9. Are we ashes and wine?
("Ashes and wine" - A fine frenzy)
For days India sits in her new apartment, still devoid of furniture, waiting for the pain to pass. Finally, abandoning all pretence, she simply cries until she has no tears left. She has lost her best friend again, and she has lost her almost lover. Again.
Then, when she has grieved enough, she starts to consider what comes next.
She can go anywhere she likes. She has more money than she knows what to do with - and she doesn't have to do a thing. But the less she does, the more she thinks, and she doesn't want to have to think at all.
---
India starts by registering with the American Association of Drugless Practitioners (it's surprisingly easy - sometimes it's beneficial to be India Waits) and hiring an office in an upmarket high-rise not far from her apartment. All it takes is one well-placed newspaper ad to advertise her services, and when she walks into her new office on the first day, her schedule is booked ahead for months already.
She throws herself into her new work with something that resembles ferocity rather than enthusiasm. From morning to late afternoon she heals, and when she goes home she is exhausted enough for no superfluous thoughts to make it into her head.
---
"Ms Waits, can I make a suggestion?"
India's highly efficient secretary, a young woman with a blue streak in her fringe who refuses to call India by her given name on the grounds that it will be unprofessional, is standing in the door.
Sitting back in her leather chair, India stretches the tight muscles in her neck. "Sure, Hayley, what is it?"
"No offense, but I think you need to see a few less people every day." Catching the smaller woman's raised eyebrow, Hayley presses on regardless. "I admire your work ethic, but we're really squashing the patients in and rushing through them at a terrible speed. And maybe if we slowed down it wouldn't wear you out so much."
"Point taken, Hayley. I'll think about it."
When Hayley has left, India takes the five minutes grace between her two appointments and does think about it. At first she is tentative - she knows that there are tough feelings lying behind her motivation to push herself so hard, and she has been trying to avoid thinking about certain things for about six months now - but then, with surprise, she realises that where that ache used to be is now only a soft spot. When she thinks of Jude she doesn't exactly smile, but at the very least the pain has settled into a placid sadness.
Time is indeed a healer of some perverse sort.
India presses the intercom button. "Hayley?"
"Yes, Miss Waits?"
Rolling her eyes at the formal tone of voice India sighs. "Okay. Do what you have to with the schedule. It's in your capable hands."
"With pleasure, Miss Waits."
---
The press has almost uniformly slammed her for deciding to open her own office, rather than to continue her charity work. They conveniently ignore her infrequent forays into war zones, and she ignores them for the most part.
When she thinks of Kinshasa she can almost taste the blood in her mouth, hear the rushing of water around her. She still wakes up breathless and shaking sometimes; sleep doesn't come easy, and most of the time it doesn't stay for the duration of the night.
---
There are still a lot of people trying to make friends with her, but she is never sure of the intention and so she discourages them regardless. The only person at the office that she thinks she could like is Hayley, and Hayley refuses to call her by her name, never mind be her friend.
She is not completely alone, though. She has struck up an unusual friendship with an old lady who lives two floors down. Dorothea Vallgren is a retired Swedish opera singer who cares very little for sensationalism and only knows India as a medical doctor of sorts. India does not dissuade her from her opinion, and they sometimes spend evenings playing Rummy whilst Dorothea goes on flights of fancy, reminiscing about her profligate youth.
India understands very little of these episodes, as half of the stories degenerate into a dreamy Swedish monologue, and the other half consists of Dorothea belting out little-known arias in her powerful cigar-and-whiskey voice. Eventually Dorothea will remember that India is listening, and she will draw her attention back in with a sharp questioning "Ja?" which India answers with a solemn "Ja" even if she has not understood a thing. She likes the old woman's vivacity, so the words don't matter much.
There is also Anthony Allan on the third floor, who sometimes takes her to coffee shops just to argue with her. He calls himself a professional protestor and doesn't see his trust fund status and high-end residence as inhibiting him from being "one of the people". Between protests (he's not a one-trick pony; as long as the ideology suits him he'll support anything) and producing his little poor-quality liberal fliers he arrives at India's door, leaning against it lankily, and when she wants to let him in it's always the same thing. He refuses to come in because she's a supporter of capitalism, shoots down her comment that he's exactly the same for living in such an expensive apartment building, and then takes her to a hole-in-the-wall coffee place about five blocks down where he proceeds to flood her with political tirades. She takes Anthony much the same as she does Dorothea - she doesn't understand half of what he's saying, so she settles for enjoying his enthusiasm and gives inadequate answers when he needs them. He says that he gets frustrated, but this is a part of their dynamic; he wants to believe that he can break through to her and she doesn't mind him trying.
Anthony doesn't believe in her skill as a healer, either. Every now and then he'll bring the newest article about her with him, and slam it down on the table as if it's personally offensive to him. Then, an argument will follow, he more passionate than she, until something else grabs his attention. It is this part of him that appeals to India. She likes the fact that when everyone else is sycophantically deferential, Anthony thinks she's a fake and doesn't hesitate to tell her so. In detail. He is not there because she is who she is - he is there because he is who he is. He will not even let her lay her hands on him for proof; there is much mumbling of gamma rays and radio-activity and just plain germs that makes her laugh rather than insults her. She thinks that if she has to touch him, their interaction will fall apart, and she's learned from her mistakes.
