An Audience with the Sidewalk Saviour by K. Alexander

13. Take this sinking boat and point it home - we've still got time
("Falling slowly" - Glen Hansard)

"Well, it's a few months late, but I promised you Chapala."

From the confines of her wheelchair India marvels at the beautiful blue expanse before her, and then reaches up to caress the hand resting on her shoulder. "It's worth the wait. Much like certain other things."

Jude's thumb shifts from under her palm to stroke her skin gently before the journalist pulls her hand away and hunkers down at the side of the chair. "What would you like? Wine? Soda? Juice?"

"You." Sighing at the raised eyebrows India shrugs. "Fine. Juice as a distant second."

The months following India's return to consciousness have passed in a blur of physical therapy and media harassment. She has progressed from pain and discomfort to halting stuttering steps, and though the therapist has conceded that with her progress the wheelchair will only be a temporary measure, it is an unspoken reality that she will likely graduate no further than a cane and a limp.

The doctors have given up on investigation into her internal damage, mostly at her insistence. They cannot understand why she does not want to undergo barrages of tests, or poking and prodding by pensive specialists. Noticing that Jude Limas has a certain influence over India Waits, they have even resorted to asking her to pull strings, but Jude has turned them down graciously. She goes as far as to cajole India into drinking her daily calcium supplements, but further than that she will not push.

Jude's rather personal involvement has not gone unnoticed by her peers either. Speculation is rife, and though most of the exploratory articles are not far off the mark, it all remains conjecture without confirmation from any sources. Where before she would have played the publicity game, Jude is now too tired and indifferent to pay much attention. It is India who frequently warns her of being too close, of showing too much concern or too little caution.

Since Jude's loss of composure they have not spoken about those issues again. Knowing that the silence is sure to cover a festering obstruction, India attempts to bring up their conversation occasionally, but Jude will not be baited into a response. Her retort is a standard one: We can't change what's happened; it's time to move forward with the information we have at hand. It may be a diversion, but it is also the truth, and so that topic falls away slowly but surely until only the echo of a shadow remains.

The days at Lake Chapala stretch into a combination of pleasure and ache that India is hard-pressed to separate. Her joy at the setting is tempered by her intense frailness; her happiness at the companionship tinged by Jude's extreme caution at that same frailty. Jude touches her with the wary apprehension that one would reserve for something breakable. At first, she laughs it off and teases the other woman, hoping to goad her into the comfortable interaction they had before the accident. Jude, however, will not be provoked. Her fingers flutter over India's hands, her head, her face, but never alight anywhere properly. Her kisses are chaste, quick and reserved. There is still the flashing shimmer of desire in her green eyes when India is close, but fear seems to override want.

Having lost all patience with her constantly buzzing phone, India has switched it off permanently. Beyond Jonathon Ashe there is no-one who needs to know her movements. Jude is having the same problem - now that India is unreachable, the media has fixed on her as the next likely option.

"Jude Limas… No, thank you. No. Goodbye."

Smacking the phone down on the table with a fair amount of venom, Jude glares at it.

"You're going to break it, sweetheart."

"I don't care." Jude shakes her head in irritation, sending her thick dark hair into lazy bounces. "They're like sharks that have smelled blood. I honestly hope that no-one ever felt that way about me."

"Hey, I doubt it." With a light pat to her hand India tries to pacify her. "You're not the same. Besides, you're too beautiful to be annoying."

"Oh shush," Jude grumbles, but nevertheless picks up India's hand and kisses the palm gently, closing her eyes for a moment as India's fingers stroke softly against her cheek.

"I'm sorry, Jude."

Frowning, the journalist sits back. "About what?"

"All of this. You probably shouldn't have come to the hospital."

"Are you serious?" Jumping up, Jude glares down at India and folds her arms commandingly. "How could I not be there? How could you even think for a moment that I'd stay away?" She shakes her head decisively. "To avoid this? Oh no. Not a chance, and don't you even think to say that again."

"You're beautiful when you're angry?"

Jude's glare softens a little as she raises an eyebrow. "I see. That's the way you want to play it. Sweet clichés and big innocent eyes. Well, miss, I'm not falling for any of it."

"But I've fallen for you…" India's lips twitch as Jude sighs exaggeratedly, "… and I can't get up."

Snorting with laughter Jude uncrosses her arms and falls back into her chair, shaking her head. "Honey, at least life with you will never be boring. You know…" she shoots an impish glance in India's direction, "you had me at fuck off."

India mimes shock, clutching at her chest carefully. "Jude Limas, I never said that."

"But it was what you meant." Leaning over, Jude plants a light kiss on India's mouth before she gently untangles the hand that has slipped into the hair at the nape of her neck and steps back.

"Jude…" Biting her bottom lip, India stares at her. Jude Limas argues, she pushes, she pleads and she lectures. She doesn't run. "Don't be scared."

"I'm not…" but the truth is sitting squarely between them. Wiping over her face distractedly with her hand Jude looks out over the lake. "India, you almost died. Again. You're in no state for anything other than recuperation."

"Kissing is recuperation," India tries to joke, but it falls flat. She wishes that she weren't in this chair, that she could get up and wrap her arms around the woman standing so close, but seemingly a million miles away. "I'm not asking for rampant sex on every surface in the house, Jude, but I'd like it if you didn't keep backing away from me. A kiss isn't going to hurt."

"Perhaps not, but it never stays with a kiss where we're concerned."

A chuckle forces its way out of India's throat. "Then this is a great time to work on our willpower, isn't it?" When Jude doesn't respond, she sighs. "Sweetheart. I'm not going to break."

Silently Jude takes in the small form, and then she gives a half-hearted smile. "You're tougher than I give you credit for, I know. I just want you to take it easy for a while, please? Indulge me."

"That's unfair. You know I can't say no."

"Which is where the problem starts." Hunkering down, Jude props her forearms on India's knees. "India, I don't…"

The suddenly ringing phone receives the foulest look the journalist can manage to conjure up. She considers talking through the intrusive noise, but finally gives up and gets rid of the person on the other end of the line with a clipped voice.

When she eyes the phone balefully and then turns her gaze towards the lake, India leans forward and grasps her wrist lightly. "Don't throw it. I can't fetch."

"I don't even know how these people get my number." Switching off the phone Jude tosses it back onto the table and then hunkers back down in front of India. "Honey, this begs a question." Her fingers drum nervously against India's knees, though her expression is carefully neutral. "Will you be going back to healing at any stage?"

India studies Jude's face. "Do you think I should?"

"Hell no." The sharpness of it startles them both, and when Jude starts to chortle India isn't far behind. The journalist shakes her head, as if at herself. "I didn't mean to be quite so unequivocal, but that's the way I feel. If you went back to this, it would kill you, India, and then it would kill me." Her thumb rubs lazy circles on the linen under her hand as she looks up, her gaze honest. "But I don't get to make this decision for you, India. You have to do what you think is right."

