Chapter IX

Things are fairly calm for now, but Rafe reveals that things aren't going so well... Tensions in Bird Hollow have just increased.

Chapter IX

Last Days of Peace

 

“If today was your last day, and tomorrow was too late

Could you say goodbye to yesterday?”

-        If Today Was Your Last Day by Nickelback

 

The next week was absolutely murder.

          Rafe was completely serious when he told me that he’d be training me. At first, when he’d told me, I’d assumed it was just something he said to convince me to stay. I hadn’t expected him to be completely serious.

          I crashed into the bed, groaning in slight pain as my muscles gave way to finally being able relax after four straight hours of running the length of the Hollow. I apparently didn’t have enough stamina or endurance. Sinking into the feather mattress, I sighed contentedly. Rafe made an amused male noise as he went about peeling off the sweat-soaked shirt he wore. Necessary to be careful of my aching muscles, I didn’t try to roll over too fast but I did roll. Tiredly, my eyes fluttered shut.

          While I wanted to believe he was so sweaty because the work out tired him as much as it had me, I knew it was due to being high up in the trees, in the middle of summer. The weather had been humid for days. I let my eyes flitter open for a moment and I blushed slightly at the view.

          The shirt he wore was literally clinging to him, and the wound on his arm was still sensitive to the touch �" so I was watching him carefully peel the shirt away from the skin. Taut powerful muscles moved under the skin slowly, glistening with the sweat of today’s run. I became fixated with watching his body move. There was so much power carefully leashed in those muscles. I could see, after what happened at the bonfire, how easily he might rip someone apart. The broad expanse of sinewy iron, the raw strength just waiting to spring out, and the idea of how much control it took to be as gentle as he had been with me the other night-

          I was pulled from my thoughts by the teasing question, “I’m sorry, did you see something you like?”

          Realizing that I’d been staring, I blinked rapidly and sleepily shook my head. “I started to doze a bit; I’m sorry.”

          “It’s alright,” he said softly, seeing that I really was groggy. I chalked up my own tiredness to my staring. Why would I be attracted to Rafe anyway? This was still only temporary. Getting attached or becoming attracted to him would only complicate things later on, when I leave. I started to let myself slip into sleep but a firm hand smacked my rear and I shot up, glaring. He wasn’t bothered by this as he said, “Don’t sleep yet. You’ll be up all night. Go take a hot bath.”

          Groaning in protest, I rolled over and pulled the pillow over my head, not caring about whether I’d sleep tonight. I just wanted to sleep right now. I heard him sigh but I said, almost grinning, “I’ll sleep like the dead if you’d just leave me be!”

          That wasn’t happening. I heard him move toward the bed, and I gripped the sheets as he started gripping me around the waist to pull me off the bed. My legs were completely exhausted, but my arms had some strength left. I had a tight enough grip that I was pulling the mattress up with me. He laughed at that, and started tickling my sides with his fingertips. At first, I managed to not make a sound but then my body broke out in a spasm and I began giggling. “Stop that, Rafe!”

          “Get out of bed!” I kept my grip, shaking my head as I continued my uncontrollable and very girlish giggles. In an attempt to make him stop tickling me, I began to wiggle around, trying to get away from him. He pinned me, however, and continued to tickle. I used my hands to push against his bare chest but that didn’t do anything, as he was much stronger than I was. Not sure what I was hoping to do, I wrapped my legs around his waist and forced my weight to the side.

          I let out a ‘woo’ of success when he went crashing to the floor. Lying out on the bed, I held my stomach and laughed until I saw that he was climbing back up to get me. A girly squeal emitted from my mouth as I started scooting away from him as he reached for my ankle. I just managed to get out of his reach when the sheets slipped under my hand, and to save myself, my leg shot out to keep some balance. This gave him the chance he needed to grab me by the ankle and pull me in toward him.

          Laughing fitfully, I flailed about helplessly, knowing that he was going to pin and effectively tickle me to death. “Rafe,” I said breathlessly, “stop it!”

          That didn’t stop him either, but rather made us both laugh harder. His hand gripped both of my wrists (making me feel like this tiny thing) while his other hand’s fingertips rapidly brushed the skin of my belly. Since my shirt had ridden up a bit, that only made his tickling more effective and I was laughing uproariously. “Are you going to get out of bed?”

          “Never,” I exclaimed through all the laughter. This doubled his assault of tickling. “You won’t win!”

          “We’ll see about that,” he replied coolly. I started kicking my legs to get away from him, which was working until he froze with a groan of pain.

