Darkness. Light. A tunnel, a cave cocooned around him, floating without sensation as a single crack of brightness bloomed outward to a vague and blinding haze. No sense of time or place - he was dead. He must be dead, gone to meet his maker, face judgement for his life. To answer for his sins...it was no pious feeling, the frustration that rose up tired in him at the thought. What troubles now, in some whole new existence? Tortures or hosannas, stretching on for an eternity. Enough was enough. He was dead. He should be left alone.
A face, then, looming at him from the light. Coming slightly into focus as he strained to see, as his heart thumped with a nervous spark of recognition. Hair like dusky flame, and eyes of glowing green. Fuzzy features, carved as beautiful as any sculptor could ever hope to make...he was distantly surprised at the dryness of his tongue as it stirred to speak. "Molly?"
Those fine lips pulled upward to a delighted, tearful smile - but she shook her head. Disappeared suddenly from view, and a subtle, tingling pressure touched upon his arms and chest, like a slightly awkward embrace. Relieved words sounding sweetly in his ear, carrying still the tremble of recent sorrow. "Thank god." A voice he knew all too well...
The fuzz of vision receded further as moments passed, as he forced himself to blink, resolving not to the clouds of heaven but instead to just a small room, richly furnished in the Spanish style, the sun streaming brightly in from a window on the far wall. The softness of a bed beneath him, the warmth of blankets pulled up to his neck. Awareness gradually returning of his legs, his arms, his body there beneath him, as his mind clicked slowly back to function. A faint ache of pain yet, down inside his belly.
Not dead, then. That itself was a surprise, almost unwelcome. "Alice, what..." The words scraped out rough, uncertain, rasping in a parched and shaky throat; he could feel her cheek still touched to his, but she pulled back as he spoke, appearing again before his eyes.
"Shh," she soothed, warned him to quiet. Sitting there at the side of his bed, eyes lambent and soft with a doting concern. A tiny quiver at her chin, the smile pulling joyful at her expression. "'ts all right. You're safe. Back in Las Cintas. Javier's villa, you remember?"
He nodded, vaguely, the flow of thought still slow and murky. His voice hoarse as he tried again to speak. "How'd I get here?"
"I brought you," she answered simply, gazing down at him. Her tone resounding with a fairly wrenching bliss, a little tremble of feeling that she took a beat to quash before she spoke again. "Anyway, that ain't no matter, now. You okay? Hurtin' any? Hungry?"
Denial was an uncertain shake of the head - he scarcely knew yet what he felt. But the dry scrape of the tongue in his mouth soon suggested itself as a problem to be fixed. "Reckon I could use some water."
She laughed at that, a bit, more relief than humor. "I ain't surprised. You been out gettin' near three days now." Excitement in her motion as she rose up to her feet, the energy of nerves and tension suddenly set free. She grabbed at a painted stoneware jug set down upon the endtable, and just the sound of pouring liquid was enough to redouble his sense of thirst. "Doc said it was an even chance you wasn't gonna wake up at all, but I didn't give it no regard." A denial somewhat unconvincing, in light of the strength of her reaction a minute prior.
She returned a second later to the side of the bed bearing a tall glass of water, shimmering pure - in this moment, it looked as appealing as the sweetest of liqueurs. And faint frustration, then, embarassment, as he tried to reach for the glass, only for his arm to stir but feeble and uncooperative beneath the covers, feeling again as weak and useless as it had been after his injury all those years ago.
"Here." The words were murmured soft and tender as she realized his predicament. Sat down once more close beside him on the edge of the bed, the firmness of her upper thighs brushing against his through clothes and covers. "'ts all right, just sit yourself up a bit." And as he clumsily managed this, she held the glass up carefully to his lips, gifting him to greedily drain the cool and satisfying water. One hand held steadying on his shoulder, a little smile on her lips. Her eyes solid now in his, warm with joy and with affection. "Couple times you took care of me when I was sick; figure I can return the favor." And slightly strange to see, this new poise and confidence of manner, with his recent memory so full of her anxiety and almost-tears.
Wasn't room to worry about that, though. He little had the energy, nor the focus, his mind still foggy with fatigue. The glass was empty by the time he'd drank his fill, and for a moment after she just sat there at his side, gazing quiet and slightly smiling at his face. Finally speaking again, tones softly solicitous. "Anything else you need, pa?"
There was, in fact. He hadn't felt particularly hungry before, distracted by the desert in his throat - now that his thirst was quenched, he could hear the answering growl of his stomach. "Ah..." His tongue, however, hesitated a trifle. Faintly uncomfortable, ashamed to be in such a position, asking her to bring him food. Not that there was much choice. "If it ain't no trouble, I am feelin' a mite peckish, after all."
