Lucas raised his glass to touch the others, and added, “And to the lessons we have learned from this storm.” Sharon smiled a secretive smile, “I’ll drink to that!”
***
Torfan felt himself laughing with the others after they downed their drinks, finding mirth in the faces one makes when consuming a glass of well-aged scotch. Lucas poured them all another glass, and placed the bottle on the desk. They talked, they laughed, they cried, they told stories…they reassured themselves that all was well, and strengthened their resolve to move forward. By unspoken agreement they kept the drinking light, because of a sense that something more must be said before they could drink in earnest, but no one knew what.
Torfan looked over at his glass with a smile, the warmth in his belly overshadowed by the warmth in his chest. He knew that none of them had figured out what needed to be said, but felt content to wait. A suspicion had built within him, however, that what needed to be spoken required his absence. The whisky had allowed a tiny bit of the feelings to show through Sharon’s eyes as she gazed at Lucas.
He knew that she ignored those feelings, but didn't know if she knew they were there, much less that they had begun to show. He only knew that she would be mortified if anyone found out that it had shown through her control, and that made talking with her about it out of the question.
His eyes went back and forth between them while considering his options. He’d known Lucas since they were both idealistic youths, ready to take on the world, each in their own way. Now, with them relaxed like this, his familiar eye could read the man like words on a page. The way his legs crossed, the timing of his eye movements, the way his smile rippled from one side to the next, the twitch of his wingtips. He could tell that Lucas knew, and that she didn’t know that he knew. Furthermore, Lucas probably doubted that she knew her own feelings, and couldn’t be sure of his feelings for her. He watched his friend struggle internally to separate his own feelings, the whisky, the moment, and all of that hitting hard against his lingering grief over his long-lost wife.
Torfan had a moment of sudden clarity. He realized they’d reached a pivotal moment; that the two of them had to acknowledge their feelings and choose how to deal with them. He didn’t know what they would choose, but choose they must, or it would eat at them both from inside, until drastic action had to be taken… likely at a terribly inconvenient time. Taking care of it all now, whichever way they decided to go, would work well. Letting it fester would not. He had no idea what they would decide, because there were just too many factors were which held them, but he had no doubt about the right course of. He, personally, hoped that they would choose to explore their feelings. They would probably make each other deliriously happy, and Rescue knew that everyone in this crazy place could use more of that. He smiled slightly, made a choice of his own, and slowly rose from his chair.
***
Lucas savored the smell of the whisky and the warmth of true companionship. He basked in the moment, one of those timeless moments which one wished would never end. If he could loop time, keep them where they were forever, he would be tempted to do so, even with doubt over his feelings for Sharon tickling the back of his mind. That he felt a response to Sharon’s attraction to him could not be denied, but that he knew that nothing could be done about it. Their friendship remained too important to his state of mind, and the middle of a rebellion hardly seemed the ideal place to go through the delicate early stages of a romantic relationship. If everything were not so dependant on him, if he weren’t still-even after all these years- grieving for his wife, if he could be sure they would work it out…if, if, if.
He knew how he reacted when he lost a relationship, though. Whether the loss happened because the relationship didn’t work, or… death…like his wife…it took more than a little effort to clear that from his mind. She would have never countenanced allowing herself to ruin a moment as special as this, and he would not dishonor her by allowing her to do so in death. Even as long as it had been, the love for her remained as strong as it had ever been …he gave himself another mental shake.
Too much stood on the line to risk starting a new relationship now. If something happened, he would be lost to grief for weeks, even months, and would be unable to trust his decisions for that time. Others might not be able to tell he had a problem, but he would not trust his own mind. Nor would it be easy to accept other’s council for doubt of whether the reason their ideas sounded good came from the merit of the idea, or just his grief not wanting to care. No, far better to just let that sleeping dog lie. Get this war over with, hand Kethelmar over to the people, then see what could happen between them.
That decision made he continued to hold his end of the conversation and tried to figure out what pressed at the back of each of their minds, what still needed to be said. The words being spoken seemed small and unimportant to him, and the others seemed to think the same thing. They were sharing intimate moments and inanities alike, but the words were mere trappings. They were interacting at a level far beyond words, raw emotion shoring up the weakened bonds and healing the wounds circumstances had forced them to inflict on each other.
He’d found it. The wounds, and the circumstances which forced them. He hated that phrase, hated that very concept. Sometimes, however, you encountered situations which just left you with no good way through. Most of the time, though, such things could not be avoided. The worst were people who continually allowed themselves to be victims of the same circumstance. He saw it all too often, and always as the result of the same thing; failure to learn the lessons of the past, or failing to come up with a plan to deal with the trap next time you approached it. What still needed to be said became clear in a flash of thought.
