Sorry for the delay.
Words from Author: Before you get into this next section I wanted to give you guys a key for different types of communication as I tend to use telepathy a bit more in the upcoming sections.
Italics usually represent a character talking to him or herself, or as emphasis on special words.
Pointy brackets <...like this...> represents characters communicating telepathically though not always with each other.
Last time
She stood still, waiting while he poured another cup and replaced the pot, only this time as he picked up his cup, he brushed past her into the hallway. “Ready to go?” he threw over his shoulder as he continued down the hall. She gaped after him in astonishment, his instantaneous dismissal of her almost stinging in its chill. Her earlier instinct to be wary about him came back full force, but she was checked out of the hospital. Where else was she supposed go? So far *he* was her only link to her self and her emotional connection with him was too obvious to deny.
Now...
Wanda was grateful for the sweater as they breached the cool spring air of the evening, and she shoved her arms through the opposite sleeves as she followed him through the sparsely lit parking lot. She was almost annoyed that he stayed a step ahead of her rather than allow her to keep pace, but then she had no idea what vehicle to look for. Instead she tucked her head down from the chill breeze and kept her squinted eyes on his heels as the street lamps cast stripes across the black tar under her feet. There was a familiarity to this situation; not comfort exactly, but knowledge that she’d spent time enough in the shadows not to embarrass herself with hysterics.
When he stopped at a silver Bronco, she automatically split off from him to take the passenger side, only to pause at the passenger door he’d opened for her from inside the cab. A tickling wariness in her was keeping her from making the commitment to go alone with him without a good reason.
After a couple of seconds in a holding pattern, he turned and looked at her expectantly, but she couldn’t bring herself to hop up onto the passenger side of the bench seat.
“What?” he blurted impatiently.
“I’m sure the hospital staff might not care enough to know any better, but I’m not ready to take that chance,” she explained. “Obviously, there’s something between us, I’ve felt that, but it’s not always good, what I’ve felt. Why should I trust you?” she queried vehemently.
“You don’t have to trust me, Wanda,” he admitted. “You can walk right back into that hospital and decide what to do with the rest of your life in there.” His exasperated gaze melted away into something near pleading. “Or you can climb up in here out of the cold and I’ll tell you everything I know. If you don’t like what you hear by the time we get to the house, I’ll get on my bike and drive away.”
Now pause dramatically, he mentally recited, as if the whole situation weighed on her decision.
Kal held himself on the edge of internalized disgust. He’d heard such nonsense from Luthor many times in the last twelve years, never guessing he’d ever have the occasion to use this type of manipulation himself. He’d witnessed the brilliance of this verbal tactic and was usually left startled by its apparent effectiveness. He merely offered his companion an option she was already considering, on the notion that she had no power to carry through her decision without his permission. The second option he offered was less complicated, with less arduous results. A passive option, Lex would call it. According to his mentor, human nature dictated that the passive option would work ninety-eight percent of the time.
If she decided she was part of the rare two percent, Kal was more than prepared to mentally pounce into her brain the moment she indicated she was going to walk away. In fact, almost as soon as she looked over her shoulder he leaned forward, his hands twitching to clamp over her skull.
But then she turned back face him, the hope in her earnest demeanor exactly what he’d been trying to attain.
“Does that ring fit me?” she asked tremulously.
He barely paused a moment before moving to pull the chain out of his shirt collar, and made short work of removing the ring from the necklace. He waited until she’d climbed into the seat and shut the door before offering it to her, but she didn’t take it.
“Tell me about the time you proposed,” she requested instead, tucking her feet beneath her and leaning toward him to hear what he could come up with.
“We’d already been in Paris for two days…” he began.
***
Before they’d driven away from the hospital, the ring was stationed possessively around her finger and Kal himself was in dumbfounded amazement at the outcome.
All he’d done was talk.
He’d considered, momentarily, that once she was close enough for him to make contact, he could attempt a memory implant that would satisfy her, but as he’d continued with his deceptive account of their engagement he found himself elaborating with her responses as cues.
In the quiet, dimness of the truck cab, he’d woven the most idyllic scene he could come up with as she’d sat beside him, her liquid brown eyes wide and shimmering with rapt wonder at his intricate description of their fictitious promise to each other. Even *he* was pretty taken with his whimsical rendition of their engagement, given that he knew his nature for precise reporting of any mission that Luthor had assigned to him. He hadn’t realized he had it in him to do emotional narratives.
And every word had come so naturally, as if the event had actually happened. He’d *seen* recognition dawn on her as he’d vividly described every aspect of that imaginary evening. The evening walk in the park, the fountain, the rain (his favorite affect) all these wonderful aspects enveloped into a proposal worthy of a Johanna Lindsey novel. Not that he read Johanna Lindsey. On purpose.