---
Jude Limas is difficult to avoid, even if one is trying. She features on talk shows, has a new actuality programme on CNN, and makes an appearance on every newsworthy video clip. Now she is in Afghanistan, now in Angola, wincing at the sound of explosions too close to be safe even as she continues with her script, ducking down behind barrels whilst shots ring out around her.
Every time India sees something like that her heart shrinks in on itself. She dreads the time when the story of the day will be that Jude got too close to the danger zone. She sometimes considers pulling a few strings to stay close to Jude, to be a clandestine groupie who keeps watch, but she knows that 1) Jude will not appreciate it, and 2) she simply cannot go back there.
And so she heals at her own rate, by her own rules, not loving it but finding it imperative to do
something.
---
Bzz. Bzzzzzzzzzz.
Hayley's efficiency sometimes gives India a pain where she can't do anything about it. The girl even presses the intercom button as if she's buzzing India by her surname. Yawning, India leans closer, deciding on a whim to be haughty.
It's fun to mess with Hayley.
"Waits here. Who's this?"
"Hayley." She can almost picture the woman's arched thin eyebrow rising in exasperation, and somehow that gives her a great deal of pleasure.
"Why hello, Hayley. How are you?"
"Tolerable, Miss Waits. Are you quite finished?"
India has to fight the urge to giggle. She knows she's being silly, that she's probably been in the office too late for a few days now and has lost the plot completely, but cheerfulness is rare and has to be savoured when it comes along, even if it is unreasonable.
"Good of you to be so stern with me, Hayley; I wouldn't want the fact that I sign your paycheque to inhibit your disapproval in any way."
There's an audible sigh. "Are you finished
now?"
"Yes. I think I am. What can I do for you?"
"I have a walk-in. Can I disturb your lunch?"
Looking at the barely touched noodles on the edge of her desk India grimaces. "Yes. I'm done. Go ahead."
"Thank you, Miss Waits." If she didn't know better she'd swear that was sarcasm. She considers pressing the button and asking outright - it would be worth the amusement to her - but when the door opens and Jude Limas steps through it, the smile dies on India's lips.
She stands awkwardly, and then wonders if she should have stayed seated.
"Jude?"
"Hello, India."
---
Jude looks awful. Her skin is sallow, her eyes are dull, and her hair is in disarray and falling out in clumps. Terrible what loss will do to some people.
At least, this is what India would like to tell herself. The truth is that Jude looks lovelier than ever. Her glossy dark hair is plaited back, emphasising the high cheekbones and obstinate triangular chin, and her green eyes stand out against her honey-hued skin. She looks cool and casual in her white linen shirt and beige cargo pants, but India notices the restless way in which her thumbs twitch against her thighs, and knows that she's nervous.
"Sit down, please?" Apprehensive herself, India indicates the chair opposite her, and then she can't resist any longer.
"Are you okay, Jude? Are you sick?"
She has to stop herself from reaching out to lay her hands on the other woman, to run her hands down Jude's thighs as if the journalist is a racehorse on show, checking for any of the imagined hurts she has seen playing out behind her eyelids at night.
Though Jude doesn't smile, the corners of her eyes crinkle slightly at the concern seeping involuntarily through India's attempted careless tone of voice. Sitting down in the comfortable chair she nods up at India.
"No, no, I'm fine. I'm good. Thank you."
"Okay." Sitting down herself India picks up a pen and begins to toy with it uneasily. Her hands are still burning with the need to touch, and she must keep them occupied. "I… What can I do for you?"
She's trying hard not to look at Jude, because the memories she has so carefully put aside in the last few months are flooding back and demanding that she drinks in the sight of the woman sitting across the table from her.
"I hope you don't mind. I was in the area. How are you?"
It's obvious to India that the usually collected woman is floundering, and trying to cover it up with small talk - before, she would have teased Jude about it. Now, that level of interaction is gone. She craves the banter, the easy teasing, the repartee, but it's not her place to initiate that. It's probably not even her place to ache for it.
"Not at all, Jude. It's nice to see you." The first honest sentiment of the day falls vulnerably between them, and India wishes she could unsay it. She covers it up with a hasty "I'm fine, thanks. No complaints," but not before she spots the slight smile starting to curve around the other woman's lips.
Oh, dear God, please don't let her smile at me. I beg of you. Anything else. Anything. That smile will be the beginning of the end for me. Have mercy.
Jude rearranges her expression almost guiltily and India sends up a small word of thanks to the heavens.
"So … you have an office." Looking around the sterile white walls, taking in the massage table set up near the window, Jude nods almost pensively. "It's really the last thing I thought you'd do."
"People change," India snaps defensively, cringing at the pitch of her own voice even as she says it.
The small smile flits over Jude's mouth again, more pronounced in its amusement this time, and India is caught between wanting to be affronted and wanting to worship those lips.
"Not that much." Jude's green eyes are twinkling, though her expression gives nothing more away. "At least, that's what I hope." Her gaze travels over India's face, up to her tousled short dark hair, and India resists the urge to run a hand over what she knows is most likely a mess of flips and wild ends. She has given up on trying to control her hairstyle - it is an entity of its own.
