Chapter 9

THE WEATHER WASmiserable, dreary sky gray and full of clouds heavy with precipitation, and hinted that a deeper, more violent misery might have been on its way. Laurel accepted the gloomy atmosphere philosophically, and hoped it would make his own pale exhaustion look more lifelike by comparison. It was twice now he'd have to face Ash with little more than a few hours of fitful sleep.

For anyone else, he might have canceled. He couldn't let bad nights turn to bad days, but he was growing weary of the nag of vulnerability he could feel poking at him as faced the world visibly depleted. But because some of his restlessness had been borne of anticipation to see the healer, he knew there wouldn't be any benefits to postponing their session.

Two days, he thought, trying bitterly not to feel irritable. Who could miss someone's presence after only two days? Was he truly that pathetic? To feel so attached to someone he'd barely begun to know, and for what? Because Ash had given him a few compliments and paid him some attention? Was he a dog, with so little dignity that his eternal loyalty and gratitude could be earned with a few careless pats on the head?

"Is it this weather that's put you in a mood, or are the gods so taken with you that your frame of mind can influence the very sky itself?"

The sound of his voice, that smooth cadence that sent out poetry in velvet bursts without a hint of embarrassment or uncertainty, seemed to burrow into Laurel's ears, flowing warmly into his bloodstream.

He'd arrived unreasonably early, for once wanting to feel in control of the situation, but he could see now there had been no point. Regardless of whether he held the role of visited or visitor, it only took a single sentence from Ash to have his pulse jumping. Gathering his courage, he forced himself to glance up, peering through his lashes.

"If the gods are looking to replicate my inclinations and impose them on the rest of the world, then I'm afraid we'll be in for a bad time all around."

Setting down the vase with care, Ash watched Laurel's eyes rake over him before shifting to the flowers, a mixture of wariness and interest within their amber depths.

"These are from my mother's garden, like I was telling you about," he said, before Laurel could ask. Nerves, something Ash felt so rarely, nipped at him from the inside as he waited for a response.

"They're lovely," Laurel answered honestly. The fat blooms were so bright they almost looked out of place against the drab sky.

"They're for you." When Laurel only stared at him, unblinking, Ash continued to babble, hoping to drown out the painful silence. "If you don't want them, it's fine. I'm sure you're used to more expensive gifts, but I thought maybe you'd like to see them, since I mentioned them before. Don't feel obligated, though. I can just keep them in my room and you won't have to worry about it."

Slowly, as if his muscles were comprised of rusted gears and hinges, Laurel reached out to grip the vase. Fingers grasping around it in a show of obvious possession, it scraped the table as it was pulled to the other side, nearly to the edge, as if the sorcerer wanted them as close as humanly possible.

"Thank you."

"You like them," Ash realized. Usually careful not to show the immense delight Laurel's little shows of indifference caused him, he couldn't bring himself to try and mask the smile that spread across his mouth.

As Ash had predicted, his reaction brought a rise of color to the man's cheeks. Flicking his eyes off to the side to avoid contact, Laurel stubbornly shrugged a shoulder.

"So? I've never been given flowers before."

"Seriously?"

"Is that really so unbelievable?" He could feel the heat of his embarrassment suffusing his cheeks. The awareness of how obvious his feelings must have looked only furthered the miserable feeling.

"Frankly, yes, it is."

"That's because you don't know me." It was an answer he'd given before, but one he felt obligated to give again. "The more you get to know me, you'll understand why I haven't."

Someone like Ash, so confident and so open, would probably be repulsed by his past, Laurel thought. Not only by how he'd allowed himself to be victimized by Malory, but how he'd essentially used other men, and allowed himself again to be used, in a feeble attempt to gain back some of the sexual autonomy he'd lost. It had, eventually, worked. At least a little.

