me, I followed him to the bedroom. He was already stripping off his jeans when I got to the doorway.
"What the fuck are you doing?" I demanded. "What the hell kind of sick game are you playing?"
Nathaniel pulled on clean pants, hands moving quickly. "This isn't a game," he said, sounding as angry as I felt.
"No fucking kidding!" I shouted, gripping the doorframe hard. It was the only solid thing I had right now. "Trying to saw off your hand with a house key isn't any kind of game!"
He whirled on me, so much fury in his eyes that I actually took a step back. He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, the doorbell rang.
Nathaniel flinched back against the wall, abject terror on his face. His eyes unfocused as he curled in on himself. If he hadn't been at the wall, I think he might have fallen over.
Before I could figure out what to do, he straightened up, wiping the fear away, to be replaced by a face so completely devoid of any emotion that it frightened me even more. "You'd better get the door," he said.
"It's the movers with the table," I said quickly.
"Then you'd better get the door." As he continued to speak in that dead voice, he picked up his dirty t-shirt from this morning off the floor and pulled it over his head.
The doorbell rang again. I swore under my breath. "I'll be right back," I promised, dashing down the hall. I looked through the door peephole, my hand on the butt of my holstered gun. All I could see were two bored looking delivery guys balancing a large table.
As soon as I opened the door, one of them said, "Delivery for Anita Blake?"
"That's me," I replied. "Leave it out on the porch."
The other guy raised his eyebrows, snapping his gum. "We're supposed to take it in for you, part of the delivery fee."
"Leave it on the porch," I repeated curtly. "You're still getting paid."
The first guy jerked his head, and together he and his buddy moved the table around the porch, out of the way, then went back to their truck for the chairs. I signed their delivery sheet and handed them a twenty, then waited impatiently for them to drive away.
As soon as their taillights vanished around the corner, I slammed the door shut. When I turned around, Nathaniel was leaning on the wall against the wall, watching me.
"Nathaniel, what's going on?" I asked, trying to breathe, trying to keep my voice low and helpful. "Is there anything I can do?"
Nathaniel shook his head, his hair falling in front of his eyes.
I walked a bit closer. "There has to be something," I pressed. "At least let me try, please."
I stopped next to him and put my hand on his arm. Always before, Nathaniel craved physical comfort, the wereleopard in him wanting touch. Now, he stared at my hand like it was a poisonous snake.
"Nathaniel--"
He whirled around, spinning me with him until my back hit the wall. In a blur, I saw his fist flying toward me and instinctively put my arms up to protect my face.
The sound of the wall breaking was deafening. It took my body a minute to realize it hadn't been hit; the noise itself was like a physical blow. Shaking, I lowered my arms.
Nathaniel pulled his fist out of the wall, plaster dust hanging in the air as he placed his hands flat on the wall on either side of me. "Just leave. Me. Alone." He pushed off the wall and ran up the stairs.
My knees gave out, and I slid down to the floor. The plaster dust tickled the inside of my nose, but I didn't sneeze. I couldn't do anything. Couldn't help Nathaniel, couldn't make this all better.
Nathaniel had never raised a threatening hand to me. He'd shaken me, once, when I was about to get hysterical, but that was it. He'd never thrown a table across the room, never punched a wall beside my head, never screamed at me to leave him alone.
Everything I tried to do to help, only made it worse. Maybe I couldn't help Nathaniel fix himself.
I pulled my legs up to my chest, squeezing myself into a tight ball, as if I could keep myself from falling apart. There was no noise upstairs. I didn't know what Nathaniel was doing. Maybe that was the point. What if I was hurting him more?
I stared at the hall floor. It took me a few minutes to realize that this was where I'd fallen after I'd come into the house, that day with Olaf. Where I'd fallen, helpless and unable to move.
I sat there for a very long time. The sunlight patterns on the carpet had slowly crept across the floor, climbed over my toes, and vanished into shadows when finally a key turned in the lock, and Micah walked through the door.
"Anita," he called, looking back outside over his shoulder, "Why is there a table on the porch?" He swung his head around as he finished, going still when he saw me. Quick as a flash, he dropped the bag in his hand and was on the carpet beside me, touching my face, my arms. "Are you okay?" he demanded. "What happened?"