"Sorry."
"Don't be." Rubbing at one hand with the other in a motion that to India is strangely reminiscent of that night,
that night, Jude is hesitant. "I wanted to speak to you, India."
Bemused, India frowns.
Jude corrects herself. "I know we're talking now, but I meant ... at length. Somewhere else. I'm sure you have a client coming in soon."
Looking up at the chrome clock over the doorway, India does a quick calculation before she nods. "In about ten minutes. Yes."
"Okay. Can I buy you dinner tonight?" Jude picks up the slight alarm fleeting across India's face, and misreads it. "You
can say no."
A slight self-deprecating chuckle escapes India's lips. "You're wrong." She thinks for a moment. "Okay."
"Is there somewhere you'd prefer?"
"Umm… there's a little Italian place I go sometimes - it's about three blocks from here. It's fairly unknown and the booths make for great privacy." A slight blush suddenly rises in India's cheeks. "Not that… it's just… we probably won't be bothered by the other patrons."
"I got that." The smile is threatening to appear again.
Biting the inside of her cheek, India tries not to focus on Jude's lips. "Fine. Seven thirty? Okay. I'll get Hayley to make a reservation. You can get the exact address from her on your way out."
"Good. I'll do that." Jude rises. "I'll see you tonight."
"Yep. Okay."
When the journalist closes the door behind her, India leans back and sighs.
She should have said no.
She can't take this again.
---
India's there a few minutes early, but Jude is already sitting in the corner of the private booth, studying the leather-bound menu by the light of the sconce mounted against the wall above her. The journalist's glasses are perched on her nose, and India's heart lurches uncomfortably in her throat. Looking up, Jude smiles.
"Hi. You look great."
"Thanks. You too. Hi." Sliding into the seat opposite Jude, India grasps the other menu. "Have you ordered something to drink?"
"A bottle of wine - they stock my favourite." Jude smiles hesitantly. "I hope you don't mind."
"No. That's great." Or something completely unlike it. The memories are dragging India down, and she doesn't know how she's going to get through this dinner. She has no idea where to look, because she has a suspicion that if she looks at the other woman she won't be able to look away. And then, she suspects, Jude will be able to read the ache and uncertainty and pure plain
want in her eyes. Paging at random through the menu she keeps her head down. "Have you decided what you're going to order?"
"I'm wavering between the chef's salad and the spaghetti bolognaise." Jude peers at her over the menu. "Anything you'd care to suggest?"
That we both go home and you don't break my heart again?
"The 'Pollo con Limone' is excellent."
Reading through the short description Jude nods and closes the menu, putting it to one side. "Sounds tasty. I'll try it."
When the owner comes over and insists on kissing both their hands before he pours the wine reverently for Jude to taste, India orders for both of them and waves away his compliments familiarly.
"You come here often, I take it."
"Often enough, but he doesn't seem to be getting used to it."
Jude lifts the glass to her lips and takes a sip, closing her eyes in enjoyment. At the sound of the slight murmur slipping from her throat India frowns, trying to will away the unwelcome flashback.
"Jude. I can't…"
She wants to tell Jude that she can't do this, that she can't stay; but as Jude's eyes fix on her with a sense of inevitability reflected in them, she realises that if she were to say this, Jude would actually let her leave. And then she would leave, because she'd asked to in the first place. And if she left, she's fairly sure she won't see Jude again.
Which is worse - the ache of being with her? Or the ache of being without her? India has been without her for a while, and thinks that most likely she will be without her again soon (forever?). So, the only thing that remains is to enjoy the moment for what it is.
"India?"
Realising that she's pensively staring at the sconce, India blinks and returns her attention to Jude. "Excuse me?"
"You were saying something."
"I was? It must not have been important."
"Okay." Jude almost looks relieved. "You're not smoking anymore?"
A semi-neutral topic. Good. "Sometimes, but not much. After … After Kinshasa my lungs can't handle much more than one a day."
"That's silly. You should just stop."
Raising her eyebrows India sits back. "I'm doing better than I used to. That should count for something."
"Of course." Jude is immediately penitent. "Sorry. It's none of my business. Are you enjoying San Francisco?"
"Yeah. It's a great city, though I don't do much sightseeing lately." India sips at her wine. "How about you? Been home much? It doesn't seem like it."
"Not much, no." Jude traces the simple square pattern on the table cloth with her finger. "Every time I think I'm done someone else phones with another proposal, and I can never let them go. You know how I am."
All too well. "You should take on a little less. You'll work yourself into the ground like that."
Spotting the wince that India fails to hide, Jude reaches out, stopping just short of touching her hand. "It's okay to show that you're still concerned about me, India. I won't think anything of it. I worry about you too."
At a loss for words - what do you say to someone who can sum you up so quickly and so accurately? It's terrifying - India sits back, trying to put more distance between them, just as the food arrives.
Thankful, India tucks into the delicious chicken, making sure to keep her head down. Every now and then she feels Jude's gaze on her, but she eats resolutely.
"You're back to being bristly."