When he’d offered the ring to her again, she’d covered her mouth with trembling fingers, stifling a sob or whimper, he couldn’t tell. But then she’d subdued whatever emotion threatened to overcome her and held her hand out for him to place the ring on her finger himself. He wasn’t expecting that, wasn’t all that comfortable with the gesture, but he couldn’t bring himself to disappoint her in this vulnerable state. He’d taken her hand in his and pushed the ring down onto her finger with a seriousness that obscured his unease, then he’d kissed her knuckles with a slow, gentle conviction, drowning her with his gaze as he’d done this.
She’d practically melted in the seat right then. He’d immediately backed off, clearing his throat and suggesting they get on their way. Somehow during the drive, though, she’d migrated from her side of the bench seat into the middle, and he found his arm sliding across the back of the seat of its own accord. By the second hour of the drive, she was tucked up against his side, her head lolling limply against his shoulder in weariness.
When she’d leaned into his side, he just kept reminding himself that she was scared and lonely. He was all she had and that was how he wanted it for now. His empathy justified her being there, allowed her to snuggle up to him in some token show of affection. What he couldn’t explain was how his fingers came to be stroking through the short strands of hair behind her ear, or how, from time to time, he ended up with his cheek resting against the top of her head, especially since driving that way was difficult even with his preternatural reflexes.
He realized, as he was making the last turn to pull into the long gravel drive, that he was feeling a good deal of reluctance to stop the vehicle; that he wanted to keep driving so he could keep her against him all night. Once they arrived at the house, the illusion of affection would be interrupted and he’d be forced to remind himself that his mission couldn’t be anymore involved than the hand-holding she would require to make it on her own.
If things were different…if I didn’t have a risky plan of vengeance to fulfill, he thought facetiously.
“Just shut up,” he murmured in reply, gripping the wheel a little tighter, feeling the plastic steering wheel squish in his fist like Play-Doh™. His subsequent wheel repair and muttered cursing roused his companion to stretch and adjust even more snugly against him if that were possible which gave his resolve to keep the relationship in a platonic realm a little shake. Well, maybe a big shake, he amended as her hand made feather light contact against his chest.
“Wanda.” He shrugged his shoulder gently to give her a nudge and shifted sideways a bit as she began to wake up for real. “Wanda, we’re almost there.”
She mumbled and sighed as she stirred awake, sitting up to rub her eyes with the heels of her hands. His free hand went back to the steering wheel, blocking any attempt on her part to settle back against his chest, though she seemed well on her way to awareness now.
“I was dreaming,” she informed him during a wide yawn before sinking back against the seat in comfortable silence.
“Oh, yeah?” he replied, just making conversation, wondering to himself if he should have disturbed her so soon.
“Yeah,” she sighed again, considering another yawn, “I dreamt I was standing in a barn…in a sunbeam.” The remembrance tilted the corners of her lips up and she stretched toward her feet, almost catlike in her fond recall of the sunshine.
“Well, the barn is right back there.” Kal pointed off into some indistinct blur of darkened fields as they drove past. “I’ll be able to show you around back there when I get home tomorrow afternoon.”
“When…you get home…tomorrow…after--afternoon?” she echoed, a slight waver in her voice. “You’re leaving me here? Alone?”
The truck pulled to a stop at a lighted porch just to emphasize her point. She slid back toward the passenger side of the truck as he put the truck in park and shut off the engine, but she made no move to open her door when he opened his. In fact as he came around to her side of the truck to get her door, she steadfastly held her place determined to get a full explanation. So when he opened her door she crossed her arms and glared at him, refusing to budge.
“Well?” she prodded.
“Well what?”
“You couldn’t possibly be thinking of leaving me here alone in my condition!” she disputed.
“I’ll wait ‘til you’re settled before I go,” he offered. “You’re not exactly an invalid.”
“Kal, I don’t even know where I am!” she stridently maintained, “I didn’t let you drive me clear into the middle of nowhere so you could abandon me!”
“I’m not abandoning you!” he snapped back, knowing that was pretty much what he was doing and not knowing how to excuse it. But he could tap that personality he’d built for her. “Wanda, you’re about the most independent woman I know. And you know how important my job is. I’m coming back, so you’ve got no reason to worry.”
“Maybe I am normally independent and aware of your job situation,” she conceded, “but right now I don’t even know which hand I write with, what my phone number is, or my middle name!”
Her last words were uttered hoarsely and he winced to realize she was back on the edge of tears. The inexplicable tightening in his own chest that followed his realization made him even more uncomfortable. He could only surmise that she was projecting her emotions at him, without contact apparently, and that was intolerable. How was she doing that?!
So he had to calm her down. Quickly.
