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Chapter Six Tip-tip-tip-tip-tap-tip. "Filia?" "Yes, Valgaav?" "Are you hammering a nail, or patting a mouse on the head? Make up your mind." Glaring over her shoulder at him, she stuck out her tongue. "If I'm not careful, I keep hitting my fingers instead." Holding her hand up, she showed off the bruised digits. "Uh-huh." His expression was deadpan. "How deep have you managed to drive that nail?" Filia leaned closer, squinting at the wood. She blushed, seeing the tip was barely into it. "Umm..." "That's what I thought." "But I keep hammering my fingers and it hurts if I try to hit it harder!" Rolling his eyes, he got to his feet and walked over to where she was trying to assemble a cabinet for the shop, and carefully eased himself down beside her. "Show me what you're doing." Sheepishly, she put the nail back in the little dent she made, and proceeded to lightly tap the small head. Valgaav watched her for a moment, then dragged his hand down his face with a sigh. "No wonder you keep nailing your fingers into the wood instead. For starters, they're in the way, and you're holding the hammer wrong. You're not keeping enough control over it." Filia blushed faintly. "And how would you know?" "Because apparently I, unlike you, was actually paying attention to Jillas." He shrugged. "Besides, I kind of remember doing stuff like this before." "Maybe you should handle the hammering part." Valgaav looked at her out of the corner of his eye for a moment, then smirked, giving his head a slight shake. "You'll do fine, once you figure it out. Give ‘em here. Watch." He took the nail and hammer from her, and held it in place, lightly pounding it until the nail was deep enough into the wood to hold secure on its own, and finished driving it in. "See? Nothing to it." Filia couldn't see the difference between how she did it, and what he what he was doing. "If you say so," she replied dubiously. He sighed, handing the hammer back. "Get another nail. We'll try this again." "I still think maybe I should be doing something else instead of hammering," Filia said, picking up another nail. "I can't make nice pottery if my fingers are battered into bloody stumps." "Quit complaining," Valgaav retorted. She studied the planks, figuring out where to put the next nail, and lifted the hammer. Before she hit at it, Valgaav reached over, stopping her hand. "No, hold the nail like this." Filia relaxed her hand, letting him position her fingers. His touch was surprisingly light, and it was then that she realized he rarely did come in contact with her, outside of the few rare moments when gripped by dreams, either asleep or awake, and that touch was anything but mild. But it wasn't until he closed his hand over hers softly, adjusting her grip on the hammer handle that she started having trouble breathing. Her skin prickled, feeling like there was a sensation of static electricity crackling wherever his skin touched hers, causing the hair on the back of her neck to rise. When he reached across her, gripping the hand and wrist which held the nail lightly to hold it steady, the heat began to pour up her arms until it spilled over like a waterfall into her chest, and rose to scorch her cheeks. She was dimly mindful of him saying something about the hammer and nail, but her wayward brain tossed it out as being of little importance. Painfully aware of how hard her heart was pounding, Filia wondered how something so innocent and commonplace as helping someone with building a shelf could feel completely sinful. Even more than that, it was Valgaav. He barely tolerated her on his good days. Why was she reacting like this? It was immoral and thoroughly depraved. Shrine maidens -- never mind the fact she was no longer a priestess -- did not behave, did not react like to carnal things as if they were no more than a base whore off the street. But why, in the name of all that ever was, did something that was so wicked feel so right? Hearing her name, she snapped out of her daze somewhat, managing to focus her eyes on his face. "Um, what?" she somehow squeaked out, her mouth feeling terribly dry. Valgaav looked at her for a long moment, then made an annoyed sound, somewhere between a sigh and a huff. "Isn't your mind a little too small to be out wandering by itself?" Filia realized she'd been caught daydreaming, blushed, and then blushed thirty shades deeper as it occurred to her what she'd been caught daydreaming about. Every single cell in her being begged every single deity which might care to listen for Valgaav to not know what had been going through her mind. Failing that, perhaps the ground would swallow her whole. "Um, sorry," she managed to squeak, and to her own ears, her voice sounded more like a mouse being throttled. "I'm listening! Honest!" He shot her a skeptical glance, then did a very faint double-take, looking away quickly. She couldn't be certain, as he ducked his head, his aqua-toned hair obscuring his cheeks, but it almost looked as if he started to blush as well. "Right," he replied, his voice a little strained. He cleared his throat, quickly letting go of her hands and made a vague sort of gesture to the shelf. "What you've got... er, that is, um, the thing of it is, what you need to do, uh, is..." He paused, giving his head a slight shake as he closed his eyes. "Gimme those here," Valgaav said, his tone suddenly just a bit cutting as he snatched the hammer from her hand. "Get Jillas to show ya again if you really wanna