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The Barren Tree

Chapter 12

by Myeerah, published from May 31 to June 4, 2001

Gabriel woke slowly. Vaguely recalled dreams evaporated like dew in bright sunshine, leaving only a memory that they had even occurred. He looked down at the arm thrown over his chest. His eyes traced the line of Grace's shoulder, the slope of her breast where it showed above the sheet, the hollow of her throat, the curve of her cheek.

Unfortunately, his right arm was asleep.

He traced her lips with gentle finger. "Gracie?" he whispered.

"Mnh."

"Can I have my arm back, now?"

"Mnh." She rolled over.

"Other way," Gabriel muttered into her shoulder.

Grace shrugged, nearly taking off his nose. He gave her a gentle push. She rolled again, this time in the right direction.

Gabriel pulled his arm back and waited for the firey tingles to die away.

He admired the smooth skin of her exposed back. She's so beautiful, he thought, then realized something important.

"Gracie?"

"Hmm?" She opened one eye.

"Why are you naked?"

"Hm." It was a laugh, of sorts. The eye closed.

Gabriel chuckled softly. Moving slowly, in an attempt to not disturb her any more, he got out of bed.

It had been nearly six weeks since the casts had come off, and his legs were finally getting to the point where he could really use them again. It felt good.

He made his cautious way downstairs to the kitchen where Gerde was just taking a sheet of biscuits out of the oven. He waited for her to set the hot tray down, then snuck up from behind and, with a growl, picked her up in a bear hug.

Gerde squeaked in surprise, then laughed out loud.

"You're up early," she remarked after he set her down.

"Well, my arm was gettin' more sleep than me, so I figured I might as well eat."

Gerde considered that. "Grace again?"

"Yup."

"She's been doing that more often, lately."

"Yeah. I can't figure out why."

"Why don't you ask her?"

"She avoids the subject if I try. I think she just doesn't want to commit to anything, yet."

"Turnabout is fair play."

He winced.

Gerde kissed his cheek. "Take her breakfast in bed." She winked. "Chicks dig that."

Gabriel snorted. "You've been talkin' to Celeste again, haven't you."

"Of course. She is your d--" Gabriel's glare stopped her. "Fine," she went on. "She is related to you, and to Wolfgang. I should get to know her."

At the mention of his uncle's name, Gabriel softened. "Right," he said. He enfolded Gerde for a quick hug. "Sorry."

"Maybe you should take Grace her meal before she comes down," Gerde said brightly. Her loss still grieved her, but she locked it away. "I'll help."

Grinning gratefully, Gabriel dropped the subject.


Grace woke up, rolled over, and groaned. The bed was empty. Well, that didn't work.

She had been trying to help Gabriel with his. . . problem. There had been long talks between them, and she knew him well enough to know that he wasn't himself yet. He wasn't whole.

Celeste had confirmed Grace's impressions when Grace had discreetly asked about him.

"You're right," Celeste had said. "He's upset and trying not to show it." She had refused to go into detail, though, saying that it was impolite to pry, with a meaningful look at Grace.

Grace had had the grace to be ashamed of herself and had quickly changed the subject. That had been five weeks ago.

Later that night, after a particularly trying session of rehab, Gabriel had been very dispirited.

"It's okay," Grace had assured him. "You haven't used your legs for four months. It takes time to repair that kind of damage." She had run her hand through his hair, which was still short, but growing quickly.

He had shaken her off. "I'm well aware of that, Gracie," he'd grumbled. "You don't need to tell me things I already know. And leave my hair alone."

She had stopped, then. She knew that Gabriel thought of his hair as a visible symbol of his sexuality. She resolved then to restore him to his old self. She cared about him too much to not try.

That night, instead of going back to her own room to sleep, she had slept in his bed. Gabriel had been surprised, but willing to have her there without any questions at that time. When he did ask her about it later, she couldn't admit to the truth, so she had changed the subject.

After that first night, she spent the rest of the week in her own bed. The next week, she had spent three nights by his side. She tried more and more often to entice Gabriel.

Last night, she had taken it a step farther. Aware that the mere presence of her at his side was not enough to help him, she had waited until he turned out his light, then crept into his room, silently undressed, and crawled into bed with him.

Gabriel had already been asleep.

Grace laughed softly at the memory. Maybe the dark wasn't such a good idea. Still laughing to herself, she slid out of bed and headed off to take a shower.


Gabriel fumbled the door open and came in with an attractively arranged breakfast tray. Then he looked up and nearly dropped it.

Grace had just stepped out of the bathroom, glossy black hair wet and clinging fetchingly to her smooth neck. Her damp, pale skin was still flushed pink from the heat of the water. She was clad only in the briefest of towels.