"No trouble." Her smile quirked upward, tenderly amused. "I asked the cook to leave on a pot of stew, just in case today was the day you woke up. I'll run and grab you some, if'n you don't wander off while I'm gone."
"Don't reckon I could," he awkwardly returned her humor as she lifted to her feet, giving on her way a slight, comforting squeeze about his wrist. And indeed, it was scarcely a minute later that she returned with a large bowl of soup on a metal platter, setting it upon his lap as she sat down once again beside him. Serving careful spoonfuls into his mouth, her eyes nestled in his features, affectionate and kind.
It was a fine meal, rich broth, chicken and vegetables...but her presence touched lightly to his side was a distraction from the taste. Her body's heat impinging on his consciousness, the sight of those gently smiling lips - and the faint clenching of despair inside, that he was still faced with this untoward desire. That the nearness of death had not gifted him with any fresh perspective, any awakening of righteous disregard. Or that it had not gone all the way, and granted him the indulgence of extinction...dark thoughts, beside her glow and tender warmth. But he'd thought it all was over, that he'd found the liberty of death. There was a certain surreality to be sitting here now, attended to so close and solicitous by the girl he'd imagined he was finally leaving to her own life.
Especially given how she seemed now to look at him. Even through the still-fogginess of thought, he could not miss the intensity of her expression, nor forget her confession to him on the last night he could recall. How she'd thought of them together, of him touching her...the notion slipped too comfortably into his own mind, despite his attempts to shake it, as his daze was slowly lifted. But where before she had fairly quivered with shame before his gaze, had begged that it was truly no desire of hers - now her eyes were steady, sincere, warm and cheerful as candlelight, and he did not quite know if he imagined the promise they seemed to carry. Did not trust his tongue to words, for the nervous uncertainty which had hold of it.
Not long before the bowl was emptied, his stomach sated, the tray set well aside. Alice still perched there at the edge of the bed, as silent as James himself...but there was a sort of language to her smile, curved up gently at the corner of her lips. To the slender fingers that she lay upon his leg, above the covers, or to the way she looked at him, as though to memorize his features. A meaning to it that he didn't dare to understand. A message that she couldn't really mean.
He didn't speak, or even much react, when she took his hand in hers - though his heartbeat kicked up faster, throbbing in his ears. Didn't look directly at the solemnity of her gaze, the intensity, the sparkle like that of starlight. But this refusal to acknowledge little stopped the building of the moment; her tone was deep with looming truth as at last she spoke, dulcet with meaning. "Pa?" A murmur, reaching for his attention, her thumb stroking softly at his palm - he could not quite keep himself from looking up at her, being captured by her eyes.
Whatever she planned to say was mercifully forestalled by the sounding of a quiet knock at the door. Relief in James' voice as he looked up past her, polluted with a touch yet of misgiving, a tingle from what she might have said. "Yeah? C'mon in." Hoarsely, to usher inside whoever stood on the side opposite, to find the safety of a chaperone.
That 'whoever' soon proved to be Javier himself, as finely-dressed and cheerful as ever as he pushed the door smoothly open. A smile in his eyes and on his lips as his gaze fell upon the other man, enthusiasm in his tone. "Ah, Señor Blake! The young lady told me that you were awakened; I am glad to see that it is true." Teeth flashing white and well-maintained. "I must confess, when she brought you by thrown across that horse, I did not hold a great deal of hope for your survival. I do not believe I had ever before seen a man so deathly pale who was not destined for the grave."
Between his fatigue and the uneasy awareness of Alice still beside him, James struggled vainly to return a little warmth, his own smile flickering but wanly in his expression. "Aye. Reckon I'm just lucky."
"Lucky, indeed," Javier nodded sagely, "And with a capable ally, as well. She told me just a little of what transpired, but I understand that it could well have been worse, were it not for prompt action on both your parts." A noncommittal muttering from James, and he continued on, his eyes flashing briefly over to Alice. "In any case, she has certainly been diligent. She scarcely left your side, you know, these past three days - something of a surprise to see, after the manner of your earlier departure."
Her fingers curled with his, her weight gently pressed upon his side - the truth was an awkward thing, complicated, conflicted and unspeakable. James could only vaguely shrug his shoulders, utter dryly, "S'ppose you could say we got a strange relationship."
"Yes," Javier seemed to find a distinct humor in this, chuckling heartily. "In fact, that is about the most that I could say. But!" His hands clasped firm together, sudden energy for a change in subject. "You are finding the room comfortable, I hope? The food, acceptable?"
