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Facing the Past

By: PennLady



© 2009 All rights reserved

"Chris, sweetie!" Lorna Kincaid bustled out the door as her son stepped out of his car. He stretched as he stood, giving his protesting muscles a break after the four-hour ride.

"Hi, Mom," he said with a smile. He gave her a hug and had to bend down to kiss her cheek. Her head didn't quite reach his shoulder.

"How are you?" she asked. She waited while he took a duffel bag out of the back seat, then took his arm as they walked to the house. "How was the ride?"

"Not too bad," he said, looking around. The houses were the same as ever. Sometimes it seemed like the whole town was trapped in time. "I left early enough to miss most of the traffic."

"You didn't stop once, did you?" she asked him, fixing him with a firm glance.

Chris couldn't help averting his eyes. "Um, no." Lorna arched an eyebrow and he hurried on. "I was going to, really, I was. But I just got caught up in driving and listening to music and before I knew it I was almost here." He felt like he was ten years old again. It was all he could do not to scuff his feet.

"Hmmm," she said noncommittally. "Well, as long as you're here safely." He sighed in relief. "Come on, you must be hungry. It's almost lunchtime."

Chris followed her into the little house and took a deep breath. Like the outside, the inside was just as he remembered. A faint scent of lavender floated through most of the house, but lemon dominated the kitchen. The floral curtains were faded but cheery; Chris made a guilty note to himself to send his mother either more money or new curtains.

"Now, sit," she ordered. Chris put his duffel bag on the couch and obediently took a seat at the kitchen table. Lorna ruffled his brown hair as she moved about getting some lunch. "You need a hair cut," she told him.

"I know," he said. "I just keep forgetting."

"I could do it while you're here," she suggested. She laid a plate in front of him with an open-faced turkey sandwich and gravy, then added a glass of water.

"We'll see," he said, suddenly famished. While he ate, he studied his mother. Her dark blond hair was probably half gray, although she wore it well. Her eyes, blue like his own, were sharp and missed nothing. She still moved easily. He was glad to see that the arthritis she feared had yet to set in, and hoped it never did. His mother did so much with her hands -- cooking, cleaning, sewing, knitting -- he knew she'd be lost if she couldn't do those things.

"So, what's new?" he asked after he'd finished.

Lorna sat down and put a piece of cake in front of each of them. It was her own award-winning sour cream pound cake. Chris couldn't recall the last time he'd had a piece of cake as good hers since moving across the state. Probably never, he thought to himself.

"Well, you know how it is around here," Lorna said. "The Peaks had to close their store in town, but that was all right, they wanted to retire anyway. Someone else has bought it already; that's the rumor, at least. The Ruizes painted their house blue and that put their neighbors all in a huff."

"Blue?" Chris repeated, and she nodded. "What kind of blue?" he asked with a roll of his eyes. 

She shrugged. "Just blue, but you know how people are. Every other house is white, they want it white. Goodness, the way everyone went on, you would have thought they'd painted it purple and orange and put in searchlights." Chris chuckled at the image.

She told him a few more tidbits and he nodded at each one until one piece of information caught his attention. "Then there was the trouble at the Fordham place a couple of nights ago."

"Trouble? What kind of trouble?" Chris stopped eating.

No one named Fordham had lived in the house for ages, but that was how everyone knew the big colonial at the end of town -- the Fordham place. It was old, with peeling paint that had probably once been white. It had seen a few different owners while Chris was growing up, and more than one had tried repainting and remodeling, but it never stuck. The kids told each other it was haunted and dared the braver ones to sneak close to it on Halloween. Chris had gone once -- alone, and not on Halloween -- and found it just to be an old, empty house.

Lorna sighed in frustration. "The kind there usually is, just a little bit more," she said. "Ethan and Trent started going at it, you know how they do. Just about woke up the neighborhood. Cassie called me and I went out on the porch, I could hear them caterwauling from here."

"What happened, Mom?" Christ asked. He could feel himself tensing up and he wasn't even sure why. He hadn't been near the Fordham place in years; he didn't even know which of the family still lived there.

"They were both drunk, as usual," she said with disdain. "The noise was ridiculous. Yelling at each other, probably throwing things. You could hear the glass breaking; next day I saw half the windows broken. Then the fire started."

"Was it bad?" Chris wanted to know.

"No, the police were right there," she said with a sigh. "The neighbors had called and they showed up, but those two no-goods were so drunk they wouldn't have seen the archangel Gabriel if he'd been there. I heard one of them had a gun and one had a knife, so the police were waiting it out." She gave her son a small smile. "Gossip runs down the grapevine in a town like this, you know how it is."

"I do," he said. "Then what?"

"Well, I heard from Cassie -- you know her Joe's a policeman -- that whoever had the gun shot it, and whoever had the knife used it, and somehow they knocked over a light or a candle and the fire started."

"Was anyone hurt?" He knew she wasn't there anymore, but he thought about the young girl from years ago.

"Property damage, mostly," his mother said, getting up to refill his glass. "The fire didn't get far, with the police right there to call the fire department. Ethan and Trent were both taken to the hospital and then to jail. I don't understand why they never stay there. My God, how they treated Karen and that poor girl." Lorna shook her head as she sat down again. "Everyone knew and no one could prove it."

"I remember," Chris said almost absently. He finished his lunch and told his mother he was going to take a walk to get some exercise after the long ride. She nodded and said nothing, knowing there was a little more to it.

Chris stepped outside and took a deep breath of crisp autumn air. Almost unconsciously, he began walking down the street in the direction of the old Fordham place. He stopped at the corner and leaned against an old oak tree. Scanning the street, his breath caught when he saw her on the opposite corner.

Her hair was a bit longer and her clothes much nicer than the last time he'd seen her. The sun plucked highlights from the auburn hair as she rested her arms on the top of the fence. Still as a statue, she stood there. Chris could only watch and wonder if she remembered him.

x-x-x-x

Fifteen years ago

"See the new people in the Fordham place yet?" Pete asked Chris.

"Saw the trucks," Chris said as they chucked rocks in the pond. "I guess I saw the father. He was pretty big. Looked mean." He threw another rock, watching with satisfaction as it skipped over the surface before sinking about halfway across. He grinned at Pete. "Beat that, man."

Pete laughed. "You cheat, Kincaid. You're taller than I am and your arms are longer. You're a sixteen-year-old gorilla."

"You're just jealous, Yarrow," Chris said mildly. "You got any news on the new people?"

"You bet," said Pete, throwing a rock and taking comfort in the fountain of water it sent up. He could never compete with Chris in rock skipping. "My mom gets the dirt on everybody. She's practically psychic."

"That's why you never do anything reckless," Chris said. "Or fun." He rummaged in the cooler and pulled out a can of Coke.

"And I don't grounded or belted, either," Pete pointed out. "Fair trade for me."

"Okay, so what did your mom find out?" Chris held another Coke to Pete who took it and drank before answering.

"Last name's Dileo," Pete said. He sat next to Chris and took another swig of soda. "There's five of them. Mom, Dad, Grandmother and two kids. Looks like they came from upstate, but she doesn't know for sure. The kids are a boy and a girl. Both younger than us, I think, by a year or two."

"Well, that's something, anyway," Chris said, considering the information. It wasn't much, but it was more than he'd had before.

"Guess we'll meet'em in school," Pete said, lying back on the grass. "Might even be in our classes."

"You said they were younger," Chris reminded him. He looked out over the pond, watching the sun glint off the ripples. 

"I know." Pete shrugged as best he could while horizontal. "Mom said she talked to one of the teachers and the kids are registered and the girl's in our class. Real smart, the teacher said."

"Huh," Chris said noncommittally.

Pete turned out to be right, as Chris found out on the first day of school. As everyone filed in to homeroom, he saw her in the back row.

Annabeth Dileo was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen, Chris knew that right away. He was unable to take his eyes off of her wavy auburn hair and her pale skin. He'd actually gasped when he saw her bright green eyes. It wasn't until Pete whacked his shoulder that he remembered to breathe.

"What's the matter with you, Kincaid?" Pete asked. Then he looked around and saw Annabeth; he couldn't help grinning. "Oh, man, Chris -- you're hooked, aren't you?"

"Am not," said Chris with a huff. He found his seat and Pete slid in behind him. "Just got lost in thought, that's all."

Pete snorted. "Right."

It didn't take long to realize things weren't right with the Dileos. Word trickled down, despite adult efforts to keep rumors from reaching young ears. Whispers went around the school. 

Some kids said the grandmother -- known as Miss Eve -- was a witch, and that no one ever saw her because she stayed inside mixing up potions and powders. A couple of pets went missing, and blame was soon laid on either Miss Eve or Trent. Miss Eve took them for her potions, a few said, looking over their shoulders as though expecting her to appear out of thin air. No, said others, Trent had taken and tortured them, possibly before handing them over to Miss Eve.

"Nonsense," Chris's mother said firmly. He believed her, but knew there was something wrong all the same.

Within a few months, it was clear that witchcraft would have been the preferred offense. Karen Dileo was found locked out of her house on more than one occasion, sporting horrendous bruises and at one time, a broken arm. Ethan Dileo was seen frequently around town, usually drunk. Most of the men in town began to avoid him -- he was nearly always drunk, and whether he was or not, he had a temper verging on fury for the slightest offense.

Chris asked his mother what they could do. His heart was cold at the idea of something happening to Annabeth. She'd already come to school sporting bruises and limping. Lorna smiled at him sadly, proud of his concern. "We can't do anything unless Karen asks," she told her son. Despite the injuries, Karen never pressed charges.

Though they weren't close, Chris took it upon himself to be Annabeth's protector. He followed her home from school, at first from a distance. He didn't know it himself, but he was hoping she would acknowledge him. Just a 'Hello' and 'How are you?' would have satisfied him. 

Annabeth was leery of him, casting glances behind her and walking home as quickly as she could. Chris remained patient, and continued watching her. As far as he could tell, Annabeth was wary of everyone, so he didn't take it personally. One day she confronted him.

"Why are you following me?" she asked, planting herself in front of him. Her arms were crossed over her chest defiantly, and her green eyes flashed. They were nearly at her house.

"I'm worried about you," he said. She had surprised the honest answer out of him.

"I can take care of myself," she said. "I don't need you stalking me." Her eyes narrowed.

"Maybe," he said. "I can't see how it hurts to have a friend, or to have someone look out for you." The conversation gave him a chance to do something he hadn't done much of before -- hear her voice. She rarely said anything in school, and when she did her voice was soft. If he and his mother happened to catch the Dileo family in town, only the father and brother spoke.