It sounds like an accusation, but when India looks up Jude's expression is one of fond indulgence. Poking at the remainder of her meal, India bites the inside of her lip.
"Why do you worry about me?"
"Why?" Jude frowns. "Because I care, India - I haven't…"
"I didn't mean it like that," India interrupts, eager to stop the direction of Jude's statement, "I meant: what is it that you worry
about?"
"Oh." Jude dabs at her mouth with the napkin before she drops it onto the plate and sits back. "I worry about how you are. That something will go wrong, like in Kinshasa. I worry that you're safe. That kind of thing."
Not sure now why she even asked, India shrugs. "But I'm okay."
"I wouldn't know that for sure unless I see you." Picking up her wine glass Jude swirls it thoughtfully. "And I'm still not sure. You seem smaller than you used to, somehow. "
With a shake of her head India shrugs. "I'm
fine, Jude."
"… I bet you think you are, India, but the last time you and I really
spoke, you didn't want to do this anymore. Now you're in an office, taking clients, making money… It's all very… "
"Capitalist?" India supplies drily.
"Yes." But Jude has to chuckle, and the sound is so contagious that India grins despite herself. Gazing at her, Jude sighs. "It's nice to see you smile, India."
Just as suddenly as it has arrived, the easy atmosphere dissipates. India turns her gaze from the woman opposite the table to a sconce three booths over, more to collect herself than for any other purpose. Sconces can only be so interesting. "I still do that sometimes."
"I'd hoped so."
After a moment India returns her gaze, her expression serious. "What would you have me do, Jude? Keep going until something gets out of hand?"
"No." Shaking her head empathically, Jude leans forward. "But to criticize your own skill, and then to go to selling it - that's a strange leap. I just don't understand it. I thought you'd stop when you could."
"I need a whiskey." Beckoning the waiter, India orders. She waits until he was out of earshot, gathering her thoughts, before she speaks.
"I also thought I'd stop, Jude. I wanted to, so much." Her voice is soft, solemn. "But then I thought about how scared I always was. How I'd been running away from everything. My ability, my life, confrontation… you. And I realised how goddamned drained I was of running. I didn't want to do it anymore." She shrugs. "The best way to deal with a fear that the world won't let you forget is to approach it on your own terms in a controlled situation. Oh, and it happens to be the only marketable skill I have."
Smiling at the last words, Jude shakes her head. "You amaze me. I don't know what to say, now."
"Now
that amazes
me."
With a snort Jude sits back, but her mind is a million miles away. It gives India ample opportunity to study the flickering play of the light over her strong jaw and the curve of her bottom lip.
When she realises that she is staring it's already too late. She's lost. Her heart is in her throat. She never should have come.
"Why are we here?"
Startled by India's sudden outburst Jude snaps back to attention. "I assume you're not being philosophical." When the dark eyes stay on her without any reaction she sighs and sits back. "I was half hoping that we could have dinner and I could just get up and leave without having to offer collateral."
India doesn't smile. "We could still do that. You can get up and walk away right now."
When Jude looks over at the door the longing in her eyes is unambiguous. Setting her jaw she turns back to India. "What was it you said? Deal with fear by approaching it on your own terms in a controlled environment?" India nods and Jude sits back, indicating the table between them with a nod of her head. "Controlled environment."
"I don't understand." The confusion eats at India's gut. "What's the fear?"
Jude looks at her unflinchingly. "You."
"Me?" Staring at the journalist across the table India scowls. "You're afraid of
me?" She looks down nervously. "Is it what I can do?"
"No. It's what you did. To me."
When India looks up, Jude has turned her head away. Her profile is strained.
"Jude, I know I shouldn't have kissed you, but I thought you… Why would that scare you, though? It won't happen again."
Jude looks at India for a long moment, her expression thoughtful, and when she begins to speak she's deceptively matter-of-fact.
"I've never had any real roots since I started building this career. So I get to see most of the world, have incredible experiences, and meet the most remarkable people all over the globe, but in the end I go home - even for the shortest while - and I get to be all by myself. I'm selfish. There's usually so much misery and distress and upheaval around me, that when I'm not working I really just want the keel to be as even as possible."
"And you thought I'd rock the boat."
Leaning forward, Jude smiles unexpectedly sweetly. "Oh, you would. Trying to grasp you is like dancing with a centipede, India. You go four steps forward … and seven back. You're not sure what you want, and whenever you meet resistance you think you're being punished for something."
India frowns angrily. "I didn't come here to be… "
"Please. Wait a minute. Let me finish." Jude holds up a hand and waits for India to nod grudgingly before she continues. "Now me, I've never
had to fight to reach people. But then, I've never actually had to maintain that connection for long. I'm all touch and go - however much long-distance consistency there is in me, I wouldn't bet on. I want it my way. All the way. And the way I like it is - simple."
Sitting back she studies India with a self-deprecating smile.
"You and me together, India - that's like a tsunami just waiting to happen."
The smaller woman's jaw is twitching. "So why did you invite me out, Jude? Just to tell me this? I could have gone without hearing it. I got the point when you pushed me away."
"I still wanted to talk to you about it!