The very thought of sex didn't have vomit rising to his throat as it once had. He no longer needed to be tranquilized with alcohol or drugs so he could stand the feeling of being intimate with someone. But he didn't think he would ever be entirely normal. There were things he couldn't stomach the idea of, things he didn't think he could ever open up enough for. What would Ash think, Laurel wondered, when he realized that no amount of his therapy would ever completely fix him?

"I've already told you I don't like hearing you talk about yourself like that."

"I'm only trying to make you understand what you're getting yourself into. You should save yourself the trouble and like someone else."

"You amaze me," Ash marveled, resting his cheek against his knuckles to give the blonde an exasperated, somewhat patronizing stare. "You know very well that I don't have a silly little crush on you that could be forgotten at the sight of another pretty face."

"You're just infatuated. It'll pass," Laurel insisted, terrified it could be true.

"You know there's something between us, you just aren't willing to accept it."

"Don't say that."

"You already know the truth of it. I can see it in your eyes. Luckily for you, I don't have an ego that needs to be stroked by hearing you admit it."

"Don't you understand why you're here?" Laurel asked, resentment dripping from every word. "You're here because I'm so screwed up. What part of that don't you understand?"

"One has nothing to do with the other. I accept that you need my help, and I understand what I've agreed to in treating you. It just so happens that we're also meant to be together. I didn't have a hand in choosing that, I just refuse to struggle against it."

Opening his mouth to, again, deny it, Laurel jumped, startled by the flash of lightning that snaked across the sky. An ear-shattering crack of thunder followed, then unforgiving sheets of frigid rain.

Instantly soaked, Laurel couldn't help but let out an appalled sound at the turn of events, clambering up from his chair. Though the chilly bullets pelting him brought him absolutely no pleasure, Ash had to bite down on his tongue to keep from laughing at the sight. With his pale silk jacket plastered to his skin, and his golden locks of hair already dripping down into his eyes, Laurel looked like a very pampered, very surly house cat.

Turning to the indoor section of the café, they both seemed to realize that retreating into it wasn't the most appealing of ideas. It was crowded already with the customers who had chosen to dine inside, and the few that had been willing to brave the dreary weather were already scrambling to join them.

"Come to my room," Ash suggested, practically screaming to be heard over the roar of the wind and relentless shower. "The inn I'm staying at is just around the corner. Barely two blocks."

"Fine," Laurel agreed, wincing against the elements. Anything to get out of the swirling deluge. Holding the pitcher close to his chest, he tucked the flowers into one side of his jacket, hoping to protect the delicate petals.

Following closely behind for the length of two streets, Laurel let out a sigh of relief when Ash cut through a courtyard to lead them under an awning, digging a key out from his pocket to open a numbered door.

Once inside, he hovered close to the door while Ash dug through the cabinets in the bathroom for towels. Emerging after a few moments, he tossed one to Laurel before scrubbing his own over his auburn hair.

"Crazy," Ash commented, dragging open a curtain to see the continuing downpour through the window. He watched as Laurel, with great care, set the flowers onto a table before peeling off his dripping jacket. Beneath it, he wore a slim-fitting shirt that very obviously didn't consist of enough fabric for his long frame, in Ash's opinion.

When Laurel raised his arms over his head to rub the towel through his hair, the expanse of bare skin amplified, creating a very dangerous, very tantalizing place for Ash's eyes to rest on. He had light muscle tone, evident mostly for his lack of body fat. It was a very clinical way to describe someone's body, Ash could admit, but if he allowed himself to try and process the engaging sight with anything more than analytic objectivity, he was sure to embarrass them both.

The taut lines of his abdomen flexed with his movements, though Laurel seemed sufficiently distracted with his attempt to dry off that he didn't notice Ash's stare on him. When a single drop of rainwater gave up its cling to the hem of the sorcerer's shirt, slithering a trail down past his navel and soaking into where his fitted pants rode low on his hips, Ash hissed out a breath.