Annabeth stared up at him; Chris had close to six inches on her. Chris stared back, and watched her expression soften just slightly.

"You shouldn't," she said. "You'll get in trouble." Her voice was soft like it was in school, but there was more emotion in it than he'd heard before.

"With who?" he asked quietly.

"With him," she said, and he knew she meant her father.

He wanted to ask her so much more. Was she all right? Had her father or her brother hit her? Did she want to leave? Could she talk to a teacher if she wouldn't talk to him? Before he could say anything, the front door opened and Ethan roared something unintelligible. Chris brought his gaze back to Annabeth. Her eyes and expression were flat, neutral.

"He's calling me," she said in a toneless voice. "Stay away, you'll get into trouble." She turned and walked to the house while Chris fought every instinct in his body to grab her and pull her away.

Frozen in place, he watched as she opened the front gate, closed it, and strode to the door, where her mountain of a father waited. He couldn't make out the words, but he saw Ethan grab her arm, shake her, and yell something before throwing her to the ground. There was no sound from Annabeth. She caught her breath, stood up, and moved to go in the house. Ethan grabbed her again and threw her inside.

Chris ran home, trying to tell his mother what he'd seen. He was shocked. He'd never seen anything like that before. Sure, he'd been in a couple of scuffles at school, with friends and the rare foe; he'd seen Pete get swatted when they were younger. But even then it was nothing serious. Chris was almost in tears at the idea that he had let Annabeth go into that house, and his mother could say nothing to console him.

He didn't see her at school the next day and was consumed with worry. What had he made Ethan do? He shouldn't have followed her, he thought to himself miserably. He should have let it go. Or stayed further back where she couldn't see him. God, who did he think he was? James Bond, who could follow anyone anywhere?

He headed home in a haze and nearly missed Annabeth, who was sitting on a bench about a block from the school. Her head was bowed. A million emotions fought for prominence, but all he could say, in a tight voice, was, "Are you all right?"

She looked up at him and his heart broke. He had to sit down. There were bruises on her face, and a cut on her forehead. Her arm was in a sling.

"Did he do this to you?" Chris finally asked. He felt light-headed.

"Yeah," she said, looking away.

"Did you tell anyone?" he asked. "I mean, you must have gone to the hospital or something."

She gave a short laugh. "There's no one to tell. They won't believe me. He told them I fell down the steps and never left me alone to say otherwise."

"You could come with me," Chris said on impulse. "Come home with me. I know my mom wouldn't mind."

Annabeth stared at him as though he had three heads. "You... you mean it, don't you?" Chris nodded. She reached up to wipe at her eyes. "I can't. I can't," she said before Chris could argue. "He'll hurt my mom, I know he will. Then he might try to hurt you and your mom."

"We'll tell the police," Chris said. He felt desperate. "They'll help."

"As soon as they leave, it'll go back to the way it was," Annabeth said, her voice dull. "It always does. Sometimes," she continued, "I hate my mom. I hate that she stays with him. That she's letting Trent be like him. But she's my mom. I'm trying to help her. As soon as I'm eighteen -- maybe sooner -- I'm getting out of there."

"Please, let me try to help," Chris begged.

"You're sweet," she said, and stood up. "But I can handle this." She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Thank you."

x-x-x-x

"Hello, Nabby." 

Annabeth jumped and spun around in one move when she heard the voice. She'd been so busy staring at the house and trying to sort out her jumbled emotions that she hadn't noticed anyone around her. 

"Chris." It was all she could say. Of all the people she'd expected to see, Chris Kincaid was not one of them. She had wanted to -- badly wanted to -- see him, but had thrust that hope far away. He was the only one who'd ever called her Nabby.

"How are you?" he asked. 

"I'm... I'm all right," she said. She'd never been able to keep much from him. Those clear blue eyes had always seen through to things. Sometimes even through her, though she'd never been entirely sure how. Annabeth Dileo had learned quickly to hide things, hide emotions. Chris had known how she felt, even if she never said anything. He had a way of seeing into her that elicited both hope and fear.

"You're looking good," Chris told her. She stood her ground while he looked her up and down. 

He looks fantastic, she thought. "Thanks," she said.

"What brings you here?" he asked.

She tore her eyes from him and looked at the run-down colonial. "I got word my grandmother's doing poorly," she said. Her voice was measured, careful. "I came to see."

"I heard there was a fight the other night," he said neutrally, observing her. 

"Yeah," she said, still staring at the house. "There was. I got here just in time for the grand finale."

"You're not hurt?" he asked, and the concern in his voice made her look at him again. The expression on his face nearly brought tears to her eyes. After all this time, he still cared.

"No," she said, her voice softer than she'd originally intended. "No, I wasn't in the house. I was just driving around the corner when the police went in." Chris looked relieved. 

"My mom said she heard the noise all the way down at her place," he told her.

Annabeth gave a mirthless chuckle. "I wouldn't be surprised if they heard it in the next county," she said. "Ethan and Trent can set up a right ruckus, as Miss Eve says."

"You aren't staying there." Chris touched her arm lightly and she could see he wasn't asking. 

"No," she assured him. "I'm not. I have a room at the hotel up on route 43 outside of town."

"You could stay at our place," he said gently. Annabeth felt her heart catch at those words. He'd said them so many times to her, and every time he meant them. She knew it. Once again, she shook her head.

"Thank you, but no," she said. "My room is fine." It had been a long, hard road away from her family and out of this town. She wasn't sure if she could really explain it to Chris, but she could not stay in the town. Not even at his mother's house. Lots of articles and books talked about going back to where it happened, taking control, making it your own -- to Annabeth, it was a load of crap. She'd be plenty happy never to see the damn house again.

"How's your mother?" Chris asked. He felt awkward, rummaging for things to say. He wasn't even sure he should ask about her family.

"She's still there," Annabeth said with a shrug. Then her expression hardened. "I tried to get her out, and she won't go. Damn stupid woman. So she can stay. I can't give anymore."

"What did they say about Miss Eve?" He had to admit that even after all these years, Annabeth's grandmother retained an air of mystery. She was the voodoo priestess, the shaman, the witch. The reputation had never changed, according to his mother.

Annabeth shrugged again. "They say she's failing. I'm surprised she's lived this long. God knows she didn't deserve it."


Facing the Past



"So why did you come?" Now he was openly curious.

"I don't know," she admitted. "Maybe just to see if it was true. Maybe to see if anything had changed. And maybe... maybe just to see if I could handle coming back."

She hated that she thought there might be something to the theory in those books of facing up to the past. It seemed like so much psychobabble. Something Dr. Phil or Oprah would tell you with an earnest face while they stared into the camera. Still, it nagged at her. She'd left after she'd turned eighteen and hadn't come back. Twelve years she'd been gone; her only contact with the town was Lorna, Chris's mother. Lorna and Chris had shown Annabeth more kindness than anyone else in her life, and she couldn't cut them out of her life as she had her family.

"You look like you're handling it fine," Chris said. She loved how he spoke to her. He kept his voice low, level and quiet, as though she was a scared kitten. I suppose I was, she thought. For a long time, I was. It chilled her to think she could be again.

"It's not so bad from a distance," she said, and he could hear the half-lie in her voice.

"Nabby." She turned to look at him. "It's all right if it is," he told her, and risked stroking a stray hair back. "It's all right if it's hard, even from a distance."

She couldn't say anything then, just nodded and let her gaze slide back to the house. So many awful things had happened in there, she thought. Sometimes she had thought she'd die. Other times she had wished she would. How she had managed to get out was occasionally something she still had trouble believing. But I did get out, she reminded herself. 

Those three years in this town had been like a prison sentence. She had gritted her teeth, kept her grades up, avoided her brother, been beaten by her father and ignored by her mother and grandmother. Her grades had been good enough to get her a full scholarship at the state university, hours and a world away up the highway. She had gone and worked like crazy at both her studies and her jobs. Studying straight through the summers, she'd graduated early, found a job in the city and never come back.

Now she was back and the reason was unclear. Did she need "closure," she wondered with a cringe? God, she hoped not. It sounded so... needy. Besides, what closure could there possibly be? Her father was a raging drunk and her brother a nearly murderous one. Her mother was dead in spirit if not in body, and her grandmother had been a passive but malevolent presence the whole time.

"Why don't you come see my mom?" She blinked as Chris's voice cut through her thoughts.

"Sorry? What?"

Chris smiled. "I said why don't you come to our place. My mom would love to see you."

"Thanks, but not now," she said. Shaking herself, she stepped over to her car. "I need to get out of here for a while."

"You're not going to bail them out?" 

Annabeth let out a genuine laugh at that, and Chris felt himself warm at the sound. "Oh, hell, no," she said. "They'll be out on their own soon enough. Karen or Miss Eve will go post the piddling little bail amount. They can have it."

"It was good to see you, Nabby," Chris said, touching her arm again.

"You, too, Chris," she said. Her hand was nearly steady as she placed it lightly over his.

x-x-x-x

Twelve years ago

"You came." Chris watched Annabeth approach as he sat by the pond. It was night, but the moon was bright enough to see by.

"I said I would," she answered. She sat when he patted the ground next to him, grateful the moonlight hid the worst of the latest round of bruises. Her face wasn't so bad this time, she mused with some bitterness. 

"I wasn't sure you'd be able to," he said. Neither looked at the other; both stared out over the water. Waves of moonlight shimmered almost hypnotically.

"I'm eighteen now," she said defiantly. "They can't make me do anything. If they do, I'll file charges and by God I'll press them all the way." Ethan had caught her by surprise a couple of days ago and so she had bruises around her ribs. At least, she thought idly, my clothes hide them.

Chris turned to look at her. She kept her gaze fixed on the other side of the pond. To anyone else, she'd look strong, even stoic. She knew Chris would see through it, but she had to keep up the pretense if only for herself. Tears gathered and she bit her lip to keep them back. When he put an arm around her shoulders and gently pulled her close, she couldn't stop them.

"It's all right, Nabby," he murmured, rubbing her shoulder. 

"Why do you call me that?" she asked, grabbing at any distraction to stop the tears. She didn't want anyone to see her weak, not even Chris, although he had before.

"Because you're special to me," he said simply. She turned so that she could see his face and his wonderful blue eyes that looked silver in the moonlight. "So I wanted to call you something that was just between us. If you don't like it, I'll stop." 

"I like it," she said. He squeezed her shoulder and they sat silently for a long time.

