Fruition is a small restaurant, with dark blue awnings over the front windows and two wrought-iron benches sitting outside on a stree that looks, in a word, Quaint. Racks of wine sit out against deep red or fair gold walls, giving the place a more casual air than its cuisine would suggest.
This is where Avery invited Calden this weekend, after he's finished up some business in town. She met him downstairs in her lobby, wearing a green dress with black stockings beneath a gray coat. She smiled when she first saw him, a smile that lifted her lips and brightened her eyes -- a smile that flowed up her face like the sun rising. She reached for his hand when she crossed to him, entangling their fingers and kissing him, her other hand rising to touch his face.
She is always so happy to see him.
--
For dinner she had the poached pear salad followed by the sea bass, drinking white wine in defiance of winter's chill. But now she is sharing dessert with Calden, deep dish pecan pie with maple bourbon ice cream, sipping cognac. Her legs are crossed beneath the table at the ankle, her slender legs bracketed by his, their bodies in contact even when she is using her spoon to nudge another bite in his direction.
They've talked about his work, and about her friend seeking his rank challenge, and she's even told him that she's going for Master of Challenges of Cold Crescent -- all in sideways speak, because they are packed closely with other diners tonight. But now, smiling at him in the golden light, she asks him:
"I was wondering, darling, if you would consider coming to town again this following weekend. I know it's a great deal of traveling, especially after all the time here for the stock show, but... I was hoping we could have dinner again on Friday."
Calden WhiteCalden likes restaurants like this. Small, with a welcoming, unpretentious air, and yet a menu that would satisfy the most discerning of palates. Where she began with pear and moved to bass, he starts with seared yellowfin; moves on to the duck breast. His wine was red. His conversation was low, and warm, and he followed her sideways speak with the adeptness of one who was, in fact, born and raised in the Nation.
He is happy for her friend. He is happier for her, and expresses his confidence that she will do well. He wants to know if this means she will spend more time at the Cold Crescent and, if so, tells her he will look for housing in the area. Nothing too large or grand. Just a small pied-a-terre; someplace to lay his head on those bi- or tri-annual visits they spoke of.
Someplace to lay his head when she can't bear his nearness. That is something they leave unstated but understood.
--
Their table is a small one, made for two. His legs cross to either side of hers. Sometimes the inside of his calf brushes the outside of hers. For once he is out of denims and in brushed wool; slacks and a buttondown shirt that he cannot seem to help but wear tie-less and with the sleeves rolled up his forearms. Over dinner, their hands linked often during the lulls. Sometimes her fingertips traced up his wrists, over the pulse-points and along the complex anatomy of his forearm.
Now they are sharing dessert. He is scooping bites of pecan pie with deft turns of his spoon; he holds his snifter of cognac in hand, the amber liquid swaying in the glass. She nudges a bite toward him. He smiles at her over the pie and accepts it, his teeth flashing white around the spoon. She was wondering, she says, and so he attends, and even before she finishes he is smiling again, smiling like he is holding in laughter, the corners of his eyes crinkled, his eyes bright.
"I would love," he replies, setting down his glass and lifting her hand instead, "to spend Valentine's with you. Where else would I be?"
Avery ChaseThey do discuss housing for a bit: whether he will rent or buy, agreeing that it makes far more sense to buy a small place for this. She suggests some areas she's found charming, buildings she's heard are quality. Her leg moves gently against his, and she cannot quite express to him in public how aroused she is by this discussion, nor could she explain it. She expects he might tease her that she finds real estate erotic -- and perhaps she does. It's the thought of him close but not invading her den, not taking it over with his scent or constant presence. It's the thought of visiting him At Home and that home being closer to hers. It's the thought of touring spots with him, seeing whatever he buys before it's bought, thinking of it filling with his furniture.
It's silly, and inexplicable. So she doesn't mention it. But she rubs her leg softly against his, thinking of it. And she strokes his hand, his wrist, traces muscle and bone in his forearm, mentioning something else: offhand,
that she likes his sleeves rolled up like that.