"Do you want a drink or something?" He offered, looking for an excuse to retreat to the attached kitchenette. His mouth and throat suddenly felt as dry as a tomb.

"I'm okay," Laurel answered, sulking a bit as he stared at his likely ruined jacket. He was a moron for having worn it today, when the sky had been so clearly ominous. "Thanks, though. What are you doing?" He wondered, watching Ash wind some sort of clear twine around a bedpost.

Glad he had a small survival kit that he kept around in case of emergencies, he tied a suitable knot of fishing line around the post at the corner of the inn's bed, and another around the knob of the front door. "Makeshift clothesline," he explained, testing it gently. "I can just change into something else, but you'll get sick if you stay in those."

Before Laurel could point out the obvious that he would have nothing to wear while his clothes dried, Ash gestured to the bathroom. "There's one of those big, fluffy robes in there that come with the room. I haven't worn it or anything. Just wear that while your stuff dries out." The robe would cover more of his body than the outfit he was wearing anyway, Ash reasoned, but didn't voice his observation.

"I'm fine," Laurel said firmly, immediately dashing the efficacy of his argument with a full-body shiver. When Ash raised an eyebrow at him, he rolled his eyes. "Okay, whatever."

When he exited the bathroom, swaddled in what he had to admit was an exceedingly warm and fluffy bathrobe, Ash had already changed into a simple tunic and pants.

"You know," Laurel started, carefully hanging the sodden articles over the tight line. "This feels like the beginning to one of those really dirty stories. Like where two people have to share a room, but then oops they're all out of double beds, guess we'll have to share one."

"Ah," Ash cleared his throat, struggling to inject humor into his voice as a response surfaced. "I guess you would know about those, right?"

Understanding he'd walked himself into the retort, Laurel only shrugged a shoulder. "They're not my favorite."

"You like reading about love," Ash remembered, charmed when his companion flushed at the remark.

"Is that a crime?" Laurel sat, hoping to scrape together a few shreds of dignity as he did so.

"No. I told you, I find it adorable."

"Adorable is a very condescending thing to call someone who isn't a small child," he complained, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I'm sorry you feel that way. But you keep doing things that are, without question, incredibly adorable."

"You see what you want to see," Laurel decided, but as usual, couldn't shake the exaltation at being fawned over. "Aren't we supposed to be getting to know each other? I already know you find me cute."

"Tell me about the wedding," Ash suggested, cross-legged on the bed. He was overwhelmingly relieved that his patient hadn't joined him there, even just to sit. What had once felt like a familiar, welcoming sanctuary for him to rest his head at night suddenly felt like a den of inappropriate, brazen temptation.

"It was beautiful," Laurel remembered. He was happy to try and paint a verbal picture to the healer, but knew he could never truly portray the opulent elegance. Still, he described the decor as best he could, before moving onto how Nero and March had mooned over each other, barely breaking eye contact for the duration of the hours-long event.

Chuckling a little, Ash didn't find it difficult to picture at all. "Sounds like you're happy for them."

"I am. They're well-suited. Still, it's strange seeing someone like Nero so besotted." Testingly, curious to how Ash would react to the statement, Laurel gave him a sidelong glance as he spoke. "He was quite the playboy before he met March. He has a pretty extensive list of former lovers, you know."

Unfazed, Ash shrugged his shoulders. "Sometimes it takes awhile to find the one. Then again, they're still quite young, so it seems the pair of them are luckier than most."

"I don't think he was looking for the one, to be clear," Laurel added, still unsure of how Ash would feel about his own checkered past. "I'm pretty sure he planned to keep sowing his wild oats for awhile."

"Plans change," Ash pointed out, smiling. "I'm sure you didn't account for me showing up either, but here I am. We'll be where they are one day."

Flustered, Laurel could barely splutter out a response to the man's completely unhinged, unbearably romantic response. "You seriously need to lower your expectations if you actually think we're going to have some big lacy, storybook wedding like that."

"We can have whatever kind of wedding you'd like."