Leaving Chris and his mom would be hardest, Annabeth realized. Her own family could drop dead that instant and she wouldn't care. Chris and Lorna Kincaid were a different story; she wasn't sure she would have survived without them. She had taken Chris's offer more than once to stay at their place, despite the beatings that frequently occurred afterwards. Lorna had never said anything about anything; she just smiled and acted like Annabeth was supposed to be there.

"I'll miss you," she said as her head rested on his shoulder. 

"I'll miss you, too," he said, "but you can always call or write or visit. You don't have to go away forever." Then, surprising her, he used his finger to tilt her head up and kissed her softly on the lips.

Annabeth didn't know what to think after he pulled away. No one had ever kissed her like that, not that she'd given anyone the chance. Chris and Lorna were the only people she allowed to touch her. It had taken time, but she had finally trusted that they wouldn't hurt her, physically or emotionally. The first time she had let Lorna pat her shoulder without flinching away, the older woman had had tears in her eyes. Annabeth had been touched and couldn't explain why.

"Could you..." she swallowed, "could you do that again?"

Chris smiled and lowered his lips to hers once more. She sighed and unconsciously gripped his shoulder; he moved his free hand to cover hers. Annabeth relaxed as she realized Chris would let her have control, that he wouldn't force her to do anything. He's waiting for me, she thought. Gathering her courage, she turned into him and parted her lips slightly. 

She smiled to herself when she felt Chris jump, then almost squeaked as he ran the tip of his tongue gently over her lips. Reflexively, she opened her mouth and let him explore, shivering at the sensations. Cautiously, she ran her tongue over his and let the taste of him run through her. Caught up in him, she blinked when he broke the kiss.

"What's wrong?" she asked softly. She looked down, afraid of the answer. She was sure she'd done something wrong. She had no experience in this area. 

"Nothing," Chris said, wrapping both arms around her to hold her close. "It's just... if we keep going like that, I won't want to stop."

"You would keep going?" She stared at him.

Chris laughed softly. "In a heart beat," he said, dropping a kiss on her forehead. "But I don't know if we should. I don't know what you want." He rocked her for a moment, holding her close and stroking her hair. Hair, she recalled bitterly, that she had had to go to a salon to fix after Trent had cornered her and hacked at it with a pair of shears. The woman at the salon had said nothing, just nodded and gone to work. She'd done a good job, Annabeth had thought, layering things to hide the ragged edges.

Suddenly Annabeth knew what she wanted. "Chris," she said quietly. He looked down at her. "I want to keep going," she told him. His eyes widened slightly.

"Are you sure?" he asked, keeping her in his arms. "I don't want you to think... Oh, hell, I don't know. You don't owe me anything, Nabby."

"Do you want me?" she asked, her voice low but steady.

"God, yes," he sighed, resting his forehead against hers. "You're so pretty, and so strong." He gave a quiet chuckle. "And I really like it when you're close to me like this."

"I like it when you touch me," she said. Her heart was pounding -- she hated leaving herself vulnerable like this, but trusted Chris wouldn't hurt her. "You're always so gentle and soft. No one else touches me like that." She swallowed, unable to say any more, although her thoughts kept running. My father beats me, my brother grabs me, my mother doesn't touch me at all, and I don't want my grandmother to touch me. "Please, Chris. I want you to be the first." The only, popped into her head, but she didn't say it.

"Nabby, I do but... I'm not... prepared..." His voice was slightly ragged and she allowed herself to believe he really did want her.

"I'm on the pill," she said. "It's all right."

"Why did you do that?" he asked, curiously. She almost laughed. It seemed so odd for him to say, yet didn't break the mood at all.

"My cycle has been messed up lately," she said, sparing him the details of why. Her father had hit her once too often in the mid-section, it appeared. "So the doctor gave me the pills to make sure it got regular. And..." she took a deep breath. 

"And what?" he asked, stroking her hair again.

She hid her face in his shoulder for a moment, then lifted it again. "Trent has been... worse lately. I've been able to avoid him, fend him off. But I was afraid there might come a time when I couldn't, and so--"

"No, Nabby, please," Chris said, his voice choked with a mix of anger and fear. He held her as closely as he could; she wrapped her arms around him as well, savoring the feel of him so close. "I'm sorry," he said, "but I just... I can't hear you say that... I can't bear to think of something like that."

"Shhhh, it's okay," she soothed, rubbing his back. "I'm leaving soon. He won't get a chance." After a few more moments of quiet, she spoke again. "If you don't want to, it's all right. I wouldn't blame you."

"What?" Chris pulled back to look at her, blinked a few times. Then he shook his head. "No, that's not..." He trailed off as he leaned down and captured her lips, kissing her more urgently this time. He slid a hand into her hair, soothing her while he kept her still, kissing her lips, her face, her neck.

She sighed happily as his lips traced along her neck, shivering when his tongue ran lightly over her collarbone. He lay back on the grass, bringing her with him, holding her body close to his. As she moved to meet his lips again, he slid a hand under her shirt and traced soft circles on her lower back. "Ohhh," she said, ducking her head down and shivering. "That feels so good," she whispered.

"Good," he said, nuzzling her cheek. "That was the plan."

They lay quietly for a few minutes, listening to heart beats. Chris continued his lazy stroking until she couldn't stand it. "Touch me more," she said softly. 

"Gladly," he said in husky whisper that made her shiver again. Working together, and sometimes at cross purposes, they managed to shed their clothes. Annabeth giggled when Chris cursed her bra, finally reaching back to help him. "Damn things," she thought she heard him mumble before his lips took hers again. This time there was no mistaking the desire that coursed through them both.

She pushed him away slightly, tracing his muscles and studying him in the moonlight. He closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing as she ran her hands over his shoulders, his chest, and his stomach. When she reached lower and wrapped her hand around him, they both gasped. Curious and tentative, she stroked him, taking his moans for approval. Keeping her hand in place and never stopping, she turned her head and laid kisses on his chest. His skin tasted hot and slightly salty; she couldn't get enough of it. 

She sped up, dropping kisses on his shoulders and his neck, then moving her hands to capture his face so she could kiss him with all the passion building up within her. Chris gave one slight murmur of disappointment as her hands moved, then quickly rolled so his body was slightly over hers. His hips moved almost involuntarily as he lay there trying to control himself.

As she had, he took a moment to fully absorb her body. He stared at her eyes and slid his gaze down to her shoulders, then her breasts... and stopped when he saw the bruises on her ribs. When she felt his body tense, Annabeth opened her eyes and followed his gaze, then bit her lip and tried to wiggle away.

"No, Nabby," he said, and kissed her. "Don't move. You're beautiful. I just... I hate to see that. You don't deserve it." Gently he stroked the bruised skin, showing her he didn't care. "It makes me angry, I can't deny it. I want to go and tear their throats out for hurting you."

"They aren't worth your anger," she said as tears dripped from the corners of her eyes. Chris moved to brush them away and her heart twisted at the tender gesture. 

"They might not be," he said, "but you are." 

"Keep touching me," she pleaded, pressing her lips to his. "Everywhere. Anywhere."

He did as she asked, keeping his hands gentle to avoid causing her any pain. She tried to memorize everything about this night. How Chris's body felt so warm, thawing the cold wall she often kept around her heart. How his touches made her gasp and sigh, and how hers did the same to him.

His hands smoothed over her hips and down her legs, then back up again. He stroked her face while he trailed his lips down her neck and then to her breasts. She thought she'd die when his hand touched her there, and then again when his tongue teased one nipple to a hard peak. Her own hands flexed on his shoulders, opening and closing as his teeth nibbled at her. She arched her back when he took her other nipple in his mouth and used his hand to tease and massage the first one. "Chris, oh, God, Chris..." she whispered as the sensations washed over and through her.

She was breathing heavily when he went back to her lips and tangled one hand in her hair, letting the other drift over her stomach and down further. Trembling slightly, she moved her legs apart and nearly cried out when his hand went between them. It seemed like all the heat in her body had rushed to that spot, and she couldn't help but shake as he stroked her. The world fell away and she called his name, clutching his shoulders to anchor herself.

"You're amazing," she heard him say as he waited for her to come back.

"Now, Chris," she said, her eyes locked on his. "I need you now."

"I wish we were in a bed," he told her as he moved his body over hers. "I wish I could take you away and do this right."

"It's perfect," she said, dragging a finger along his cheek. "You're perfect. Now, please..." she kissed him and moved her hips up instinctively.

Chris slid into her slowly, carefully, and she knew it had to be difficult for him. Surprisingly, there was little if any pain. Perhaps, she thought, that was some compensation for all the other hurts she'd suffered so far in her life.

"Annabeth," he breathed, and she closed her eyes. She loved to hear him say her name. Her family only spat it out, like a curse. Chris said it in a way that comforted, that softened all the rough edges. 

He moved slowly, she managed to meet him and they discovered a rhythm. She lost track of time as he held her, as they touched. She shook again and again as his body rocked against hers. "Oh, Chris," she murmured when she had her voice back, "thank you." He kissed her hard, thrusting his tongue against hers and she felt him tense. Knowing he was close to coming, she wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his shoulders.

"Let go," she told him. "Let go." With a groan, he thrust against her once more, and his body stiffened for a moment. At last he relaxed and let her pull him down. When he tried to move, she refused, tightening her grip.

They stayed for hours, both reluctant to leave. He tried to convince her to come to his house, but she shook her head.

"I'll be all right," she assured him. "I know how to get in quietly. Ethan's dead drunk and Trent probably is, too. My mother's too scared to get up."

"Nabby," he said seriously, "please, see me again before you go. I have something for you."

"I'll try," she said. They slowly dressed and walked back. Annabeth stopped him a few houses away.

"I'll go from here," she said. She nodded at his house, where a light was visible in the living room. "I'll be fine."

"I don't want you to go in there," he said, his eyes fierce. "Please, Nabby."

"I'll be fine," she assured him again. "Just go on." She kissed him softly on the lips. He stared at her, then nodded -- obviously not happy about the situation -- and went to his own house.

Annabeth watched him go, then squared her shoulders and went into the old Fordham place for the last time.

x-x-x-x

Poking at her dinner in the restaurant next to the hotel, Annabeth let herself remember that first, wonderful time with Chris. She had never told him that her brother had caught her on her way in, and that only a well-placed knee had prevented him from doing more than hitting her. While Trent had lay groaning and cursing in the hallway, she had run to her room and bolted the door. Not trusting that against Trent's anger, she had pushed her dresser in front of the door for additional security.