          Instantly apologetic, I asked worriedly, “Did I get you in the stones?”

          He was still on top of me, his head at my shoulder, and he seemed unwilling to move to look me in the face. I could feel him nod his head though, saying in a strained voice, “You just accidentally kneed me, is all.” I tried to move to help him but he put a hand on my shoulder and said, “Just don’t move for a minute while I get my breath back.”

          “Relax your body, it’ll hurt less.” Hesitantly, he did relax. He had a knee between my legs to keep his lower body from moving, his other leg on the opposite side of my left leg. He had his head against his forearm, making his torso curl so that he wasn’t lying heavily on me. That put his head right next to mine. I felt his breath in my ear, and I closed my eyes to think of other things.

          After a few minutes, his deep voice rumbled in my ear, “Alright, I think I’m good.” The sudden speech surprised me and I had to control my body in order not to jump a bit. He slowly moved off of me, saying, “I think that’s enough horseplay for today.”

          “I’m really sorry,” I said in a small voice.

          He smiled good naturedly at me though, saying, “It’s actually my own fault for pinning you like that. I didn’t leave you much choice but to start kicking.”

          Seeing that he wasn’t angry, I smiled hesitantly. “It was fun though.”

          Rafe stopped and smiled a bit more, nodding in agreement. “It definitely was entertaining. I don’t think you’ll be sleeping now, either.”

          It took a moment to realize that I was fully awake now, tired muscles and all. The tickling hadn’t made me feel any less sore but it did kick out the fatigue. I just shrugged and scooted off the bed, stretching a bit. “I suppose not.” I paused before saying, not thinking, “We should really go hop in a hot bath now.”

          We were both quiet a moment as I realized how that sounded and I blushed fiercely. Clearing his throat, he asked lightly, “Would you like to go first, or shall I?”

          I grabbed my bag and headed for the door without a word, merely saying quickly, “I’ll be back a bit later.”

          As I slammed the door shut behind me, crossed the small living room, and went out the front door, I heaved a sigh of relief. Then, trying to put the thought out of my head, I went.

 

          I had to walk back (a thankfully short trip) to the hut in a robe, since I realized that I’d left my clothes in the bottom dresser drawer so that I wouldn’t have to constantly go in my bag. I slipped in the door, and shed the robe, quickly donning the towel I’d brought back. The robe was made of an itchy material and I didn’t like it scratching at my skin. I had a smaller towel that I was using to dry out my hair as I walked into the bedroom, crouching down by the dresser to search through my clothes.

          “You like walking around in a towel after your baths,” Rafe said from the bed behind me.

          I yelped, turning to face him and clutching the towel at my chest, I said, “You could have reminded me that you were in here!”

          He just laughed and I saw his eyes quickly assess my current state. “I might be wrong about the running,” he commented. “You look like you have a fair amount of muscle in your legs already.”

          The comment only served to make me blush furiously and turn back to getting my clothes. “Could you refrain from staring at me?”

          Before he spoke, I suddenly became aware of the thick smell of alcohol. Looking around, I searched for the gin. There were three bottles sitting at his feet. “It’s wrong not to acknowledge a pretty woman,” he said cheerily.

          Shaking my head, I asked, “Why are you drunk?”

          “I am not drunk,” he said standing up. I realized, watching him stand stock still, that he had to have an amazing capacity for alcohol. “I’m just tipsy.”

          I sighed, ignoring my state of semi-undress as I said, “Why, then, are you getting tipsy?”

          “Just had a wonderful chat with Spike,” he told me, bitter now. My brow furrowed in concern as he told me, “The men have decided that an undercover type of mission isn’t the way to solve this mess.” I was confused, and he saw it, so he went on. “Since we’ve been here, I have been trying to push the men to see the reason in infiltrating the Barrack quietly and unseen. We could do what needs to be done �" and be finished. It’s not a matter of the Barrack itself.”

          “What’s the problem?”

          “The problem, Rose, is that Barrack Nine is run by the one and only Luther Rathbull.” The flat look he gave me spoke volumes of disgust and irritation. “That man is a sick twist and getting rid of him is the only way to rid Meir of the terrorizing. Any kind of full-frontal assault will lead to a very high body count and an intensely pissed off Captain.”

          “Why won’t they agree to the other idea?”

          “They have refused it because Erin,” he said through gritted teeth, “has invoked months of rage that I just spent two weeks thawing out.” His eyes were blazing as he said, “That dick has no idea what he’s done. These people will die like crops in a frost. They stand no chance.”