"I-" Shaking his head, Laurel pressed his fingertips to his eyes. "You're really stuck on this."

"It's your turn," Ash pointed out, grinning when Laurel looked surprised. "I asked about the wedding."

"Alright," Laurel agreed, remembering a piece of information he'd tucked away. "Your family name is Erisola, isn't it? You never used it when you introduced yourself to me."

"How do you know about that name?" Ash wondered, a bit alarmed. He'd already half-lied to his mother about this bizarre situation, and felt terribly about it. He didn't want to have to lie again, and now to his sorcerer.

"I remember when Nero and I were researching different strains of healing magic, looking for something that might be able to help me. Your family's breed of magic was one of the ones we looked into. I found a paper with the name on it in my room the other day, from before he reached out to you."

Feeling trapped, Ash resisted the urge to fidget. "Erisola blood runs through my veins, but it isn't my name."

Blinking a bit in confusion, Laurel's brows drew together. "You have your mother's name, I'm guessing."

"I do. My name is Ash Daye." It was a name of obviously common origins, lacking the frills of pure-blooded, highborn monikers. That would be obvious to someone who's grown up in nobility, so there was no point in trying to sugarcoat it. "I have the gift of my father's power, but not his name or his title."

"They weren't married when they had you." His tone was flat, and frustratingly unreadable for Ash.

Because he was unaccustomed to the painful clenching of nerves in his muscles, the healer responded caustically. "Well, my father was married. Just not to her." Instantly regretting the way he'd dropped that particular bomb of unpleasant information, Ash glanced away from Laurel's widened eyes. "But I'm willing to take your name, so don't worry about it. And our kids won't show it because half their genetics will be from you."

Unnerved by both the new understanding of Ash's genealogy and the unmistakable bitterness that dripped from his words as he explained it, Laurel wasn't sure how he should feel. He certainly wasn't sure what he should say. "Um, I'm sorry if this is a pain, but do you think you could make me that drink now? I saw a tea kettle on the stove, right?"

"I only have black tea, not the herbal kind you like."

"That's fine. If you wouldn't mind."

"Not at all," he answered smoothly, rising from his seat to head to the kitchen. As he filled up the kettle with water from the faucet, the fingers of his other hand were stiff, gripping the edge of the counter with enough force to distract him from the painful anticipation of Laurel's eventual reaction.

The tension in the air was heavy, sending seeds of anxiety to bloom in his stomach as Ash sat down in front of him again. Eyeing him cautiously, Laurel couldn't think of a single thing to say that felt even mildly appropriate for the situation.

"You don't like talking about it."

"Not especially." He'd never hated talking about it as much as he did in the current moment. Because he'd never cared quite so deeply about someone's opinion of him as he did now. He wasn't uncertain about his future with Laurel, only that the well-bred sorcerer would feel ashamed of his lineage, hesitant to create children with him. And that was almost worse, he realized, than not having him at all.

"I'm sorry," Laurel said, feeling brittle. "I didn't realize it was a sensitive subject for you, or I wouldn't have pushed it."

"It isn't." Ash shrugged in response, but the gesture was jerky now, moody, where it was usually casual. "I'm just acutely aware that you… I'm not what you imagined you'd end up with, I'm sure."

"You're assuming I even believe you about that."

"I don't care what you believe. I'm telling you how it's going to be. I'm not saying that to intimidate you or browbeat you into being with me. It's just the truth."

"No, I know you aren't," Laurel clarified quickly, rubbing his damp palms over his robed thighs. "You don't intimidate me, Ash. And you've been true to your word about not pushing me on the things I… That I'm not ready to talk about yet. So I really am sorry."

The piercing shriek of the tea kettle startled them both. Head spinning with adrenaline, Laurel pressed his fist to his chest as Ash scrambled up to pull it from the burner. He placed a stoneware mug printed with the inn's logo on the table with a teabag nestled into the bottom of it, the little paper tag flung over the side, before tipping the kettle over to fill it with steaming water.