A look at Torfan revealed that his friend had made some sort of some sort of inner decision during his revelation, and had begun to slowly rise while speaking, “I love you two, I really do. Sharon, I feel a kinship toward you now which, this morning, you never could have convinced me could be built in a time span shorter than years…much less a few days and hours. Lucas, my friend, this stuff is as wonderful as I promised you it would be when I gave it to you. I remember that day well, and I remember the beauty of your blushing bride. You and I have passed through enough trials of fire in that time that we should be able to cook food just by looking at it. Still, as good as it is, you know how my bladder is with booze. I’ll be back in a few.” He winked at Sharon, shot back the last of his whiskey, and set his glass on the desk as he turned to go.
Lucas came out of the wistful memory invoked by mention of the long-ago wedding to catch the wink at Sharon, and realize what Torfan had not said. His friend hadn’t mentioned anything about how Delores would have been proud of him, or how she must be watching over them and smiling from the other side. Torfan knew such sentiments gave him comfort, which means that he would not have neglected to say something unless…
Lucas felt a moment of panic upon figuring out that Torfan had no intention of returning, and why. His emotions were in no emotional shape to face those feelings right now, for one, and far too important things still needed to be said. He snatched the glass the instant it met the desk, fast enough to make Torfan hold in place as he refilled it. Sharon’s glass then got topped off, set on the table, and he then refilled his own. Sharon moved to retrieve her glass, but he motioned her back and locked eyes with Torfan. “We are sharing my bottle, my dear friends. In memory of the joys and the pains we have had in life, and the reminder that both are precious, and more precious when they are shared. We will wait for you to get back before we resume the libations.”
Torfan smiled and nodded, managing not to reveal that his intentions had just been derailed. He walked out of the room fairly quickly, and Sharon rose to follow him, seeming slightly less than completely steady on her feet. “I think you have a good idea, there. I could use a little relief myself” She giggled slightly at herself at such ‘indelicate’ phrasing, smiled and nodded at Lucas, then followed Torfan out. This worked
for him; he needed a few moments to put words to what needed to be brought up anyway.
***
Sharon could feel her pulse racing as she kept losing herself in those deep, sad eyes. She had hoped that the alcohol would calm her heartbeat, but it seemed only to have increased it. All the self-control she possessed barely kept her emotions from being written large across her every move and breath, but iron-willed self-control of all messages –verbal and non-verbal- were her stock and trade. When Torfan announced his intent to walk out the door she nearly bolted for the door herself in panic. She stood, hoping that the other two would attribute her unsteadiness to the booze, and excused herself. She barely heard the words she used, and found herself lightheaded and giggling for a moment.
That iron-willed control clamped down on both emotions and body long enough to walk steadily to the lady’s room. Shaking hands splashed water on her face, while a jumbled mind hoped that the blush in the cheeks in the mirror would be attributed to the whiskey by the men.
The water cascading down the sink drain echoed the whirling emotions within. She felt surging joy waging a pitched battle with fury over her lack of control, and the frustration that her perceptive abilities kept failing her… how could Lucas be like a closed book to her? In some ways she felt more alive than she had in longer than she cared to remember. She hated it. Not the emotions themselves, no. Those were welcome, and the desire to revel in them endless. But the fact that she couldn’t control them, and even worse that they were actually showing through to where they could, possibly, be detected… intolerable.
Her trade was the control of thoughts and ideas. She had to be able to bring others to see exactly what she needed them to see, no more and no less. Yet here, with only two people to deal with, she had no idea what messages she’d sent. It felt like every wave of heat, every peak of emotion had been broadcast right in their faces, and this horrible feeling that both of them could see right through her, and were not mentioning it.
Blood froze in her veins as she considered that Lucas may have seen, but kept quiet in the hope that he could just brush it off because he felt nothing of the sort for her. The countertop shook slightly as a closed fist beat upon it in frustration. She just couldn’t tell! This, of course, made her feel more ashamed. Just as important as her being able to build and maintain an image was her ability to know what others were perceiving… to all but read their minds.
Yet, here and now she could not even decipher two of the people who should be easiest to read, and anything having to do with matters of the heart should be an open book! She could look at the back of a person and tell you what kind of day they were having, listen to them talk for five minutes and practically tell you their whole life story. But, allow her to get a man in her line of sight, and she fared no better than a doe-eyed schoolgirl!
What good did all this control and training do if it didn’t even work under the circumstances which had caused her to seek it out in the first place!? The years may have been long, but the wound… The briefest thought about Him, that man from so long ago, and the pain returned. Not as strong as used to be, but back none the less. She splashed more water on her face in an attempt to clear her mind, drops of it spreading about the sink from her chin and nose. All that time and effort, but still not ready to try again.
Granted, there were a thousand practical reasons not to dare such a thing, duty and the preciousness of their existing friendship, and an unwillingness to risk that. So frustrating! She couldn’t even be sure what she’d do if those factors weren’t there. Her emotions were a tangled ball which could not be unraveled. The old loss which the heart shied from, the elation of possibly starting again, the fear of losing again… and through it all no idea what she really wanted. Water flew from moist tips of hair as head shook, trying to clear the fog while slowly looking in the mirror again.
