| Subject: Chapter 202 - Part 1 (18 and above) |
Author:
KatherineG.
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Date Posted: Monday, August 01, 07:21:31am
In reply to:
KatherineGilbert
's message, "Dreams in the Dark - Chapter 193 and onwards" on Thursday, July 07, 07:06:24am
Extra warning: Whatever the complications, it's the wedding night, at last. :) This part is rated 18 and above. Enjoy.
Dreams in the Dark (202/?)
by Katherine Gilbert
It had, despite the expectations, been somewhat of a shattering day. From the news from Europe, the clear sign that the world would soon lose its mind, to the distraction of many of the guests, their wedding had been anything but perfect. Now, as they made their way into their home, where they would finally live as one, neither was certain what to think. The only happy fact was that they were finally united in the world's eyes; their sigh was shared. They would never have to hide again.
This truth was some comfort, was certainly long-awaited, but the atmosphere of gloom which the news had brought was difficult to dismiss. It didn't help, either, that their honeymoon was tinged with a far more personal fear--no happy trips allowed, their schedule not permitting it. It was almost a shock that they had been given any time to themselves, was somewhat of a surprise that they weren't required to appear on the set again tomorrow. They would have thought that Madeline was actually taking pity on them, had they not known better--the terror running deep. His home was simply a better place for this attack.
It was impossible not to think into this now, all the events surrounding their official union so hard to deny. Even if Madeline's plans seemed so obvious, they *had* been given an offer to spend these few days at the Chateau Marmont--but had turned it down. At a hotel, however exclusive, there would always be footsteps, would forever be people nearby--their fear unremitting. At least in their home, they would know that any sound outside was one to worry about. That was something--if only a very little.
They had discussed their situation on the way back from the reception, if only briefly--needing to settle their thoughts. Nikita knew about the bodyguards, was vaguely encouraged by their presence--as Helmut had clearly known she would be. It did seem unlikely, as well, given the state of the world--the effect it would have on the newspapers' focus--that they would be attacked quite yet, but it was impossible not to fear. Even if the unfinished state of their current film argued in their favor, the terror never quite left. Now that they were married, they would never be safe. They would always be waiting for their world to end.
It was here their minds were focused, any potential giddiness or joy usually associated with such a homecoming impossible to take in. They were just making their way into the bedroom, were simply wandering there by instinct. But the furthest the connection between them went at the moment was through terrified concern.
They had shared this emotion during the whole day, even if they had had little opportunity to discuss it--world events distracting, to say the least. Most of the talk at the reception had been focused on Hitler, not them--only an occasional guest coming out of themselves long enough to give a traditional comment on what a lovely bride she made. It hadn't helped the general atmosphere. While all the guests were courteous, all managing to smile, no one was concerned with the occasion in question. All anyone was really thinking about was the future.
This wasn't the mood of everyone in America, of course, much of the country convinced that world affairs--however deadly--had little to do with them. If some madman wanted to attack a country few of them cared much about, it mattered little. But few of those in the wedding party were quite so naive as that.
It hadn't been an easy evening, then, but their concern for some guests had been worse than others. Angie, especially, had clearly been almost out of her mind with fear, the horror of what had been done to her country impossible to overcome--and her understandable distraction was about all that either Peter or Susan could think about. The woman might have made her usual effort to comfort everyone else, to think only of others--had done her best to focus pleasantly on the day--but the images of her country's ruin were obviously impossible to get past. Neither Michael nor Nikita blamed her. Whatever their decidedly mixed feelings toward their homelands, had it been either Canada or Australia, they wouldn't have been able to focus, either.
It was this distraction of their friends, as well as the vague shambles which had been the ceremony which was to have been their saving grace, which had made the day so impossible to savor. The best which could be said was that they had gotten through it. But that wasn't particularly high praise to give to one's own wedding.
The sorrow of this fact lingered in them now, impossible to get past; Nikita sat on the bed, neither of them focusing on one another--her soul aching for some sort of deeper connection with her partner. It made it even sadder to think about what the columnists might make of it, of all the damage it might do. This day which was supposed to have crowned them, to make them eternally beloved by the public, might--at best--be completely forgotten; she had to close her eyes. It was just hard to imagine how they were going to come out of this well.
They both knew this, feared it--their only real comfort the fact that they were, finally, publicly married. Now, they could live together, wouldn't be separated; their eyes met, if only for a moment. There was that, at least.
It was looking into her beautiful, saddened gaze which brought him back slightly, his own sorrow--his rage--settling further. He couldn't make eye contact, as he thought of only one of his multiple failings. "I should have carried you over the threshold."
This seemed a total non sequitur to the evening, made her look to him, confused--some sense of irony rising. "Why? It's not like I'm going to run away, if you don't carry me." He laughed a little, a first for the day, and her own smile went on, her hands twisting around each other slightly, unconsciously. "Besides, it's not like we weren't married before."
