The pain coursed through Hando's body, bringing the hairs on his arms to attention and causing his breath to shorten. He felt the sensation of his body reacting to the combination of pain and the feather light touch of Syrena's fingers on his skin, and he tried to breathe deeply, to relax the muscles in his back, to ease the sudden tightness of his jeans. The heat that rose from his gut to flush his cheeks to a ruddy hue went unnoticed by her as she worked. She finished wiping the gash with clean gauze, holding his hand with a gentle caress and smearing mycitracin between the edges before applying butterfly bandages and wrapping it carefully.
He tilted his head back, eyes closed, oblivious to everything except the firm feel of her fingers and the tightness of his jeans. The denim pinched somewhat uncomfortably, and he shifted slightly, moaning under his breath. He felt her grip begin to loosen, and he squeezed her hand in his, drawing her closer to him. His eyes came open slowly and met hers, green on green, and he slid his free hand up behind her neck. The muscles under his hand tensed for a moment; his eyes dropped, drawn to the movement of her tongue wetting chapped lips, and he subconsciously mimicked the action before pulling her lips to his. He ran his tongue across her teeth which were clenched tightly against the onslaught and took her lower lip in his teeth, tasting the salt of her skin.
Under his palm he could feel the tendons in her neck, taut and straining, the pounding of her pulse. He let his thumb trace down her jaw, feeling the muscles tense as she ground her teeth together. On his chest he felt the lines of her hand, fingers splayed across the cotton t-shirt, for a second before he was pushed back. The ledge of the tub was narrow, and the grip he had on the back of her neck slipped. He found himself sitting gracelessly in the tub with his feet dangling over the edge. Her eyes smouldered with an emotion he couldn't place, and her hand was still gripped in his.
She wrenched her hand from his grasp, stood fluidly and left the bathroom quickly. Bloody hell, he thought as he heard the door slam. He closed his eyes and cursed under his breath, "Bloody marvellous. What the fuck did I do that for?"
---
The door swung shut behind her, slamming heavily and latching the exact moment she remembered the key lying beside the breakfast tray. She turned back to the door for a second, considering her options, but decided against knocking. "Shit," she hissed under her breath, running her tongue over her teeth and lower lip, tasting him on her skin. "Shit, shit shit," she muttered again, not able to form a coherent thought, and turned to head downstairs.
She stalked through the lobby, acknowledging Peaches' bright greeting with a curt nod of her head before walking out onto the sidewalk. The mid-morning sun blazed, blinding her momentarily, and she turned unseeing toward the tavern not knowing exactly what her plan was. Anger and excitement made her muscles tingle, and her pace quickened as her eyes adjusted to the light. This isn't supposed to happen like this, she thought. Damn, what am I getting myself into here? Oh shit, Sy, calm yourself down. Breathe, already. Her thoughts whirled, and she slowed her pace slightly, breathing deeply and raising her eyes to look around her.
A disheveled figure at the base of a tree stood staggeringly as she passed, rubbing his eyes. That looks like Bud, her brain told her, the first coherent thought since leaving the hotel room, and immediately she felt the anger intensify. He limped toward her, obviously stiff from the night before, brushing dust and errant blades of grass off his jacket. She gritted her teeth thinking, Ok, Sy, hold on a minute here. He's just woke up, and you're wound a bit tight right now. Just breathe. He smiled at her, mistaking her grimace for a smile, and held his hand up in a peaceful gesture.
"Morning, doll." He stopped barely two feet from her with a guilty look on his face. She knew he could see the twitch of her jaw as she ground her teeth together, trying to kerb her anger at him, trying to control what was turning into quite an emotional outburst, and she bared her teeth in the closest thing to a grin she could muster. "I... ah... wanted to thank you for... ah... helping last night with Michelle. I... it--" His words were abruptly cut off as her fist connected with his jaw, and she felt the ring on her middle finger torque out of round as it connected with the hardest bone in the human body. Bud staggered back, raising his hand to his face and bringing it back bloodied, and looked at her with surprise widened eyes.
"Don't even think about it, White," Syrena growled. "You had no right, no fucking call there at all to do what you did last night, so don't you come crying to me telling me how fucking sorry you are. You haven't even begun to be sorry." At that, she turned on her heel and continued striding toward the tavern, leaving Bud standing beside the walkway watching her confident stride with a look of sheer astonishment on his face.