Then she had huddled by her bed, giving in to one last demand for tears. The roller coaster ride from sheer bliss to ritual fear had shaken her to her core. Finally, the tears had dried up as she made herself focus on Chris and the way he'd made her feel. She had closed her eyes and dozed for a bit, waking in less than two hours. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she had checked the clock to see it was shy of four in the morning.

It's time, she had thought. Her original plan had been to pack and leave as she usually did for school. Looking around her room, she had decided to leave immediately. Her parents, she had been sure, were only vaguely aware that classes had ended the day before. She would miss graduation, but hadn't cared. She had packed quickly and efficiently, taking only her clothes, the money she had earned and hidden, and a picture of her and Chris that Lorna had taken on Chris' birthday.

She had opened the window, climbed carefully down the trellis, and begun walking. She had never looked back.

x-x-x-x

"You still can't skip a rock, can you?" Chris called as he walked to the pond. It was a bright day with a stiff breeze carrying the scent of pine trees and fresh earth. It was a smell he missed, he admitted to himself.

Pete turned around, saw him, and flipped him the finger. "Up yours, Kincaid," he said. "I don't need to skip rocks any more." He stood, took aim, and whipped the rock across the pond. It was nearly to the other side before it landed in the water with a faint plit. 

"True enough," Chris agreed. He scanned the ground, found a flat rock and paused, waiting for the right moment to throw. When it came, the rock skipped over the water nearly as far as Pete's had flown.

"Not bad," Pete said, crossing his arms. "Not bad. You've still got it. When do you get time to skip rocks in the big, bad city?"

Chris laughed. "I don't. Guess you don't forget how." He gave Pete a once over and punched his shoulder lightly. "Good to see you, man."

"You, too," said Pete. "Oh, hell, Kincaid, it's been three years." He stepped over and wrapped Chris in a bear hug and heartily slapped his back.

"Jesus," said Chris, rolling his shoulders. "What did you do? Inject steroids? Your arms were never that strong."




Facing the Past



Pete let out a strong laugh. "Amazing what training will do, isn't it?"

"I meant to say congratulations," Chris told him as they stared out over the water. "I got your message about being called up to the majors. That's excellent, Pete. I keep meaning to get to a game, but I can never find a schedule."

"Tell me when you can travel," said Pete, "or when you'll be in the city. I can set tickets up for you." He grinned happily. "It's a really cool perk."

"I'll bet," Chris agreed. "So, when did you get into town?"

"Just before the fireworks," Pete said. "You know, at the Fordham place."

Chris nodded. "Yeah, Mom told me about it. Well, told what she knew, which really wasn't much."

Pete shook his head. "I can't believe those two bastards aren't dead or in jail after all this time. Shakes your faith in the system, seriously."

"I saw Annabeth," Chris told him. Pete raised an eyebrow. "Yesterday," he continued, "after I got in. Went for a walk and there she was, staring at the house. I blinked and I swear, she was eighteen again."

"Still have a thing for her, huh?" Pete observed. He'd known Chris had fallen for pretty Annabeth Dileo at first sight. Pete had liked her as well, although when she disappeared that one night after high school, he'd held a bit of a grudge for Chris's sake.

"I think I might," Chris said. "I think I might."

"How was she?" Pete asked. Then he shook his head. "I can't help it. Whenever I think about her, I can only remember that day senior year when she came in with two black eyes and a soft cast on her foot." His brown eyes flashed. "I wanted so bad to go thrash her brother."

"Me, too," Chris said. That was one of the nights that Annabeth had stayed at his place. When his Mom had seen her as Chris walked her home from school, Lorna had all but carried Annabeth inside. "My mom was spitting mad. Wanted to press charges and everything. I don't know why Annabeth stopped her."

"She was always odd about that," Pete said, reflecting. "I mean, don't you think most people would have done something? File charges, get a lawyer, something?"

Chris shrugged. "She didn't think it would help. I'm not sure she was wrong."

Pete snorted. "Yeah, old man Cabbani was the sheriff, then. Not much different from her father, was he? Had no problem getting drunk with him, that's for damn sure." He shook his head in disgust.

"Come on, Yarrow," said Chris. "Let's go say hi to my mom, then I'll say hi to your folks. Mom'd skin me alive if she thought I didn't make the rounds."

"Deal," said Pete, and they started walking back to town. "So, you never did say how Annabeth was."

"She looked good," Chris told him. "It's... God, it's amazing to see her with no bruises or anything. She's beautiful."

"Why'd she come back?" asked Pete. "I didn't think she ever would."

"She didn't say, really," Chris answered. "She said he'd heard her grandmother was ill and came back to see if it was true."

"Miss Eve?" asked Pete. "Hell, I figured that lady would outlive God."

"She still might," said Chris. "If I can find Annabeth again, I'll ask her."

x-x-x-x

"Annabeth."

She jerked up from her book at the sound of her name and was stunned to see her mother standing in front of her. Karen Dileo looked half again her age; watery eyes swam in a gaunt face, and her graying hair hung limply over slumped shoulders.

"Karen," Annabeth said, sitting back and placing her hands on her lap. Her mother's mouth pursed.

"I'm your mother, Annabeth," she said. "Don't be disrespectful." Karen's eyes darted around the café as though she wasn't sure she should be there.

"You stopped being my mother the first time you let him hit me," Annabeth said in an icy voice. "If you've come to apologize, sit down. If not, go away." 

"A man has a right to keep his family in line," Karen said. Annabeth rolled her eyes, having heard that justification too many times to count. "Children need discipline."

"You keep telling yourself that if it helps you sleep at night," Annabeth said.

Karen humphed, then straightened as best she could. "I heard you were back," she said. Annabeth regarded her silently. "Your father and brother are in jail," Karen continued, taken slightly back by her daughter's demeanor. "We need to post bail."

"Forget it," Annabeth said before her mother could ask her for the money. "I wouldn't throw them a glass of water if they were in a burning building, which -- oh yes, they've done that. Ethan's a drunk and Trent's a sociopath; everyone's safer if they're in jail."

"You're an ungrateful girl," her mother said, clutching her tattered purse. Her shoulders hunched even more, as though she was waiting for someone to attack her.

"I'm an independent woman," Annabeth corrected. "I heard Miss Eve was ill and asking for me. Is it true?"

"Yes." Karen shuffled her feet.

"What does she want?" Annabeth asked. 

"You'll have to ask her." Karen scowled. "She wouldn't tell me."

"I'm not going in that house," Annabeth stated. "She can come to me, or I'll meet her somewhere, or see her if she's in the hospital."

"She's ill," Karen said in a feeble protest. Years of her husband's abuse had conditioned her to huddle at any sign of opposition. Annabeth's calm refusal had nearly the same effect as a raised fist. "You have to see her."

"No, I don't," Annabeth said. "I don't have to do anything I don't want to."

"We gave you food and shelter," Karen said, almost panicked. "You owe us for that."

"I owe you nothing," Annabeth said, her voice cold. "If Ethan wanted a punching bag, he should have bought one. It's pathetic that you let him use me as one."

"You were always troublesome," her mother said, fingers clutching reflexively at her threadbare bag. "If you had just done as you were told..."

"Don't," said Annabeth, her eyes flashing, "don't you dare. If I'd done as I was told, I'd be dead by now. Or raped by my own brother. My brother," she repeated, and Karen flinched. "Your son," Annabeth pressed, "would have raped me and probably killed me. And you were too weak to care."

"It's a wife's duty to stay with her husband," Karen said in a monotone. Then, "It was those Kincaids that turned you, I know it. That woman and her son. No father around. She wanted you for herself, wanted you for her son."

"Don't you talk about the Kincaids!" Annabeth's voice was a whip and Karen took an involuntary step back. "They treated me better than anyone ever did. "Chris's father died in the Middle East, he was a hero. I'd rather a dead father that I could respect than the living one I have."

Annabeth stood, her heart racing. She had to get out, find some space. It was hard to breathe.

"Miss Eve wants to see you," Karen said again, but with no force.

"Then she can damn well find me," said Annabeth. "I can't be done too soon with the lot of you."

x-x-x-x

"Annabeth." This time her name was said with warmth and love. She let Lorna pull her into a soft, maternal embrace, and fought to hold back tears. "Let me look at you." Lorna stepped back and put her hands on Annabeth's shoulders, studying her face before pulling her in for another hug. "Oh, my. You look fine," said Lorna, "just fine."

"Thanks, Lorna," said Annabeth. "It's really so... so good to see you."

"Come, come inside," said Lorna. She gestured to the kitchen. "I just made an apple pie, I know it's your favorite." Annabeth smiled. Somehow, Chris had found out she loved apple pie and had told his mother. After that, there was always some for her at the Kincaid residence.

"Chris told you I was here," Annabeth guessed. 

"He's out now," Lorna said, "visiting the Yarrows. But yes, yes, he did. I was so hoping you'd come over. I don't know how long you're staying, but you're welcome to stay here. Chris said you're at a hotel."

Annabeth sat in one of the old, comfy wooden chair around the kitchen table. She had loved the homey feel of this house, such a contrast to the gloomy, impersonal Fordham house. Her parents had never done anything to fix it up. Ethan railed about the cost of anything, so even used furniture was rarely purchased, and walls had never been painted. The Kincaid home, however, had been filled with a sense of family and love. Annabeth had seen it as precious, like a museum piece; something she could touch but never have.

"Yes, I'm at the hotel, but I'm fine," she assured Lorna. "I can't... I can't stay in town."

Lorna nodded. "That's all right, then. You just know you can come here whenever." Lorna never pressed Annabeth on anything, unless she felt it was life or death, and Annabeth had always appreciated it.

"It's wonderful pie," Annabeth said, savoring the flaky crust and cinnamon sauce. "No one makes it like you do." A glass of milk quietly appeared next to the plate, and she smiled to herself.

"You have another piece," Lorna said in a tone that brooked no opposition. "You're too thin."

Annabeth laughed. "Lorna, compared to a lot of women in the city, I'm positively overweight." With one sniff, Lorna conveyed her disdain for the entire fashion industry as well as societal dictates on a woman's size. Annabeth wondered if anyone else could do that as she took another bite of the pie.

"What do you know about Miss Eve?" Annabeth asked.

Lorna sat down and cut herself a slice of the pie. "Not much more than anyone else, I suppose," she said. "Heard she was ill, but then we've heard that a lot over the years and she just keeps on going. Is she why you came back?"

Annabeth nodded. "She sent word she wanted to see me. I don't know why, and I won't go in that house to find out." Lorna silently thanked God for the younger woman's words. When Annabeth had still lived there, she had often feared the girl would never come out. "So, if she won't come to me, I'll head back."