She jumped when she saw him.

"Gabriel?" She looked into his wide green eyes, then dropped her gaze a little lower. "How sweet of you."

Gabriel followed her eyes to the forgotten tray, still held in his hands. "Oh. Yeah." Breakfast was the last thing on his mind. He set the tray down quickly. "Ah. I'll just. . . let you get dressed." He turned to leave but his treacherous legs, not yet fully recovered, chose that moment to quit. He fell hard against the wall.

Grace was at his side in an instant, supporting him, leading him to a chair. He collapsed into the seat and refused to look up.

"Don't worry about it. This kind of thing will happen for a while. You just need more time." She gave him a comforting hug and kissed the top of his head.

"Grace?"

"Yes?"

"You've lost your towel."

She looked down. He was right. "It's nothing you haven't seen before," she said with a shrug.

He tried to avoid noticing what the gesture did to her physiology, but that's a difficult task when it's pressed against one's forehead.

"Grace. . . " he pleaded.

"What?"

He looked up a bit and nearly lost an eye. "Aren't you a little cold for this?" he asked pointedly.

She backed away, hurt by the rebuff. "I suppose you're right," she said sharply. "Thank you for breakfast."

"Gracie, don't." The look he directed at her could put kicked puppies to shame. "I just. . . can't. Please?"

The raw pain in his voice was too much to resist. "Sorry," she said, contritely. She wrapped the towel around herself, scooped up her clothes, and went into the bathroom to dress.

Gabriel heaved a shaky sigh. He tried to drive the image of Grace's perfect body from his mind. It wouldn't leave. He had seen her before, but in faint moonlight, or through a drunken haze, never before while wide awake in the clear light of day. She looked better than he remembered, and his mind could match that lovely form with a variety of poses, each more alluring than the last.

He shook his head, trying to clear it. He knew that she enjoyed his discomfiture as well-deserved and fully justified revenge, but to see her and want her and know she was willing--if only he was able--that was torture.

Why does she do this to me?


Celeste woke up in a flash of pain and anger. She stayed in bed until she couldn't take it anymore, then threw back her blankets and stomped down the hall.

Upon reaching Gabriel's door she pounded on it until her fist hurt.

Gabriel jumped at the sound and, levering himself to his feet, carefully walked over and opened the door.

As soon as it began to move, Celeste kicked the door, nearly toppling Gabriel. She strode in.

"Stop it now," she announced.

"What?"

"You heard me." Celeste struggled to keep her anger from leaking back to Gabriel. It didn't work.

Grace rushed in, clothes in place, hair still wet and disheveled, and stopped in amazement. Gabriel was literally cowering before the small woman in front of him. Grace opened her mouth to speak, but Celeste beat her to it.

"You too!" she bellowed. "The two of you are going to sit down and talk to each other before I kill you both. I can't even sleep with all the hurt feelings in this room." Celeste glared at the pair. "Grace, Uncle Gabe, sit down. Now!" she barked. They unthinkingly obeyed. "I'm going downstairs. When I come back you will have worked things out. Do I make myself clear?" Without waiting for a response, Celeste turned on her heel and stalked out, slamming the door behind her.


At the sound of angry footsteps Gerde looked up, dripping honey from her half-eaten biscuit.

"Wuffs," she began, then swallowed. "What's wrong?"

Stomping over, Celeste dropped into a chair. "I'm gonna kill them," she said darkly.

"Why?" It didn't take a genius to figure out who "they" were.

"I can't even sleep with all them feeling so hurt and upset. No offense, Gerde, but you don't help matters."

The older woman froze. "What do you mean?" she asked as casually as she could.

"You hurt a lot, you worry constantly, and every time you pass that picture of Wolfgang in the entry hall it feels like somebody's stabbed you." Celeste had been buttering a biscuit while she spoke. She looked up now. "Wanna get it off your chest?"

Gerde silently finished her biscuit and picked up a piece of fruit at random.

"It'll help us both. I know you want to talk," Celeste coaxed.

Gerde looked woodenly at her hands. She'd selected an orange. She peeled it.

Celeste flinched. "That was a nasty thing to think," she said. Then, "Don't feel embarrassed. I'm sure I deserved it."

Gerde flushed. "That's very irritating, do you know that?"

"Sorry. I can't help it. Wish I could."

"I'm sure there is something in the library to help you work out a shield of sorts," Gerde said crisply.

"I can make one, but it goes away after a little while."

"Why?"

"I can block it out if I think about something really hard, but how long can I concentrate on something? Not long enough."

"I wish you'd try harder," Gerde snapped. "I don't like you in my head."

"I don't like being there!" Celeste burst out. Ashamed of herself, she returned to breakfast.

