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Date Posted: 14:34:15 01/13/09 Tue
Author: Odelle
Author Host/IP: CPE0013f7f24246-CM0013f7f24242.cpe.net.cable.rogers.com / 99.234.121.213
Subject: When A Time Comes (Chapter 13)
In reply to: Odelle 's message, "When A Time Comes" on 13:16:05 01/08/09 Thu


“I –“ she breathed heavily twitching her head to one side, then back to the middle, “I don’t think –“ Everything felt tense, her skin felt so tight. It was suffocating her. Why was she here? Here again? It was over – she thought it was over; she told herself it was over. “How – ? Mmmh!”

He was over her suddenly – over her and around her and blocking the sun from her eyes.

“Stop!” she screamed, lurching her whole torso at him and away from him at the same time. Her instincts were at war, confused, didn’t know how to fight – what to fight.

His hands were on her skin; nausea shot through her stomach, cold like icewater pooled between her shoulderblades and dripped slowly down her back.

“Stop!!” the growling scream tore from her lungs.

Something like a shock from carpet friction nicked her arm, distracting her consciousness. She shot up like a light, panting, shaking from head to toe.

“Shhh,” he whispered softly at her back, rubbing gentle warmth into the ice. Only there was no ice. She sat on the edge of her bed, at home, in her own room. Safe. Her eyes slipped closed, and she buried her face in her hands. He shifted behind her and embraced her back. “It’s okay, Nik – it’s only me,” he softly lay his lips against her bare shoulder, kissing her tenderly.

Guillaume. She swallowed and relaxed, “Guillaume,” she repeated in a whisper.

He sat still and silent for some time, comforting her gently. Slowly her heartbeat climbed back down from an all-out run, her breath returned to her lungs, and her skin stopped sweating freely. When she had gathered herself inside, her muscles shifting back into control, he kissed the back of her head and sighed. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I shouldn’t have been gone that long.”

She shook her head and cleared her throat. She felt so thirsty. “No, it couldn’t be helped.”

“Four nights without sleep is harmful to anyone,” he whispered. Even you, she heard him say in her head – Even Centre.

“I slept,” she argued back.

His chuckle contained no humour, “Half-hour recharges don’t count.”

His absence made the terrors worse, simply because she never slept without him. Never. Not for more than 30 minutes. To sleep without him was certain pain – for her, and for others.

“What day is it?” her nights of all-out panic left her mind totally disoriented. She often lost whole weeks, when it was a particularly bad time of year. The work never suffered, it all got done each day. But she’d often really truly wake up, days later, and disagree with what she did while in a haze.

“Monday.”

She nodded, remembering her appointment with the Senate in the afternoon. Great. This was the perfect way to start a day faced with those creatures.

“I can go with you if you’d like,” he offered quietly.

She stood, turning to look at him in the darkness of their room. Her status filled her veins and made her proud, gave her energy, “I hardly need a babysitter, Guillaume.”

He rolled his head to the side and sighed, “I know that.”

“Then don’t suggest it,” she shrugged on a housecoat and walked to the door.

“I love you,” he whispered to her, and she stopped.

She took a deep breath and turned to look at him again, “I’m sorry, I know – I just – “ she shook her head, “I’m going to go work for an hour, and then I’ll come back to bed.”

He nodded with a small smile to one corner of his mouth.

“Don’t wait up.” And she left, clicking the door shut softly behind her and leaning back against it. She closed her eyes and faced heavenward. Unwanted, unsolicited, thoughts of Michael’s comforting arms filled her mind. She imagined them surrounding her, imagined his voice soothing her...

Outwardly she balked, jerking upright and yelling at her heart. Guillaume was in the next room – her protector, her shelter – and she was thinking of another man’s comfort?

She shook her head and frowned, walking determinedly down the stairs in the direction of her office.

How utterly absurd. Michael wouldn’t console her if he knew the truth of it all the way Guillaume did. He quite likely wouldn’t understand at all – wouldn’t see how she had made her choices. He rarely agreed with her in the past, especially regarding her own welfare. She could imagine what he’d say – or not say – about this, now.

She reached her dark office, and padded around to her desk. She flicked the lamp on low as she sat, sighing heavily and resigning herself to quarterly status reports. The Senate would be hellish in the morning, and it would be better if she could clear the fuzz from her mind before entering that lion’s den. An hour of solid work would settle concrete material into her consciousness – at least that was something better to hold onto than the frayed edges of her current perception.

The phone ring thundered way over the sound of her breathing in the room, causing her insides to jump unexpectedly while her exterior froze. It wasn’t strange at all for the phone to ring at all hours in her office; the Sections certainly never stopped. She shook her head and chuckled briefly at herself. How ridiculous. She was clearly in a poor physical condition, if an unmoving object caused her nerves to jangle.

Nodding firmly, she determined not to answer the phone – it was apparent that her brain and her nerves weren’t ready yet for the real world. Anything could wait an hour to be addressed. The Sections and the Centre didn’t run at a frenzied pitch any more; the leaders below her would deal with all problems with calm assurance before contacting her.

Yet something strange fluttered into her chest at that moment of decision. Like a winged beauty resting in its home nest. She looked up at the phone again, frowning slightly. It rang again, and once more she felt something very real and very alive prompt her from within. Brushing a hand across her temple, she picked up the receiver with a flick.

“Jones.”

“Hi.”

The breath rushed out of her and she rolled back bonelessly into the curve of her chair, “Hi.”

“How are you?”

She put a hand over her mouth in thought; a move that may have been her body's way of stopping her answer. “Where are you?” she closed her eyes as she asked, wishing for the words from him that would answer the prayer she had sent up somewhere between the bedroom door and the office.

“Shoreham and Front. I bought an apartment.”

“I’m guessing you didn’t comparison shop,” she returned at his obvious expedience.

“It came with furniture.”

She paused and swallowed. She took a deep breath; couldn’t believe what she was asking: “Can I come over?”

“PH1, waterside, I’ll be downstairs in two minutes,” came his immediate answer.

************

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