Syrena entered the tavern, shoving the door open a little harder than she had intended, causing it to crash against the wall and bounce back forcefully. She pushed it again as it came back to her, stopping for a moment to let her eyes adjust to the cool darkness of the tavern. Scanning the room and finding it empty except for the android bartender who kept the bar when nobody else was around, she patted her pockets, realizing that her packet of cigarettes were still up in the room. She let out a heavy sigh, letting it run through her tense vocal cords in a low, almost feral, growl. The bartender looked at her with a permanently insipid expression on his face, and she forced the corners of her mouth up in what might be considered a smile. "Give me the biggest diet soda you've got, easy on the ice, and a packet of American Spirit cigarettes, would ya?"
"Right away, pardner," the mock drawl grated on her nerves, and she was thankful that he didn't speak more.
"Put it on my tab, eh," she said, taking the soda and cigarettes to a dark booth in the back and sitting so she could watch the door and the stairway. She tore the packet of smokes open and pulled one out, gripping it between her lips and lighting it with the guttering flame of the candle that sat on the table. The smoke curled up toward the ceiling, weaving its way along the woodwork before fading into nothingness, and she tilted her head back against the wall to watch. Filling her lungs with acrid smoke, she finally started to relax a little, and she thought about what had happened. What am I doing? I know I'm setting myself up for a fall here, so I take it out on Bud? Damn, what is with me today? She took another drag of her cigarette and leaned forward to rest her chin on her clenched fists on the table, letting the smoke burn her eyes until they watered.
Bud was there for me, when the hell was that? Was that only last night? Too much, has it only been a few hours? Hando... oh, Hando, what am I going to do with you? She leaned back and felt the damage she had done to her ring. The lion was pressed back into the flesh of her finger, and it didn't move when she tried to twist it off. Shit, I hit him hard, she told herself silently. I'll probably have to get this cut off my damn finger now. She felt the anger begin to return, but she held it in check with a long drag of her cigarette, forcing herself to take a deep breath. She let it out slowly, breathing through her nose, feeling the smoke burn her nasal passages and welcoming the tingling feeling as the nicotene ran through her veins. Her jaw had begun to ache, and she realized that she still had her teeth clamped together. The muscles in her face slackened, and she heard the right joint of her jaw pop loudly. Her knuckles ached, the throbbing intensified by the pressure of her ring smashed on her finger, and she noticed that the knuckle above her ring was sliced open slightly. A rivulet of blood had made its way down the back of her hand nearly to her wrist; she laughed darkly at the lack of pain from the injury and rubbed it harshly on the leg of her jeans, not caring about how difficult it was to remove blood stains.
She finished one cigarette and lit another with the butt end, chain smoking steadily between sips of her soda. The door to the tavern opened, casting light from outside in a square on the floor, silhouetting the stocky figure of Bud, and she watched him scan the room. His eyes fell on her, and he slowly made his way to her booth. He stood at the end of the table, ran the back of his hand across the gash on his jaw, smearing a red gout of blood across his chin, then began to speak tentatively. "Sy? I... may I sit?" She nodded silently, waving her hand minutely toward the bench across from her. "Thanks. I, well, I don't know what to say except I deserved that. You pack quite the punch there, doll," his voice attempted drollness, and the corners of his mouth twitched up in a grin. Syrena watched him, not saying a word but maintaining eye contact, and expelled her breath forcefully through her nose in what was almost a snort. "Now, I know you're pissed, and I have a pretty good idea why. I'm not going to try to apologize--you might hit me again, and I don't think I can handle that right now," he chuckled.
Syrena fought the smile that threatened, her mood lightening exponentially after a couple of butts and a good dose of caffiene, and lost. She chuckled and dropped her eyes to the table, watching the ember of her cigarette emit a thin line of smoke toward the ceiling. "I don't think I could handle it again either, Bud. You've got a hell of a hard head, you know that?" She raised her eyes to look at him again, letting her vision trace over the line of his jaw, now bruising and bloodied, and the strong line of his nose to gaze into his eyes. Such captivating eyes, strong lines, she thought and sighed softly.
"So I've been told," he smiled and gestured at her near empty glass. "Can I buy you another?"
"Sure, thanks, Bud. Diet soda." He left the table, returning with two glasses of soda, and slid into the booth again. "So you spent the night outside, eh?"
"Yeah, I wasn't sure if I could handle it back in here again. I... well, I promised John I'd steer clear of the place for a bit. I guess the coast is clear now," his eyes traced over the tavern again. Their booth was the only one occupied. "Besides, I deserved a night of misery after... shit, suffice it to say that I deserved everything I got. Including this," he finished, rubbing his fingers lightly over the now congealing blood on his jaw.