I blinked up at him, trying to remember how to talk. "I messed things up," I said, brushing away tears that welled up in my eyes. "I tried to help Nathaniel, but everything got all fucked up."
Micah sat back on his heels. "So why is there a hole in the wall? Why is there plaster in your hair?"
I shook my head.
"Are you hurt?" Micah demanded. "I can smell blood."
"It's not mine," I said, hugging my knees tighter. "Nathaniel... he hurt himself in the car." I wasn't able to tell Micah that Nathaniel had tried to cut off his hand with my keys.
"Where is he?" Micah asked, sitting back on his heels. "Is he upstairs?"
"Micah, leave him alone," I said. "He wants to be alone."
Micah ignored me, heading up the stairs. I shakily stood up, pulling myself up on the banister. I strained to hear, but couldn't hear a thing.
After a few long minutes, Micah came back down stairs. His face had that blank expression he used when he was trying to hide his emotions. He spotted me looking at him, and gave me a small smile. "I brought home some lunch, in case you were hungry," he said.
"Is Nathaniel okay?" I asked. "Is he upset?"
Micah paused, then put his hand on my arm. "Anita."
I stepped away from him. "It's a legitimate question," I snapped. "I'm still his Nimir-Ra, I have a right to know about that."
Micah looked at me with his yellow-green eyes, worry in his gaze. "Physically, he's fine."
I nodded. When I could speak, I said, "We should move the table into the house. Get it off the porch."
"Anita, what happened?" Micah asked. "When I left, things weren't nearly this bad."
"I don't know," I said, crossing my arms over my chest. "Maybe it's me, maybe I'm the one who's keeping him like this."
"Anita, that's not true," Micah chided. "You're not hurting him."
"Well, I'm sure as hell not helping."
"Maybe you should reconsider Jean-Claude's offer for tonight," Micah said.
"What, go over there for dinner?" I asked. "I just spent a week at the Circus."
"But you didn't spend it with Jean-Claude," Micah pointed out. "You should go, just you and him. Give yourself a little space."
I looked at the hole in the wall, my insides twisting. I didn't want to leave Nathaniel for that long, even if I was only going to be across town. The thought of being so physically far away from him almost hurt.
But he didn't want me around. He wanted space. Maybe that was the best I could do for him.
"Maybe I will," I said reluctantly.
Micah kissed me on the forehead. "I'm sure things will be fine," he said.
I wanted to scream at him that things weren't fine, Nathaniel was putting his hand through walls and mutilating himself and not letting me in, but instead I shook my head. "We should move the table."
"Anita..."
"Just let it go, Micah."
Shrugging, Micah opened the door wide and went out to porch. "Come on, we can deal with this thing together," he said, putting his hand on the table.
I was finishing the final touches on my mascara when I heard a tap on the bathroom door. "Yes?"
Micah poked his head into the room. "Asher's here."
I put the mascara back on the counter and turned around. "Why?"
Micah shrugged. "He said he's your escort."
"Escort," I repeated. I tied my bathrobe tighter. "I don't need a bloody escort to the Circus!"
"Tell him yourself, he's in the bedroom," Micah said, ducking back out of the bathroom.
A growl on my lips, I stormed out of the steamy bathroom and down to the hall. I flung open the bedroom door, to find Asher poking through my closet. "Asher!"
The golden-haired vampire turned around lazily. "Ah, Anita. What are you going to wear this evening?"
I hurried over to him, brushing his hands off my clothes. "What are you doing here?"
Asher reached around me to draw a dark red dress out into the light. "I am to assist you in any way, cherie." He gave me a sly smile. "And at this rate, you will be needing all the help you can get."
I yanked the dress out of his hands and threw it on the bed. "Is this some kind of fucking crack about how I can't protect myself?" I demanded.
The amusement was wiped off Asher's face. "No, not at all," he said, somber. "Jean-Claude expressed a desire for your safety tonight, and I offered my services."
"Why?"
He turned away from me, cold and aloof. "I can see I was in error, I will leave."
I caught his arm. "No, Asher, wait." I took a step around him so I could see into those beautiful ice-blue eyes. "I am glad to see you, it was a bit of a surprise. I hardly saw you at all this week."
