The Narrow Walk

By JF Jackson

Part Four

Yawning sleepily, Remy opened his eyes. Where de- The thought stopped abruptly as memories of the night before flooded his mind. Oh yeah, you still with Darkstar -- Rhiannon.

He turned on his side and looked across the bed. She was curled up on her side, back to him. Grinning, he moved closer, slipping an arm around her. "Morning, Chere," he whispered into her ear.

She did not even flinch.

He leaned over and kissed her ear. "Chere?"

Again, nothing. Very sound sleeper, dis one, he thought. He considered trying a little harder to wake her up, but knowing how some women reacted when being woken from a sound sleep, decided against it. He moved away from her, sliding out of the bed. He wanted a cigarette, but since he did not see anything that looked like an ashtray, he thought that perhaps she didn't like smoke where she slept.

He found his clothes, scattered on both sides of the bed, and quickly slipped on his jeans. Not bothering with his shirt and shoes, he climbed down the ladder into the main room of the cabin. Lighting up a cigarette, he walked into the kitchen.

There was an old-fashioned stove top coffee percolator sitting on one of the burners of the propane stove. He opened it up, and saw it was already filled with water and coffee, just waiting for someone to turn it on. Shrugging, he decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth and turned on the burner.

He was half way through his third cup of coffee and his second cigarette when he realized he was starving. He had first thought of waiting until Rhiannon woke up and seeing if she wanted to go for breakfast, but he decided he didn't want to wait that long. Checking her refrigerator, he found while it was not overflowing, there was enough in it to make a decent breakfast. Pulling out a carton of eggs, some bacon, and other things, he decided to put his skills into cooking.

It was the smell of coffee and bacon cooking that woke Rhiannon from her sleep. Opening her eyes, she sat up, scratching her head. Now, why should she smell-?

It's Remy!

She could not believe it; he was still here, making breakfast in her kitchen. She had expected him to either still be sleeping, or to have gone home. Last night was a one-night stand, didn't he realize that?

She rose from the bed, still feeling a bit foggy. She overfed a bit last night, nothing serious, at least not for Remy, but every time she drank too much she had trouble waking up. Slipping on a checked flannel men's bathrobe that had obviously seen better days, she gathered up some clothes and went downstairs.

He was standing by the stove, stirring something in one of her cast-iron skillets. When he saw her, he smiled. "Morning, Rhiannon."

"Morning," she mumbled. "I'll be back."

She went outside, squinting in the mid-morning sun. She had to be quick, before the sun rose further. Sun would not kill her, as it did most full-blooded vampires, but it did bother her skin. She did not like to go out in direct sunlight, unless she was fully covered.

Remy watched as she walked outside. Puzzled, he turned the flame down on the stove and walked over to the window to see if he could locate her outside.

He spotted her, shuffling to the dock, moving languidly, like someone who was having trouble waking up. When she got to the end of the dock, she took off the robe, dropping it behind her, on top of her clothes, raised her arms above her head, and dived into the water.

It had been quite awhile since he had seen someone skinny-dipping in broad daylight. He wondered how often she did this and if anyone else along the lake got treated to this sight. The lake was not public property, but there were a few other private houses along the waterfront.

He realized, watching her surface and toss her wet hair over her shoulders, before emerging again, that even if people were watching her, she would not care. This Rhiannon was completely at home with her body. She reminded him of Storm in that respect. It was rare, in these days to find a woman who could shed her clothes so easily, in a completely non-sexual way.

She was not trying to be sensual; she was just someone taking a morning swim, who happened to not be wearing a bathing suit. And in that very attitude, she was one of the most sensual creatures he had ever seen. More sensual than she'd been last night, when trying to take his clothes off, more erotic than she'd been on stage, singing, because there was something so… pure about her actions.

He almost burnt breakfast, watching her. Fortunately, before the meal got to the point where it had to be scrapped, she got out of the water and got dressed, putting on a pair of jeans that were faded to a bluish white, and a half T-shirt. She picked up her robe and started towards the house.

He walked back over to the stove, turning his attention back to the breakfast as she walked inside. "Good morning again," he called out.

"Good morning," she answered, walking over. "You're making breakfast?"

"Oui." He nodded and smiled. "I don' know 'bout you, Rhiannon, but I'm starved."

"I'm hungry," she admitted, helping herself to a cup of coffee. She sat down at the table.

He was aware that she watched him, closely. He divided the breakfast he had made on to two plates and brought them over. "Is somet'in wrong?" he asked, sitting down.

"No," she said slowly. "I'm just surprised you're still here."

He shrugged. "Why dat so surprising?"

"Because that's what usually happens after a one night stand," she said, picking up a piece of bacon and biting into it. "The guy wakes up and goes home. If he sees the woman again, he pretends he doesn't know her."

"You have all de answers, don' you?" His head tipped to one side, his gaze studying her.

"Just to the important questions," she responded. "I think a lot about things."

"Well, 'ears somet'in new to t'ink about. What if we decided last night weren't a one night stand?"