"I only started drinking tea six months or so ago, when I started my therapy," Laurel said, shifting in his seat to allow time for the drink to suitably steep. "I thought it would help me meditate, or stay calm, or whatever."

"Did it help?"

"I'm not sure. I could never tell if it was actually working or if I just felt calmer because I was emulating what a calm person would do. That sounds pretentious, doesn't it?"

"Not to me. It sounds like you were trying very hard. You still are."

"You wouldn't have liked me very much, I think, if you'd known me before all this. I was in a pretty bad place until recently."

"We met when we were meant to," Ash agreed. "Fate is very rarely wrong when it comes to these kinds of things."

"Can you imagine," Laurel started, wishing his tea was finished steeping so he would have something to do with his hands while his stomach fluttered so madly. "If someone was telling you all of the things you're telling me? If they were so very confident that you were meant to be with them, but you had absolutely no inkling whether they were a complete loon or not?"

Considering, Ash exhaled. "I would probably feel overwhelmed," he admitted. "But now think of it from my point of view. How would you feel if you'd found this person that you knew with absolute certainty was the one you'd give your heart to? But when you try to tell them that, they only look at you like you've escaped from the nearest institution."

Despite the tense mood, Laurel snorted a bit, sheepishly. "I get you think I'm being harsh, but did you really expect me to jump into your arms and ride off into the sunset with you?"

"Not at all. It was immediately obvious that you'd struggle with accepting it, and that you'd be fighting me every step of the way. But that's part of what excites me about you. You're like a closed bloom." He raised his fist. "And I get to unfurl you." Unfolding his fingers, he opened his hand with a flourish.

"You understand that metaphor sounds incredibly sexual."

"My point," Ash continued on, ignoring Laurel entirely, "Is that I don't begrudge you for denying me. I enjoy prying you open, one petal at a time."

"There's no way you aren't doing that on purpose." The conversation was so nonsensical, so completely bizarrely silly, that Laurel found himself having to make a very deliberate effort not to smile like a complete moron.

"And when you finally admit that I was right all along, that you want to spend your life letting me adore you, I promise I will try very, very hard not to rub it in your face."

"I'll hold you to that, if it somehow turns out you're not a complete lunatic." When Ash only grinned at him, he dunked the bag into the dark liquid a few times before setting it to the side and sipping. "And it's your turn to ask a question now."

SO MUCH TIMEpassed as they traded off questions, easier ones now that only dipped the shallow touch of fingers into the lakes of their souls, that neither of them noticed that the storm had gone. A brilliant rainbow was painted against the sky, clearly visible through the window that had been left uncurtained.

In the privacy of the bathroom as he changed back into his now dry clothing, Laurel rubbed at his belly a bit, hoping to calm the jumpy nerves there. They'd talked about his childhood, the books he liked, Ash's much-loved horse, music. It had been as easy as breathing, he thought, wishing he could let it be that easy.

There'd been obvious pain, and insecurity, something he'd never expected to see in the healer's verdant eyes, when he'd explained about his parents. He'd been shocked, afraid of saying the wrong thing, but… He couldn't leave it like that. It wasn't fair to Ash, or even to himself. What would he feel, he wondered, if he'd revealed an insecurity to the other man, only to have it pushed aside and ignored?

Unwinding the fishing lure he'd used to string up the wet clothing, Ash glanced up at the sorcerer as he exited the bathroom, clutching his wrinkled jacket to his chest. "Everything end up okay?"

"The jacket's going to need dry cleaned before I can wear it again," Laurel explained, raising it a bit as he spoke. "But that's fine. I appreciate you."

"No problem." Turning back to face the post of the bed, he directed his focus to unraveling the strong line.

"No, really. You're good at solving problems, you know that?"