          Sadly, I asked, “What are you going to do?”

          “I don’t know!” He was infuriated, understandably, so I forgave the tone he said it in. Rafe, realizing he’d snapped at me, sighed and said, “I’m sorry, I am, I’m just… lost.”

          I sat on the bed, ignoring my wet hair or the fact that I still hadn’t bothered to get dressed. I patted the place next to me and he sank into it as I said, “How can I help?”

          Shaking his head and running a hand through his black hair, he muttered softly, “I’m more than positive that there’s nothing either of us can do, Rose, except wait for disaster.”

          “There must be something,” I insisted.

          He was quiet a moment before saying with a sliver of hope, “I might at least be able to convince Spike to move the women and children to Sector Two. It’s the hardest to find, because those trees move back into the swamps.”

          Glad that there was something, I touched his arm with a tiny smile. “That’s at least something.”

          A soft groan of anger escaped him as he said, “If only I could get Spike or John to listen to me, I might have a chance of stopping this.”

          An idea clicked in my brain. “John might listen if I talk to him,” I suggested. “If you want, I’ll go with you and help you convince John to plead with Spike.”

          He seemed to consider the idea before asking, “Do you really think you could get him to listen? John and Spike have been watching these people suffer for months. They’re intensely angry.”

          I held his eyes for a moment before saying in a whisper, “We have to at least try, don’t we?”

          He nodded slowly, reaching down and grabbing the gin bottle. I grabbed his wrist to stop him from drinking. He looked at me calmly and said, “Either you’re going to let me drown my frustrations in gin,” he began, “Or maybe you’ll oblige me to drown it in you?”

          I released him so fast that he actually laughed a bit. Glaring a bit, I said, “That’s a mean thing to say.”

          “I’ve never claimed to be nice, sweetheart.” He took a sip as he added, “Believe me, I only get meaner.”

          Watching him down the gin, I said, “I don’t believe that, actually. I don’t believe it for a minute.” He looked at me questioningly but I just shook my head and muttered, “Drink your gin.”

 

          That night, I slept fitfully. After waking for the seventeenth time, I gave up on the effort and decided to stare at the wall. Rafe was asleep behind me. I could hear the even breathing and feel the slight movement of the quilt as he exhaled. It was after five minutes of listening to him breathe that I carefully slipped from the bed.

          I’d taken to wearing a white night gown with straps for the shoulders that fell to my mid-thigh, as it was much too hot be sleeping in anything else. I didn’t tell Rafe that I slept naked underneath, deciding that was best. Glancing at the bed, I saw that he was still breathing evenly. His back was to me, so I didn’t know for sure if he was awake but I didn’t want to wait to find out.

          I slipped on one of his shirts, merely because it was large and made me feel a little less naked with the way it hung off me. Sighing, I muttered a curse for being so small compared to him. I hated feeling tiny. The shirt was also an extra layer of warmth, though it smelled of a faint male musk, wood-smoke, and something I related strictly to Rafe though I couldn’t name it. It also vexed me that his shirt smelled like smoke, but he’d never pulled a pipe out once in the past month.

          As I went to the small kitchen, I realized that it had been a month. There was the first week I spent at his home, the second week traveling, the first week here, and then the past week training. The thought surprised me. In my seven-month-stay in this country, I’d never stayed in once place �" or with one person �" longer than a week. Kind families gave me a small place for a few days and then I’d move on.

          The grandfather clock’s gong-noise scared me and I looked at it, seeing that it was three in the morning. Sighing, I settled on the fact that I wasn’t sleeping any more tonight and headed for the coffee beans.

          My coffee was cooling with a bit of milk and sugar in it as I went about cooking up a couple of the eggs kept in the small icebox. I imagined the ice melted by the end of the day in this heat, but I admired the effort to keep food lasting a bit longer. I went to the door when I heard a swift knock only to find a package of freshly cut bacon and some sausages. I smiled, seeing the note from John that read, “Figured you might like something hot to eat �" J.”

          I looked for him, but saw no one by the time I looked up. Shrugging, I took the food inside and made a plate. Rafe was in the kitchen, eyeing my cooking when I came back. I smiled again. “Did you sleep well?”

          “You obviously didn’t,” he replied. I just shrugged and started making him a plate. He poured himself a cup of coffee, sipped, and said, “You’re not a bad cook. Where did you learn?”

          “I taught myself growing up,” I told him. My aunt had been willing to take me in, but she was by no means a loving relative. She resented that I’d been dropped on her doorstep when my parents came up dead. I took care of myself from the time I was able; which by my aunt’s reckoning, had been the age of four.