--
She grins, a bright beaming smile, that he catches her. Valentine's Day is this weekend, after all. "With your true loves," she retorts easily, "all those cows."
Avery takes a spoonful of the maple-bourbon ice cream, licking her lips, and tipping her head. "Would you mind if we share dinner with my father and brother that evening?"
Calden WhiteShe doesn't mention it, but the truth is they have such an overwhelming connection, such an insane chemistry, that Calden has grown rather attuned to Avery's mood. Perhaps he notices. Notices the way her leg slides against his, and the way the roses in her cheeks bloom just a little more; notices the light in her eyes and a certain note in his voice.
They are very civilized, polite people, of course. Neither of them say a word about it aloud. But for a while there dinner becomes a rather charged affair, even though all they're discussing is rent vs. buy. Studio vs one bedroom. North or south or east or west, which building, which block. He has a notion, just a passing thought, that maybe it'll turn into more than once or twice a year. That maybe he'll end up staying two, three days out of the weekend instead of a day, a day and a half. That maybe he can call her from his place, ask her to come over, cook her dinner on the stove or on a small gas grill out on the balcony,
make love to her within the quiet little confines of his home-away-from-home.
--
An additional stipulation, then. Not merely dinner but dinner with her family. Calden squeezes her hand gently, smiling as he leans back into his seat.
"I think that's a great idea," he says. And then, teasing a little: "Should I wear a tie and be prepared to declare my honorable intentions to your father?"
Avery ChaseValentine's Day... with her father and brother of course. Which is an odd request, and not the most romantic offering she could make to him. But they've been seeing one another since it was so barely spring that it still felt like winter. They've been officially exclusive since midsummer. He has picked her up at her family's home, he has attended functions as her escort when her father could not, and they are not far from realizing they've been together a year. But he's never really sat down and met her father and brother; he's never shared a meal with them.
Avery's lips purse in a little smirk. "If you like," she says, to both tie and intention-declaring. "Though now I'm curious what those honorable intentions are."
Calden White"To make you happy," Calden replies at once. It is surprisingly heartfelt; it is achingly genuine. Only a moment later does humor creep back into his tone as he lifts her hand to his lips: "In whatever way pleases you the most. Of course."
Avery ChaseHe's teasing, and she's teasing, and then he is instantly, stunningly sincere, and Avery isn't qutie sure how to take it at first. She seems startled, blushing a little, glancing down at what remains of their pie, their melting ice cream. Her hand squeezes his where they touch, and then her eyes rise to meet his again, even as he is lifting her hand to his lips.
"Do you want to get out of here?" she asks him softly, her eyes tender despite the implication of the words. "We can just skip the movie."
Calden White"I'd love to," he says -- again.
So they call for the check. And they never really argue or fight over this. They take turns -- inexactly but naturally, sometimes with her card on the tray, sometimes with his. Sometimes he pays with cash, old-fashioned; says it's because it's faster.
And it is. He pays with cash tonight, leaving the tip along with the amount. The last of his cognac he downs in a pull. There's a bit of pie left, and a puddle of melting ice cream; he leaves both as he rises to his feet, his head just a little light from drink. He holds her coat for her because of course he does; shrugs into his own as they move toward the door.
The serving staff bids them goodnight. They are at once intrigued by Avery and unable to look directly at her. Calden's hand touches her lower back as he follows her out the door and into the night, which is cold and crisp. A light snow is falling -- large, lazy flake drifting on the slight breeze.
On the sidewalk they stand close together for warmth, and for company. He puts his arm around her, holds her against his side. He knows, he knows, she is a wolf and a Silver Fang, she is born of and born for the cold. Still there is a part of him, ridiculous and protective and providing, that wants to unbutton his coat and usher her close to the warmth of his body; fold his coat around them both.
He doesn't, of course. That would be absurd. But the thought is there in his mind even as they lift their hands to hail a passing cab; even as he opens the door for her and follows her into the back
--
It is a short ride back to her place. They skip the movie. They talk about maybe getting it on blu-ray when it comes out; watching it at her place. At her place, getting out of the cab, stepping into the building and into her elevator that opens directly into her penthouse, Calden leans against the wall and watches the numbers move.