You were the one who ran!" The dinnertime hubbub around them suddenly hushes, and Jude waits silently until calm is restored before she continues. "Have you ever had a sore tooth? And you just
know you shouldn't, but you keep poking at it with your tongue to check that the pain is still there?"
India sighs. "Jude, what does this have to do with anything?"
"That's what I was doing in your office today." When Jude bites her bottom lip, India perceives for the first time the uncertainty that the journalist is trying to hide. "I thought that maybe I'd see you, and that feeling wouldn't be there anymore, and I could just greet and go on. I was hoping I'd be lucky, but …" Nervously she stops, looking away as she rubs at her forehead.
"Jude?" India's voice is still. "What are you trying to tell me?"
"Ha. And I always say you're the one who's flustered easily." When Jude laughs tensely India reaches out and grabs her motioning hand in mid-air, bringing it down to the table.
"Jude. What are you trying to tell me?"
Looking down at their clasped hands, Jude sighs. Her eyebrows contract when she looks up. "The two of us are a hopeless combination. Useless. You're going to misunderstand me and get angry; I'm going to get overworked and snap. And sulk. I'm going to want you to do more, and you're going to want me to do less. You're deserving of more, and I'm going to have to fit you in as my career and my visibility dictates. With you, my life is going to be absolute madness. Guaranteed." Then, lifting their clasped hands to her mouth she drops a feather light kiss on India's wrist. Her eyes shimmer so that India thinks there might be tears in them.
"But without you…it looks like my life's going to be pointless. There's a connection that I don't understand. A flash - beyond the weird physical one - that ignites me in a way I've never had. I didn't think I could be with you, India… but it seems more and more likely that I can't be without you either."
"Oh." It is little more than an amazed exhalation from India's lips. Wiping her eyes fleetingly with one hand, Jude clears her throat.
"I know the moment is gone, and you've probably moved on. I waited too long. That's okay."
India chuckles breathlessly. "Moved on? Where could I move on
to when you filled my entire universe, Jude?"
Now it is Jude who exhales, overwhelmed. Lifting India's hand to her mouth again she presses another kiss to her wrist, and the sudden spark under her lips is undeniable. This time she doesn't pull back, but smiles at the tingling sensation. Feeling the motion against her skin, India opens her hand and cups the strong jaw softly.
"I can't believe this yet. It's… I don't know. It's surreal." She can feel tears pool in her eyes. Her fingers trace a pattern over the smooth cheekbones, causing the journalist's green eyes to close slowly. "You want me."
Jude's gaze is suddenly on hers, and the pure fire there sends rapid currents from her throat right down to her toes - and everywhere in between. "Oh yes, " Jude whispers, "I very much want you."
"Oh God." Taking a deep breath through her nose India exhales raggedly. "Please don't look at me like that."
Suddenly unsure, Jude frowns. "India?"
India's fingers slip over her cheekbone, skims her hair, barely brushes the dark strands over her ears. "If you still want me, you can still have me. I'm yours."
The smile that Jude turns on her is not the blinding type that she so easily charms people with. This one is secret and scorching and slow.
"I
want you, India. I want all of you. Take me home."
10. Light up, light up… as if you have a choice
("Run" - Leona Lewis)
Somehow they manage to take care of the cheque and get to the car park before Jude is suddenly, urgently, pinning India against the side of a car with her lean body.
Her breath is rushed and smells faintly of lemon when she leans in and claims India's lips roughly, and it is all the shorter woman can do to wrap her arms around Jude's shoulders and pray that her trembling knees don't give in.
The rasp of Jude's warm tongue against hers sets off a shiver that runs all the way to her heels. Shifting with the fiercest of willpower she grasps the lapels of Jude's jacket as much to put some distance between them as to stabilize her trembling frame. When she leans away Jude tries to close the distance between them, frowning as India pushes her back.
"What?"
Her hot breath leaves a puff of white in the chilly air, and her voice is so ragged that India almost leans back in and gives herself over anew to Jude's fierce blaze. Closing her eyes for a moment she tries to pull herself together. Her nerve endings are on fire.
"Wait..."
As she says it a thread of uncontrollable energy snakes from her hands into Jude's veins. The journalist's mouth drops open and she exhales shakily.
"Uh… If you want me to wait you'd better stop doing that, India."
India loosens her grip, prying her fingers from Jude's jacket and regretting it the moment it's done.
Placing her hands on either side of India's head, the journalist closes her eyes and takes a shaky breath.
"Okay. I'm good. What's going on?"
Unsure of where to put her hands, but fairly certain that running them inside Jude's shirt as her body is urging her to do would be counterproductive, India settles for stuffing them in her pockets and pushing down tightly.
"We can't do this here."
She's entirely correct. Though until now the car park has been deserted, and though they are in a pool of shadow that shields them somewhat, it will just take one observant passer-by and their moment will be immortalized on every major news station. And Youtube, too.
Looking left and right Jude finally pushes herself away from the car and runs a hand over her face soberly.
"You're right. That was stupid."
Reaching out, India takes her hand. "Careless? Definitely. Stupid? No. By the way, you could kiss for the Olympic team."
"Nonsense." The word is light, but there is still a rasping velvet deepness to Jude's voice that ignites shivers deep inside India. "I thought it was you."