learn. I'll finish this. You'll probably just mess it up anyway at this rate. Go find something else to do." He grabbed another nail, and pounded it through the wood in just three blows. Biting down on her bottom lip hard, Filia scrambled to her feet, hastily backing away. She tarried for only a moment before darting out of the parlor, fighting down the urge to find a nice, deep hole in the ground to bury herself in. He knew, and from how he reacted, he was obviously disgusted by her sudden lapse in morals. Who wouldn't be? Trying to compensate for her own sordid thoughts, she poured herself into a cleaning spree of the house. As soon as Filia was out of the room, Valgaav exhaled slowly, closing his eyes, letting his forehead drop onto the shelf. He hadn't meant to be quite that much of an ass to her, but by all the gods, that woman was completely vexatious. He'd only been trying to show her how to do the job properly, for crying out loud, not hit on her. What was her problem, anyway? It was three months since Darkstar had been defeated, and they had spent virtually all that time in one another's presence somehow or other. He tried to figure out why she suddenly now started acting like a lovesick whelp, and shook his head. Women. Who could ever figure them out? It was bad enough that she had started acting like a ninny, but did she really have to go and infect him too? Raking his palm down his face, he stared out the window. She was a Golden, for crying out loud. She was everything he despised. Yes, she was quite attractive, he was neither stupid or blind. But things like that meant little to him. He wasn't drawn to her, not in the slightest. He just tolerated her presence. Valgaav viciously snapped at the little voice inside that suggested he did more than just tolerate her. Yeah, so he picked out that barrette. So what? The money had come from Jillas. The only reason Valgaav had gotten the idea was because she... He faltered over his reasonings. She just looked strange without something in her hair. That was it. That was all it was. He did the picking out because he was a dragon, after all, and if there was one thing dragons understood, it was shiny, pretty, things. It didn't mean anything more. Just a little 'thank you' for saving his life and such. Whatever that was worth. He needed to get away for a day or so, put some distance between them. That would clear his head, and he wouldn't get any more thoughts along the lines of her being momentarily winsome, her face as red as an apple, completely flustered. Again, his forehead made contact with the wood. That settled it. Valgaav had been wanting to return to his former fortress, to see if there was anything he wanted to keep, or maybe even if he still wanted to stay. Staying there sounded good. In fact, it sounded better by the moment. Now that he had full access to his dragon form, the lack of teleportation wasn't that much of a problem. He could cover more distance in flight than on foot, so acquiring food would be relatively easy. And maybe once he got away from her, he'd stop losing time, stop getting pulled back into a past he'd rather forget. It was bad enough they constantly invaded his dreams, but the lapses of awareness in his waking hours left him chilled. Dinnertime was a tense affair. Filia had made a meal that was almost gourmet, from all the attention and meticulous care she put into it, trying to keep her mind off the events that transpired earlier that day. But she could barely touch it, trying not to look at Valgaav, and trying not to be obvious about not looking at him. Jillas was the only one who appeared to be at ease, digging into the casserole Filia baked with a healthy appetite. She and Valgaav remained quiet, content to let him chatter away about his day, and things he had seen and done. Finally, the meal ended, and the two males retired to prepare for bed, although Jillas only did so after Filia shooed him out of her kitchen, reassuring him she could handle the dishes herself. Filia kept her kitchen spotless to begin with, but when she finally finished straightening up, trying to take her mind off her humiliating behavior, and the tension of dinner, it was immaculate. Dousing the lights, she retired to the living room, stepping behind the privacy screen to change into her nightgown. The fire was crackling merrily in the fireplace when she lay down on the couch, and by the time it died down to brightly glowing chunks of wood that seemed to put off more heat than an active flame, she was still awake. Filia liked the fire best at that stage. There was something haunting about the heated glow of the large embers, the way faint shadows would drift and shift throughout, like there was something alive in them. But it wouldn't be long before they would begin to cool; the darkening layers of ash would slowly obscure their beauty until the flames within finally died. It was funny, she reflected, how in nature, the most lovely moments were the ones that were the most fleeting. The few heartbeats of sunrise when it would be at its peak of perfection, the breathtaking glow for that transitory moment when the fire would be within the wood. And even the sensation of his hands on hers, close enough that she could feel his warmth. Turning her head slightly, she closed her eyes, burying her face in the pillow. She was insane. Most days she was lucky if she even harbored any hope for him to at least accept her, it seemed. Was that a part of it? The safety of knowing that it wouldn't be