"Does your father know I'm not a Silver Fang?" he asks quietly after a while.
Avery ChaseAvery does not leave the last bite of pie. She eats it while the check is on its way, as he drinks his cognac. They get their coats from the old-fashioned coat-racks by the door and Calden helps her into hers; she winds a white scarf around her throat and slips her hands into gloves, feeling eyes upon her but ignoring them, because she does not want anyone to think she's angry at them for looking at her. That would be their first thought, if her eyes turned their way. It is hard for strangers to read anything in her eyes but anger; no wonder she works so hard to convey anything, everything else.
Snow rests on her hair, melting at first, then as she grows colder, resting on her locks. She leans into him, sharing her warmth with him even though he's the one with his arm around her. It would be absurd if he wanted to cradle her in his coat; she would not mock him for it. She knows, as perhaps he does, that if he brought her in like that, she would be keeping him just as warm as he might keep her.
Moreso.
--
The cab comes, purple and white, and they slip inside, scooting together on the back seat. Avery gives her address; the driver heads north, past Cheesman Park and skirting the edges of downtown before turning west into the highlands.
Avery pays for the cab and they hurry inside, into the lobby that is golden and warm compared to the stark cold darkness outside. She gives a slight shiver, which is not entirely due to the cold, as they watch the numbers tick upward.
Does her father know.
She blinks, looks at him. "Of course. I've spoken to him about you, of course."
Calden WhiteHe returns her look with a smile that has perhaps an edge of relief in it. "Of course," he echoes. The smile dies a natural death. He looks at the numbers ticking up to her floor.
"Does he mind?"
Avery ChaseShe keeps hearing things like this. Eva mentioning 'discretion' over drinks. Now this question of whether her father knows, whether he minds. Avery does not say a word after that, looking thoughtful and vaguely displeased though not directly, as the elevator stops. She walks out into her hallway, where there is a coatrack and a sideboard and a large mirror and so forth. Avery is unwinding her scarf, her thoughtful expression turning vocal as she turns to him, unbuttoning her coat.
Finally: "I have not asked my father if he 'minds'. It is not a subject of discussion in my household or among my kin," she says. "My father is not a bigot," she adds, a bit stiffly.
Calden WhiteCalden's brow furrows. His eyes ache. This happens long before she speaks; it happens when she is silent, when she walks out into her hallway, when she begins to unwind her scarf.
Her father is not a bigot. He crosses to her. "Avery," it comes out like an exhale, a murmur; he puts his arms around her, nevermind if she is taking off her coat, nevermind if he has yet to take off his shoes. The embrace goes on a while. It is an apology in the most physical, basic form.
"I never thought your father would be a bigot," he says quietly after a while. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. The subject's been on my mind, is all. I thought -- "
A small pause here. He still has his arms around her if she allows it. He kisses the top of her head, the melting snow wet against his lips -- if she allows it.
"You should know," he says quietly, "I ran into Lola a few days ago. She was quite vocal about her disapproval and how she thought our respective peoples would disapprove. She mentioned it might negatively impact your standing and advancement amongst your tribe.
"I didn't think it was any of her business, and told her as much. Still; I thought you should know."
Avery ChaseHer coat is half off, hanging from her elbows as Calden frankly just pulls her into his arms, embracing her. She is stiff at first, though not from anger as much as mere discomfort, and after a few seconds she turns her head, resting her cheek against his shoulder, her nose touching his throat just barely. If his hug is an apology, her head resting on his shoulder is an attempt to tell him that none was necessary.
"You didn't," she murmurs quietly, as soon as he's saying that he didn't mean to upset her, he didn't. It's an interruption, but a quiet one, and it does not grow to more than that.