"Liar." Lifting the hand clasped in hers to her mouth India kisses the knuckles. "Your hands are cold."
"I've got gloves in the car, I think." Pulling her hand gently from India's, Jude gazes at her. "I think it's time for me to go home."
Unbidden panic rises in India.
Silly. Be calm. She concentrates on keeping her voice blithe. "No nightcap?"
"No. Invite me another night. Tomorrow."
"Okay. Come over for dinner tomorrow night." When Jude nods mutely India cups her face. "So you're finished with me?"
"Oh God." With a groan Jude removes India's hand from her cheek and steps back. "If I had my way … I can't go anywhere with you tonight, India. I'm a little too wound up."
That damned unmanageable shiver comes back and settles in a decidedly uncomfortable place. Taking a deep breath through her nose India stares at Jude. "What are you doing to me? I've never … This is… You're going to be the death of me."
The low chuckle that escapes Jude's mouth is sinful. "Ditto, Waits. I told you we were mayhem just waiting to happen. Welcome to the tsunami."
"I don't know how I'm going to survive you…" and India takes in the other woman's uneven breathing, her slightly parted lips, the glint in her languid eyes, "but I don't care. Bring on the gales. I'm about to get wet."
Even as she realises what she's just said and the blush begins to rise in her cheeks, Jude leans over, her breath warm on India's ear.
"I'm counting on it. I shouldn't have to suffer alone."
And then, with a suddenly tender kiss to India's neck, she turns around and walks away.
---
India's sleep is scant and disturbed, but this time she dreams of Jude Limas, instead of war. That is a good few steps up. She wakes from what feels to be only a few minutes of deep sleep, just before her alarm goes off, and wonders if last night is just a hallucination.
Maybe she has finally gone insane.
But when she stretches, and stands in front of her mirror, she feels the burning energy inside her at the same time as she sees her shining face. She's glowing. If this is a hallucination, if she's lost her mind, it's a lovely place to be.
Even the usually detached Hayley picks up the transformation and can't help but comment.
"Whoa. Who got laid last night?" she blurts out before, with an absolutely mortified expression, she slaps a hand over her mouth. A hint of a blush rises in her cheeks. "Sorry. I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me."
With a grin India raises an eyebrow. "Why Hayley… you're
human! Please give yourself a bonus for that."
Hayley frowns, trying to regain her composure. "It wasn't appropriate."
"Luckily for you there's no-one in the reception area yet, so it really doesn't matter," India says drily. "Loosen your panties, Hayley. You'll be much more fun that way."
---
The day drags and flies at the same time. India asks Hayley to send in walk-ins as well - she wants her day to have as little free time as possible, because any spare moment distracts her fiercely.
The object of her euphoria phones around lunch.
"Hey, it's me. Are you busy today?"
"Hey you. Yes, the office is seeing a lot of walk-ins. How are you?"
"Mmm. Just fine. So I'll see you tonight at eight?"
"Yes. I look forward to dinner."
"Ditto, Waits. Want me to bring a bottle of wine?"
"Sure. That would be nice."
"I'll see you then. Bye."
"Bye, Jude."
The journalist is warmly gracious, but somehow India finds that more tempting than if Jude were whispering wayward things in her ear. The smooth surface hides a whirlpool, she is sure of it, and there is some allure to being dragged slowly but surely closer to the danger zone.
A clenching sensation in her stomach brings her back to the present, and when she realises that thinking about Jude has set forth a lazy burn through her veins, she shakes her head and throws herself into her work anew.
---
She is stirring the pasta when the doorbell rings. The sound sets off a delicate fluttering in her stomach, which is almost instantly replaced by an unpleasant clenching sensation. Damning her nerves she tosses the tea towel to one side and leaves the kitchen to answer the door.
Jude seems calm, but from the small signs that India knows she can tell the journalist is slightly ill at ease. Offering a smile, Jude holds up the bottle.
"Hi."
"Hey." India's gaze briefly takes in Jude's form before she smiles back at her. "You look great."
Wonderful, she actually wants to say.
So good that I hurt when I look at you. But this is very new, and she doesn't want to scare Jude, and she doesn't want to scare herself either. Knowing that - more likely than not - her emotion is radiating through her expression in any case, she lowers her eyes and leads Jude to the kitchen.
The two wine glasses are standing there, ready, and only once the wine is poured can she look at Jude again. Raising her glass, India thinks.
"To… to you. Being back."
"You shouldn't waste a toast on me, India."
"It's
not wasted. Honestly. Everyone's a critic." Raising an eyebrow, India cocks her head. "Fine. You go."
That smile slips onto Jude's face, the one that crinkles her eyes and brings out the dimples. She looks at India for a long moment before lifting her glass.
"To benevolence that I don't quite understand, but that I certainly appreciate."
"Oh." Lost for words India takes a sip and then puts the glass on the counter and picks up the spoon, stirring for a moment before she continues. "I couldn't blame you for being unsure, Jude."
"I hurt you."
"It wasn't on purpose, was it?"
"Definitely not, but that doesn't change the fact that it must have hurt."