The sight of disheveled hair, flushed cheeks, and vulnerable eyes appalled her, and she used that fury to force control. After all, her feelings were not important anyway. The Column was. The Column did not need her becoming confused over feelings for her boss. The Column needed her to provide support for him, and create ways to win over the hearts and minds of Kethelmar. All else would have to wait. Maybe, someday, when all this ended, when more time had passed, when wounds had-hopefully- healed...She half-smiled at the image in the mirror, and shook her head at it. Always the hopeless romantic, even with yourself. She used a towel to dry the face, squared her shoulders, and took a cleansing breath. Once she had control of herself again, or at least believed she did, she headed back.
***
Lucas watched the two of them leave the room. The air between Sharon and himself would have to be cleared at some point, but that could wait. Making sure that something like this didn’t happen again, that a misguided directive from his conscience did not again lead him astray, that took priority. They had gotten lucky this time. No one died, and the pain they had caused each other would not only heal but had brought them closer together. He would have to capitalize on that closeness. These two people were, even more now, the closest of his inner circle. He had relied on them heavily for some time, and had come to realize just how much during the last couple of days. They were the two people in the world that he could trust implicitly, something he hadn’t had since Delores, and he loved them dearly for it.
They were the only people in The Column who could have turned him the way they did, and that he needed. A leader with no one who could tell him this sort of thing risked disaster for himself and those he led. Finding someone who could do such a thing, however, tended to be less than easy. People tended to have their own hidden agendas, sometimes hidden even from themselves. He knew the agendas of these two, however.
Torfan had, all those years ago, settled into his role as Sanctuary governor with an aptitude and comfort which surprised them both. His friend cared little about anything outside the welfare of his people, and took no direct interest in the rebellion itself. This made him excellent to talk to when he needed a fresh perspective on a problem which had himself and his normal staff stumped. Torfan cared about the rebellion, and would do anything in his power to make it succeed, but his real passion had become the well-being of those placed in his care, which - to his mind - included Lucas. This made him honest in a way that few men were capable of. Their long friendship, coupled with his feelings of responsibility for Lucas, had made him something of Lucas’s self-appointed caretaker. Anything his friend suggested, particularly in regards to his health or well-being, could be taken at face value without reservation.
Sharon, on the other hand, had proven herself truly and totally dedicated to the rebellion itself in a way which sometimes surprised even him. Something had happened to her, not unusual for those in The Column’s ranks. Whatever happened had to have been harsh and traumatic, but no one had ever been able to get it out of her. This, too, tended to be rather common in The Column. She had come to them without a past, and a flat refusal to allow that to change. It hadn’t taken long to realize that deep emotional wounds drove her passion for their cause, but she never allowed anyone to see them. Not even for an instant. He considered it great progress for her to be able to have feelings for anyone at all, even if she ran from them.
Feelings or no, however, the fact remained that her every action, and nearly every thought, focused like a laser on the survival, and triumph, of their cause. He could trust her to tell him nothing but the truth, and that she meant whatever she said for the good of the rebellion.
Yes, he thought to himself as he held the whiskey under his nose, let its smoky aroma fill his senses. These two could both handle and be trusted with what he had to ask of them. He heard the scuff of feet on floor behind him as they padded back into the room, took their seats, and sat down with small smiles on their faces. He smiled himself, happy that the mood had not been spoiled, and that the time had come. He raised his glass, met both of theirs, and then they took a ceremonial drink together.
&
nbsp; The two sensed his change of mood, and politely waited for him to speak, their openness shined through their faces. “You said that this is something from which we must move on, and you are right. Completely right, but there is one other thing we must do in regards to this whole incident. We must learn from what happened, and find a way to keep it from happening again. It is possible my conscience could end up steering me wrong again. If it does, I don’t want to have to go back through this; neither do I want to have to put my two dearest friends through it another time.
“We need something, some way to separate out when that particular problem has occurred, and that what you are telling me needs to be looked at more deeply than any of our other conversations. So, that said, have either of you got any ideas?”
They sat and looked around the room for a short while, savoring the scotch.
Finally, Torfan chuckled softly and spoke, “Well, we could come at you from both sides and beat you about the head and shoulders with sticks. Would probably be less painful to you, and would certainly be a sight less painful for us!” They all laughed heartily as Torfan went through motions of vigorously beating someone with a stick before continuing. “Or, we could just get you totally drunk, strap you to a chair, and tell you whatever it is over and over until you are ready to go with whatever we say just to shut us up. Or to be allowed to go to the bathroom, whichever comes first.”
This brought another round of laughter, then a thoughtful look from Sharon. “Actually, I think you may have something there.” She made a point of ignoring their skeptical looks and plunged ahead, “Not from the core of your jests, but in symbols.” Lucas noted, with an inexplicable sadness, that the vulnerability had gone from her eyes as she turned to face him squarely. “What we need, basically, is a way to let you know when we are bringing you something that requires you to re-examine the deepest levels of what drives you and your decision making. Whatever it is would be best if it helps put you in a mindset to do that sort of examination, will not require us directly expressing that this is the purpose for what we are doing, and - preferably - would remind you of this moment.”
Wings Page 15