          “You’re good at it,” he complimented as he bit into the bacon. I just gave a small smile and went about eating my own meal. It took him a moment to ask, “Is that my shirt?”

          “It’s cold, alright? Your clothes are thicker than mine, and I’m running around in a shift,” I told him, giggling over my coffee.

          He shook his head, chuckling over his own mug. “It’s fine, actually. You kept waking me up with all your shivering and tossing.”

          “I guess that means you didn’t sleep well,” I said guiltily.

          “Actually, I only woke up, fully, when you got out of bed. At first, I thought you’d just shifted your weight oddly or something, but when I rolled over, you were gone.” He sipped from his mug as he told me, “I can ignore tossing and shivering if I really want to keep sleeping.”

          Teasing lightly, I asked, “Oh, were you worried?”

          “Yes,” he answered casually as he took another bite of food. He didn’t realize that this reply had shocked me until he saw me staring at him, obviously both surprised and confused. Awkwardly, he said, “What?”

          “You worried about me,” I said stupidly.

          “Rose, we may not know each other extremely well and we might be having a few trust issues, but I meant it. We are friends. Waking up to find your friends missing in the middle of the night is a bit concerning,” he replied whilst polishing off the last of his breakfast.

          It took a moment for it to sink in and for me to start smiling like a complete dolt, but I did. He saw it, started to speak (thankfully after he politely swallowed his food), but I stopped him by closing the two foot gap and placing a feather-light kiss on his cheek. “Thank you,” I said softly. I didn’t let him answer because I was out of the room, going to get dressed for the day.

         

          A bit later, I was punching the makeshift person that Rafe had erected so I could get used to the recoil of punching a man. In the midst of my practicing, I heard him speak behind me, “You’re a little off in your stance.”

          I turned to him, asking, “What am I doing wrong?”

 

         He gestured that I turn back to the dummy and I did, sensing him move in behind me. “Get into stance,” he said softly. He was so close that his breath tickled my ear and I felt the warmth of his body so close behind me. I swallowed and focused on what he was saying, and tried to ignore everything else. I had my fists up close to my face and he reached around me gently, taking my wrists in a soft grip as he lowered them slightly, telling me in a calm voice, “You’re not in a ring fighting a one-on-one match. More than likely, you’re fighting several men at once. You have to be ready for side-attacks. If your fists are up this high, you leave your stomach and ribs open.”

          “If they’re just punching, is that so bad?”

          “Never assume they won’t have a hidden blade,” he spoke firmly. To illustrate the point, he flicked a wrist and a blade came out of what I assumed were just bracers. “A stab wound to the arm will hurt for a few weeks. A stab wound to the torso might kill you. Never leave that kind of opening.”

          I nodded, apologizing, “I’m sorry.”

          The soft rumble of his laugh echoed in my ear as he said, “Don’t apologize for getting it wrong, Rose. You’re still learning. It’ll be awhile yet before I’ll expect you to know these things.” His hands were still gently gripping my wrists and as he released me, he put them on my shoulders and encouraged, “You’ll get it.”    

          Looking at him, I asked, “Was Durza this good with you?”

          “No,” he replied easily. “Durza taught me once. If I had to be taught again, it was in a sparring match. He was a bit cruel.”

          “That’s terrible. You were just a boy, weren’t you?”

          “Yes, but I was a boy who asked to be taught to be the best. To be the best, I had to be tough.” He shrugged. “I eventually thanked him.” I started to shake my head and protest but he stopped me. “Rose, it’s really not a big deal. For all the a*s-kicking I got from him, he’s the only man who was ever willing to be a father to me.”

          “Did you not ever know your parents?”

          He seemed to be surprised that I didn’t know, but answered anyway, “I was an orphan, Rose. Raphael is a name I gave myself �" I got it from some rich man’s dog,” he said chuckling lightly. “I’ve never known who I am or where I come from.”

          Sadly, I whispered, “It’s not as easy as everyone thinks, is it? To go on, never knowing where you come from or who you were. Only having what you remember to go off of… it’s not as easy to cope with as people think.”

          He didn’t answer for a minute before asking, “How old were you?” He didn’t have to specify for me to know he was asking when my parents died.

          “Six months old,” I said in a tiny voice.

          That seemed to confirm something for him, but then he told me with that stone-I-don’t-want-people-to-see-face, “No, it’s not easy.”

          Then he left. 

Author's Note

WRITERSCAFE REPLACES - WITH " KTHNXBAI