"It did, yes. But now I can either keep blaming you, which would just extend the hurt, or I can have what I wanted in the first place, which sort of brings a point to the heartache." India smiles to herself. "Everybody hurts sometime, Jude. It's what you do with it that makes the difference."
"When did you become so astute, India?"
"I was born like this. You just haven't seen this side of me yet." Poking at the paste she tries to gauge the texture. "I'm sorry. I wanted to have it done before you came, but my day was longer than I'd expected."
She feels, rather than hears, Jude silently walking up behind her, and then the taller woman's hand is at the nape of her neck, fingers brushing softly through the hair there.
"I thought you looked tired. No wonder."
India almost closes her eyes against the sensual experience, her eyelids fluttering before she realises that she probably needs to pay attention to the pot of boiling water on the stove.
"Umm… Jude, as nice as that is, you really need to stop. Please." Her voice cracks a little on the last word; to her relief, Jude withdraws her hand. "I can't think when you're doing that."
"You don't have to think, India. It's okay to stop once in a while."
"Says the queen of contemplation?" India nearly lets loose an undignified squeak when she realises that the feather light touches now dotting the base of her neck is courtesy of Jude's lips. Leaning back slightly she sighs, enjoying the warm brush of the other woman's mouth against her skin.
"I don't know how you think this is helping."
"I'm not trying to help."
"Obviously." A slightly rougher gasp forces itself from India's throat when Jude suddenly scrapes her teeth over the soft skin. "Jude.
Stop."
"You're a killjoy." The words are warm against her neck, and then she feels the heat dissipate as Jude steps away.
"And you're a danger to me. And society. Drink some wine."
There's a moment of silence, and then Jude speaks quietly. "I don't know what you're doing to me."
"Me? Doing to you?" Wooden spoon in hand, India turns around disbelievingly. "You're the one who…" Noting Jude's crest-fallen expression - which the other woman quickly tries, and fails, to hide - she pauses. "Jude? You okay?"
"Mmm." The journalist murmurs half-hearted assent as she drinks, and then catches India's sceptical look. With a sigh she puts the glass down and leans back against the counter. "You must think I'm some sort of terribly deprived pervert."
"Yes. In the best possible way." When Jude doesn't smile, India quirks her lips self-deprecatingly. "Okay. No making light of it. Why would you say that, Jude?"
"Because one moment I'm pushing you away, and the next I'm incapable of keeping my hands off you." Shrugging, Jude looks at her feet. "I'm not always like this, I promise."
Turning off the stove India walks over and joins Jude against the cabinet. Her first instinct is, in fact, to put her hands on either side of the other woman and box Jude in against her own body, but as with most of her other instincts concerning Jude she realises that this will be instigation rather than pacification. Instead, she stands side by side with the other woman, leaves a small gap between them, conscious not to let her hands wander.
"More's the pity." She smiles, but dares not look in Jude's direction. The distance between them is too small. "Jude, I know this is a special sort of situation. Not exactly normal, I mean. I'm not trying to push you away - just trying to keep us from hurtling headlong into the deep end. That's what's going to happen to me if this goes too fast; and the consequences…" India shakes her head slightly. "I need you to be sure."
Jude frowns, and her bottom lip juts out a little. "I've never been as unsure of the universal as I am right now, India, but of the specific? I'm sure."
"I'm just still so overwhelmed with you here. If you changed your mind …"
"India," and Jude turns, propping her lean hip against the edge of the counter, "I can't say what will happen tomorrow. Unfortunately, that guarantee nobody will be able to make, but now? Tonight? I know what I want." She lifts her hand to her forehead pensively. "Ever since that time you touched me, that first time, it's as if there's an invisible thread connecting us. There's this lingering tingle where you've healed." She smiles, and as usual the brilliance of it takes India's breath away. "It feels like sunshine. Something I can't shake."
"But…" India compresses her lips, thinking, "I can't help but wonder what would have happened if I hadn't touched you. Did my ability interfere with the ordinary order of things? Is this just a by-product?"
"You know what?" Stepping closer, Jude cups India's cheek and gazes down into her eyes deeply. "Right now, I could tell you that I would have loved you regardless. I can tell you that it's the way of the universe. That we would have found each other anyway. But I'm not going to say any of that."
Hypnotised by the green eyes so close to hers, India forgets to blink. "Then what?"
"I'm going to say…" Jude leans in, her eyes fixed on India's lips, "fuck it." She stops when her lips are so close to India's that they're sharing a breath. "What matters is that I'm here, and you're here, and I want you… and I'm struggling to control it."
Studying the beautiful face in front of her at her leisure, India shakes her head in wonder. "You're usually so composed … it's kind of nice to see you out of your element. I didn't think you ever got this flustered."
"I'm just me, India." Jude's eyes track down to her lips. "As normal a person as you are - except without the sparks and the mojo, of course."
"Oh, I beg to differ. You have mojo to spare." When Jude licks her lips India's eyes follow. "Jude?"
"Yes?"
"You're either going to have to move away so that I can finish preparing the food, or you're going to have to kiss me."
"How far are you from finished?"
"Done. I've turned off the stove. Are you hungry?"
