Eternally North

by Cole, Tillie

  Tink rubbed both of his hands over his face. “You’re wrong, Wil. I know it. He likes you, and stop thinking that way about yourself. You may not see all the beautiful in you, but I do, and so do an army of others, including one Tudor North. I know you want to live more freely, but that guy... I don't know, something is just off about him.”

  “Tink, babe, let’s leave it there,” I said, patting his hands. “Nothing will happen and nothing is happening between us now. It’s just been a crazy couple of days, that’s all. We’ve had more excitement in the last forty-eight hours than I think we have ever had in our lives and we are getting carried away with it all,” I soothed.

  Tink sighed and flicked my nose. “You are wrong, missy. But I’ll let it go… for now,” he smiled and kissed my head. “What do you say we get you out of this bath, throw on our onesies and settle down to watch an entire series of Grey’s Anatomy?” He pretended to fan himself at the thought of all those doctors.

  I nodded once and giggled at his antics. “I’m in.”

  In celebration of our move to Calgary, Tink and I had made an impulsive purchase of novelty adult baby-grows – onesies – to brave the winter nights. Both had feet and hoods and were made of the warmest fleece material.

  My onesie was, you guessed it, a pig with a snout, ears, spiral tail and trotters. Tink’s was a replica of Peter Pan’s Tinkerbell costume, complete with glitter wings and a hood which looked like a blonde chignon hairstyle when erect.

  We had settled on the sofa and were ogling McDreamy, McSteamy, McArmy and McBlue-eyes (our given title for Dr. Avery), with Tink bringing me a bag of frozen peas every two hours to put on my bump to numb the pain. We were ploughing through the box set, but the clock only read seven p.m. It was officially the longest day of my life.

  I got to my feet to visit the little girls’ room whilst Tink was re-freezing the bag of peas. I had made it all of three slow, painful steps when there was a knock at the door. I walked to the hallway and opened the giant oak-and-steel door to find Tate – looking dapper dressed in a black blazer, dress jeans, a white shirt and his staple red dickey bow –with two bunches of colourful flowers in his hands.

  “Well, this is a pleasant surprise,” I exclaimed as Tink came bolting around the corner, looking as though he was going to bollock me for getting up without his assistance. When he caught sight of Tate his face broke from an annoyed scowl into a sunny, happy grin.

  Tate looked up shyly. “Hey, guys,” he said with a wave of the flowers, passing one ridiculously huge bunch to me and one to Tink.

  “I got you these,” he said, kissing us both on the cheek. He lingered a touch longer than was really necessary on Tink’s.

  “Honey, what you doing here?” asked my giddy pal, waving his arm to welcome him inside whilst smelling his gorgeous bouquet of pink and white roses.

  Tate looked to something at his side, the large second half of the double front door blocking my view. “We just came to see if you were okay,” he said to me, interrupting me gazing adoringly at my favourite flowers in the whole world – sunflowers.

  How did he know? Wait–,

  “We?” I squeaked. Tink shot forward to grab my arm as I began to sway, losing my already-defective balance, and took my flowers off me before I dropped them.

  Tate quickly moved further inside the hallway, followed by a huge hulk of man wearing jeans, a tight, white, V-necked long-sleeved T-shirt, hooded black leather jacket and grey beanie hat.

  Tudor.

  “Tash,” he announced rather formally, nodding his head and then breaking into a huge grin.

  Be still my beating heart. No-one should be allowed to look that good.

  “Nice threads,” he commented, cockily.

  What? Aww shit!

  Tate turned away shyly, laughing into his hands, and Tudor stood there grinning, hands in his pockets and looking directly into my eyes.

  What is it with this guy and eye-contact? Does he do that in every situation?

  My mind wandered back to him straddling me in the park… Focus, Tash!

  I looked at Tink in his get-up, and then down at my own pink ensemble. We must look like lunatics – call for the men in white coats!

  Turning back to our guests, I simply said, “Oink?” and shrugged my shoulders.

  Tate burst out laughing and Tudor smirked. I turned to go back to the sofa, suddenly not feeling so good.

  “Tash, you okay?” asked Tudor, silencing any giggling from the flirty fellows as he stepped forward whilst I grabbed the wall for support.

  “Erm, I just got a bit faint then. I need to sit down.”

  I felt Tink grasp my elbow, and appreciated the much-needed steadiness.

  “Tink, can I?” Tudor asked, and before I heard a reply felt a large arm encircle my waist and guide me to the couch.

  My God if I was faint before, I am heading towards a complete K.O!

  I inhaled. Pure woodsy, pheromone-inducing, Tudor. Game-over, I’m down for the count!