Of course the fastest thing to do would be to knock her out. An unconscious woman wouldn’t be any trouble to bring in the house or require constant reassurance. All he had to do was reach over, give her a little squeeze at the base of her neck and she’d be off to dreamland until morning.
He berated himself for not thinking of this sooner and leaned into the cab to put his plan into action, only to find himself with a bundle of trembling woman wrapped around him, her sobs muffled against his chest. For a moment he stood frozen, uncertain how to react. Then hand he had lifted to incapacitate her slowly slid down along her shoulder blades, patting her gently and holding her against him while his other arm curled under her knees to pick her up out of the truck. Kicking the truck door shut with his heel, he turned and carried her up the porch to the front door.
He murmured comforting assurances on the way to the front door, things he didn’t understand himself, but were affective with her as she was down to sniffles by the time he got her through the foyer and set her on her feet. He shifted his hands to her waist to steady her, she didn’t let loose of her hold on him when she regained her footing. Her arms remained locked around him while she stifled her last hiccups against his shirt.
He could sense the contact eased her level of distress and allowed that he didn’t mind the embrace much either. This was almost as nice as what he’d felt in the truck, and the reluctance to end the moment returned with the same amount of fervor. One arm he’d kept at her waist gave her a gentle squeeze as his other hand slid up the curve of her spine to comb through the hair at the back of her head.
When she murmured a sound of pleasure at his touch, he looked down to discover she had lifted her face from his shirt. The brown depths of her eyes gleamed with the opalescent glimmer of tears and the tiny drops of moisture caught in her lashes sparkled like miniature diamonds. He got caught up in the flickering motion of her eyes as she gazed back up at him until he heard a gasp escape from her parting lips. His line of sight dropped to the slight motion of her full lips and he felt an involuntary swallow ripple down his own dry throat.
“Kal?”
The husky timbre of her voice reached through the haze forming in his mind and he backed away, moving his grip up around to her shoulders at first and straightening his arms to make space between them. Her eyes were clouded with the same intensity of emotion he’d been feeling, but his retreat brought confusion into them.
“It’s gonna be okay,” he assured her, clearing his throat for a second try, “you’re going to be just fine here. I’ll get you all familiarized and comfortable and then I’ll go.” He pinned her momentarily with an earnest gaze before turning her toward the interior of the house, his arm stationed securely around her shoulders to keep her on track. With his other hand he flicked on the lights and guided her forward, introducing her to the open space as a distraction.
She seemed to be going along with his plan as she moved inward on her own, her eyes flitting over each furnishing and the decorative items that adorned the room. He’d copied the style of the knick-knacks she’d placed in storage, while abstaining from the furniture she’d originally lived with. On that score he’d chosen his own manner of comfort, going with over-stuffed, light beige colored pieces, the matching couch, loveseat and recliners all proclaiming their nap-worthiness. The floors were all gleaming hardwood, also light colored.
He watched her as she hesitantly inspected the shiny newness of her immediate environment. Her puzzlement and lack of recognition were apparent in her demeanor and he shrewdly interrupted her scrutiny with an explanation.
“The contractors finished up the floors while you were in the hospital. They look okay, don’t they?”
He watched as she made a move to reach down as though tempted to caress the buttery smooth surface of the floor, but then she instantly straightened, holding off the compulsion for another time.
“They’re beautiful and…they’re new?” she asked uncertainly.
“All of it is.” Kal elaborated. “You decided that you wanted something entirely different than when you bought the house. Kind of had it built onto and revamped. I mean, I hired all the contractors, but the design is all yours.” He meant that entirely. Most of the layout he’d created from the information he’d gleaned from her mind, with only a few of his own personal touches, but none of this was much like the place she’d kept in Metropolis.
“It’s all just gorgeous,” she breathed as she approached the quartz masonry fireplace, her hands gliding along the smooth surface of the mantle. “I guess it will all come to me after a couple of days since it’s so new. I heard that older memories are usually the first to return. I can’t expect much of a place that’s new.”
“Where’d you hear that?” he asked, then clarified, “About the older memories coming back first?”
“Ivory Tower,” she informed him and returned his skeptical half-smile. “They have to base their soap opera details on some facts.”
“I suppose.”
“But this is all new…” She perused the large space again, and he sensed she was taking mental notes about some of the things she meant to change. “What did it look like before?”
He took a moment to answer, her question dredging out memories he’d attempted to keep buried for a lengthy time. He hadn’t considered the way it had looked when he’d redecorated, only that she be comfortable and content here.
“A farm house,” he answered finally…quietly, “checkered, country patterns, a kind of worn in, homey look.”
Wanda had continued to look around nonchalantly as she waited for his answer, but something in his reply contained an air of nostalgia, and she wondered why he seemed so melancholy just then.