There's a touch of sadness in India's smile. "I'm not so good at knowing what the right thing is. You know that."

"Hey. Your decisions were never wrong. Without all the facts we just never understood them."

"People won't understand this one either."

Rising, Jude presses her palm to India's cheek tenderly. "Honey, it's not about anyone else. It doesn't matter. What do you want?"

India covers Jude's hand with her own, her dark eyes fixed on the face of the woman she loves. "I want you, Jude. I want to make you happy."

"That's still not what I asked you, India, but let me tell you what wouldn't make me happy." Slipping her thumb over the soft bottom lip, Jude traces its outline faintly. "To go back to the hospital wouldn't make me happy. To see you wired up to a ton of machines again won't make me happy. To wonder if you're going to make it this time will not make me happy." Her thumb slips from the bottom to the top lip, dipping into the Cupid's bow. "I wanted you to share yourself with the world, but that's when I didn't know you only had so much to share."

Under Jude's touch India's lips curve into a small smile. "That's enough for me. I'm done."

"Don't let what I want be the deciding factor for this, India."

"How can it not be, Jude? You're the one thing I'd want to live for. Besides - and I didn't want to say this because it's only added ammunition for you…" The smaller woman looks away, "but I'm tired. I really am."

"There. That wasn't so hard, was it?" Shifting her hand up Jude ran her fingers through wayward dark curls. "I think if you make it public, the furore will die down sooner."

"Apart from the people who'll be slating me for only thinking about myself, of course."

"Yes. Apart from them." Jude gives the hair under her hand a small affectionate tug before she sits down on the chair behind her. "India, it doesn't matter. It really doesn't. Ever since you've appeared on the radar, there have been people who loved you, and people who've thought you were a fraud. That's the way it's always going to be. You'll kill yourself trying to please them all."

India sighs. "You're so annoying sometimes."

"Because I'm right."

"Logic isn't attractive in a girl, Jude."

"Lucky for me that I'm a woman, then."

India's eyes track the length of Jude's body, lingering on the expanse of caramel skin exposed by the casually buttoned cotton shirt. "Mmm. I can't argue there. So what do you suggest I do?"

Flushing under the longing gaze Jude starts at the question. "What?"

She's biting her bottom lip unconsciously and the action sends a flutter deep into India's stomach. Resolute to ignore it, India repeats herself. "What do you suggest I do, Jude? About making my decision public?"

"Oh." Taking a breath Jude collects herself. "Wasn't your first interview with Paige Carter?"

"Yes."

"Then it would probably be fitting to have your last one with her, don't you think? I'm sure that she'd jump at the chance for an exclusive."

India nods. "I still have her assistant's number. Should I call her now?"

"The sooner the better, as far as I'm concerned."

"I've forgotten how much I hate this."

Crouched in front of the armchair, Jude fusses with an errant flick of India's hair. "It's the last one. Don't let her scare you."

"Doesn't she scare you?" India smiles at the serious frown on the journalist's face as she fights with the wayward hair. "I suppose not. There's not much you're scared of."

"I've seen worse, but she's no walk in the park."

"You'd better get out of the dressing room. Last thing you need is getting caught in here kissing me."

Jude shakes her head. "But I'm not kissing you."

"Yes, you are." In a deft move India has her fingers wrapped in Jude's long hair, and is pulling her gently closer. When Jude resists slightly India pouts. "You can't send me out there without a kiss. You know how I feel about this."

"Blackmail." The word is barely a breath as Jude's lips cover India's. Their kiss is gentle and exploratory, and as soon as that first flash of desire sparks low in India's body Jude sits back on her heels with a low exhalation.

Taking a deep breath India grins slightly idiotically. "Thank you."

With fingers that are trembling, though barely noticeably, Jude wipes off the faint trace of lipstick now clinging to her lips. "Ready for Paige Carter?"

India shrugs blankly. "Who's Paige Carter?"

There's the customary swell of the evocative instrumental intro, and then the warm applause of the audience, and then the voice of Paige Carter herself.

She is introducing India again, and telling her viewers what an honour it is to have this exclusive, but India is not listening. She is not even bothering to watch the backstage monitor - she wants for this to be over, to be at home (Chapala - when did this turn into home?), to be wrapped in Jude's arms and held as if she is not fragile and brittle and weak as a kitten.

Right now, Jude is sitting somewhere in a private room watching the stage, and she thinks that once she is out there and is able to feel that steadfast gaze focusing on her, she will survive.

A hand alights on her shoulder. Jody Hudson is not, and has never been, a very tactile person, but today she is as fussy as a mother hen.

"Everything okay, India? Anything you need?"

"I'm fine, thanks, Jody." India shoots up a genuine smile at this tough edgy woman that she likes so much for no reason at all. "No funny stuff today, right?"

"Babe. You look like death warmed up," she holds up one hand conciliatorily, "no offence intended, of course… "

"Of course," India repeats drily.

"… so we're steering clear from anything that could turn into a media disaster. Not even Paige Carter's ratings will endure her killing you on live television."

Reaching up, India pats Jody's hand mockingly. "You're a comfort."

"I've been told that."

It's just a flash, a picture that slides into and out of sharp focus in the seconds it takes for India's fingers to brush Jody's hand.

Large pulsating crimson, a small road that snakes off to the left… squarely in the middle, a swollen balloon, its edges creeping outwards slowly but surely.

Aneurysm.

"India?"

Looking up into the calm grey eyes India tries to stop herself, tries to hold back, and then finally gives in. She feels her energy pull back like an elastic band, snap forward, and snake down into Jody's veins.

With a start the other woman pulls her now faintly glowing hand away. She looks down at it, and then back at India with a question in her eyes.

India tries to swallow down the sudden taste of copper in the back of her throat. "You smoke?"

"Yes." There's a cautious untrusting tone to it that doesn't belong with someone like her.

"Don't."

Jody is staring at her with an expression somewhere between incredulity and dread when a tinny voice suddenly filters out through the headset. As quickly as that, as quickly as deciding that someone's life is worth saving, Jody slips back into the moment.

"Time to go on. You ready?"

Swallowing again, India nods, and then she's handed her cane and she limps slowly out into the bright lights amidst the thunderous roar of the crowd.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome India Waits!"

There's a new young guy with the same old 'applause' board and presumably the same old headset, but this time it seems to be that the audience are standing of their own volition.

When India shuffles onto stage in that breathless painful gait there are a few gasps that won't quite be masked by the volume of appreciation. The last time she was here she was a wisp of a woman with scared eyes and unsure hands; now, she is a pale stuttering fragment of a memory, her haunting eyes like bruises in the snow.

Paige Carter is a quick learner. She wouldn't have survived - or flourished, rather - if she wasn't. Today she will not be making the same mistake as she did the first time; her hair has been coaxed out of its normally perfect chignon into gentle loose curls, and her flowing embroidered dress flatters and softens her slightly square figure. Short of crawling to the approaching figure it cannot be helped that she still towers over her guest, but even Paige Carter will not stoop that low.