"That's an understatement, Bud, and you damn well know it. She almost died, you know, she almost fucking died," Syrena's voice dropped to a hiss, and she leaned back to take a deep drag of her cigarette, forcing herself to relax, exhaling the smoke forcefully into Bud's face. "But she's okay now. She's okay, and that's all that matters. You just stay clear of her and Colin for a while, and if you run into them, you'd bloody well better play nice."
"Oh, don't you worry, doll. I'll play so nice they won't even know what hit 'em." He smiled and leaned back in the booth, resting his arm on the back of the bench seat. "Now, you look like you've had a night from hell, no offence intended. Is Hando okay now?"
"Hrmph," she snorted. "I guess you could say that."
"That doesn't sound too convincing, doll. Wanna elaborate?"
"Maybe later, Bud. Right now, I just need to think." She lit another cigarette and looked at the ceiling for a while, trying to gather her thoughts.
"I understand, Sy, but if you need me for anything.... well, as long as it's not a punching bag," he chuckled.
Syrena laughed. "Sure thing, Bud. Just don't catch me at a bad time, eh? I wear my temper on my sleeve, but you just didn't recognize it." She made a fist, wincing slightly now that the slash on her knuckle was beginning to regain feeling, and held it up. "See, this is what my temper does to me."
He looked at the line of blood down the back of her hand and noted that her ring was smashed deeply into the flesh of her finger. "That looks like it hurts."
"Yeah, it does, but pain's a wonderful distraction from a temper tantrum, as I'm sure you know. I'm going to have to get this ring cut off, though, and I'm not looking forward to that at all."
Bud nodded, "There's a jeweller down the road here. I could pull some strings, and it won't cost you anything."
Syrena nodded her head graciously, finally feeling some of the tension from the morning's events lifting in light of a new task. "That would be great, Bud." She finished her drink, snubbed the butt of her cigarette in the ashtray and slid to stand up. "I think I'll head over there now. You wanna tag along?" He nodded and joined her as they left the tavern, once again walking into the bright light of the mid-morning sun.
Syrena lit another cigarette as the door of the tavern closed behind them, and Bud looked at her. "You know you smoke too much," he stated soberly.
She chuckled, "Yeah, you think I don't know that? Right now it's a stress reaction. I'll lay off a bit once I'm feeling a little more... balanced, I guess." He nodded in acquiescence, and they walked in silence together down the street. She could feel his eyes upon her, and she knew he wanted to ask her what was wrong--she was glad he didn't, because she couldn't honestly define it. Her mind turned to Hando, her tongue running subconsciously across her lower lip, and she pondered the situation. I know I'm setting myself up here. Tumbling into the abyss once again, Sy, why do you do this to yourself? Why can't I distance myself? What is it in me that needs to fix everything?
Her thoughts were interrupted by Bud's hand on her shoulder. "Hey, are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. Why?"
"I was just saying that we're here," he said, pointing at the storefront before them. "You were in another world."
"Yeah, sorry. I'm a bit distracted," she smiled wanly and allowed him to direct her into the jeweller, taking comfort in the weight of his hand on her shoulder. The jeweller was able to cut the ring off her finger and told her he would be able to resolder it without a problem. Bud pulled his strings, but they weren't very strong strings, and he ended up paying for the repair out of his own pocket saying it was only fair in spite of Syrena's protests. The ring had cut into the flesh of her finger, leaving a half-moon slice across the back that made it difficult for her to clench her fist. She chuckled at that, showing it to Bud, "At least I won't be up for hitting anyone else, eh?" He smiled and raised his eyebrow as if he wasn't too sure of that, and she grinned at him.
"This should be ready by tomorrow, Ma'am," the jeweller said indicating the ring.
"Great, thanks," Syrena replied, and she and Bud walked back out into the sunlight. They headed back toward the tavern, walking once again in silence until they reached the door. She lit another cigarette and reoccupied her seat in the back booth, smoking wordlessly.
"Well, doll, thanks for not staying mad at me," Bud started, gratitude and relief in his eyes. "I think I need to get out of these clothes and into something clean before I get too rank," he grinned. "Like I said, though, you need anything, you just call me, okay?"