“Kal? Did it look better the way it was before?” she inquired astutely.
“It was nice,” he confessed, “but this is nice too. This is more your style.”
“So you’re okay with it?” she pressed, moving back toward him to place an attentive hand on his forearm, not allowing his shrug of indifference put her off. “Kal?”
“Wanda, honey, it’s your place. It looks great. All of it, just great, you haven’t seen the rest of it since they remodeled. Here let me show you.”
His rush of words just confirmed her feeling that he wasn’t at home here, but she went along with his tour as he guided her to the kitchen, through to her office, beyond the downstairs bathroom, upstairs to the guest rooms, the into the master-bath that also connected to her bedroom. And that was what he called it too. Her bedroom. Not *their* bedroom. Nothing to confirm how engaged they were.
Another mystery. If she weren’t so tired she’d have taken him to task on the subject immediately, especially after the awkwardness at the front door. She’d been so sure he was going to kiss her just then and she didn’t think she would have stopped him. But she had an inkling that he might very well be holding back on account of her illness. She could forgive that, her own uncertainty lending credence to a delayed course of action on intimate subjects, but a kiss…well, a kiss wouldn’t have been so bad.
She was obviously very attracted to him, physically, and he seemed to really care about her, so she could understand her apparent emotional attachment as well. Leaning on him felt so natural when she’d been afraid. She was still sort of afraid, at being left alone, not knowing anything, not familiar with her surroundings, but his assurance was an inhibiting balm for her fear.
If he thought she’d be okay on her own then perhaps she *was* pretty self-sufficient. She did feel more confident after the tour he’d finished back at the kitchen. At least knowing the location of her bathrooms and that she had cable were huge bonuses anyway. Still, The shiny newness of it all left her feeling disconcerted and invasive.
Kal interrupted her contemplation when he offered to fix her something to eat before he left, but she claimed she was more tired than hungry.
“It’s just a few hours until morning anyway,” she told him, “I’ll eat something when I wake up.”
“Keep it simple,” he warned her, “you’ve been on a liquid diet for a couple of days.” But then he smiled appreciatively toward her in a way that made her tummy warm. “I guess that’s how you keep your figure so nice.”
“I’ve discovered a new fad diet,” she suggested with amusement, “the COMA,” she simpered, flashing her hands in discovery.
She’d meant that statement to be mocking, just a joke really, but his eyes turned pretty serious at the idea.
“I’d rather have you filled out a little more.” His sober tone emphasized the conviction of his declaration, but he immediately dragged the mood back into a congenial atmosphere by offering to take her out to dinner when she was eating regularly. “There’s some nice Mom and Pop eateries around here,” he informed her, “A couple have already been recommended to us.”
“So we’re both new in town,” she postulated.
“Let’s talk tomorrow, hon,” he advised, “I promise, if you aren’t up to par by the time I get back, I’ll tell you everything I know.”
Second time, she reminded herself, but then, she wasn’t keeping score. The last time he’d offered to explain things, she’d only asked for the engagement. She’d been too tired to hear anything more. She was tired now. She could definitely come up with better questions once she’d had a couple hours of sleep. Besides, she realized if he was gone, she might be able to snoop around the house and figure some stuff out on her own.
She was still reluctant to see him go, following him to the door and even wondering with a teensy, weensy bit of hope if he would kiss her goodbye. She wasn’t all that surprised when he didn’t though, instead only stopping beside the Suzuki Ninja to lift a hand in farewell before he put on his helmet. His speedy departure kicked up enough loose gravel that she worried about the proximity of the truck and she caught herself t’sking over the idea that she needed to remind him not to take off so quickly.
The admonishment she felt toward him gave her another indication that they were a couple and she shelved that good feeling with mounting evidence of the fact. She just wished the memory of their relationship was clear and recalled her idea to go through the house for clues, only to be interrupted by the yawn that nearly split her head in half. Maybe she *should* rest for a bit first.
She looked up the stairs to the open doors of the rooms above. They had left all the lights on when they’d departed the rooms, but she felt no inclination to head up there alone. Instead she threw herself onto the couch, palming the remote from the coffee table and pulling the multi-hued afghan draped across the back of the couch down around her shoulders once she was settled.
She located a classic movie channel to involve her mind before replacing the remote, and was relieved to feel the affects immediately, her relaxed position adding to her state of distraction. She had a lot on her mind, but just right now, her emotional and physical weariness were overcoming her logistical thought processes, turning her mental dials down to a rest mode. She was practical enough to know she’d do well to put some solid sleep under her belt.
With the blur of black and white images across the screen and scent of new fabric in her nostrils, she allowed her head drop into the cushy softness of the couch and closed her eyes allowing sleep to claim her.
TBC...
TEEEEEEEJ