So of course she allows him to keep his arms around her, given that she adores him, and she adores his arms, and she adores being embraced by those arms. If her arms were not half-trapped by her coat, she would hug him back, but then: if she were in any other form, she would rest her jaw over his body, cradle him against her ruff and her heart, and so resting her head on his shoulder is only another way for her to embrace him in return.
She listens. He mentions Lola, who was vocal about her disapproval and against his shirt, Avery closes her eyes. She exhales, a sighing sound that is only blanketing anger, staving off a snarl.
Slowly, she lifts her head from Calden's shoulder, standing upright to look at him, her eyes cool, but not because of anger at him. Hardly. "There are few polite ways I can express my lack of interest in Ms. Hawkes's opinion of my personal life," she says, her tone surprisingly mild considering that beneath it lies a sensation like iron claws raking through sheet metal.
"I am sure that her 'disapproval' garners little attention even among her own tribe, and it is of no consequence whatsoever to any Silver Fang what an unlikable young Uktena kinswoman might gossip about." She tips her head, slipping aside to finish removing her coat. "I will endeavor to pity her. I imagine that if she is driven to sniff the bedsheets of those around her and try to erode the happiness of near-strangers, her own life must be rather unsatisfying. But I will admit that at the moment, my more natural inclination is nowhere near pity."
Avery hangs her coat and scarf, shaking out her hair.
Calden WhiteThe embrace is an awkward but tender thing. He holds her with his arms; she holds him with her cheek on his shoulder. For all her trappings of humanity and civility, she is not human. She is a wolf. She can be deadly. Perhaps he should be afraid, or at least wary, when she lifts her head like that. When she lifts her eyes so coolly to his.
To be truthful, he was wary -- wisely, healthily so -- when they met. He gave her the respect that one would give any predator. But that was nearly a year ago, and in the space of that year she has not,
she has never,
not once,
made him feel threatened or unsafe. She has never made him feel as though his mistakes -- and he has made his share of mistakes -- would be repaid by pain, and blood, and violence.
This is to say: he trusts her. And he is not afraid. The idea of fear does not cross his mind. A certain ache does, though, because she sighs; because beneath that sigh is anger; because moments ago they were happy. He does so love to make her happy, and he does so hate to make her anything but.
Say this for Avery Chase, though: even in her anger she is eloquent. She is succinct, and rather devastating, in her assessment of the situation. No consequence, she says, and unlikable. She will endeavor to pity Lola, she says.
"I think I already do," Calden replies, wry. "I think in some misguided way she was trying to warn me. I think she thought of me as a friend, and thinks of my tribeswoman Tamsin as a friend, and held at least enough respect for you to want to protect you from shame and dishonor.
"I don't think she'll go about gossiping. At least, I want to believe that much of her. It wasn't fear of that that drove me to tell you about our conversation.
"I just wanted you to know. It involves you, and so you should know."
Avery ChaseAvery merely gives a single-shouldered shrug. "She may not gossip, but this breed of insolence is a particularly disgusting sort. For her sake, I hope she does not stick her nose into the business of a wolf more likely than me to tear it off for her trouble."
She thinks briefly of Iron Tooth. She does not mention him by name; he is one of the worst one can be without being outright tainted by the Wyrm, and she is not convinced that he is not. What, she wonders, makes one fall to the Wyrm if not thinking oneself righteous by raping and beating their mate?
These are dark thoughts. And she is troubled by them, after hanging up her things. She just nods to Calden, saying quietly: "I do thank you for telling me," and, after he has hung his coat, walking with him towards the true front door.
Calden WhiteCalden does, in fact, hang up his coat and step out of his shoes. When he turns back to her a small silence has unwound between them. She looks troubled. He goes to her, wrapping her up in his arms again.
This hug is briefer, but it is tight. He bends his head to her, kisses her firmly on the temple. When they come apart his arm remains around her shoulders, keeping her near. "Don't be unhappy, love," he murmurs. "I didn't mean to spoil an otherwise lovely evening."
Avery ChaseAs when they are in bed together sometimes, Calden follows her. Comes nearer as she moves away, wraps her up in his arms because, at times, this may be the only way he can think to bridge whatever gap has opened up. Gaps that he desperately wants to bridge. Gaps that she does not crave, or want, or always understand, but sometimes needs.