Instead, she waits patiently until India gratefully sinks into the chair, and then settles for a warm affectionate handshake (she has worked hard to perfect this) and a welcoming smile.

"India, I'm so very pleased to have this opportunity."

For a moment India is drawn into a fantasy of being a friend to this kind creature. That's the power of Paige Carter. Luckily for India she has been here many times before; if not on this exact stage, then in this exact situation. Knowing that her hand must feel like a cold little bird in Paige Carter's grip, she gives as firm a handshake as she dares.

"Thank you, Paige. How nice to be back."

No longer that tremulous little girl, ready for the picking. Or sniping. Inside, she is still much the same, India thinks, but it is what people can see that counts.

With an indulgent smile Paige sits down in her favoured red armchair, just close enough so that she can lean over and pat India's knee, should she want to. She'll want to.

"It's been a long and busy - and complicated - road for you since our last meeting, has it not?"

The smile that slips onto India's face is melancholy, amused and pensive all at the same time, and somewhere in the audience someone will smile along unwittingly. "Yes, that's a good way to put it."

"You've been in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, in South Africa, in Angola… How many people have you healed, India?"

"Oh." It's not something India has ever wondered. "I have no idea, I'm afraid. I haven't kept count."

"And who would expect you to?" Paige Carter laughs easily, making sure that nobody thinks she does, and then leans closer. Intimate chat to follow, her body language whispers. "I was sorry to hear that you had been very ill recently."

Copper tang in her mouth. "Thank you."

The amused smile carefully reaches all the way to Paige Carter's eyes. "Still as succinct as ever. According to news reports you collapsed and fell into a coma after rushing to the scene of a terrible bus accident - is that right?"

"Yes."

"Can you tell us a little more about this?"

India doesn't hear the words - she sees them formed on Paige Carter's lips, drowned out by the rushing of blood in her ears. She blinks once, and then again, scowling slightly as Paige Carter stops talking and frowns. Then, suddenly, a soft popping sound somewhere behind her eyes, and everything rushes back.

"… you all right? Jody, can we get a doctor up here?"

Dazedly, India looks around her. "What?"

Paige Carter's eyes drop to her top lip, and when India reaches up with a perfectly steady hand to brush at it her fingertips come away covered in blood.

There is a commotion to the left, offstage, and India is still shaking her head as unobtrusively and pointedly as possible when Jude Limas bursts onto stage, breaking free of the stagehand's hesitant grip. Confusedly the audience stands and begins to applaud, and it takes Paige Carter only a second to sum up the situation and deal with it.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Miss Jude Limas." Rising, she applauds with a small smile.

Jude ignores the audience. Rushing to India's side she drops down and pulls a handkerchief from her pocket. "What happened?"

"It's just a nosebleed. I'm fine." She frowns against the unwelcome pressure as Jude presses the cloth gently against her nostrils, and then realizes how much the other woman's hand is shaking. Reaching up she takes the handkerchief out of Jude's hand and presses it to her nose, trying to reassure the journalist with her eyes. "I'm okay."

Jude's mouth is pressed into a tight line. "Are you sure?"

"Yes." Suddenly noting the silence around them, India tries to indicate that Jude leave the stage with a minimal cock of her head. "Thanks for the handkerchief."

Rising, Jude turns towards the audience and offers a slightly self-conscious smile. "Hi."

New applause breaks out - the crowd is unsure of her role here, but cannot resist her easy manner and casual charm. With an expression that says she'd planned her programme just this way, Paige Carter steps forward to shake Jude's hand and then indicates the extra chair that has efficiently appeared next to India's.

"Please do join us."

Sinking down into the armchair Jude grins at Paige Carter, an expression that India knows has more to do with dealing with unavoidable situations than it does with genuine amusement. "Please accept my apologies for inviting myself so rudely, Paige."

"Not at all." Even if it were a problem, Paige Carter is not about to complain about the possibility of managing the most newsworthy interview of the year. "India, are you all right? Do we need a doctor?"

"No, thank you." India's voice is muffled under the handkerchief, and she is still staring at Jude, willing her off the stage for her own good. "It's just a nosebleed. It'll pass."

"You had us worried there for a moment." Smiling at Jude around India's stiff frame, Paige Carter cocks her head. "Jude, what is your relation to India, if I may ask?"

You may not. Once again, India tries to will Jude with her gaze to leave, but when the journalist catches her eye and seems to be looking at her longer than is prudent, she knows that something is about to change.

Tearing her gaze from India's anxious brown eyes, Jude studies Paige Carter contemplatively. "I'm the one who loves her."

The audience breaks into a spontaneous mixture of whispers, applause and murmurs, and even Paige Carter is speechless for a moment. In the midst of it all Jude reaches out, grasps India's limp hand, and presses it with a small secret smile.

Composing herself, the hostess of 'The Carter Hour' leans closer - intimations coming - and addresses both Jude and India. "A friend?"

"That too." The dimples that appear in Jude's cheeks are courtesy of genuine amusement.

Sitting back silently India watches as Jude Limas effortlessly twists Paige Carter and the audience (and most likely the viewers) around her little finger. India watches the smile that appears on Paige Carter's face as she spars good-naturedly with Jude, but more so India watches the twinkle in those green eyes when Jude grins coyly. When all the personal queries have been answered, rather more with evasion than words, and when Jude has intercepted all questions meant for India with deceptive effortlessness, Paige Carter decides that India Waits is perhaps an easier target, and focuses in on her with the sleight-of-hand deftness of an expert.

"Are you feeling better?"

Indeed she is. The bleeding has stopped, and she has slipped the gory handkerchief into her pocket. She probably won't offer it back to Jude. "Yes, I am. Thank you."

Paige Carter nods and shifts in her seat. "So… where were we?"

"Well, that wasn't too bad."

Leaning back in the chair India looks up at Jude, who is lolling back against the mahogany desk in the dressing room. With her dark locks tumbling around her shoulders, and her long jean-clad legs and elegant leather boots she looks like a glossy advertisement for healthy living.

"I had a nosebleed, you casually outed yourself on national television, and Paige Carter called me selfish and self-possessed. It wasn't too good, either."

There's a slight smile curving around Jude's lips, but when she looks up and meets India's gaze her eyes are serious. "Did you mind it?"

India shrugs. "I told you that's what she'd say. It doesn't make me feel better, but as you said, I can't please everyone."

A moment of silence as Jude watches her. The green eyes soften. "I'm glad you were listening. But that's not the part I was asking about."

Cocking her head to the side India raises her eyebrows slightly. "I'm assuming you're not talking about the nosebleed either." The journalist shakes her head. "Jude, I appreciated the fact that you came to my rescue, but you didn't need to. It was a bloody nose."

Jude looks away, dropping her gaze. "I didn't want to take the chance. I did what I thought was right."

"Oh, sweetheart." Realizing that her words have been interpreted differently than she has intended them, India moves forward and reaches out, grasping the hand twitching nervously on Jude's thigh. "I'm not saying you were wrong. I just can't help thinking of what this is going to do to your career. Even you aren't impervious to these things, Jude."

