Saying Yes: Part 6
by Siarade
See standard disclaimers in part one.
Because I apparently can't write a scene in this story where Nate and Dom stay standing up, be warned of some adult content ahead. Nothing explicit but for adults.
Black and enduring separation
I share equally with you.
Why weep? Give me your hand,
Promise me you will come again.
You and I are like high Mountains and we can't move closer.
Just send me word
At midnight sometime through the stars."In Dream" - Anna Ahkmatova
His weight leaned into the hard turn, pulling him sharp around the corner; he twisted the handle harder to catch up. Domino, glossy black helmet obscuring her entire face, let out a cowboy whoop, and roared ahead of him. The road went straight and they sped up, until were doing at least 90 down the highway, and he zagged behind her.
When he'd shown her the matched set of Harleys, her cheeks went pink. He knew it'd been a good 10 years since she'd had a turn on a bike as nice as this. She swung her leg over the black leather seat and straddled the beast, and as she settled, groaned in a low, sexy way he hadn't heard her do for anybody but him.
"No rental cars," he said, grinning, and she crooked a finger at him. With his helmet under his arm, slicked out in black gear, he obeyed and walked over; Domino immediately grabbed a fistful of his shirt and hauled his face to hers, kissing him hard. The helmet clattered on the ground.
"Thank you," she whispered after letting him go, then roared away. It took him two miles to catch her.
The drive to Byron Bay took a few hours but it felt like minutes; when they stopped, Dom pulled off her helmet and gave him a breathless grin, so wide and appealing he had to kiss her for it.
"How'd you find this place?"
"G.W., actually. Friend of his actually comes here couple times a year for vacations, but he's in Moldava for the next few months. Guess he owed G.W. one."
"And G.W. owes you one," she figured; he nodded. They walked up the stone staircase to the front door.
He went for the door, but she paused, turning to look beyond the porch.
"Jesus, everything's so _green_." She murmured, setting her hands on the railing. He thought about reaching down the link and whispering in her mind, some wordless endearment, and remembered the interference, wondering if it was still there, lacking the courage to find out.
A channel of trees marked the driveway, green and enormous. Even from the house you could hear the sound of running water. In some ways, it was like home; no car noise, the indecipherable living hum that kept the quiet from being eerie. Nate came alongside her, glancing in the direction of her gaze and then settling his eyes on her face.
"You look better already." He said, and she smiled darkly.
"So I looked bad before?"
"Yeah. Like shit."
"At least I improved. It took fourteen hours of sleep, but I look better. You still look like shit."
He shrugged. "Jet lag."
"Mm-hmm," she arched a brow, turning and leaning a hip on the railing. "I had some pretty fucked up dreams last night. Dark....hard to see through. Thought maybe you had something to do with that."
"I didn't sleep much. Don't see how it could be my fault." He tipped his head; the line of his jaw seemed to harden and she scowled.
"Okay. Go take a nap, then." She reached out, running a gloved finger along his jaw, as if that would be enough to smooth it out. "Thank you, for the bike."
He smiled, and she still had to go on her tiptoes despite her spiked heel boots, but she kissed him with her arms around his neck; their leather creaked.
"I promised. No rental cars."
Sliding his arms around her waist, he walked her backwards to the house, TKing the door open and then shut behind them, backing her up to the mahogany staircase, backing her up kissing her until she just pulled him down, they were on the middle step and his knees were sharp on the wood. Eventually they wound up at the top, and wiggled out of their leather, and forgot everything.
Her fingers made impressions on his skin, little pale circles that faded almost instantly; she made a fast row of them along his sculpted stomach. "So, what are we going to do tonight?"
He lifted his head and gave her a crooked smile, and she laughed outright. "Two weeks of this, right?"
"Sure," he answered, flopping his head back on the carpet to stare at the ceiling. "All the chocolate and alcohol it takes to keep you satisfied for two weeks."
Grinning, Domino rolled and put her chin on his collar bone, watching the line of his jaw - much better. He lowered his eyes to look at her through his lashes, and yawned, reaching over to touch her hair with his fingers.
"It's a good thing this place isn't all wood floors." He murmured. "My knees couldn't take it."
She sighed wistfully. "There is a lot of wood furniture, though. Thank God I have tougher knees."
He woke up a few hours later at pretty much the same spot, feeling almost good. She did make him forget - she always could. But she had left him alone at the top of the stairs, and he blinked with that knowledge. Guilt rose up in his throat, and he swallowed it back, sitting up and draping his hands over his knees. After the taste of bile subsided he got up and eventually wandered into the bedroom, discovering that Dom had unpacked for them - as much as she usually did, anyway. His stuff was thrown in one drawer and hers in another. The heat was a monster, and he regretted the idea of clothes at all, but reluctantly pulled on a pair of loose, long khaki shorts and decided to go in search of Domino.