"Good for you," said Lorna. 

"I saw my mother today," Annabeth told her. "She looked... I don't know. Weak. Pathetic. I had no sympathy for her, no empathy." She looked at Lorna. "Does that make me a bad person, do you think? To have no feelings for my mother?"

Lorna reached over and took her hand. "It makes you human. If your mother had done anything to help you, you'd have feelings. I think it's only natural to feel the way you do, when the person who should have protected you didn't."

"Thank you," said Annabeth. "You know, if it weren't for you and Chris, I think I might be dead by now."

"Don't say such a thing," Lorna admonished gently. "You were strong then, and you are now."

"You two were always there," Annabeth continued. "I'm not sure I've ever told you -- either of you -- how grateful I was. Still am. Thank you."

A few tears fell as Lorna went to hug Annabeth. "Oh, now look, you've made me smear my makeup," said Lorna. 

Annabeth couldn't stop a few tears of her own. How different, she wondered, would her life have been if she'd had a mother like Lorna? She had lost a husband, but had worked hard and raised a wonderful son. She had strength that Annabeth admired more than she could say, and had always tried to emulate. Lorna had been her role model when she found herself in new situations and had to figure out what to do.

"Hey, my two favorite people." Both women broke apart when they heard Chris come in. "I hope you saved me some pie."

Lorna wiped at her eyes and gave her son a playful smack on the arm. "You're lucky I didn't hide it in the garage. You would have eaten the whole thing." She took another plate from the kitchen cabinet and brought it to the table. "Now, you have some and visit with Annabeth. I'm going to go see Cassie." With that Lorna took a purse and jacket and hurried outside.

Chris cut himself a slice of pie and looked at Annabeth. "Not too subtle, is she?"

Annabeth had to laugh. "No, I suppose not. But that's okay." She looked at the door that was slowly closing. "She's wonderful, she really is."

"I always thought so," said Chris. 

"You don't know how many times I wished I had a mother like her," Annabeth said, her eyes darting to him and away again. It was difficult to say such things to anyone, but it was easier with him. 

"I... I can only imagine, Nabby," he said. The silence was awkward for a moment until he asked her what she had been doing since he had last seen her. "Mom kept me up to date with your letters, but I'd like to hear you tell me." She had usually included a note for him, but no more. Chris had wondered why.

"I went to school," she said, "graduated early. I was a pre-law major, if you can believe it." She smiled shyly.

"I knew you could do anything," Chris said with easy confidence. "You were smarter than anyone in the class. Pete and I had bets to see if you'd be the CEO of Microsoft or President first." He winked at her.

"Guess neither of you could collect," she observed with a laugh.

Chris shrugged. "It's not over. We didn't put a time limit on it."

Annabeth rolled her eyes. "Great, no pressure there." But she smiled and he was happy to see the humor in her eyes. "It'll have to be Microsoft, if you want the money sooner," she said. "I'm not old enough to run for President."

"Go to Congress," Chris suggested, "change the age limit." They stared at each other and then both had a fit of laughter at the absurdity of it. 

"Chris, I'm very sorry," she said after their laughs had subsided. Annabeth blinked; she had surprised herself by saying it. It was out now, though. And it was true.

"For what?" he asked curiously.

"The way I left," she said, looking down at her hands. "I was going to come see you again, I really was. But then I got home and..." she swallowed, still not wanting to tell him what had happened. "..and I couldn't take it anymore, so I packed and left. It wasn't even daylight. I walked for ages and finally a man and his wife gave me a ride up the highway for a bit." Tears threatened but her voice was steady. "I was going to call, or write, or something. I know it wasn't fair of me to leave like that. I just had to... after I got home..." She stopped. Even after twelve years, she couldn't tell him.

Chris watched her, trying to gauge her mood. He had been upset, of course, when he had realized that she'd left so abruptly; but he'd never been angry. He had always wondered what might have occurred when she got back, although he refused to allow himself to dwell on it. Over and over he had told himself that she had arrived safely, with no one the wiser, and simply decided it was time to leave.

From the look on her face, he could tell that wasn't true. He decided not to press her for details; she didn't seem ready. Reaching over, he covered her hand with his. "It's all right, Nabby," he said quietly. "I'm not angry, I never was. I was upset, because I wanted to see you again, but I think I understood as best I could at the time."

"You, ah, you said you had something for me," she said. She gave him a small smile. "I often wondered what it was. Sometimes, when I was lonely, I'd think of the different things it could have been." 

"I still have it," he said. She stared at his blue eyes, remembering all the times she had wondered if she would see them again. They were like the sky as they focused on her. "Would you like it?" She could only nod. He squeezed her hand and left to go retrieve it.

Annabeth tried to settle herself while he was gone. She wiped at her eyes with a tissue and took several deep breaths. It was wonderful to be around him, but difficult at the same time. At eighteen, she had thought she loved him. A few years later, she had dismissed -- or tried to -- those feelings as a young girl's crush. Now she knew they'd been real.

"Here," he said. He took her hand and laid a small box in it. Curious, she put it on the table and opened it. Her breath caught in her throat as she lifted the little oval medallion on its chain.

"It's... it's a Saint Christopher medal," she said in a near whisper.

Chris sat down again and looked slightly embarrassed. Annabeth almost laughed. "I got it for you before graduation. I could never figure out when to give it to you," he said. "I don't even know if you're religious, but I just thought... he's the patron saint of travelers, and it's my name, too." He fidgeted, slightly uncomfortable and unsure of her reaction. He took a deep breath. "I just thought that way you'd know someone was watching out for you the way I did. The way I wanted to."

Annabeth was lost for words. She stared at the medallion for a while, then closed her hand over it and held it to her heart. Once again tears built up. "I'm sorry," she said and tried to laugh. "I'm just a faucet ever since I got back here." She lifted her bright green eyes to his. "Thank you so much," she said. "I wish I'd stayed to get it." 

The tears started falling again and suddenly Chris's arms were around her. She buried her head against his chest.

Chris shushed her and stroked her hair, biting back all the things he wanted to say. I love you, Nabby. Stay with me. I've always loved you... Would she even believe him if he told her that? After twelve years, would she be angry that he'd waited so long? Would she try to be kind as she said she didn't return the feelings? He shoved the thoughts away. The only thing that mattered was that they were together now. The rest of it they could talk about later, but for just this moment, it was the two of them and no one else.

After a few minutes Annabeth quieted, although she didn't move. Resting against Chris felt as good as it had before. Like the eye of the storm, a respite from all the chaos. Eventually, though, she sat up. They finished Lorna's pie and then sat in the living room, talking quietly about the past years.

"I thought I'd be a lawyer," Annabeth told him. "I had it all planned. I'd specialize in family law and help all the kids that were like me, who needed the help I didn't get." Chris squeezed her hand.

"You'd be good at it," he said.

"It never got that far," she said with a sigh. "I tried. I volunteered at a couple of shelters and clinics and it was just... just too hard. Always someone else who needed help, always someone else being hurt. I went through therapy and counseling, solo and group. But I haven't been able to let it go, or come to terms, or whatever, the way they seem to want me to. I work for a big consulting firm as a research assistant." She gave him a rueful smile. "So much for big dreams, huh?"

Chris shook his head. "You do what you can, Nabby. If you weren't ready for that, then you weren't. It's not your fault. Do you like your job?" She nodded. "Then there you are. That's what you need to be doing now."

Annabeth laughed softly. "You are so good at knowing the right thing to say."

Chris grinned. "It's a gift."

"So," she said, tilting her head, "what about you? Lorna says you're a famous architect."

It was Chris's turn to laugh. "That's Mom for you. I do all right," he said. "I did become an architect, and it's great. I found a wonderful firm, and my boss is a great mentor. As for famous..." he shook his head. "I got a mention in the paper for a new museum. But I think Pete will pass me pretty easily on the fame meter."

"Oh, that's right," she said animatedly. "I read that he was called up. I was hoping I could see a game with him on TV." 

"You kept up on some people, didn't you?" he asked.

She nodded. "The ones who mattered."

They both turned when the door clattered open. Lorna came over and held out her hand.

"Annabeth," she said, "Miss Eve's in the hospital. She's asking for you."

Annabeth pressed her lips into a line. Fine, she decided. If her crone of a grandmother wanted to see her one last time, she could manage that. Then she would leave and never see the others again.

"I'll come with you," Chris said. Annabeth nodded. His tone said he wouldn't be brushed off, and she realized she wanted his support. She could go and face Miss Eve and the rest alone, but why should she if she didn't have to?




Facing the Past



"Thank you," she said softly. Chris nodded and moved to get her jacket from the coat rack. His jaw clenched at the idea of her going alone. Visions of her with bruises, broken bones and other injuries flashed into his mind. Never again, he thought. 

x-x-x-x

"You're here," Karen said. She was in the same worn coat and carrying the same tattered purse that Annabeth had seen earlier in the café. Her gaze moved from Annabeth to Chris and then her eyes darted away.

"Lorna said Miss Eve was asking for me," Annabeth said in a neutral voice. She was grateful for Chris standing next to her with his arm lightly around her waist.

"Don't know why." Ethan Dileo stood up from the seat next to Karen. Annabeth looked at him and waited for the emotions to come. Surprisingly, there was no fear and the wave of anger ebbed quickly. He was simply a bully who'd grown older. Ethan continued, "She's just an ungrateful little bitch anyway. Left her family and never came back." He advanced on Annabeth, who stood her ground, flinching only slightly from the stale smell of alcohol.

"I can't imagine why I wouldn't want to come back to this family," Annabeth said, her voice cold. 

"Why you--" Ethan's eyes narrowed and he raised his arm.

"No." Chris stepped forward and grabbed Ethan's wrist before the big man could lower it. His blue eyes flashed and Ethan blinked in surprise. "You will not hit her ever again, do you understand?"

Ethan yanked his arm back and sneered. "Or what will you do?" he taunted. "You were always such a mama's boy. Never saw you win a fight; always walked away before it started."

"Ask your son about that," Chris said, his voice flat. Ethan glowered. High school had been over a decade ago, but Chris knew the memory would be sharp for both Ethan and Trent.

"You cheated," Ethan said. "You and your friend... set him up.. ambushed him..." he began to sputter.

"If you hit me again," Annabeth said before Chris could reply, "I will press assault charges. I will get the best lawyers I can to put you away for as long as possible." Her eyes focused on Ethan's, who gaped at the sudden opposition. "You may have beaten Karen into submission, but you couldn't break me, and you never will." Karen sat in her chair, trying to be as small as possible. 