reciprocated? A creak of wood startled her out of her musings, and she sat up, looking around in the darkness for the source. By the faint light of the embers, she could make out a tall form in the hallway, motionless. "Valgaav?" she whispered. There was a soft sigh. "Go back to sleep, Filia," he replied. "I wasn't sleeping..." She pushed the blankets away, picking up one to wrap around her shoulders, warding off the chill. "Are you okay?" Filia asked, walking over to him. It was then that she noticed the bag in his hand. Suddenly, the blanket wasn't anywhere near enough to battle the cold that was in her bones. "You're leaving?" she whispered, desperately trying to fight down the stinging sensation that was building in her eyes and the bridge of her nose. "Without saying good-bye?" He looked away. Filia's heart constricted as she looked down, closing her eyes. "You said you wouldn't go anywhere," she whispered before she could stop herself. Part of her wondered why she was so surprised, why it felt like someone had just stabbed her in the chest. She was a fool for not expecting this. "I lied." His tone was flat, brisk, and a whip wouldn't have stung as much. "The sooner you can get away from me. I remember," Filia retorted softly, then winced as the bitter hurt reached her ears. "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for." Not looking up at him, she added, "do you need anything for your trip? Food, a canteen?" There was a long pause. "I'll miss your cooking," he replied quietly. Just not me... Filia held her breath at the odd sensation of a scream that felt despairing and frantic building up in her chest. Why did it surprise her, hurt her? Her own idiocy at apparently believing otherwise left an unpalatable taste in her mouth. "I'll make you something, then," she murmured, unable to keep the flat sound out of her voice. His answer was as close to a yet as he would be likely to give. Trying to will herself to stop shaking, she walked to the table, picking up the lamp, and poked at the embers with a straw to set it on fire, touching the small flame to the wick. The sooner you can get away from me. The words, especially the wounded sound beneath them, still rang in his ears as he followed her to the kitchen. So she still remembered what he had said all those months ago. The problem was, that wasn't quite the reason. Valgaav just didn't know how to convince her otherwise. And maybe it was better to let her keep thinking as she did. Valgaav leaned against the wall, watching her pulling a few things out of the larder, her face illuminated by the lamp in her hand. Filia's lips were pressed together in a thin line, and her eyes were unnaturally bright from the lamplight reflecting off the excess wetness pooling there, but not falling. What did he care? He pulled out all his tried and true reasons, but grew more uncomfortable as they all fell flat. She's just a Golden. She might be a Golden, but she wasn't like the rest of them at all. I don't need her. Then why was he starting to feel guilty over leaving? I'll hurt her if I stay... Going seemed to be doing a good job of that too. Filia swallowed hard, and he could see her hands tremble in the soft light as she set about preparing some food which would travel well. Even though she clearly hated the idea that he was leaving, she was still trying to take care of him. I should have waited a while longer... "Jillas is better off with you," he said quietly, and she grew still for a moment, not looking up. "Besides, I wouldn't feel right, leaving you here by yourself." Filia slammed a jar down so hard, he flinched on reflex, half-expecting it to shatter. "What was it you said to me once? Don't do me any favors?" she snapped, looking up at him. The tears that finally spilled out of her eyes were what softened the blow of her words. "Well, don't! I can take care of myself." "Filia--" "Just shut up." He stared at her, then looked away. "It's better this way," he said. "Of course it is." Her tone was vitriolic. "Dammit, Filia--" She roughly shoved a package into the bag of food. "So much for letting the past stay in the past, hmm? Guess you can't get over the fact I'm a Golden." There was a note of self-derision to her voice that made him grit his teeth. "I wonder now why I even bothered to try. If you're still so determined to crucify me over crimes committed before I was even born, then good riddance!" Dropping his bag, he stepped over to her quickly, giving her shoulders a rough shake. "Knock it off!" he snapped. "I want the past to stay there, but it won't leave me alone! And no matter what you think, I don't think you deserve to get caught in that crossfire!" Filia didn't move for a long moment, then she turned her head away, raising her hand to press it to her lips as she closed her eyes tightly, her expression crumpling. She made a soft choking sound, and tried to pull away. Valgaav sighed, then awkwardly drew her into a light hug. How did something so clear-cut and logical as leaving become so muddled? "I'll come back," he told her before he knew what he was saying. "I just... just need some time, I guess." Filia didn't return the hug, merely nodding a bit and pushed him away with a gentleness borne from a lack of strength. Turning back to the table, she closed the bag of supplies and handed it to him. "Be careful," she whispered. Valgaav studied her face. "Try to get some sleep," he told her. "What do you want me to say to Jillas?" "That I'll come back." |
to be continued...
Chapter Seven