He found her, probably half a mile away, wearing a steel-silver blue bikini top and navy basketball shorts, eyes behind sunglasses. She stood beneath a canopy of trees just beyond a clearing, this ocean of green. The trees were peeling out white flowers and the sky had just ripened blue.
She didn't see him yet; he came to the top of the clearing and walked down the slope of the hill at an easy pace, just watching her. Her skin almost glared under the sun - she blazed, full of light, and he felt more in love with her than ever.
His echo - her name - scared hundreds of birds into flight, and Dom turned her head.
Something like a shadow passed over the sky, as if he had lost the hours between now and when the sun would set, and the setting was already halfway done. She was watching him, unexpressively. The sun lightninged across her glasses, changing her colors for a blink instant.
His stomach immediately clenched, and it was sheer force of will to fight the nausea, the weakness uncoiling inside him again; he had fought worse things, every worse thing to fight, and this couldn't possibly beat him.
Domino was suddenly beside him - Dom, not her - and he kept his feet despite the threats to lose them.
"Nate?" Calm, mostly unafraid. "See a ghost or something?"
Shaking his head, he let her lead him over to the shade, where she had set up something like a beer picnic. "Beautiful out here," she murmured, the grass making a swishing sound as she sat down. He ended up beside her, reaching for one of the beers and taking a long drink. Eventually he stretched out on the grass, crossing an ankle over the other, managing to get use of Dom's leg as a pillow. They finished the beer; Dom made a blessedly quick trip for more.
"So, are you strong when you're drunk?" She asked idly, flexing her quad to bounce his head on her leg.
"As strong as I am anyway, at least. Not stronger, but I'm not a wimpy drunk."
"Yeah right. I bet I could arm wrestle you and win."
He snorted. "Left or right?"
Rolling her eyes, Dom squeezed the fingers of his right hand. "Although, all it would take is a magnet and I'd kick your ass left, too."
"Hrmph." He disagreed, rolling onto his stomach. "Come on."
"All right." Soon she was facing him, chest to the ground. They gripped hands and made their elbows flat on the earth.
"One, two..." she smiled brightly at him, "three, four....let's have a thumb war."
"What?"
"Hah! I win." Her thumb was squeezing his, pinning it to his hand.
"What the hell was that?"
Domino rolled onto her back again, laughing. "Don't tell me you've never thumb wrestled before, Nate."
"Thumb wrestle? I thought we were arm wrestling."
She shook her head with mock derision. "I can't believe that 2000 years from now the art of thumb wrestling has been forgotten. What a shame."
He army crawled over to her in a flash, twisted and had her extended above him like a straight bar.
"Nate!"
"I told you I wasn't a wimpy drunk," he said, ignoring her wiggles as he bench pressed her a few times and then let her slide onto his stomach. Fortunately, she was laughing, and reached for another beer before casually leaning against his chest.
The ground was soft and cool beneath them; the long, loping leaves waved in a slow, ocean rhythm. They were almost like fingers, spread wide against the sky with their palms up, and he was looking through, peeking at the pregnant blue overhead. Dom's head rested on his stomach, and the 26 beers - empty bottles strewn around them in a glassy disarray - had made him feel light and warm.
They didn't say anything. The trees embraced them from the listless sun, from the cruel and casual glare and the aching heat. At one point, he thought that he better go down into the trees and relieve himself, but it wasn't so bad as long as Dom didn't shift her head again. Sinking into his head, he closed his eyes and held quiet, listening, hoping to hear her mind along the link; the static crackled back at him, and her presence was muffled by it, inaudible.
He sighed, frustrated with himself for ignoring it for so long. It had been there since they'd arrived in Australia, since the beachhouse, and he'd just hoped it would go away instead of talking to Dom about it.
So he filled his lungs slowly, and exhaled, and decided to ask Dom. Just as soon as she woke up. The beer seemed to be uncoiling in his blood now, making nothing feel too serious, and if it let him hide from this for just a little while longer, he'd be grateful. The hands of the trees were starting to slowly wave over head, and the rhythm was just enough to pull him towards sleep.
He laid his arms out on the sand, side by side, counting them all. Each had a single notch, one mark only - the only one to mark. It seemed important to remember, every day, that Apocalypse was dead.
There were fifty-six guns; rifles, handguns, pulses, even a flintlock he'd used once in its own time. The measure of his life. A few feet away, he laid down a ring, plain gold. It wasn't familiar but he knew what it was - it was like the one his father wore, except that it didn't have Redd's name carved on the inside, it had Aliya's.
Wind pulled a curve of sand over a lip of the ring.