Gerde ate her orange while Celeste nibbled intently on her biscuit.

"Would you like some tea?" Gerde offered, finally.

Startled, Celeste looked up, but saw, and felt, only sincere apology. "Yes. Please."

Gerde poured a cup and passed it over.

"Thanks. For breakfast, too. You do everything around here, but no one seems to appreciate that. Thank you." Celeste smiled with the easy charm of her natural father.

Gerde relented. "I still miss Wolfgang," she began.


After the door shut, there was a pause before Grace said, "Sooooo. . . what did you bring me?"

Grateful for an innocuous distraction, Gabriel replied, "See for yourself. Gerde made biscuits, there's butter and that wildflower honey you like, and some of that tea, I don't remember what it's called, starts with a 'd.'"

"Darjeeling?"

"That's it. There's some fruit, too," he added casually. "It's in that covered bowl."

"Sounds wonderful." Reaching over, she opened the bowl. "Strawberries!" she exclaimed.

He grinned at her delight. "Surprise." He watched her pick up a berry and nibble tentatively at the end. Her expression was priceless.

"Oh, Gabriel! Try one, they're perfect."

He opened his mouth to refuse, but Grace put her berry between his teeth. He bit down reflexively. It was good.

"You like?" Grace asked. He nodded. "Good." She finished her berry, all the while making throaty noises of pleasure.

"Should I leave you alone with your fruit?" he teased.

"No. You can watch." She winked seductively and took another strawberry.

"Don't start that again," he cautioned her. She laughed. "Want some tea?" he offered.

"Please."

He poured a cup and slid it toward her, then pulled a biscuit toward himself.

"What do you want to talk about?" Grace sipped her tea. "This could use a little honey," she commented.

"Here ya go." He spooned a dollop of honey into her cup.

"Thanks." She stirred in in and tasted the result. "Much better."

"There is somethin' I wanted to ask you," Gabriel began as he split his biscuit with a fork and buttered both halves.

"I've been havin' a hard time comin' up with somethin'."

"What's that?" Grace took another strawberry and trailed it over her lips, enjoying the texture.

"What do you think, just askin'," he drizzled honey liberally over his biscuit, "what do you think of me callin' my next book Holy Blood?" He took a bite.

Visibly altering her train of thought, Grace answered, "It's better than Blood-sucking Fiends, but it still doesn't quite fit. How about Immortal Life?"

They both considered that for a moment.

"Nah."

"No. Wait, I've got it," Grace continued, "Sacred Trust." She ate the berry in her hand.

"Sacred Trust. Huh. I like that."

Gabriel took a thoughtful bite. The biscuit crumbled, gluing honey-drenched fragments to his jeans. "Damn!" He started to pick up the pieces, but Grace stopped him.

"You've got honey on your hands, too. You'll just make a bigger mess. Let me help." She began cleaning biscuit debris from his lap.

Ignoring her ministrations as best he could, Gabriel concentrated on cleaning the sticky honey from his hands. At one point, however, he felt compelled to say, "You can stop that, Gracie."

"But you've got honey in your zipper," she said with contrived innocence. "I was just--"

"I know what you're doin' Gracie," he interrupted. "Just stop."

She flashed him a hurt look. He held his ground.

"Fine then." She drank half of her tea and prepared a biscuit for herself while Gabriel finished cleaning off his hands.

There was a short silence as Gabriel took a strawberry and ate it. It was sweet, slightly tart, and mouth-wateringly good.

"Reminds me of someone," he muttered.

"What was that?" Grace took a bite of her biscuit.

"Just thinkin' out loud," he said, slightly embarrassed. He looked at her then. "You've got honey on your mouth."

"Where?"

Touching his own mouth in demonstration, he said, "Right here. No, other side. Lower. Left. My left. Here, let me get it."

He wiped the smudge away with his thumb. Grace caught his hand. "Shame to waste any more," she said. "It's good honey." She licked the honey from his thumb, then sucked the digit into her mouth. Peering out from under her lashes, Grace noticed the pained look on Gabriel's face. She let go and he pulled his hand back as if he'd been burned.

"Sorry. Did I bite you?"

"No."

"Want me to?" she leered.

"No!" he snapped.

Hurt, Grace gulped her tea. Gabriel wordlessly refilled her cup and added a spoonful of honey. He looked like he was trying to say something.

At last he managed, "Sorry."

"Why? For what?"

"I know I've hurt you before, Gracie, but are you done punishing me yet?"

"I'm a punishment now?" Her eyes sparked dangerously.

"No! I mean, what you do to me."

"And what might that be, aside from helping you at every turn without the least bit of gratitude?"

"It doesn't help when you constantly flaunt the fact that I can't. . . " he deflated. "You know."

