| Subject: Chapter 251 - Part 1 |
Author:
KatherineG.
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Date Posted: Monday, July 31, 06:58:27am
In reply to:
KatherineG.
's message, "Dreams in the Dark" on Monday, May 01, 06:55:47am
Extra warning: This will be the last part for a couple of months, as we're finally moving towards semester's end here. :) Many thanks to all of you who are still reading!
Dreams in the Dark (251/?)
by Katherine Gilbert
It was late now, the time marching dreadfully along, counting down to when she would have to let him go. After only a year and a half of knowing him, less than four months of marriage, he would leave her. And neither of them had any idea of where they would go from there.
They were in bed, holding each other close now--Nikita's head over her husband's heart, comforted by its soft, steady beat. They had just spent the holiday together, had had the joy of yet another Christmas in each other's sweet presence--this time as husband and wife, no need to separate for the night. Still, in less than a week, he would be gone; her own heart thumped more heavily. And any Christmases together after that might only be a fantasy.
It was impossible to think like this now, caused far too much fear--her mind turning back, instead. While they had spent some time with her grandmother earlier, most of the day had been passed warmly, alone in their home with the lighted tree--Michael's arms around her, as they sat together on the couch; it had been heaven. Their brief problems of two days before were already well behind them, only tenderness remaining. And it soothed her to know that they were capable of making up so well.
They *had* made up, too--in the most traditional of ways, for couples--their Christmas Eve spent almost entirely in bed. There had been the soft and tender moments, as well as a few which could only be called unhinged; her smile lingered at the memory. But every one had only brought them that much closer together.
This utter unity was evident now, had anyone been watching--which, for once, thankfully, they weren't. Instead, the couple had been given just a few days alone, allowed to settle all matters between them; it was for the best. Her heart sank. Although the reason for that left much to be desired.
She had to work to slow down her fearful heartbeat at the thought of him leaving, unable to explain the effect of the last few weeks. Ever since she had realized what was coming--especially since the date of his departure had been set--every moment seemed to be flying past them. It was as though they were in some, out-of-control car on a mountain road--careening inevitably toward the barrier, and then oblivion; she shuddered heavily, his arms holding her tighter. It was just impossible to focus on anything but the fatal event to come.
She felt his sigh against her hair, felt his arms surrounding her so strongly, and tried to calm once more, doing her best to focus elsewhere; where she did surprised her. They were still in their bedclothes tonight, hadn't made love; she hadn't been entirely certain why--until a small smile emerged. Perhaps she had worn him out yesterday. He *was* 15 years her senior. She managed to repress the laugh. It wasn't like either of them had gotten much rest.
Still, she didn't mention this image of him--afraid that he would teach her otherwise, as he certainly had last night. Every time she had thought that things were over, that it simply wasn't possible to drive all the screaming sensations any higher, he had proven her very wrong. There had been times then when she had envied every one of his former lovers--wanting every moment of his skillful lovemaking for herself alone--and other times when she had pitied them to her soul. After all, they could never have him the way that she did; she smiled, trying not to let him know her thoughts. Given how much, singeing pleasure he had given her yesterday, she wasn't certain that she could endure any more just now; the smile deepened. Perhaps *she* was the one who was easily worn out.
She was grinning at this thought, wondering what else her husband would teach her during their marriage--wondering happily whether she would survive it. She was still showing the signs of their activities yesterday, only liberal doses of makeup hiding the marks of his passion on whatever visible bits of flesh she had allowed, as they had made their way over to her grandmother's; he had needed a few himself, Nikita remembering with a smile that she had given as good as she got. She was even still a little sore--in the most interesting of places; it was difficult not to laugh. But it wasn't like she minded--not at all. So long as he came back to her, she would be more than happy to be kept in such a blissfully uneasy state for life.
This possibility warmed her, her love for him flowing through her soul. Of course, even without such intimate marathons, she would still adore him--but it did make her wish for him to return all the more quickly now.
She was almost laughing at this thought, when she realized there was a tear on her cheek--realized what she was repressing. The enforced cheerfulness she had been trying to give the world these last few weeks was a strain on her, her need for him--for his simple presence in her life--wracking. And that said nothing at all about her fears.
She could feel his fingers running softly through her hair, holding her head so close to him, comforting with every stroke; she knew he understood her thoughts. And it certainly wasn't only the sensual side of him she would miss--although that was a loss it was impossible to make up for. No. It was everything: his smile--the genuine one she alone knew; the way his presence in a room made her whole spirit hum in lovely sympathy; the way his eyes met hers, sharing every thought without words; the soft stroke of his hand, as his touch instinctively soothed her soul. It was probably the real reason why she hadn't regretted their lack of sexual intimacy today--the spiritual connection they shared far deeper than words or action could touch. There were times when only silence and stillness really said what you meant.
Michael was holding her now--their quiet communication flowing--his touch soothing, letting her know yet again that everything would be alright. But would it? Her heart thumped. There were just so many dreams, so many desires and fantasies she wanted to share with him--most of them so simple. Most of all, as his caress calmed her, she ached to see him holding their child; her heart seemed to twist at the image. She wanted their son to know the love of his father, to feel the sort of unquestionable adoration and respect which her husband always gave her. She wanted him to grow up knowing that this man would always be there for him, no matter what went wrong. After all, whatever their child's future, whatever mistakes could be made, one thing was certain; Michael was not judgmental. Even the worst possible fears could be calmed with one look.
She could feel the tears growing silently, couldn't hold them back--her dreams of the future taking her over. She wanted to have her husband beside her, as they raised their son, didn't want only the memory of him, like Elena had; she knew the cases were different but couldn't stop the fears. She didn't want to have to tell her son stories of his father, didn't want him to live off of images alone; her sigh went deep. From what she could tell, it was difficult enough, sometimes, being the son of a great man. If that man wasn't even there to aid you . . .
She couldn't finish the thought, her fears for her beloved--and herself--far too intense. Besides, there was just too much she dreamed of. She wanted to be able to take their child to his great-grandmother's house for Christmas dinner, wanted to introduce him to his multiple godparents together. She wanted her husband beside her, as they did their best to show little Adrian the most generous side of people, to teach him that good could be found anywhere--even in a place he would quickly learn to be as false and corrupt as Hollywood. She wanted him to see something other than just the tinsel of Tinseltown; her sigh lingered, tears on her cheeks. And she wanted her husband beside her, as they taught him every lesson he would need.
It was these desires which tormented her the most, making all the sorrow that much greater; her lover's "Ssh" against her ear, as he nuzzled her close to him, was a soft, deep comfort. But the uncertainty of their future wracked her, making her wonder whether any of these desires could possibly come true; she wasn't convinced, her sigh shaky--all of it so unclear, the questions pounding at her. He was going away for . . . how long? He would be part of . . . what battles? What role would he play there? How much danger would he be in? Her whimper was small, dreading the worst. And, if Hitler's military were as dangerous as it seemed to be . . .
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