There was a shoe, a baby boot that Tyler had worn out. He laid it next to the ring, and took a step back, comparing.
This is the length of your life.
He felt sick again, like he should wake up; he wished he could find a way to make Aliya be there.
A sandstorm was rising, hissing noisily beyond him, like static. Someone was saying his name far away, so he turned towards it, towards this wall of sand singing like bees, and tried to look through it.
You're looking for someone to confess to. You're looking for someone to absolve you.
He floated upwards, closing his eyes meditatively; the noise dimmed behind him.
It's not about choosing. You don't have to choose. Have you ever wondered what the rest of the sentence is? "What is, is." Is what? Is something you have to deal with.
IS.
Domino came sat down on the sand beneath him, leaning back on her hands like a college kid. "I'd only been working a couple years when I pulled this hit job. Took me two weeks to decide to do it the old fashioned way, and a full month to figure where. I finally decide on this old federal building across from the bank he made deposits in.
"See, every time he got money, he'd make a deposit into his personal checking account, to keep everything on the level. He had his wife convinced he had a day job. So all I had to do is find out when he got paid, then stakeout his bank for the next few days afterwards, and baddabing." She smacked her hands.
"So I tail him one day, and he gets a pretty big haul. Well, that night he takes his girlfriend out to a fancy dinner and the dumbshit pays with a check - and I knew he would head for the bank the next day, to cover that check before his wife sees the statement. So I head for my building to set up shop before anybody's around.
"This building used to be a courthouse back in the turn of the century, and it was built with all sorts of self-importance. Lots of banisters and detailing on the corners. Its built kinda like a state capitol building - with this little dome at top, and a four story view down to the first floor from the inside. Dead center, there's a big hole through the inside of the building, surrounded by heavy railings made of mahogany and wrought iron. Well, the top floor's being renovated - or at least, it was, although nobody was up there the whole time I was around. Just closed off and unused, with no furniture. When I first scoped the place, I decided on this particular building because from the fourth floor, there was a shadowed view. You know how hard those are to find in public - the sun couldn't hit for reflection, and the likelihood of somebody noticing my rifle was slim to none.
"But you know, that place bugged me. I don't know why. First floor - nothing. Second and third - nothing. But the fourth floor, man, that place just does a number on me. And it isn't being on the ledge with my rifle. It isn't even listening for footsteps, or wondering if the security guard is gonna peer up that hole and see me. From day one, I have a problem looking down that ledge.
"I notice it the first time I pass it, as I check the place out one afternoon during business hours. I give it a big wide berth, be real careful. At first, I tell myself it's just being careful that nobody on the third floor chances to look up and catch me. But when I'm there after hours I realize I'm fucking scared of that thing. The banisters were wide - super heavy wood, on real sturdy iron. They probably stood three feet tall. But I always keep my distance - never let myself get close to that thing.
"Hell, you know how I am. I love adrenaline, I'll ride it to the sun and back. I've never been afraid of heights. So I'm pretty pissed, but I still don't go near it.
"Anyway, so I'm there around 3 a.m. the night after that dumbshit writes his big dinner check. I'm all set up, and pretty secure knowing that I won't see him for a few hours at least. So I'm in the dark, looking in the direction of that circular, indoor balcony. I don't know why the fuck I do it, but I get up and walk over there, and in the pitch black, stand right up against that bigass railing. I look straight down that hole.
"Nothing. There's _nothing_, just dark. I don't know what the fuck I was so afraid of, why I never went within spitting distance of the thing. I get myself the courage up to lean over that ledge, my stomach pressed to the wood. I even hang over a little.
"I'm not afraid of falling. Or of the sheer height - and the floor down at the bottom is marble. No way to survive a fall like that without doing yourself in. I lean over so far I'm off my feet a little.
"Then, I'm back on the floor, and I'm half running away from the thing. It's not the dark - it's not the difference between seeing the ground and not seeing it, being able to imagine it's not there. Not falling. What scared me, what I'm so fucking afraid of, was that if I got too close, I'd jump. I'd just jump, not think about anything, just jump and let it all go. Not think about it at all. That if I don't ask myself, if I don't question or think and I just walk over to that ledge, I'll jump before I can argue against myself. That if someone could ask me deep in my heart, all the way underneath my conscience, my answer wouldn't be yes, or no. It would just be to jump."
"That's what scares the fuck out of me."
She stood up and wiped the sand off her hands, looking up at him.
With something in her hands, she walked over to the little boot and ring, and set the thing down. It caught the light and shined white. Then, she walked into the sandstorm.
He came back to his feet, and walked over, picking it up. The sand lapped over an edge of Tyler's shoe. It was a silver ring with a diamond on top, sitting proud as a cherry.
Do you want to be happy?