Lightly Jude's fingertips skim the palm of India's hand in a sweet caress. "Maybe I don't care, India."

"You'll get bored. You'll need something to keep you busy. And when I'm gone you'll …"

"Don't say that!" Jude surprises them both with her fierce outburst. Snapping her hand from India's grip she drops down to her haunches, her face level with India's, and shakes her head urgently. "Don't. Don't think like that."

"But it's the truth." The palm of India's hand fits into the curve of Jude's cheek as if they had been made as a set. "You're going to outlive me, sweetheart. We both know that."

Turning her head into the touch Jude closes her eyes, a touch of grief about the gesture. "But not just yet, India. Not for a long time, do you hear me? You and I will live a life as normal as we can have, for as long as we can have, and nobody will take that away from us." Reaching up, she covers India's hand with her own. "And if my telling
Paige Carter - and by definition the world - about you will do that, will kill the secrecy and excitement and put the hearsay to bed, then that's how it has to be."

"Always the romantic," India teases, but when Jude opens her eyes she's met by a gaze brimming with adoration. "You're a blessing, Jude Limas."

"You're not allowed to steal my words. I'm the one who gets to say that." Rising, Jude leans in and presses her lips to India's in a sweetly tender kiss. "I'm the one who loves you, remember?"

14. Have you ever thrown a fistful of glitter in the air?
("Glitter in the air" - Pink)

"Jude." In frustration India watches as the other woman moves just beyond her reach, bustling about in her bedroom.

"Hm?"

"What are you doing?"

"Just cleaning up a few things."

Shifting up against the pillow India sighs. "You've been avoiding me ever since we came back to Chapala."

"That's not true." Though Jude hovers at the edge of the bed.

"Come over here."

"I…" Hesitantly Jude moves closer. "I have to…"

"I don't care. I want you. It can wait."

"India, I…"

In frustration India reaches for the hem of her shirt and pulls it over her head. When Jude's gaze falls to her exposed torso she looks down herself and winces at the patchwork of faint scars dotting the pale skin. Noting her expression Jude is suddenly there, two long strides that India does not even see her take, and then the small woman is wrapped up in a warm gentle embrace that feels like she's just come home.

"I'm a topographical map," she murmurs against Jude's collarbone, enjoying the scratch of the other woman's stiffly ironed collar against her chin.

Jude's warm hands run over her back cautiously, tracing her still-protruding shoulder blades and spine in turn. "Where will it take me, this map?"

"Right into the heart of me." Turning her head, India rests her cheek against the strong shoulder wearily. "Why won't you touch me, Jude?"

The fleeting caress of the journalist's hands cease. "I'm touching you now."

With a sigh India pushes back, out of Jude's embrace, until she can see those guarded green eyes. "Don't hide behind word games."

Jude stares past her unflinchingly, assertive; the tactic of a hunter cornered by something that it doesn't wish to show fear to. "You're still healing."

"I'm fine."

"You're fragile!"

"I don't want to be." Once again staring down at the scars she has collected, India frowns and shifts closer to Jude. "And I don't want you to make me feel like I am. I want you to hold me and I want you to love me and I want you to remind me what it's like to be alive."

Biting the inside of her lip, Jude shakes her head and moves away slightly. "I'll hurt you."

India shifts forward again, presses herself against Jude, grasps the stubborn chin and turns it towards her. "I've seen how gentle you can be. I've felt how gentle you can be, Jude. It's not that."

Shifting her face from India's grip Jude turns her head away again. "I don't think you're ready, India."

"But I am." Inching closer India leans in, so close that her lips are barely brushing the caramel jaw. "Anyone in my position would have to wonder whether that first rush of lust wasn't just physical; whether your hunger has been sated and whether this accident has suddenly brought home the ugly reality."

Jude frowns, moves her head, begins to speak, but she's cut off by India's fingertips pressing lightly on her lips as the other woman continues.

"Anyone else would be wondering, Jude, but the thing I love about you - one of the things I love about you - is how you're completely unable to hide your reaction to me. Like when I do this…"

Shifting her head from Jude's jaw to her ear India runs her tongue around the warm shell, a satisfied smile curling around her lips as she feels Jude shudder.

"Or when I do this…"

She runs her fingers lightly over the buttons on Jude's chest before slipping them through one of the openings to caress the rise of a lace-covered breast.

Exhaling raggedly Jude reached down and extracts the intrusive digits, wrapping them in her own hand. "India…"

"Or this." Reaching down between them India takes advantage of their positions to pull Jude's shirt from her waistband and slip her hand over the warm ribcage. "It feels so good to touch you."

Jude's only answer is an uncomfortable exhalation and a stiffening of her spine when India's thumb casually brushes over the side of her breast.

With a smile India leans in and licks the juncture of jaw and neck, and then bites down gently. She is rewarded by a throaty groan. Sliding her hand upwards she lightly brushes over a stiff nipple, causing Jude to buck ever so slightly under her touch before she reaches up to draw India's hand away.

"India…"

"I want you, Jude, and I know that you want me. Let go." The warmth of her breath on Jude's neck is raising goosebumps on the copper skin.

"You're right. I can't lie to you. I do want you…" the journalist has to stop to catch her rushing breath, "but this is what's killing you. I can't do it."

A slight frown flashes over India's forehead. "What? I don't think I … "

Jude lifts her hand, bringing India's to eye level. "This, India. This."

It's faint, not so much yet a shine as a shimmer, sticking to the tips of India's fingers like glitter. Kissing her palm sweetly Jude watches the glow flare up ever so slightly.

"When I touch you, when you touch me… it sets you off, honey. We both know you can't control it." Letting go of India's hand she sighs. "I definitely won't ask you to stop working because of this thing and then kill you myself just because I can't control my libido."

India watches the tips of her fingers silently, studies the glittery glow, rubs the pad of her thumb over that of her index and middle finger contemplatively, and then her gaze shifts to the beautiful woman watching her intently.

"No."

The green eyes narrow in confusion. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. No." Stretching her hand as if to shake off the glitter, she straightens her shoulders and stares into Jude's eyes defiantly. "This gift has caused enough heartache and damage in my life. I won't let it in here. Not here. I will not let it keep me from you."

Jude shakes her head despondently. "India. Honey. This isn't some small thing that you can ignore. This is your life you're gambling with. These are the facts."

"Okay," reaching out, India grasps Jude's hands urgently, "let's look at the facts. Since I've opened the office I must have had over a thousand sessions. Before that, who knows. Hundreds? Thousands more?" She looks into Jude's eyes searchingly. "It took a lot of work to get me where I am. It didn't happen overnight, sweetheart. This… thing that happens when I'm with you - it's only a fragment of what I did when I was healing. A kiss, a touch is not going to kill me. I need to feel, baby."

Jumping up, Jude puts her hands on her hips in exasperation. "We can enjoy each other. We can spend time together. It's not only about sex!"