She momentarily wants to tell him no, no, let go, she's angry and she's annoyed and she's disgusted and she doesn't want him to hold her when she feels such things, she doesn't want to be held or touched or spoken to or seen when her mind is shaky with competing emotions --
one of the few things that triggers her, sends her reeling into self-isolation. Disorder of the mind. Disorder of environment. Solitude heals those things.
But she does not push him away, or flinch, or tell him to let her go. She looks upset, even as he's pressing his mouth to her temple, and she has her shoulders tight as he keeps his arm around her. She looks aside, down the hall, her neck tight like an animal in distress, then looks apologetically at him. Pleadingly. She could not send him a clearer message, in that moment, to remove his arm. Not unless she said it. Not unless she physically removed him.
Calden knows animals. Knows Patches and knows all his creatures that he raises, rescues, sells, slaughters. He knows Avery, and perhaps the distress in her eyes goes through him like a spear. He takes his arm from her, and she exhales, reaching over and lightly taking his hand. Not with their fingers interlaced, but her fingers wrapping around his, her thumb on his knuckles. They walk into her penthouse, and she hasn't answered his apology with anything but that hand touching his.
--
"I'm not unhappy," she whispers, as the door closes behind them. She is turning to him, drawing his arm around her lower back, laying his left hand on her left hip. She breathes in deeply, letting go his hand once it's in place, reaching up to lay both her palms on his face.
"You spoiled nothing. I simply struggle. When I feel many things at once. When it all... collides." Drawing him nearer, she kisses him, fully, though not yet deeply. She licks her lips and exhales, sighing the sound, then does it again. Deeper this time, parting her lips to invite his tongue into her mouth. She shivers when she tastes him, pressing her body closer to his.
"I'm all right," Avery tells him, standing there in the entryway, the way they do sometimes. "I'm all right, darling."
Calden WhiteOf course he lets her go when he feels her tighten like that, her shoulders taut, her arms pulled around herself. He lets her go, even though it lances him through the heart; even though that look she throws him, so distressed, so pleading, nearly breaks him open.
This is a heartache he will have to live with for the rest of his life. Or, more realistically -- more painfully -- the rest of her life. It's something he will have to deal with, though never something he will get used to.
--
At least there is this much. It doesn't last long this time. She does not need to retreat, to flee, to hide under a bed. She reaches for his hand after a little while. And after a little more time,
she comes back to him. She draws his arms around her as though to show him that it is okay now, it's all right, he can hold her and she can be held without shaking apart into atoms. So of course he holds her: wraps his arms around her the way he does. Not tight this time, but secure. She puts her hands on his face.
He loves it when she does that. When she holds his face in her hands as though to look more deeply into him, taste him more deeply when she kisses him. Which she does do, but only after telling him a truth.
All she ever tells him is the truth. He is understanding this, too, even as he goes to her as he is drawn. Kisses her as he is kissed, their bodies sealing together, her hands on his face tracing the motion of his jaw, his cheeks. She shivers. He feels so tender toward her then that it's hard for him not to wrap her up in his arms again, perhaps more tightly than she can stand right now. It's that thought that keeps him from doing so.
"I believe you," he whispers. And he does. A little later, "Would it ... does it help if you try to focus on just one thing? One feeling, one emotion -- does that help pare down the chaos?"
Avery ChaseIt's the feel of his kiss that makes her shiver like that. It's the press of their bodies together. She isn't thinking about heartache, because if she thinks about the pain her madness causes him sometimes, she may not be able to stop herself from
shaking apart into atoms.
--
She is most certainly not unhappy. She's seen him so much this year already. He's going to come back for Valentine's Day and he'll sit down to dinner with her father and brother, her family, some of the most important men in her life brought together under one roof for an evening. She thinks she'll ask the cook to prepare Kobe beef. Lovely.