"Yeah, Bud, thanks. And you better behave yourself, or you'll be getting the punching bag treatment again, guaranteed," she laughed as she said it, but she knew he was aware of the seriousness her statement. She watched his retreating back as he tromped across the room to the foot of the stairs. He shrugged out of his jacket and slung it over his shoulder, his muscles playing against the snug fabric of his shirt, and turned to give her one last look before climbing the stairs. She smiled and nodded an acknowledgement to him before lowering her eyes to the table and taking another drag of her cigarette. She turned her back to the wall and stretched her legs out across the padded bench, tapping the toe of her boot against the edge of the table and gazing once again at the ceiling.
I need to come to terms with the situation here, she told herself, closing her eyes. What is Hando really feeling? For that matter, what the hell am I really feeling? Is this really what's supposed to be happening? And what's going to happen when it's all over, when I've got to go back to the real world? Too damn many questions to answer, she admonished herself silently taking a deep breath and snubbing the butt in the ashtray. Purely by habit, she reached for the packet and pulled out another cigarette, lighting it without opening her eyes. She sat smoking for some time, lighting one after another until the ashtray was nearly filled, her mind racing with unanswered questions. Maybe I should just let it play out here, take its course. If I get myself hurt, so be it, not like it's anything I'm not used to, she sighed. Her mind was occupied with such deprecating thoughts, so she didn't notice Hando standing at the end of the table and jumped forcefully, dropping her cigarette in her lap, when he touched her boot and shook it gently.
A resounding crack sounded through the empty tavern as Syrena's knee made contact with the underside of the table, and it was followed by a yelp of pain. She scrambled to retrieve her burning cigarette before it seared a hole through her jeans and into her thigh. Within seconds, she was standing at the end of the table facing Hando, glaring at him from underneath lowered eyelids. He stepped back, recognizing the anger in her eyes, and held up his hands, "Whoa there, love."
She relaxed her face into a smile, realizing that she wasn't really mad anymore. "Damn, Hando, you just scared the last beejezus out of me," she laughed, placing her hand on his shoulder and shaking her head at the hilarity of the moment. She looked into his eyes and felt her heart begin to pound. Not allowing her emotions to crumble at the curious expression in his green eyes, she chucked him on the shoulder jovially, "Don't sneak up on me like that, hon. You're liable to give me a coronary."
He smiled uncertainly. "I tri... couldn't get your attention, Sy. I... ah... I wanted to... hell, are you still mad?"
"Nah, not too terribly mad. I was, though." Though more at myself than at you, love, she left the thought unvoiced, hoping he couldn't see it in her eyes, and smiled at him. Her hand still rested on his shoulder, and she could feel the warmth of his body through the thin cotton of his t-shirt. She let her eyes wander to where her hand rested, finding her fingers twitching slightly of their own accord, wanting to trace the dark line of his tattoo up the side of his neck, then pulled her hand back unconsciously looking at the thin line of blood that still marred her knuckles.
Hando reached out an took her hand gently in his, holding it as though it were porcelain and looking at the state her knuckles were in and tracing a line down to her wrist. "What happened, love?" He raised his eyes to gaze into hers worriedly.
She pulled her hand away abruptly, flinching from his faint touch and feeling the blood rush to her head in a blush. "Nothing, Hando. Just a misunderstanding."
"A misunderstanding?" Hando stepped forward and took her chin in his hand, forcing her to look him in the eyes; his eyes burned with pent up anger as he asked, "Who did this?"
"Hando, don't worry about it. I started it, and I finished it. Everything is fine now," she explained carefully, surprised by his reaction.
"Bloody hell, Sy, I was worried about you. I couldn't find you anywhere, and here you are, smoking like a bloody chimney with your hand all cut to hell." His eyes brightened in the dim light, and he reached to enfold her within his strong arms. She felt him draw in a deep halting breath and let it out slowly, pressing his lips against her forehead and running his hands across the woven wool of her sweater. He took another deep breath and pulled her closer to him, running his fingers through her hair and holding her to his chest. "I... you...," he whispered, faltering as he struggled for the words.
She pushed back from him, placing one hand on his shoulder and the other against his cheek, and met his eyes. "It's okay, Hando," she smiled. "We've got a lot of stuff to talk about, so just take your time. I think we've both got a bit of explaining to do...," her voice trailed off for a moment as she traced the line of his cheekbone with her thumb. "I say we should head out for the day, what do you think?" He closed his eyes and leaned into her touch, nodding silently. "Right, let's see what we can get together for a sack lunch," she let her hand drop slowly from his face, letting her fingers linger against the stubble there and turned to leave the tavern. He reached out as she walked away, taking her hand in his and entwining his fingers in hers. Hand in hand they walked out of the tavern and into the blinding mid-morning sun.