"No, it's not only about sex. It's about love!"

"Oh." As quickly as she jumped up Jude sinks back onto the bed, her expression unexpectedly defenceless. Seeing those green eyes touch on her face tentatively India frowns and shifts forward, reaching out to grasp Jude's hands in hers.

"Don't you know that, Jude?"

"I…" Jude's fingers curl around hers convulsively and then loosen tensely. "I knew that you… When I inadvertently said that to Paige Carter, and you were so annoyed with me, I thought that… "

"Oh, sweetheart." Shifting closer, India wraps her arms around the other woman. "You're such a wonderfully open book that I don't realise you can't see right to the heart of me as well. I don't know how I can't love you. But I should have told you sooner." She drops a tender kiss against Jude's temple. "I love you, Jude Limas. Utterly."

"Oh." Again, just that one amazed simple exhalation that says so much. Dipping her head to Jude's India seeks out her lips, sharing a kiss that she tries to infuse with all of the sentiment welling in her. Jude sighs against her mouth, runs warm hands up her back, pulls her closer, slips fond fingers into the hair at the nape of India's neck.

Then, just when India is fairly melting into Jude, when she is barely breathing anymore, suffused with emotion, Jude pulls back and presses trembling fingers against her searching mouth.

"But how do I not think about it, India? About you and …"

Kissing the fingertips India moves her head away from their pressure and lays a hand on Jude's jaw, slipping it down to the smooth neck where she can feel her lover's pulse fluttering wildly.

"Jude. Shh. Aren't you the one who taught me that it doesn't matter what you do with this…", India indicates her body, "… but only what you do with this?" Running her hand down Jude's neck she brings it to rest on the other woman's chest, over her thundering heart. "Matter doesn't matter, baby. One day, when I die…"

Jude opens her mouth to protest but India muffles her with a fierce kiss before she continues.

"Everybody dies sometime, Jude. And one day when it's my turn, I don't want to look back and know that I gained five more years by playing it safe. I want to know that every moment I spent with you was never less than it could be. I want to know that I loved, and was loved by you, for as long and powerfully as it could last. And to me that's worth whatever time I have to give up for it."

Gently, she wipes away the tears spilling from Jude's eyes.

"From my slightly dented body to my fortified little brain to my iffy crappy lungs, and everything in between, I'm completely yours, if you would have me."

Whatever Jude says - India thinks that she is whispering "Oh God", but it's so soft and so quick that she'll never be sure - is muffled between them as she presses her lips to India's in a kiss weighted with the words she cannot articulate.

Folding the small body into her arms Jude lays them down, her fingers unsteady when she reverently unbuttons India's pants and pushes them down her legs. She stops to lay a delicate kiss on the hip that she knows aches sometimes, and then shifts up to cover India's body carefully with her own.

This time, when India reaches up to unbutton her shirt, she does not resist. She shifts her shoulders to shrug the material off them and then arches into the caress of hot hands, her breath a shudder as the sensation threatens to drown her. Smiling at the rapture so clearly visible in her lover's face India explores every stretch of skin, every hollow and valley and line. Though the heat is rising in her like wildfire she pushes it down to just below the surface, holding on to the slow desire and devotion that she wishes to bestow on the woman above her.

It's when she reaches down to unbutton Jude's jeans that the other woman snaps out of her haze. Reaching down, she traps India's hand against her body, but even as India is preparing to protest she lifts their entwined hands above their heads and leans in to brush feather light kisses over India's parted lips.

The moment that Jude lets go of her hands she reaches down again, only to be intercepted by Jude's firm grip pushing her arms up again.

"Let me."

The whisper sets her skin on fire, and she can only nod as Jude shifts down, her long dark hair fanning over India's chest. The first touch of lips to the rise of her breast is so slight that she arches up into it, and then it is submerged in the following touch, and the touch after that, until she is powerless to do anything but mutter one name over and over.

Jude's fingers slide over her hips, down her thighs, over her knees and back up, knuckles barely grazing her groin, down again and closer this time, until the strokes against her centre are rhythmic and slow. Lifting a knee she tilts her hips, tries to get closer, shivers as she hears the low laughter slipping from the back of Jude's throat. In the moment that Jude shifts up and kisses her urgently, fingers slip up into her and she gasps against the unrelenting mouth. Slow thrusts rock her gently, and though she wants to hold onto this moment forever she can feel herself unravelling, can feel the flare of energy rocketing through her directly to the point where she is joined to her lover.

When India's body arches up Jude shifts to run her lips over the stretched neck presented to her, mimicking the strokes and thrusts with her tongue against the silky skin until, finally, India slumps breathlessly back to the mattress. Gently, Jude eases her fingers from their inviting berth and runs them up and through drenched warmth, coaxing one last surge and cry from India before the healer gasps her name desperately.

Shifting up Jude wraps her arms around the other woman, turning them gently so that India lays snug in the curve of her arm and side. She smiles when a delayed wave of pleasure shudders through the small body pressed against her.

"I'm yours."

Neither of them knows which one it is that whispers the words, but it doesn't matter anymore.

"Do you need some help with that?"

"I can carry a tray by myself, India. Stay where you are."

"I've been where I am for the better part of the day, Jude."

"You need to rest."

"Is that what we've been doing? Resting?"

"Don't make me feel guilty, honey, or I'll summarily stop the fun so you can get some sleep."

"I didn't say anything."

"That's what I thought. Here, take your tea."

"I wanted coffee."

"Your heart wants tea."

"My heart wants you. My body wants coffee. No… wait... my body wants you too."

"Don't butter me up, India. Drink your tea."

"Butter you up? Hmmm."

"Don't look at me like that. Please. Let's just get through breakfast."

"Breakfast? It's after five pm, isn't it? Or am I losing my mind?"

"Yes, you are. And yes, it's after five. I happen to like breakfast. Time is relative."

"Fair enough."

"Here - have some yoghurt, honey. It's good for your bones."

"No thanks."

"C'mon."

"Nope. Every time I turn around you're there with a spoonful of yoghurt, Jude. I've had enough."

"Please?"

"No. Wild horses couldn't drag me."

"Okay. Well. I can't make you … oh dear. I seem to have spilled some of it on me."

"Jude… "

"Don't worry, I'll just wipe it off. Slowly."

"You're such a tease."

"Not at all. I'm conscientious. And thorough. Hmm. Nothing like a good wipe down."

"Jude. Move your hands."

"Oh? …. Oh."

"I suppose there's always space for yoghurt."

The balcony doors have been thrown open - sunshine streams in, throwing a horizontal line over their bare feet. They are intertwined in a way that only the very tranquil can find peaceful… not so much comfortable as the simple inability to move.

Running the arch of a warm foot up against Jude's smooth calf, India inattentively caresses the curve of the glowing hip under her hand. Immediately a low happy murmur rises from the chest pressed to her ear, and she cannot help a slightly silly grin from spreading on her face.