"I'd be kind of bad at my job if I wasn't." Laurel was so close behind him that Ash could practically feel the heat emanating off his body. He could very clearly feel the fretful nerves bouncing around inside him, the indecision.

"And, um… there's something else."

There it was, the source of the borderline hysteria sending its thick pulse crashing over him, Ash thought. Without thinking, he turned, nearly stumbling backward when he realized how close Laurel was. "Yes?"

"Just so you know, I don't care about your name. Or that you don't have a title. It wouldn't matter to me, I mean, if anything really happened between us."

A buzzing, like a hive of agitated bees, began in Ash's head and in his chest. "You're only saying that because you don't really believe you'll actually end up with me."

"When have I ever lied to you to be nice?" Laurel asked, satisfied when he seemed to be at a loss for words. "I'm saying it because it's true. You don't understand this about me yet, but I know better than anyone that pedigree and titles don't mean anything about the man. You're a good person, Ash. Anyone would be thrilled to have you as a husband."

"Even you?" He hadn't meant for the words to come tumbling out, but once they had, it seemed to affect them both in a way he hadn't anticipated. He couldn't be sure which pounded more brutally, the sound of the sorcerer's racing heart, or his own blood rushing through his veins. Then Laurel's mouth was pressed to his, and every thought he'd ever had seemed to dissipate from his mind as if he'd never had any.

Blinding lights seemed to shine behind Laurel's closed eyes, brighter and brighter until every inch of his body was lit from within. He felt Ash's hands slide up his shoulders and into his hair, very gently toying with his pale strands as their lips skimmed together, separating a bit, then coming together again.

It was so innocent, so timid, with no demand or expectation, that Laurel nearly swayed. He'd never been kissed like this before, like Ash only wanted to absorb the feeling of his mouth, and lock it away in his memory forever. There was no rushed groping, no tongue awkwardly prodding at his lips as if to stake a claim on him.

And he doesn't even know,Laurel thought dizzily. The healer had no idea what he'd been through, what kind of kiss he'd always wanted but hadn't known how to ask for. Letting out a soft moan of yielding, he gripped at Ash's strong shoulders. For balance, because his knees felt as though they were turning to water, but then for his own pleasure as he felt the muscles there tense under his hands.

"Laurel." Practically panting, Ash's hands slid back down to his arms, gently pushing him back. "This is… We can't. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let you do that."

"You're sorry?" The words crashed over him like ice, destroying the warmth that had built up inside him like a sanctuary.

"Yes." He said it without a hint of uncertainty. Understanding that Laurel would feel rejected, Ash reached out to him. He cringed away from the touch, eyes filled with unmistakable injury.

"Let me get this straight. You claim that we're supposed to be soulmates, or whatever stupid thing you call it, but you can't kiss me. And you're sorry."

"You're my patient right now, Laurel. I'm being paid to treat you. Whatever we are in the future doesn't-"

"No, you're right." The slice of rejection was so cold, so unbelievably sharp, that it nearly staggered him. But if there was anything he'd learned from Malory, it was that he didn't have to show his feelings. He could be cold too, and calculating. "You're right," Laurel repeated. "I think I've let myself get caught up in your little fantasy too, somehow. And I've encouraged you, because I was having fun. And I shouldn't have done that. So I guess we're both sorry."

Very nearly wincing at the finger-snap change of emotion that radiated from the other man, Ash could only shake his head. "That's not what I mean, Laurel. Everything I've said to you is true, it's just that I-"

"It doesn't matter. Whatever you have to say just doesn't matter to me. I'm tired, and I'm going home. You're right that whatever happened here was inappropriate for our dynamic, and it won't happen again."

"Please don't leave like this. You know I'm not rejecting you."

"There's nothing to reject. I don't want you, Ash, regardless of whatever pathetic little delusions you have of us. But I understand you need the money, so I'll do you a favor and let you keep treating me. That's the only favor you can expect from me." The door slammed behind him with a rude sort of finality.