Her eyes rolled upward in annoyance. "Sure, Remy, sure. You come over, we talk, and I proposition you. We've known each other less than 48 hours, and we've already climbed in the sack. But we weren't just horny last night, we were falling in love."

"Non, I said not'ing 'bout falling in love," he countered. "An what was wrong wit' last night? We're both adults, we both wanted it to happen."

That is just the problem, she thought. I can't be sure you really wanted it to happen, or if I made you want it to happen. "Are you saying you're the one guy in a million who can actually respect the girl in the morning?"

"I respect the hell out of you," he answered solemnly, though there was a faint twinkle in his eyes. "I respected you last night, before; I respected you last night, during. I respect you dis morning. An' after I watched you take your mornin' swim, I wanted the chance to respect you again a few more times."

Her eyes widened for a moment, and then she burst out laughing.

He grinned. "So, what you say, to dat, Rhiannon."

"I'd say I've met a rare man," she said. "Even in this day in age, it is rare to meet a man who can understand that a woman can feel those same urges they do."

He shrugged. "Never occurred t'me dat dey didn't. Jus' usually dey brought up to feel dat's wrong."

She toyed with her breakfast, poking at the scrambled eggs with a fork. What a botched up mess you've made, she thought. You had to pick a decent person. You should have known better. He's got the style and the ass to make a perfect love em' and leave em' type. Problem is that he walks the walk, but doesn't talk the talk. "What are you saying here, that it wasn't fucking, it was making love, last night?"

He cringed. "I don' like that word."

"What? Making love?"

He shook his head, knowing damned well she knew which word he meant. "De other description."

"Fucking?" She grinned. "Why? It's a perfectly good word. When used to describe sex, it generally means two people, getting right into carnal desires, mostly wanting to satisfy themselves. You make love when you're in love, you fuck when you're in lust." Her expression grew serious. "So, which was it last night, in your mind?"

"Dere's got to be somet'in in de middle," he said, sighing. Why is she so defensive? It's like she's several people all fighting for space in one body. There's the stage person, the bitch, the nature child, and the woman of passion I met last night. I should just listen to her and walk out of her life.

It was her attitude of trying to push him away that made him more determined to stay. And it was not just a case of "make someone interested by pretending not to be interested," either. He was not a child anymore and neither was she. There were mysteries to her, mysteries he wanted to figure out. She was more than just a good screw, she was an enigma, and he was determined to get to know her, to unravel those layers and find out what was really inside. His gut told him that inside there was someone pretty special, he wanted to find it.

You t'ink like you want to save her soul, he thought. But least be honest. Do you t'ink if you save her soul, maybe you can save your own?

"There is something in the middle," she finally answered, interrupting his own thoughts. "I just don't know if I've ever been there before."

"I have," he said. "It's called friendship."

Again she chuckled. "Friendship? Tell me, Remy, you screw all your pals?"

Okay, if she was determined to make this a game, he would play along. "Jus' de ones dat want me."

"And I'll bet a lot of them do." She tossed a lock of hair over her shoulder and looked at him. "So you're saying that we should become friends."

"I t'ought we were friends."

Rhiannon sighed, pushing away her plate and reaching for his cigarettes. When he nodded, she took one out of the pack and lit it. "There are… things… about me, you don't know, Remy. Things… you might not-" she stopped abruptly and blew smoke from her nose, her expression pained.

"Den tell me," he suggested, looking at her. "Tell me now, get it all up front. De worst dat can happen is dat when you're done, I won' like you, an' I don' t'ink dat will happen. Everyone got t'ings in dere past dey ashamed of. You find I'm not very judgmental."

She shook her head, looking away from him. "I-I'm not worried that you'll hate me if I tell you-"

"What are you worried about, den?"

"That you'll want to kill me."

Before he could completely absorb what she had just said, she rose from the table and ran out the door.

He jumped to his feet and ran after her, catching her outside by the arm. "Stop!"

She tried to jerk away. "Leggo!"

"Non!" he shouted. "I'm tired of dese games, Rhiannon! You start to talk, den when I feel like we might be getting somewhere, you run off, or change the subject!"

"You seemed to like the subject change last night!" she shrieked.

"Don' bring dat into it again!"

"Oh, fuck off!" She twisted again, this time wrenching away from him, with remarkable strength. She turned and ran. "Get out of here!" she shouted, as she ran to the woods. "Get out of here and leave me alone!"

He gave up. He couldn't force her to talk, and he would feel silly chasing an adult woman through the woods as if she were a naughty four-year-old. Sighing, he went back into the cabin to get his things.

She ran around to the back, and slid under the cabin. It was dark enough, that she knew she could wait it out. She listened, hearing him moving around inside, getting his shirt, his shoes, his jacket, and whatever. She also heard him in the kitchen, which puzzled her, until she figured out what he was doing; he was washing the dishes.

That touch of consideration, doing the dishes so she would not come home to a mess, was the final straw. Burying her face in her hands, she started to cry silently.

Author's notes:

I promise, in the next part, Gambit will find out she's a half vampire. It seems as if he is the only one who does not know in this tale.