Jude scratches at the nape of India's neck lazily. "Honey?"

Involuntarily India's grip tightens. Too many bad things have started this way. "Mm?"

"What do you want to do?"

Smiling again in sheer relief at the innocuous nature of the question, India lightly slaps a thigh, eliciting a growl from her lover. "Don't tell me you want me to get up now, please."

"No, not now." Craning her neck Jude drops a kiss on the disordered head pressed to her shoulder. "Later. You don't have to go back to work, I don't have to go back to work…"

"Yet."

"Be that as it may, I don't have to go back to work." Jude's hand drops from India's neck to her back, where she idly draws light patterns with her nails against the silky skin. "And as much as I want to spend the rest of our… forever in this bed with you, naked and shiny, making the neighbours jealous, I also want to do other things with you. Make plans." Her hand stills in what India thinks may be momentary embarrassment. "I want a new start with you."

Twisting around, careful not to jar her hip, India stretches up and bestows a long heartfelt kiss unto her lover before she pulls back and looks into the sparkling green eyes affectionately.

"Ditto, Limas. What were you thinking about?"

"Travel." Jude trails a finger over the sharp cheekbone, the hollow cheek, the sharp little chin. "I know you've been to a few places, and so have I, but this time it will be different. No miracles, no microphones, no misery. No audience. Just you and me."

"Anywhere with you is good, Jude." India closes her eyes for a moment as the finger trails down her neck, over her collarbones and down her arm, before she works to compose herself. "But people will recognise you, sweetheart. Everybody does."

"I'm not letting that stop me." Jude's light touch meanders over India's hip and back up her narrow ribcage. "I'll go blonde if I have to."

Studying the glossy black hair spread on the pillow India leans down until she is nose to nose with Jude, glaring at her threateningly. "Don't you dare."

Jude, however, seems about as intimidated as a tiger. "It would be like having an affair with Marilyn Monroe, honey. Just think of the … "

"No." To shut that traitorous mouth India takes the only practical action, and for a while there is silence.

"Where do you want to go, Jude?"

The journalist's hot shoulder shrugs slightly under India's head. "Everybody says Cambodia is beautiful - and Vietnam. Maybe we could start there and work our way back. Would you like to do that?"

Turning, India interlaces her hands over Jude's chest and rests her chin on top of them. "Sweetheart, at the risk of sounding like a puppy, I'd be very happy to be anywhere if you were there."

Jude watches her with sharp eyes. "Yes, but that's not what I'm asking you, India. I still worry about your health, and if you aren't 100% sure, I most assuredly will not do this."

Slightly exasperated, India intones "I'm fiiiine" like a teenager before she continues. "I just hadn't thought about it, but it would be nice. An adventure. With you." Nodding, she grins up at her lover happily. "Okay. Let's go."

"Well, not just yet, you know. There are a few things to plan." Jude's voice is light and when she reaches out to pull India closer her hands are gentle.

15. Give these clay feet wings to fly, to touch the face of the stars
("Dante's Prayer" - Loreena McKennitt)

On their way up the grandiose stairs of Wat Phnom towards the pagoda, they are stopped by a small boy, who waves a pamphlet of some kind and a pen at Jude. Shooting a cautious look at India, the journalist approaches him guardedly, and when he asks her for an autograph she complies with a hidden sigh and a sweet smile. Turning around to his sister, who is standing petulantly in the shade of a large palm tree, he waves the page gleefully.

"I got an autograph from Adriana Lima!"

Behind Jude India bursts into a fit of silent laughter, which is not halted by the sharp look that her lover shoots her.

With a bored expression the girl approaches her brother and peers at the page, then past him at Jude.

"That's not Adriana Lima, you moron."

"Is too!"

"Is NOT!"

Using the temporary distraction Jude grabs a shaking India by the wrist and walks up a few steps as fast as India's gait will allow them, yanking her behind a shrub halfway. Glaring at the small woman she props her hands on her hips.

"You think it's funny, do you?"

Helplessly, her eyes filled with tears, India can only nod her head. Jude raises her eyebrows.

"Fine. I'm going back down there to tell them you're Lily Allen."

Pressing her fists to her mouth India tries to control her giggles. "You wouldn't."

"Oh." With a nod and a very evil smile Jude moves backwards. "But I will."

"Please don't," India implores Jude, wiping her eyes, "I'm asking you nicely, Adriana."

On Con Son Island they stand on an observation deck, watching the green sea turtles drift by languidly.

"They're beautiful." India leans so far forward over the railing that Jude feels she has to caution her. "Look how elegant they are."

"Yes, they're lovely;" Jude answers, not even looking at the turtles, "India, please watch yourself. I'm not jumping in there to get you if you fall."

"You're a fair weather lover, sweetheart."

Dryly Jude shakes her head. "There's love, and then there's water with giant turtles in it. Never the twain shall meet."

With a smile India returns her attention to the wonderful scene below her. "It's amazing. On land they drag and limp, and in the water they're… this. I should swim more often."

She is so engrossed; her expression so completely charmed and engaged, that Jude turns the camera from the turtles onto her, trying to capture the uncomplicated bliss. She has taken at least a dozen when India turns to her, dark eyes sparkling.

"Stop it, will you? Why are you pointing that thing at me anyway when the scenery is so amazing?"

Lowering the camera Jude smiles. "But look how beautiful you are."

They're standing at the bar of a little restaurant in Khon Kaen that a friend of Jude's had recommended, waiting for their drinks, when a female voice rises up loudly from the front.

"Oh my God! Isn't that Jude Limas?"

Clasping India's hand Jude quickly steps around the bar and through the kitchen door, greeting the bewildered chef cheerily before she charges past him to the back door.

The two women skulk across the street and rush through the first open door they find, which turns out to be that of a dilapidated hotel. Ignoring the pointed stare of the stern man behind the desk they hurry into the sitting room and huddle in a corner, keeping a close eye on the doorway.

When it appears that nobody is coming after them, India turns to Jude.

"Oh my God, aren't you Jude Limas?"

"I should hope so, otherwise I couldn't do this." Lowering her head, Jude captures India's lips passionately. Wrapping her arms around Jude's waist, India pulls her close and smiles into the kiss. It quickly turns into a groan as Jude's hands slip under her shirt, caressing the small of her back.

"Jude…"

The stern man's expression doesn't alter when they appear, rumpled, and hurriedly book a room.

Upstairs, one of the windowpanes is broken, the cardboard in front of it already peeling loose on one side. The air conditioning unit is a dirty cream colour and makes a ticking sound. The once opulent carpet is now threadbare and pulling out of the sideboards in places.

Neither India nor Jude notices.

In Moscow they lose one of their bags at the airport. After a great deal of arguing it's finally found by a surly customs officer, who then insists on emptying and searching it at length.

The hotel has lost their booking by some means, and India has to put her hand on Jude's arm when she feels the other woman tense as the situation is slowly resolved.