Annabeth turned to Chris. "I'm going to see Miss Eve. You can wait downstairs if you want. I won't be long."

He couldn't resist tracing a finger over her cheek. "I'll be right here." He kissed her forehead, then moved to stand near the entrance to the waiting room. Annabeth watched and then made her way to the nurse's desk to ask for Miss Eve's room.

Chris was still standing there when Trent Dileo entered the room. He ignored Annabeth's brother, but the latter glared at him as high school came rushing back again.

x-x-x-x

Thirteen years ago...

"Hey, Annabitch," Trent yelled down the school hallway. His two buddies -- Annabeth thought of them as Tweedledum and Tweedledummer -- guffawed loudly at his witticism. She rolled her eyes and ignored him as she gathered the books she needed for homework. She had planned to go to the library, but hadn't made it out before Trent found her.

"Hey!" Trent shouted again. When his sister again made no answer, he grabbed her shoulder and spun her around, knocking her into the row of lockers. Annabeth winced as one of the combination locks jabbed a bruise near her hips. "There," said Trent with a wicked smile, "now I've got your attention."

She jerked herself away from the lockers and stomped on his instep. He howled and hopped, provoking more laughs from his friends until he glared at them. Rage made him forget the pain in his foot, and this time he used both hands to grab Annabeth and hold her against the wall. She struggled but knew it was mostly useless. He was bigger than she was, and her right arm was still weak after another session in a sling.

The hall was empty, but even if it had been full, most of the kids gave Trent a wide birth. They didn't want to be on his bad side, and it was the only side he had.

"What do you want, Trent?" she spat out. Literal spitting was quite tempting, but she decided against it. Trent was already on the edge of control, and she didn't want him losing it in school when there was no one else around.

"I need some money, sis. Me and the boys, we're gonna go get ice cream sodas," he said in a syrupy voice. The other two snickered. His eyes dipped down and then back up. This is the worst, Annabeth thought as she struggled again. Trent had begun looking at her in a different way lately, she'd noticed. A very un-brotherly way. That sickened her more than any punch Ethan could land.

"I hardly have any," she told him. "You took it the other day and Ethan's broke. I have about two dollars." The smell of his greasy hair and the beer on his breath made her want to gag. 

"Guess you'll just have to share, then," Trent said. His hands lowered just a bit on her shoulders and the renewed anger gave her more strength.

"Get your own damn money," she said, eyes flashing. "Go beat up someone else for it, since that's all your good for. Not like you could hold down a job."

"Don't talk to me like that," Trent said in a low voice. She could see the fury settling over his face like a mask. His beady brown eyes narrowed to slits.

"I'll talk to you any way I damn well please," she said through gritted teeth. The pleasure of seeing his face contort in anger was short-lived; he yanked her away from the wall and threw her against the opposite one. Old and new pains mingled and took her breath away, leaving her gasping on the floor. The Tweedles looked from Trent to her and back, and she nearly threw up when she read the message in their expressions.

"Get up, Annabitch," Trent said, yanking her sore arm and making her cry out. "I think you need to make up for the way you've been acting."

"Let her go." Annabeth's vision was blurred from pain but she recognized Chris's voice. How does he know? she wondered. How does he know when I need help? Chris should have been on the other side of the school, if she remembered his schedule. He played on the baseball team with Pete.

"Hey, look, it's the mama's boy and his friend, the half-breed." Trent tightened his grip on his sister's arm and yanked again. Annabeth wondered idly if he would end up dislocating her shoulder. 

Chris's eyes glinted. "At least I'm man enough to earn my own money. I don't have to beat up girls for it."

"Yeah," Pete agreed, his dark eyes shifting between Trent and his two buddies. "That's weak. Especially when you need back up."

"I'll show you weak," Trent snarled. He made to push Annabeth over to Tweedledum. "Come on, let's go outside, Kincaid, you and me. Fight like a man."

"You have a friend for me to fight?" Chris asked as Pete intercepted Annabeth. Tweedledum took one look at Pete's expression and backed away without a protest. 

"Thanks," she murmured.

"No problem," said Pete. "You need to go to the nurse or anything?"

"No, let's just get out of here," she said, trying to take a deep breath. "Let's go before anyone gets hurt."

Her words were seconds too late. Trent let out a roar and rushed at Chris, who stepped aside and shoved him into the lockers. Trent howled with frustration and anger, staggered up and ran at him again, fists raised. He took a wild swing which Chris blocked, then followed with two quick blows to his gut and chin. Trent tumbled to the floor and lay in a dazed heap. Chris shook his stinging hand and turned to Pete and Annabeth.

"Let's go," he said. They both nodded. Pete picked up Annabeth's bag while Chris placed an arm carefully around her shoulders. They walked out, Trent hurling curses behind them.

"My hero," Annabeth said with a wince.

"What about me?" asked Pete with a grin. She smiled back.

"You're a wonderful sidekick," she said.

Pete gave an exaggerated scowl. "How come he's the hero and I'm the sidekick?"

Chris chuckled. "Because I hit the guy. You need to protect your arm."

Pete considered and nodded. "Okay, I can be the sidekick."

x-x-x-x

"What the hell are you doing here, Kincaid?" Trent demanded as he entered the waiting room. 

"Waiting for Annabeth," Chris said calmly. Internally, he was shaking his head. Trent Dileo already looked older than his age. When one looked at Ethan, Trent's destiny was plain. Thinning hair, a bulbous red nose, wrinkled skin and a beer gut were mere years away. How did Annabeth come from these people? he thought bemusedly. 

"You can go now," Trent said with a leering smile. "Her family's here."

"That's why I'm staying," Chris told him.

"Goddammit, I--" Trent started towards Chris who stood to meet him, when Ethan grabbed his son's arm and pulled him aside.

"Don't be an idiot," Ethan snapped. "You're in a hospital, for Christ's sake. You don't need to get arrested again."

"Me?" Trent rounded on his father. "I'm not the only goddamned idiot around here, Dad," he said with a sneer. "I wasn't the only one in lockup last night." Now Ethan raised a hand at Trent, while Karen simply cowered in the corner.

"Shut the hell up before I call security," Chris told them, his voice low and menacing.

"I haven't forgotten you, Kincaid," Trent said with a glare.

"I'm honored, given the brain cells you must have killed at the local bars," Chris said dryly. He hadn't meant to taunt him -- he knew it could lead to trouble -- but it slipped out before he could stop it. Not that he regretted it.

"Why don't we step outside?" Trent suggested. Chris read the glint in his eye and realized Trent was slightly drunk, which made him more than slightly dangerous. "We can finish what you started in school that day."

"You finally find someone to, what was it, 'fight like a man?'" Chris asked. "I haven't forgotten, either."

"Goddammit, Kincaid," Trent said with a growl. "You just better watch your back. I haven't forgotten." He seemed to be stuck on that sentiment, Chris noticed.

"Christ, Trent," Chris said in exasperation. "It was high school. Fifteen years ago or whatever. Let it go." 

"Don't think I don't know you weren't screwing Annabeth," Trent said. Chris's jaw clenched but he said nothing. Then Trent gave a greasy smile. "I guess I'll have to take seconds there."

Chris was in front of him in an instant and grabbed him by his shirt front, yanking him to his feet. "You will never get a chance to touch her," Chris said, his eyes afire with anger. Like his father, Trent was speechless in the face of opposition. "If you so much as try," Chris said, "I will make you wish you'd never been born." He threw Trent back down in his chair and stalked back to his own seat.

Trent's mouth flopped open and closed for a moment, then he rallied and started to get out of his seat. At the same moment, Ethan smacked the back of his head and Annabeth came back in the room.

x-x-x-x

"Hello, Miss Eve," Annabeth said. She surveyed the woman in the hospital bed. As she remembered, Miss Eve was old and frail-looking. Her skin had been wrinkled like leather, but her eyes and mind had been sharp and clear. It was much the same now, although the skin seemed more like parchment, and the eyes were half-closed.

"You came back," her grandmother said, opening her eyes.

"I did," Annabeth said. "And when we're done here, I'm leaving again."

Miss Eve gave a wheezy cackle. "You always were an uppity one. Wanted more than your due, more than your station."

"I wanted to be treated like a human being and not a punching bag," said Annabeth. "I don't think that was more than my due."

"Well, if you want the money, you'll stay this time," Miss Eve said. Her voice was hard, belying her physical appearance.

"Money?" Annabeth blinked. "You think I care about money?" She let out a harsh laugh and shook her head. "I should have known. I don't need money, and I sure as hell don't want yours."

"There's that uppity streak," Miss Eve said. "Now, you snuck off like a thief, but you're still my granddaughter. I have a will, and you're in it. I have money and you're getting it, if you do as I say."

"Thanks ever so much," Annabeth said dryly.

"Don't sass me, girl," her grandmother snapped. "You aren't too big or old for Ethan to belt you." She coughed from the exertion.

"I am exactly too big and old for that," Annabeth said icily. "You don't scare me. None of you do."

"You get the house and all my money," Miss Eve said, abruptly changing the subject. Annabeth could tell the woman was disconcerted with her reaction, and so moved on to new ground. "But you move back here. You stay in the house."

"Not likely," said Annabeth. "I can't believe I came back for this. Give it all to the others. I don't want it. I don't want anything from any of you."

"You take it or they go on the streets," Miss Eve said. "I'll let that house rot where it stands." She fixed her granddaughter with the stare so many children in town had dubbed the Evil Eye.

For a quick moment, Annabeth debated with herself. Could she do that? Turn her family -- though she loathed them -- out of their home? Was she so vengeful, so mean? She stared back at the woman on the bed. She saw the glint of smug satisfaction in the watery eyes and drew herself up.

"Then put them out," Annabeth said. "I will not let you blackmail me. If you do this, it's your fault, not mine. I will not let any of you hurt me any longer." Miss Eve's mouth pursed and her gnarled hands clenched into ineffectual fists. Annabeth rose and went to the door.

"You were always an ungrateful little bitch," Miss Eve told her.

Annabeth turned back. "All I ever wanted," she said quietly, "was for someone to love me. You were my family, you were supposed to do that. Instead, all of you only ever hurt me. I'm done with you, with all of you." She walked out.

She felt light-headed as she walked back to the waiting area. Although it seemed a load had been lifted, she still felt weighed down and uncertain of what to do. She drew a hand across her eyes, suddenly wanting to see Chris more than anything. When they opened again, she saw him -- as well as her brother and father.