"Jean-Claude expressed the need to spend his time with you, this week," Asher said, the cold frost thawing a little. "I was taking care of the businesses."
I put my other hand on his arm in a caress. "Thank you," I said, smiling. "That means a lot."
Hesitantly, Asher smiled back at me. "I must confess, I had an ulterior motive in offering my services tonight," he said.
"Oh, really?"
"Really." Asher took my hand in his, kissing my knuckles. "To spend an uninterrupted twenty minutes with you, that is all I ask."
I sighed. "Okay. But if there's any trouble, I can deal with it."
Asher nodded, hair falling over the scars on his face. "As you wish."
I hesitated, then reached up to brush his hair back. Going up on my toes, I pressed my lips to his. His hands went around my back, deepening the kiss. His lips were silky and cool under mine, a delicate kiss. He hadn't fed tonight.
Slowly, he released me. A strange haunted expression lingered in his eyes, but I didn't push him. Giving him another smile, I went over to the closet as he lounged on the end of the bed. "What will you wear tonight?" he asked.
"I could wear a burlap sack and Jean-Claude would be happy to see me," I said, flipping through my clothing.
"But that would not nearly be as much fun," Asher said, fiddling with the red dress on the bed.
"When was the last time you wore a burlap sack?" I asked, shaking my head and going over to pull the red dress out of Asher's hands.
He pretended to think about this. "Four hundred year ago, give or take. It itched."
I raised an eyebrow at him. "Vampires can itch?"
"They can when wearing burlap."
I rooted through my underwear drawer until I found a matching bra and panties. "Get out, so I can get dressed."
"Oh, do not mind me."
I gave Asher a look. "You're usually around for me taking them off, but putting the clothes on isn't as much fun."
Asher leaned back farther, settling in. "I am willing to forgo the fun."
"Have it your way."
Getting dressed wasn't really that big a production. With my makeup and hair done, the most time-intensive thing was the garter belt and hose. After I slipped into the panties and bra, I slid the dress over my head.
"Can you help me zip this up?" I asked Asher, going over to the bed.
He sat up slowly. Putting his hands on my hips, he turned me around, then slowly drew the zipper up my back. When he was finished, he stood and wrapped his arms around me in an embrace.
"What's up?" I whispered, leaning back against him.
"It used to take Julianna hours to prepare for a night out," he said. "Corsets and petticoats and so many layers. She seldom let me watch; whenever I did, we became... distracted."
I turned around and put my arms around his waist. I didn't know what to say. I could count the number of times he had mentioned Julianna to me. Even after three hundred years, that pain was too raw.
"And then, Jean-Claude almost losing you..." Asher kissed the top of my head. "You are not mine, Anita, but to have you taken from me--"
I pulled back and put my finger on his lips. "Shh." I moved my finger and kissed him gently. "Whatever happens, I do love you."
Asher quirked an unhappy smile at me, then kissed my cheek. "We should be on our way," he said. "Jean-Claude awaits."
"Asher."
"I heard you, ma cherie," he said, stepping away. "But you will forgive me. I would rather not speak of this further."
I bit back a sigh. "Then we should be on our way."
I watched Asher take a moment to rebuild himself. "Shall I drive, then?" he asked, back to his old self.
"No." I breezed out into the hall, Asher on my heels. "I'm driving."
Micah came out of the kitchen as I was stepping into my high heels. "You two on your way?" he asked, a book in his hand. He saw me, and a slow grin spread across his face. "You look amazing."
"Thanks," I said, going to him. In these shoes, I was a few inches taller than him and I had to lean down to kiss him. "Is everything going to be okay?" I asked when we broke apart.
"Things will be fine," Micah said.
I glanced at the ceiling. Nathaniel was still upstairs. "Call me if anything goes wrong," I instructed, slipping into a coat. I'd trained them well; neither Asher or Micah offered to help me. "I'll have my cell."
"Anita, it'll be fine," Micah repeated. "Just go. We'll see you tomorrow morning."
I sighed. "I guess. I mean, it's just dinner with Jean-Claude. What could go wrong?"
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Date: 2006-04-12 11:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-04-13 03:23 am (UTC)Okay, many hugs for Nathanial. And now I'm scurrying to read pt 2!
:)
Jaydeyn