Then, somehow the taxi driver misunderstands them and gets them lost on the way to the Kremlin. Instead, he drops them off at a museum in the middle of nowhere. They are too wrapped up in conversation to notice, and when they notice where they are he is already driving off.

"Hey!" Jude tries to get his attention, but it is hopeless. Throwing her hands up in frustration she watches the taillights disappear into the distance, and just as she turns around big fat plops of rain start to come down enthusiastically.

Shaking her head Jude turns around and sighs.

"Can things really get any worse today?"

Sitting on the stairs, grinning, India wipes wet hair out of her eyes. "I wouldn't want to be anywhere else."

In Pamplona exhaustion takes its toll on India, and against her protestations Jude barricades them in the opulent room at the Gran Hotel La Perla. They end up watching the running of the bulls from their balcony as the spectacle passes by below them. When one of the runners has a particularly nasty fall and is promptly run over by a herd of angry bulls, Jude shakes her head.

"Such a barbaric custom. Though, when another culture has traditions that we simply don't understand, aren't we so very quick to label it primitive?"

Lightly bumping shoulders with the journalist India indicates the scene with a nod of her head. "Well, he's up, and he seems okay. It's amazing that more people don't die this way."

"I agree." Jude peers at India. "If I'd let you, would you have gone down to help?"

Dark eyebrows arch. "If you'd let me? Do you want to rephrase that?"

"Oh, you know what I mean."

"Hmm." It's only a fake grudging grumble. "No, I wouldn't have. There are accidents, and then there's self-inflicted stupidity."

A chuckle bubbles up from Jude's throat. "Honey, but tell me how you really feel." They bump shoulders again, and then Jude shakes her head. "Poor animals. I should do a special on this."

She can almost feel the brown eyes on her.

"… but not for a while yet."

"You can," India leans over the railing casually, "when I let you."

They're in high spirits as they loll on the terrace at the Jurys Cork Hotel, reading the Corkman newspaper.

Jude has been calling India "Lily" for the last few minutes, and in retaliation India refers to her as frequently as possible as "Adriana" with a terrible English accent. They have a conversation filled with helpless laughter, sniggering through their morning scones until a gentleman at the next table slaps down his own paper and glares at them sternly.

"Would the two of you mind awfully keeping it down? I am trying to have a peaceful morning!" His is indeed a fancy English accent.

Apologising, thick with laughter, they gather their paper and rush into the foyer towards the elevator. Pressing the call button India shakes her head with a grin, not daring to look at Jude in case her lover's expression sets her off.

"Some people are so tetchy."

"Mmm." It's a mouthy sound, designed to keep the laughter in control. They're silent until they're in the elevator, and then Jude clears her throat suspiciously. "The accent was rather sexy, though."

Shooting Jude a quick sharp look India shakes her head. "He's a joyless asshole."

Jude guffaws. "Not his, you twit, yours."

A silent giggle jerks India's shoulders. "Are you serious?"

Green eyes fix her with a gaze so electric that she can almost feel the current stuttering down her spine. "Oh yes, I'm serious." The words roll around Jude's lips with slow intent.

India is sure that she's blushing when the elevator doors suddenly ping open, and the rush of cool air is welcome. Peering back at her smirking lover she raises an eyebrow.

"Well, then, old chap, I'll race you to our lodgings."

It's not much of a race with one contestant sporting a cane, but then, the nominated penalty for the loser turns out not to be that bad.

"Have you got the entertainment section?"

Passing over the requested item, Jude shakes her head at India. "Heathen. You should pay more attention to what's happening in the world."

"As long as it's not happening to me, I'm quite happy to read about who wore what on which carpet. And on that topic, may I say," India casts a look at Jude from under her lashes, "I'm glad that there aren't any cameras about today."

Gasping theatrically Jude glares at the small woman. "Excuse me? Are you insulting my fashion sense?"

"Um. The line between insult and ridicule is so very narrow."

"Hey!"

After a close call at Dublin Airport, where a woman recognised Jude and almost started a stampede, they have had to be more careful. Thus, the woman who sits across from India at the bistro today is hidden beneath a honey blonde wig and a massive round pair of glasses. The purple fedora serves as much to distract casual passers-by from Jude's actual features as it does to hold down the ill-fitting wig.

Patting at the static blonde strands Jude winces. "This thing smells like a guinea pig."

"Maybe that's what they made it from?"

"A blonde guinea pig?"

"They must exist somewhere, I'm sure." Lowering the paper, India shoots Jude a dubious look. "By the by, how can you be so totally sure that it smells like a guinea pig? That's a bizarre connection to make."

"I had a guinea pig. Like most kids."

Ignoring the dryness of the tone India cocks an eyebrow. "Yes, sweetheart, I had a guinea pig too, but I didn't go around sniffing it."

Jude shrugs. "We didn't have money for glue."

With a snort India chokes on her coffee. Waving away the pat to her back she coughs a little and wipes her nose. "Don't do that. I'm not ready for irreverent blonde Jude."

It's strange, how certain human reactions are so small and unique, and yet so universal. There is an involuntary breathless pause in times of trauma, like when a woman is raped and afterwards spends valuable time looking for her shirt, as if she will be able to restore her ravaged dignity with the simple act of covering up. Or when, many minutes after witnessing an accident, you begin to shake and have to pull over, all the while berating yourself because, after all, it has no personal importance to you.

Or perhaps when you're sitting at a bistro overlooking St Stephen's Green, reading your newspaper, and suddenly a bomb explodes in a shop two doors down.

It's only a hundredth of a second late, the moment when you throw yourself sideways, but by that time you're already torn to shreds.

"Fuck!" It's less a word than a gasp and a sob. Ignoring the pain where she's hit her head on the cobblestones, India frantically pulls her legs from under the chair where they have tangled so that she can twist around.

The blonde wig is close to her, absurdly looking like a discarded mop, and just beyond it lays Jude. There is a crimson smear across her forehead.

"Jude? Jude??" She crawls forward, cursing her one slow stiff leg as it threatens to give in under her. "Jude…"

Or like when you're lying on the ground, bleeding, and you should be running for safety, worrying about gas or fire or terrorists… and instead you can't even hear the sounds because you're praying for the person next to you.

The dust is drifting down around them like fairy dust, and the noise is deafening. Screams, car alarms, the cracking of something that might be fire.

Then it all fades away as a pair of green eyes shoots open and search for India. Reaching out a hand Jude grasps India's, intertwining their fingers tightly, and when she begins to sit up she winces slightly.

"Ouch. What the hell?"

"Jude?"

"I'm fine, honey - you okay?"

"Yeah." Peering over her shoulder India stares at the scene of carnage. Pieces of material, unidentifiable, floating in the air; flames licking at the edges of what remains, a woman on her knees screaming at the top of her lungs. The shops to the sides of the main target are a mess. Debris everywhere.

Pulling herself up against the upturned table Jude cracks her neck uncomfortably as she surveys the destruction. "Who would do this?!"