He gazed at her now, so many emotions moving through him--his despair at all he had failed to give her primary among them. There she was, beautiful and pure--even if the white wedding dress had finally been replaced by a more modern suit. He had taken so much from her, had accepted so much she had allowed him to, and had given so very little in return. It wasn't fair--this day even less so; he sighed, going over to sit beside her, giving in. If only he had been able to give her everything she deserved.
"I'm sorry, 'Kita." She looked at him, but he didn't see her bemusement--too lost in his thoughts. "I should have made this day perfect for you."
"*You* didn't invade Poland, Michael." She saw him laugh, if only vaguely--had to wait to gain his eyes, before she could answer him more seriously. "I never asked you to make anything perfect."
This wasn't an encouraging response, only brought out his sense of loss--the one he was feeling in her stead. She was being good to him, as always, was feeling none of the sorrow she should have--and that fact worked him all the more, an inner rage growing further. "It's your wedding day." His look grew more distant. "It should be happy."
"It's yours too," she pointed out, winning a little of his gaze, but he said nothing--obviously realizing that she hadn't answered the second part of his statement. Her hand went to his arm, loving him, wanting him to know--wishing he didn't seem so very remote, dreaming of so much more from him. "And I don't need everything to be perfect." He looked at her pointedly, forcing her on. "Yes, I wish everyone could have enjoyed themselves more, certainly wish Hitler weren't such a warlike idiot, but none of that matters." Her hand squeezed his arm more tightly, trying to make him see--a little surprised at how incredibly tense he was. "*We* matter, Michael--you and I." Her eyes drove her point home, begging for him to be close to her. "And now we're finally going to be together."
It wasn't enough, though, his anger only deepening at her words--but he couldn't speak his thoughts, afraid the rage would show. He had done his best to hold it in all day--for months, really--all the deadly opposition they faced only making the fury run deeper. But this wasn't the emotion which frightened him the most--her proximity, her beauty, working him. To his despair, there was a voice growing inside of him, was part of him--a part which frightened him, which he wasn't at all proud of--which wanted to claim her, at last. His gaze flared, his breath shaking, before his fists closed more tightly--so afraid of what he might do. She was his bride now--if not an innocent, still deserving of respect; his eyes burned into the distance. And what he wanted to do to her at the moment didn't seem like respect at all.
She didn't know this, not entirely, but she did pick up on how incredibly tight he seemed--every muscle as solid as a statue; she had to swallow heavily, pulling herself together--trying very hard not to be aroused. For all the events of the day, she understood that the real rage of his emotions centered around her--knew he was fighting to stay in control for her sake; some long-repressed need pulled deep inside her form. But she wasn't at all certain that she wanted him to win his battle.
"Michael . . .," she began, but he pulled away from her--the swirl of his emotions obviously coming to a peak. She had to stop her eyes from widening, almost embarrassed--realizing suddenly how aroused she was, his reactions not dissuading her; she didn't entirely understand. "Oh, please, yes," just didn't seem the proper response to a husband in a fury; his gaze bore into her, leaving her almost shaking with desire. But she was quickly wondering whether those wouldn't be her next words.
She put her hand back on his arm, hoping to convince him, but he only pulled away again--more firmly this time. "Stop it, 'Kita. Stop touching me." He got up, walking around the bed, leaving her to her surprised arousal, wondering sadly whether he had discovered it, was disgusted with her, given the events of the day. It took a deep breath for him to look at her again, trying to stay in control. "I'm sorry. Let's go to bed, get some rest."
This wasn't really the idea she had had of her wedding night, especially now--seemed far worse than the day which had preceded it. "B-but . . ." she stammered, not understanding entirely--her eyes aglow with sadness, with need--and a terrible fear moved through her soul; that it wasn't at all rational didn't stop it. After all this time, all this pain, did he not want her? She almost bit her lip. Of all the torments of the day, that seemed the most unfair of all.
It wasn't that, of course, never would be, but he wasn't in control--understood it too well, the truth frightening him. The day had pushed him too far, made him need her far too much; he still couldn't look at her, his focus on the spread, as he tried to explain. "I'm not rejecting you." His body shook a little with his breath, attempting to settle himself. It didn't work. "I'm angry and frustrated and tired of everything that always goes wrong." His hands clenched again. "If we're together now . . ."
He couldn't put anything into words, afraid of what might come out, but she understood--and wanted to help much more than he could currently see, so relieved that he shared her desire, the truth between them too clear. The events of the day, of their lives, had terrified and saddened them both, had brought out all their furious need to be one; the fact that they were officially wed now only made it worse. Her gaze stroked over him, hoping to make him see. If they turned away from each other now . . .
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