"Flaunt? I'm trying to encourage you, you idiot! You're the one playing hard to get!"

"I'm not playing anything! There's nothing hard to get. Understand? I love you, Gracie, and I'll give you anything I can, but I can't!"

"I know you can't, that's why I've tried to give you a good reason! Why else would I--" Something sank belatedly into her brain. "What did you say?"

"I'll give you anything I can?"

"No. Before that."

"I'm not playing games?"

"You are now!" she growled. "Did you just say that you love me?"

"Ye--" Her kiss cut him off.

"Why didn't you say so earlier?" Grace asked eventually from her perch on his lap.

"I did." He fed her a strawberry. She moaned appreciatively.

"I mean after the hospital," she went on, after swallowing.

"So do I. We were drunk."

Grace blushed. "Oh. I still don't remember that."

"Gracie?"

"Yes, love?"

Gabriel stopped. "Say that again."

"Yes?"

He growled. She giggled. "I love you too, Gabriel." She kissed him again. "What were you saying?"

"I forget."

"Oh well." They laughed like lunatics, then finished eating, feeding each other tidbits all the while.

At one point Grace said, "I should probably get a raise for this."

"I was thinking of not paying you at all," he retorted.

"What, just for old times' sake?"

He winced at the reference, then chuckled. The starving artist days of St. George's were over. "Actually, I wondered if you'd just like everything I own."

"Spell it out, Gabriel. I don't want any mistakes here." She squealed as he picked her up and set her back in the other chair.

Kneeling before her, Gabriel said, "I should do this right. Grace Nakimura, will you marry me?"

"I'll think about it." The expression on his face made her laugh. "Yes, of course I will, you blithering idiot!" She kissed him again.

He kissed back. Creatively.


Celeste nodded sympathetically. "If it's any consolation," she said, "I know exactly how you feel." She smiled encouragingly.

Gerde simply looked amused. "That's not a claim many people can honestly make," she observed.

"Do you want me to say something to them? Discreetly, I mean," Celeste added hastily.

"No. There are much more vital issues at hand."

Celeste frowned in concentration, then smiled. "It seems they've made up. That's nice," she said brightly. "This might be a good time for a friendly reminder."

"I'd rather you didn't," Gerde began. "I appreciate the thought, but--what's wrong?" she asked, concerned.

Celeste's eyes had gone wide and she was panting. "Keep. . . talking," she gasped. "They're--that's intense." She sighed, then jumped. "Talk to me, please!" she pleaded. "Get them out of my head!"

"What should I say?"

"Anything!" Celeste was frantic.

"Ah. Oh, um, I got a letter from Franklin yesterday."

"Franklin?"

"Yes. Gabriel's friend? He's a very nice gentleman, really."

"What did he say?" Celeste calmed as she focused on Gerde.

"Just the usual. What he's been doing."

"The 'usual?'" Celeste repeated. "Does he write you often?"

"About once a week or so. He leads quite an interesting life."

"Why does he write to you?" Intrigued now, the young empath forgot her earlier discomfort.

"Why shouldn't he?"

"It's just, I thought he'd write to Uncle Gabe or Grace if he wrote to anybody."

"Grace is a painful subject for him still, although it's getting better. As for Gabriel, he's still slightly angry with him. Franklin and I became quite good friends while everyone else was. . . preoccupied."

"I'm sorry, Gerde. For not noticing, and for causing a lot of the problems."

"It's not really your fault. It's Gabriel's. He's irresponsible, impetuous, and absolutely maddening. I care for him, but he will never be the man Wolfgang was." Gerde's voice trembled.

"That's true. He'll also never be the man my father was," Celeste said soberly. "However," she went on, "he's someone just as important. Himself."

Gerde considered that. "He does have a way about him."

"That he does."

"He makes me laugh."

"He can make you feel special."

"He thoroughly enjoys life."

"And how many people can say that?"

"Exactly."

They stared at one another for a long time.

Abruptly, Celeste went rigid. "Thinking about Uncle Gabe is not the wisest course of action," she remarked in a very carefully modulated voice.

Smothering a laugh, Gerde tried to provide a distraction. "Franklin is a dear man, but he is the most unorganized person I've ever met," she said. She laughed then, but not at Celeste. "I helped him pack when he left. I found his keys in a shoe, his wallet under the bed, and, do you know, I don't believe we ever did find his handcuffs."

Celeste listened as Gerde described her new friend in clear-sighted, honest, yet glowing terms, while a floor above them Gabriel and Grace decided to take another shower and argued over whether she would be Grace Knight, Grace Nakimura, or Grace Nakimura-Knight.

The shampoo fight was particularly entertaining.

 

Last update: October 24, 2007


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