-- What if...what if Natalie had been brought across at the end of "Be My Valentine." Future story. Written for Susan Garrett's birthday.
She stood silently in the darkened room, gazing out at the profile of the city which was tinged with only the barest traces of the recent sunset. Although it tightened her skin and stung slightly she didn't move, happy that after so many decades she could finally tolerate even this small amount. Had she lived another, less limited life, things might be different by now. She might be able to withstand more of the sun's deadly rays, venture out sooner after sunset instead of being trapped in the artificial darkness of this house.
But that was not to be, for so many reasons.
A movement at the top of the stairs caught her eye, and she turned slightly to see him standing there looking down at her. He was dressed, leaning casually against the railing, and she felt some small part of her warm at the sight of him. But she didn't smile up at him, nor did she reach out, or look away. They stood staring at each other as if across a very great distance.
Finally he spoke. "You're not coming with me." It was neither a question nor an accusation. But there was something heartbreakingly resigned in his tone. She'd been prepared for bitter, angry, cold. Resignation was another matter altogether.
He's sensed it in her blood over the last few days, she realized, although she wasn't entirely sure when she had made her decision not to accompany him. There had been things in his blood, too; Janette from another time, another place, Janette immortalized in a beautiful painting . . .
"No," she said, and accompanied the word with a small shake of her head.
He started down the steps then, a grim smile on his face. "Time to move on? he asked. There. There was the bitterness she'd been expecting. Even she had never been able to change that in him, alter that automatic, defensive reaction. Before she could say anything, he was standing in front of her. "You're right, of course. It got old fifty years ago!" Then he moved away, sat heavily on the couch.
"Don't," she said and sat beside him. But he rose quickly and moved to a nearby chair.
She sighed in exasperation. "You're being childish," she said tiredly.
He didn't answer, but she saw his face soften slightly. Then he looked over at her. "Have I kept you . . . ?" he asked softly, letting the question trail off unfinished.
Without thinking, she turned away quickly. She'd wondered lately about that herself, about why they'd stayed together so long. And why it was time to leave now. Since the night she'd been brought across she'd been with him, only him. They'd moved from city to city, identity to identity, always playing the part of a young couple in love. And for a very long time they had been just that. And when that had seemingly ended, she knew she'd stayed because he'd needed her to stay.
Or maybe she'd pretended to think that, fearing instead that she was keeping him, and yet terrified that he might go, that he might leave her behind. It had all been so new, so strange and frightening, the urges and desires so overwhelming. And given the diet they practiced, the lifestyle they led, she was weak, so weak. And there was still so much she didn't know . . .
He took her silence as an affirmation of his fears, rising suddenly, his expression anguished. She moved quickly to follow, stopping a few feet behind him and placing her hand gently on his back. "No more than I've kept you," she whispered.
He turned, catching her hand. "You haven't . . ." he began, and she smiled to see the lie in his eye, the lie he couldn't finish. He looked away for a second, struggling for composure. "Where will you go?" he asked. "Have you made any plans?"
She nodded, grateful that they were moving into the safer territory that specifics and details offered them both. "Boston," she said. "I've already rented an apartment."
She saw the hurt flit briefly past his eyes before he nodded. "I'll have some money transferred into an account for you," he said briskly, then shook his head emphatically when she started to protest. "No, I insist."
"I can take care of myself," she insisted, as much for herself as for him.
That was the crux of the matter, wasn't it, she thought. She'd deluded herself into thinking that she was the one doing the caring when in fact she'd desperately needed him to take care of her. And with that realization came the overwhelming need to be free, the need to take care of herself for a change. And there was also, she had to admit, an almost paralyzing fear. She needed to leave, to find out whether or not she could still stand on her own, terrified that she no longer had that ability.
"I'm a big girl," they both said in unison when she continued.
"I know," he said, smiling and kissing her gently on the forehead, hearing the slight catch in her voice and for once understanding it. "I wish I had a dollar for every time you've said that over the years." Then his expression grew serious. "But humor me, OK? Let me do this. I need to know that you'll be all right."
"There's a lot more to being all right than money," she reminded him gently.
"I know, I know," she said. "But it's a start. And the rest . . ." he paused and looked at her sadly. "The rest, I guess, is up to you."
"For a while, anyway," she said, looking at him intently.
He nodded. "For a while."
There was still so much to be said, so much to be discussed, she knew. But there would be quiet moments for that in the coming weeks as they made their plans to leave this place, to leave each other for however long that might be. She would make certain of that.
With a sigh he pulled her into his arms and held her tightly. And for one fleeting moment she almost changed her mind, knowing that wherever in the world she went, and no matter who she was with, where she was right now would always be her safe haven, her home.
The End