In answer Jude closes the scant distance between them. Her lips are soft and skilful, her mouth gently insistent as she pushes all practical thoughts out of India's mind. Abandoning any pretence of control, India finally gives in to her impulse and runs shaking hands over Jude's hips, brushing at the hipbones ever so fleetingly with her thumbs before she slides her fingers back searchingly. When they make first contact with the band of skin between Jude's low-cut hipsters and her white cotton shirt the journalist groans into her mouth and arches forward, away from her touch but into her body. The resulting motion brings their hips together tightly.
"Oh," India breathes against Jude's lips, and again "oh," but there's nothing more to articulate. She can feel the heat rise in her, seeping down to her fingertips, and when she presses her hands again to Jude's lower back, to her warm skin, she is not surprised to feel the taller woman's hips jerk against her own.
Pulling her head back, disengaging their lips with a strained exhalation, Jude stares into India's eyes. The green eyes are dilated and wild.
"Not fair." Jude's voice is little more than a tight moan that sets India's teeth into a clench with pure desire.
"Don't care," and then India runs her hands up inside the shirt, tracing Jude's spine, cupping her shoulder blades, gripping her shoulders. Leaning forward she searches out Jude's lips again, a little more hesitant than the other woman. Their mouths clash and finally conform to a hungry rhythm. Releasing one hand from its white-knuckled grip on the counter next to India, Jude flexes it before splaying it over India's narrow waist, running tight fingers over India's butt, her hip, her thigh.
With each firm stroke India can feel the fire being fuelled inside her. A single throbbing point at her centre is growing, expanding; and every caress of Jude's tongue, every brush of her fingertips, every uncontainable twitch of her hips is feeding the flame. Running her hands frantically down the corded muscles parallel to Jude's spine India spreads her fingers, slips them just into the waistband of Jude's hipsters, kneads the tenseness there, shifts her hands outwards to grasp the desperately twitching hips.
She can feel the heat radiating off her.
She can feel the energy chaotically jump from her fingers in jagged sharp bursts.
Jude's eyes snap open, her expression feral. Her hands still their orbit of India's hips stiffly. Her lips - now shining, the golden hue spreading over her face faintly - part in a silent groan.
With a low groan of her own India shifts her hips against Jude's, dragging them closer together. When her thumbs again brush over Jude's hipbones, the journalist lets out a small choked grunt.
"Please…"
India pauses, frowning in uncertainty.
Lifting one hand from its berth on the narrow hip Jude grasps India's wrist and pulls it inwards, her grip gentle but desperate.
"Please."
When India finally slides her hand downwards, pushing away the cotton barrier underneath her fingers, she gasps with pleasure at the unfamiliar sensation of the scorching liquid smoothness. Running her fingertips through the drenched folds she relishes in the small incoherent sounds slipping from Jude's lips, and when her fingers flick over the distended button Jude gasps out a breathy expletive.
"Oh fuck." Reaching down with a trembling hand she stills the motion of India's fingers. "I'm going to fall."
Stretching up India kisses her ferociously, twisting away as she does so to spin them around, placing Jude against the kitchen counter. Bending one knee between Jude's she nudges the other woman's legs further apart, and then her fingers are stroking and kneading and persuading in rhythm with the energy pulsing from her. Reaching back blindly Jude grabs at the counter as her head drops back, exposing her throat. Wrenched away from the kiss India leans in, her lips brushing against the convulsive flesh.
"Then fall, Jude."
It starts with the stiffening of the other woman's muscles under her, the twitching of those long thighs and the arching of the back. Wrapping her other hand around Jude, India presses forward, body propping up body. She can feel the shivers rising right from Jude's feet, radiating through her legs, her hips, her torso, her arms. Jude's teeth are clenched, and when she finally does open her mouth there is one quick indrawn breath, and then no sound.
Holding on as tightly as she dares India plants light kisses on Jude's collarbones and her clavicle, feeling the thunder of blood pumping under her lips. Her fingers don't cease their movements, and she feels so hot that she doesn't know how she isn't burning the woman with her touch. Jude shakes, arches, almost drops, and then begins to shiver again violently.
"Oh shit."
The first sound out of her mouth in a while is hoarse and juddering. Reaching down, Jude places a trembling hand over India's, gasping as the movement places a gentle pressure against her centre.
"Stop." India does as she's asked, but Jude is still shaking against her. "Stop. You need to move your hand, honey. Please."
When India withdraws her hand through the wetness she sets off a last judder that builds from Jude's hips and rises slowly through her body. The shudder of Jude's groin pressing against hers melds into the heat blazing through her and the pleasure radiating through her, and with a muffled exhalation she presses forward, meeting the thrust with one of her own. Jude's eyes slip open languorously with the motion, and with a gasp she presses back, scissoring their legs so that her thigh is pressing against India's centre. When her hands slip down over India's hips to resume their journey, the smaller woman rocks forward again, groaning as Jude meets her movement. They thrust deceptively slowly against each other, the agitation simmering just under the surface, until the languidness can no longer be maintained, and then it is not long before India collapses against Jude breath-and bonelessly. It is no longer clear who is holding up whom; there is only Jude and India with their arms around each other and their hearts thundering and a steady glow spreading from them like the sunrise.
Continued...