And he spoiled nothing, and she struggles, and she is all right. She tells him the truth and he believes her. She kisses him a third time, sighing softly, and then he asks her what can help. She considers this. She nods. "Often." A pause. She steps away, taking his hand again, to draw him with her to go around the hall and toward the stairs. "You remember the day when I hid under the bed?" she asks him, and of course he does.
As they ascend: "I stopped trying to understand or explain what I was feeling. I realized that I wanted to hide, so I stayed hidden. I realized I wanted you to stay near, but not touch me, and so I asked you to do so. I do not know if that means I was focused; I felt very untethered. So I clung to those two things. I wanted to hide, and I wanted you to stay. After a very long time, I was able to relax a little more. Feel more. Think clearer."
Calden WhiteThey start up the stairs. He is familiar with this path now. Neither of them mention it, or discuss it. Neither of them have to. His hand in hers, he follows a step behind her; their difference in height is briefly reversed. He watches her as she speaks. As they speak -- frankly, and for the first time in a long time -- about her particular affliction.
"It meant a lot to me," he says quietly, "that you let me stay near. Just like it means a lot to me that you brought me to this home of yours. And that you gave me a key.
"I know these things can't be easy for you," he adds, quieter still. "I know it takes ... courage. And I am so grateful for your courage.
"If there's ever anything I can do, though -- anything to help you, or make it easier for you, or bring you back to yourself when you're overwhelmed -- darling, don't hesitate to tell me. All right? I meant what I said earlier. I'm happy to do anything for your happiness. You know that."
Avery Chase"I wanted you near," she whispers back to him, almost urgent in her insistence. "I needed you."
She does not say that often. Not directly, not so... openly. Maybe he felt it in her hand that day, when she reached for him and they held hands while she hid under the bed and he laid down beside it. Maybe he felt the way she tethered herself to him, a solid point. If he were not so steady, so warm, so solid and able to be so still, it wouldn't have been him.
He mentions the key; Avery smiles at him. "It meant a lot to me that you offered to give it back," she tells him at the landing, drawing him closer. "I don't think until that moment that I was truly comfortable with you keeping it. But then you asked if you should leave it with me, and... I did feel, right then, okay with it."
Her arms slip around his neck. She steps out of her heels, leaving them right there, standing in stockinged feet on her carpeting at the top of the stairs.
He offers her so much. All she must do is ask. And she strokes the ends of his hair at the back of his neck, nodding. "I do know, darling," she murmurs. "Do you know that as grateful as you are for my courage, I feel equally thankful to you for your... steadiness. Your patience. Your ability to be quiet and still and wait with me." One hand, only, this time, when she touches his cheek. "You are my touchstone, my darling. You're solid ground."
Calden WhiteEasily, they step together at the top of the stairs. His arms loop gently around her waist as she slips hers around his neck, and they say things to each other that have been true for some time now,
though they have not said any of it aloud before.
Calden's eyes ache. His heart aches, though it is a good ache. He bends to her, those broad shoulders rounding under her forearms. He kisses her, soft and slow and, yes, sweet; hugs her closer and presses his mouth to her shoulder after.
"I love you," he whispers. "I love you so very dearly."
Avery ChaseShe's shorter now, by a few inches. She wiggles her toes in her stockings. Every time he touches her he must marvel at how fine her garments are, how it feels like nothing else in the world, like nothing anyone common would buy. He must marvel at how soft her skin is, how similar to silk it seems when he runs his hands over her. His hands are rough; she makes them seem like stones. No wonder that the merest touch she gives him seems instantly erotic, no wonder his flesh craves hers, no wonder his skin thirsts for hers, no wonder his body aches for hers. She is indefinably lovely.
They kiss, though Calden starts it this time: kisses her slow and sweet and soft, rounding down to her and against her and around her. Avery wraps her arms more full around him, kisses him back warm and slow and deep, welcoming, seeking.
Her heart tightens in on itself at his words. She breathes in, and holds him more closely, almost protectively. "Let's listen to music in my room," she whispers in his ear, "and you can dance with me."
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