Chills danced on her spine at the sight of her brother. As he had gotten older, Trent had frightened her more than her father. Ethan would hit her or throw her against a wall or down a set of steps; that was plain violence. Trent, however, had looked at her as a predator looks at prey, had attempted to steal touches that only a lover should have; that had terrified her into blocking her door every night.

As she stood there, Trent looked over and gave her an oily smile. "Well, hello, sis."

x-x-x-x

"Chris, let's go," she said, ignoring her brother. 

"Sure," he said, holding out a hand.

"What?" asked Trent, feigning hurt. "No hug for me?"

She took Chris's hand, focused on his face. He saw the expression on hers, begging to escape, and wondered what Miss Eve could have said. Apparently her mother was curious as well, and it made her -- uncharacteristically -- speak up first.

"What did she want, Annabeth?" Karen said. She now sat primly in her chair.

Annabeth lowered her head and took a deep breath. Chris pulled her close and hugged her briefly. She looked up at him and nodded, then turned to face her parents. Chris stayed close enough behind her that she could feel his warmth.

"She wanted to discuss her will," said Annabeth. Now Ethan and Trent looked at her, interested. Everyone suspected Miss Eve had money squirreled away, and they thought it would come to them. Who else would it go to, after all?

"So what did she say, girl?" Ethan rumbled. She felt Chris's hands tighten on her shoulders, reached up and gripped them with her own.

"She wanted me to come back," Annabeth said, then rushed to get the rest out. "She was going to leave the house and the money to me if I came back. I won't. You'll have to find somewhere else to live."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Trent shouted, jumping up. Annabeth couldn't help but flinch although she stood her ground and met his eyes.

"She said if I don't come back, she'll turn you out. You can't stay." She took a deep breath. "That's what she said."

"You ungrateful little cunt," Ethan seethed. "Thinking you're so high and mighty. This how you get back at us? Put us out on the streets?" He lumbered up out of his chair. "I'll be damned if I let you do this to us. You're coming back to that house now if I have to tie you up myself."

"I'll help," said Trent. He leered at his sister.

"Get away from her." Chris's voice cut through them all. He fixed Ethan and Trent with a glare. "You take one more step, and I'll call the cops."

"If you want to be mad at someone," Annabeth said, finding some of her own anger again, "then talk to the old woman in the hospital room. This was her idea, not mine. For once in your excuse for a life, be mad at the right person."

Ethan started towards her but Chris pulled her behind him and stood before Ethan. Ethan was large, but it was all fat; Chris was taller, leaner and in better shape. Trent got up to stand by his father.

"Think you can take us both, Kincaid?" Trent taunted.

"We're leaving," Chris said, his voice icy calm. "If you take one step after us, I will have security on you so fast your head will spin." Trent started to take a step forward, but his father yanked him back. As the son turned on the father, Chris led Annabeth out of the hospital.

"Sit down," Ethan ordered his son as Trent made to go after Chris and Annabeth. Damn stupid idiot, Ethan thought. Doesn't know when to wait. Always wants things now.

"You're not going to just let her walk away," Trent spat angrily. "She can't. You know that old hag in there means it. Just like her to do something like that."

"I know," said Ethan with uncharacteristic calm, although the usual anger bubbled underneath. "But if you try to get her now, Kincaid's right. He'll call security and they'll call police. Annabeth'll get out while we're tied up with the pigs. Keep it quiet and we'll take care of it later." Trent glared but sat back down.

Karen surprised them both. "I'll take care of it," she said quietly.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Ethan swung his hand almost leisurely and hit her shoulder hard enough to make her wince. "Since when can you take care of anything?"

Karen ignored the hit. "I'm her mother. She's my daughter. I won't let her put us out on the street. I'll take care of it this time, Ethan."

Ethan shrugged. "Fine by me. 'Bout time you did something to earn your keep." Annabeth would be staying, he figured, however it happened. If Karen could do it and keep the police out of it, so much the better. "You wait here," he told his wife. "She's your mother. Come with me, boy." Trent followed his father out.

"What?" he asked sullenly.

Ethan snorted. "I'm not going to sit in there and wait. Hell, no. Let the woman sit there, it's all she's good for. I want a drink." Trent brightened slightly. 

x-x-x-x

Chris stole glances at Annabeth as he drove. She hadn't said a word and he wasn't quite sure where to go. Finally he decided on the one thing that people did no matter the situation -- he stopped for food. 

"Come on," he said gently as he opened the car door. "At least let's go in and you can tell me what happened." She nodded and let him guide her inside.

She was silent as they were seated and Chris ordered coffee for himself, tea for her. He called his mother and quickly brought her up to date, then held Annabeth's hand across the table, waiting patiently until she was ready to speak. After the server brought their drinks, she mechanically added milk and sweetener, then took a sip. She made a sour face. 




Facing the Past



"I never did like getting tea in restaurants," she said, and Chris was relieved to see her break out of that shell she'd been in since leaving the hospital. "The water's never hot enough. It doesn't taste quite right."

"I'll treat you to a margarita," Chris offered, and she relented and gave a small smile. "That's better," he said, squeezing her hand. "You ready to tell me what happened in there?"

"With the voodoo woman, you mean?" she asked, but there was no bite to the sarcasm.

"I didn't buy that," Chris said. "I always figured she was just into straight black magic. Upside down crosses and pentagrams and such."

"Might as well have been," said Annabeth with a sigh. "She was..." she shook her head. "It's hard to explain. It took me many counseling sessions to really figure it out, but everything came back to her. She had everyone under her thumb, even me for a while. I figured it out, subconsciously at least, and rebelled in my own little ways." She took a sip of the tea. "She egged Ethan on, and Trent, too. I never knew why and I didn't care to. Still don't."

"So she was on a power trip," Chris said.

"I suppose she was," Annabeth said with a sigh. "How pathetic is that? Just hiding in that house -- and ones before that -- playing her little mind games and moving people like chess pieces."

"And she's still trying to do it," Chris guessed.

"Yes, she is," Annabeth said. "You know all those rumors about her having money?" Chris nodded and sipped his coffee. "Well, apparently it's true. She says it is. The money and the house can all be mine -- if I come back and stay in the house."

"You can't," Chris said instantly.

"No," she said softly, "I can't. She said she'll let the house rot if I don't take it, and I don't know what will happen to the money or to Ethan and the others since I won't take it. I can't bring myself to care." As she had with Lorna, she looked at Chris and asked, "Does that make me a bad person? Is this my way of getting some kind of revenge, by saying no and knowing Miss Eve means it, that she'll throw them out if I don't agree? Do I owe them anything?"

"Nabby," he said, covering her hand with his, "you are in no way a bad person. You are an amazing person who was surrounded by pathetic excuses for parents. You've made your choices, and they've made theirs. You don't owe any of them anything. You are in no way responsible for what Miss Eve might do, no matter how she tries to make you think so."

"Thanks," she said, her voice slightly choked. "Thanks for saying that." She pressed fingers to her eyes to hold back the tears. I'm going to dehydrate if I keep going like this, she thought in frustration. 

"You know, I could see it in her eyes," Annabeth said when she recovered her voice. "She told me, and I thought about what she said, and she was so sure I would do it. So sure I'd be lured back by the money. She wanted me under her control again. I couldn't do it. I just couldn't."

"She misjudged you," Chris told her. "They all did. You're stronger than they could ever be, and they won't understand that." 

They sat quietly for a few more minutes, then Chris asked for the check. "Let's go," he said when it was paid. 

"Where?" she asked absently.

He smiled. "It's a surprise."

x-x-x-x

"This was a good idea," she told him. They sat by the pond, watching the waning moon reflected in the water. 

"I have good memories of this place," he said. She turned to look at him. "I always beat Pete at rock skipping here," he explained. He laughed at her expression, then kissed her lightly on the nose. "And, of course, you and I had a memorable experience."

"Is that what it was?" she mused as she looked over the water. Then she answered herself. "Yes, I suppose it was." Could she now, twelve years later, tell him it had been so much more to her? That it still was?

"Nabby," he said quietly, and turned her face to his. "It was much more than that." He brought his lips to hers, pressing softly.

Oh, God, he hasn't changed at all, she thought. He's still perfect. She brought her arms up around his neck and shifted so he could pull her closer, which he did. His tongue touched her lips and she parted them, welcoming him into her, savoring the taste and feel of him as she'd done all those years ago.

"Well," Chris said when the broke the kiss, "it's just like old times." He gently nudged her head down to his shoulder and she didn't resist. 

"That was the best time," she said softly. "I think about it a lot."

"Do you?" He pressed his lips to her forehead. She nodded. "I do, too," he told her. She drew back to study him.

"Really?" she asked. A spark of hope flared to life.

"Really," he said. Then he sighed. "I wish it was different, Nabby. I wish everything was different for you. To come back here to all of this when you have a good life somewhere else -- it must be hard."

"It's not such a good life," she said suddenly.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

A dam broke inside her and all of the things she'd meant to hide a bit longer came out. "I'm lonely," she said, "and scared. I like my job but I'm still so nervous around people. I have nightmares. I sleep with my front door locked and bolted and I even lock my bedroom door and put a chair in front of it. I sleep with a light on. I'm scared I'll open my door and find Ethan or Trent standing there. It's a stable life, Chris, but it's empty." A few more tears fell out, but she'd shed so many up to this point that she had almost none left.

"Shhhhh, baby, shhhh," he murmured, holding her and rocking a little. 

"I'm sorry," she said and wiped at her eyes. "You thought I was so strong and I just couldn't let you keep thinking that when it isn't true."

"Shhhh," was all he said. 

"I should get back to my hotel," she said after a while. "Your mom must be worried about you."

"She's fine," Chris said. "I called her earlier." He had decided he wasn't leaving Annabeth alone tonight, even if he had to sleep on the floor. He kissed her gently. "Come on."

Back at the hotel, Chris watched as she double-checked the locks and his heart went out to her as she placed a hand on the desk chair, then stood there undecided. He came over to her and said, "If you feel better with it there, that's fine."

"Will you stay?" she asked suddenly. She hadn't meant to ask but found she was terrified at spending the night alone. Ethan and Trent were both out of jail, and she had no doubt they could find her if they tried. Chris had insisted on informing the manager about them, so he would know to call the police, but fear wasn't rational. Her fingers clutched at her arms as she crossed them in front of her, waiting for his answer.

"I'm glad you asked," he said, pulling her close. "It saves me the trouble of convincing you to let me." 

"Thank you, thank you," she said, holding him tightly. They were quiet for a moment and then she pulled reluctantly away.