Shrugging, India pulls at her hand. "We have to get back, sweetheart. We have to get back."

"Yeah. Yeah." Wiping at her forehead, a motion that leaves a wide red swathe on her forehead like a scarlet letter, Jude looks back, tries to find out where help will be coming from.

There's a woman crumpled on the cobbles not far away. She's howling like an animal, her accent so strong with terror that it is impossible to understand her, and then, "… me boy's in there…"

When Jude looks back she catches India's gaze alighting on the shop the woman is extending her arms to. Like the shop next to it, it's still standing, though smoke drifts through it and the structure has collapsed in parts.

There is a calm silence in India's eyes that sends icy chills straight to Jude's heart.

"India." Grasping her chin, the journalist turns the small woman's face towards her urgently. "No."

India's eyes are massive beneath the smudges. "I have to. "

"You don't have to. You don't."

"Yeah." India allows Jude to lead her away, but she only takes three steps before she halts, almost yanking the journalist off her feet in the process. "Jude. I can't walk away."

"India, if you go in there, one way or another... "

"…I probably won't walk out again." Cupping Jude's face, India gazes up at her searchingly. "Jude, sweetheart, this is as close to destiny as it gets."

"No!" Covering India's hand with her own Jude pleads. "Please. It isn't worth it."

"It's always worth it when you're leading with your heart. You taught me that, Jude."

"You shouldn't have listened!" Jude sobs back at her. "There'll be ambulances soon. Please."

"Not soon enough. You know that. For every second we waste here someone could die." Taking Jude's hand, India kisses the palm reverently. "I love you."

"Oh god." Wrapping her fingers in India's collar, mindless of her tight grip, Jude pulls her close.

"Jude." India's fingers stroke the backs of Jude's hands gently, and a flush of heat suddenly suffuses Jude's body; a vein of energy that starts in her arms and caresses slowly through her. "Baby, don't cry."

16. Love is a temple. Love is a higher law.
("One" - U2)

Let's say you are having your standard morning coffee at a little bistro just off St Stephen's Green. You're waiting for your sister, who is probably late because she can't walk past a shop without wanting to take a quick look inside, and because you have all the time in the world you're indulging in your favourite pastime: people watching.

Of particular interest to you is the blonde woman sitting a few tables away from you. Her hair is awful, her hat is garish (something inside you shouts "tourists!" with sneering glee) and her sunglasses are so oversized that what is a current hot trend could be single-handedly screwed up by her efforts. But beyond all of that, there is something about her that piques your curiosity. She carries herself as if she is someone.

You do not pay much attention to the girl with her - from this angle all you can see is a woefully disorganised head, and you are no fan of the bedhead craze. Instead you watch lazily - the sun is as out as it's going to get, and though the breeze is chilly it's not an unpleasant day - as the blonde pages through the paper and passes one of the sections to the other woman with what appears to be a joke. She keeps what you are (admittedly) surprised to see is the business section, and reads through it with careful intent.

You're still wondering why she seems so familiar when your phone rings - it's your sister. She's been delayed (you can almost hear the quotation marks) and is still about ten minutes away. Sighing, you slip your phone back into your handbag, and it's in that moment that the world explodes around you.

The blast rocks you sideways from your chair, flinging you into the cobblestones, and a brief sharp sensation over your cheek flashes by between the suddenly overwhelming silence and the cloud of rising dust.

You have no idea what's just happened. You think more time may have passed than you noticed. You think the world may just have ended, and you've been left behind.

Lying there on the stone (it's cold on the skin, your mind complains, but you're too shocked to verbalise that thought) you blink dazedly, look about you, take in very little until the screaming starts to seep in slowly. Only then do your brain and your eyes connect again, and you see her, on her knees (they must hurt, that same distant part of your mind commiserates, but you have no words) wailing to the sky, hands held out towards one of the shops caught in the blast.

Slowly scrambling to your feet you shuffle in the direction of St Stephen's Green, not wanting to be near the devastation (who knows if there aren't further dangers here?), but still wanting to stay close enough to see what happens. Intrinsically human. You're no different, even if you think you are.

When you turn back to look at the wailing woman again something else catches your gaze, and for a moment there you think a piece of flying debris may have damaged your eyes. Is it shock that makes you think that woman used to be blonde? Yet there she is, not far from the wailer, clasping the smaller girl's chin in her hand with a stark look on her face. When she's dark like that you realise that she makes you think of that woman on CNN. But you must be wrong. She wouldn't be reading the Business section of the local newspaper on St Stephen's Green.

Now she's pulling the short one away, towards you and the others, but it's only a few steps before the girl falters, stops, and pulls back. You'd like to think you wouldn't be watching them this openly had it not been for the situation, but your every action seems cloaked in a veil of fuzziness to you right now. You don't have the power or the will or the inclination to look away, and so you don't.

When the girl lifts her hand and cups the dark woman's cheek you absently lift your own hand to mirror the motion, and find yourself wincing as you scrape your palm over the small pieces of gravel embedded in your flesh. And NOW it hurts, but still that disembodied sort of pain that doesn't quite affect you as it should.

The small girl kisses the woman's palm.

"I love you."

Those are the easiest words to lip-read, even if you're not very good at it. The shape of the mouth is unmistakable, and when, as in this case, the sentiment shines from the eyes… well, it would be ridiculous to miss.

It's not like you're spying. They're right there, in the open.

But then, when they've gone silent and are staring at one another with some sort of intent that you can't tell, you startle and lift your hand to your cheek again. You must be hurt worse than you thought, because the hallucinations have come. On the dark woman's cheek, right where the smaller girl had put her hand, there's a glowing handprint. It glows like faintly reflecting glitter, and there's no sun anywhere, and the dust makes everything else dull, and there's no way this can be anything but shock.

I love you.

Then the dark woman lets go of the short one's lapels, and the short one looks at the tall one, and you shudder for the love that you can see even from here - she's got such enormous sad eyes - and then the girl limps.

Not towards you, but back towards the wailing woman and the burning shop.

You think you should warn her, shouldn't someone warn her? but your throat is too dry from the dust and the shock.

The dark woman doesn't say anything either. When the small woman disappears through a dangerous-looking collapsed doorway she turns around - the tear-tracks have formed grooves in the dirt covering her face - and staggers back towards her table, overturning what's still standing, searching for something.

When she straightens up you see the camera in her sooty hands. Can it still work after a fall? But she seems to think so. She lifts it, and points it, and waits.

If you look closely you can see a tear form a drop near her chin, hang there for a moment and then drop heavily onto her shirt. And then another. And another. But her hands are perfectly steady.

She clicks the shutter just as the first man appears in the doorway, his clothes and his skin and his hair and his large hands bloody, and the light streaming off him like he's been dipped in the rays of the sun.

And you aren't entirely sure what's happening, but suddenly you're weeping, because somehow you know that this is something miraculous you'll never ever see again.

Epilogue

All in all, if you could measure these sorts of things by something as conventional as beginning and middle and end…

But you never really can.