"I need a shower," she said, and her voice was rough. "I feel... unclean..." She rubbed her hands up and down her arms. "There's something about them, there always was. I used to scrub myself at the sink for ages after Ethan or Trent hit me, sometimes if they'd just touched me." 

Chris's stomach twisted at her words. She was thirty now, or nearly, and even so he could see the young girl from high school standing at a sink rubbing her skin raw with soap and sponge. Anger that had been simmering began to boil and when Annabeth turned to him again, she gasped and stepped back at the look in his eyes.

That hurt worse than her words. Chris closed his eyes and took a deep breath, ran a hand through his hair. "Nabby," he said softly, carefully, "I'm not angry at you. You have to know that." He took a cautious step forward, and when she didn't retreat, put a hand on her arm. "It just kills me to know what they did to you."

"I'm sorry," she said, rubbing a hand over her face. "I know you're not mad, at least not at me. It's just... oh, God, it's just all these habits ingrained from so long ago. Duck and cover, that's how I thought of it." She took his hands in hers, stared into his eyes. "But I know that's not you. I know you wouldn't hurt me."

"No, I wouldn't," he agreed, and lowered his head to kiss her. "I couldn't," he whispered against her lips. She let him kiss her, sinking into the warmth of his mouth, the steady feel of his hands on her shoulders. There was no pressure, just comfort.

She pulled away just slightly. "That feels wonderful," she said with a little smile in her voice, "but I'm tired and I need that shower. Just being around them makes me feel like I was coated in something greasy."

"I could help," Chris said. His voice was teasing but his eyes weren't.

Annabeth bit her lip, considering. "I'd like that," she said quietly.

In the shower, she was soothed by both the hot water and Chris's body so close to hers. For long minutes, she stood under the spray while he held her close with one arm and rubbed her shoulders with the other. At last she pushed her soaked hair out of her face and turned to him, laying her head on his chest, listening to his heart beat.

Chris held her tightly, nearly swaying in the small space. Holding her felt so right, just as it had that night over ten years ago. He didn't see how he could let her go again. He remembered that night, played it in his mind, and then gently put his hands on her shoulders and stepped back as best he could.

"What is it?" Annabeth asked, puzzled; she was suddenly acutely aware of being naked and blushed.

"Last time, I..." he struggled with what to say. "That night, the night we made love, I saw the bruises. They were right here." He gently traced his finger under her breasts, over her ribs, and her muscles quivered. "You don't have them any more. I wanted to see for myself that they were gone."

"They're gone," she said in a shaky voice. "Most of them, at least." Despite the water running down her face, Chris could see the tears forming in her eyes.

"Oh, Nabby," he whispered, pulling her close. He held for a few more moments, then took the shampoo and began washing her hair. She let him, enjoying the competing sensations of comfort and arousal at the same time. While she rinsed her hair, he took some gel and a washcloth and gently rubbed it over her. This is better than any spa could possibly be, she thought dreamily. She let the water rinse the soap away, then took the cloth herself to drag it over his body.

Chris watched her and it was hard not to falter under his intense gaze. He stepped carefully past her to stand under the shower, tilting his head back to let the water run through his hair. Annabeth watched the brown locks turn almost black as they got wet. He was just amazing, she thought. Without thinking about it, she reached up and slid a hand into his hair, tugging his head down until she could meet his lips with hers.

Chris held onto his self control by a thread; only the fear of scaring her kept him from crushing her body against his own. For now, he satisfied himself with the kiss, and especially with the fact that she'd initiated it. It wouldn't satisfy him for long, but it helped. He slid his arms around her waist and pulled her to him as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

After long minutes, he reached back and switched off the water. "We should move to a larger space," he told her. She nodded and they stepped out of the tub, reached for towels. "Let me," he said. Annabeth said nothing, just closed her eyes as he patted her dry. He shook his head when she moved to do the same for him, so she wrapped the towel around her hair to get the excess water out.

"You feel so soft," he said dropping his towel and bringing her to him again, this time more urgently. Another kiss, harder and filled with need on both sides. Before she could protest, he scooped her up and took her to the bed. She felt delicate and fragile to him, although he knew the strength that ran through her. 

Annabeth whimpered softly as he laid her on the bed, shivering from both the cool air and the heat of his body. She met his tongue with her own, holding on to his shoulders and involuntarily moving her hips against him. As his lips began to trace down her neck, she was struck by something she wasn't sure how to say.

"Chris," she said, her voice a near whisper. He murmured something, kept kissing her. "Chris," she said, a little stronger now, "wait, wait, please."

He lifted his head to meet her eyes, concerned. "What is it, Nabby?" He stroked her cheek.

"It's just... it's probably silly but..." she swallowed and continued, "there have been... others." She bit her lip and waited for his reaction. He smiled in amusement.

"Nabby, I hardly expected you'd been celibate all this time," he said. Then he said more seriously, "I haven't been. There haven't been many, but there have been a few." She nodded. 

"Not many," she repeated. She gripped his shoulders. "None of them were who or what I wanted."

"What did you want?" he asked, his voice a bit darker.

"You," she said. "Just you." 

"Good," he said, and kissed her hard. "Because I'm here and I've only ever wanted you." Now he did crush her beneath him, unable to hold back. He held her tightly, pressing his body against hers as his tongue streaked into her mouth. It was true, he realized. It had been twelve years with no contact except updates from his mother, but he'd never wanted anyone else.

Annabeth tried not to think. Too many questions, too many doubts would flood her mind if she did. She'd come to see her grandmother out of some unexplained need or duty, and it was done. She had no reason to stay and every reason to go. Except that Chris was here and she didn't want to leave, at least not yet. So she pushed those thoughts away and clung to him, letting the sensations from his hands and lips erase anything else that tried to intrude into her mind.

"Oh, Annabeth," Chris sighed as he kissed her forehead, her eyes, her lips. "I wish our first time could have been like this. Inside, on a bed." So gentle, she thought. No one had ever been as gentle with her as he had.

"I liked it," she told him she ran her finger tips along his sides. He shivered and she couldn't suppress a smile. "It was wonderful."

"This will be better," he promised. His lips found hers and she could feel the urgency in him. She tangled her fingers in his hair to keep him close so the kiss wouldn't end. She didn't ever want it to end. It did, but when his lips slid over her shoulder and down to her breast, she couldn't complain.

Chris wished he had the ability to slow down, to take his time with Annabeth, but he couldn't. He wanted to touch her, to taste her, to feel her body around his while she trembled as she came. He let his lips move slowly down her breast, over the satiny skin until he took her nipple in her mouth. When she gasped and arched against him, the last of his control slipped. He teased her nipple to a hard peak, then moved to do the same to the other. 

"Oh, Chris," she said in a voice so soft he almost missed it. He continued to indulge his need for her by slipping a hand between her legs. She arched once more and he growled against her chest when he felt how warm and wet she was. He let his fingers move through the wetness, then shifted down her body so he could taste her.

The first time hadn't allowed for this, so he wouldn't waste the opportunity. He kissed, he licked, he tasted the wonderful flavor that was Annabeth; he'd never forget it. It was driving him crazy; he couldn't get enough. "Please..." he heard her murmur and dragged his tongue over her again and again until she tensed and then shook beneath his hands.

Annabeth couldn't speak. Chris had sent her mind soaring; nothing had ever felt so good. She gasped as he kissed his way back up to her lips, feeling pleasantly fatigued. When their lips met gain, the fatigue faded and was replaced by want. She pushed at him until he rolled over. Her lips never left his as her hands wandered over his chest and her nails scraped over his stomach. 

"God, Nabby," he said gruffly. Then, "Don't stop." She didn't. She kissed and nipped at his shoulders, running her tongue over his skin to refresh her memory as to the slightly salty taste of his skin. Her hands weren't still, gliding over his chest, his stomach, his hips. When her hand grazed a little lower, he let out a soft groan and she couldn't help but smile.

She wrapped her hand around him, marveling at the feel of something so hard covered in silky skin. She stroked him for a few moments before taking him in her mouth, eliciting another groan as he fisted the sheets and lifted his hips. Annabeth realized she would have been too nervous to do this their first time. At least, she mused later, the few other lovers she'd been with had given her this much confidence with him. She ran her tongue up and down the shaft, stroking him with her hands and her lips.

Then she was suddenly done. She wanted him inside her and waiting another moment was waiting too long. Chris apparently felt the same as he tugged on her arms. She laughed softly as he nearly dragged her back up to meet his lips. His hands settled on her waist as she moved over him and he slid inside. For a moment, they stopped, foreheads together and bodies still.

Chris wished he could savor it longer, but had to move. Oh, she felt wonderful. Warm and slick and perfectly made for him. This would not be the last time, he vowed to himself, and pressed his lips to hers to seal the promise.

Annabeth shook slightly with another orgasm as she rested her hands on his shoulders and he held her firmly but carefully around her waist. She loved him, she knew it now. What she didn't know was whether she could -- or should -- tell him. What if this was something other than love, at least for Chris? The thought fled as another wave of pleasure began building.

"Easy now," Chris said, and rolled them over. "Oh, yes..." he sighed as he settled his body over hers, still thrusting against her. Deeper now, as her legs locked around his waist. He rested his hands over hers by her shoulders, whispering to her and dropping kisses on her face, her hair. He loved her but he would wait to tell her. Just a little. She might not believe him if he said it now, so he would wait. However, until then, he could tell her how beautiful and strong she was, and how it felt so right to be with her.

"One more, baby, one more," he said softly, knowing he couldn't last much longer. "I want you to come for me one more time," he told her. He kept his lips on hers as he felt both of their bodies tense, their heart beats race. He buried his cry in her shoulder and she called his name as they came together. After they had their breath back, he rolled to his side and tucked her against him.

Not again, he thought fiercely. I won't let you walk away again.

x-x-x-x

Electronic beeps brought Annabeth out of a deep sleep. There were more beeps, then something shifted on the bed next to her. Chris, she remembered, smiling at the thoughts of what they'd done earlier. She felt so much better, lighter; the weight on her spirit was gone, or nearly so. Because of him.

She sat up as her eyes adjusted to the dim light. Looking around, she saw that he'd placed a chair against the door and shut off all the lamps but one by the bathroom. Her throat tightened as she realized he'd done it for her. He had remembered what she'd said at the pond; he must have gotten up to do it after she'd gone to sleep.

"Hello?" Chris said after finally getting his hands on the phone.

"Chris, it's Pete. Sorry to call so late, but I wanted to check on Annabeth. And you." Pete sounded worried, Chris thought.

"What? What do you mean?" Chris jerked upright in the bed, and Annabeth turned startled eyes to him.