  I was lowered to the sofa and then flanked on either side by Tink and Tate. Tudor knelt down in front of me, put both hands on my knees, and searched my eyes, obviously checking for the fixed and dilated pupils my carers had been told to look out for. If they resembled saucers we would need to go back to the hospital immediately. On seeing his expression change to one of relief, I guessed that I wasn’t dying, and so rested my head on the back cushion, closed my eyes and breathed deeply to steady the nauseating dizziness.

  Tudor began moving his hands up and down my leg from knee to mid-thigh; nothing had ever felt better.

  After I recovered from the dizzy spell and the room was the right way around, I opened my eyes. Tink was glaring at Tudor, who I assumed had never looked away from me through my little episode. Tate, too, was fixed on him with a startled look upon his face.

  It is too much to take in.

  “That’s better,” I sighed, refocusing Tink and Tate’s attention back on me.

  “Wilbur, you’re overdoing it. Why did you answer the door, you silly mare?” Great bedside manner, Tink!

  “I was going to the bathroom when I heard the knock. No biggie,” I shrugged.

  “No biggie? You nearly face-planted the marble floor! From now on you’ll use a bed pan and that’s final, or I’m ringing your dad!” he threatened, and crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Whatever,” I dismissed.

  No-one said a word for several awkward seconds. Mention of a bed pan will tend to do that to a conversation.

  “I suppose a date is out of the question now?” asked Tate breaking the silence. My fairy and I both immediately snapped out of our mutual huffs to look his way.

  “A date? Tonight?” squeaked Tink.

  Tate blushed – how cute!

  “I was trying to be spontaneous. I’ve been running around all afternoon to set it up for us.”

  Tink didn’t know what to say. He kept opening his mouth and closing it over and over again.

  Tate bowed his head and pulled imaginary lint from his jeans.

  I reached over and patted his leg for reassurance. “Of course Cinderella shall go to the ball!” I confirmed weakly. Tate looked up with a relieved, beaming smile.

  Tink shook his head. “Wil, I can’t go, I have to stay with you for forty-eight hours remember, doctor’s orders. And the date can wait, right, Pookie?”

  ‘Pookie’ lost his smile. “Of course, that was selfish. Forgive me, Tash?”

  A cough interrupted the conversation.

  Tudor.

  I had, for most of the conversation, been struggling to breathe at the fact that Tudor was still on his knees in front of me, rubbing my thighs. His long fingers suddenly stopped their stroking at everyone’s pulled attention and I allowed myself to take a deep breath, now that his fingers weren't glancing ever-so-close to my intimate areas. I mean, come on, there is only so much titillation a girl can take before she spontaneously combusts!

  “I could stay with Tash,” he
suggested – well, kind of directed.

  Three sets of eyes bugged further in his direction. “What?” we said in unison.

  “I said,” he drawled, exaggerating the words. “I can stay with Tash and look after her. You two go on your date.”

  “Well, dip me in honey and throw me to the lesbians!” screeched my bestie.

  Tudor looked at Tink and arched a single eyebrow.

  Tink stared back, and then started shaking his head profusely. “No, she is my best friend, and my responsibility and I will stay and look after her,” he stated quite aggressively. Well, in a camp sergeant aggressive kind of way. He grabbed my hand, kissed the back of it and harrumphed loudly. I felt that if he had just cocked his leg and pissed on me, then he would have asserted his ownership rights with more clarity.

  Tudor ran a hand over his stubbly chin. “I don’t mind. I’ll feel better doing it anyway, so I know she is alright. I kinda feel responsible for her.”

  Really? Why?

  “She’ll be fine with me,” roared Tink in full on diva-strop mode.

  “I didn’t mean to imply otherwise. I’m simply saying that you and… ‘Pookie’ could have your date and I would be here to tend to all of Tash’s needs.”

  All my needs – I feel faint again – I have needs, I have needs!

  “I said n-”

  “Tink!” I groaned, dizziness returning with all of the unnecessary squabbling. “You go out, chuck. I’ll be fine,” I implored, squeezing his fingers.

  I then turned to Tudor. “You don’t owe me anything, Tudor. I’ll be fine on my own. What happened today was my fault, not yours. You don’t need to feel guilty, and you certainly do not need to be here to babysit from some misplaced need to make it up to me.”

  “No,” Tink and Tudor asserted simultaneously.

  I flinched and looked to Tate for back up, but he just smiled sympathetically and shook his head in agreement with the two arguing brutes next to me.

  “Fine! You decide what’s happening. I’m going to lie down. Tink, can you help me to my bedroom?” I asked in a pissy manner, trying to get up from the low couch.

  “It’s okay, Tink, I-”

  “No you won’t,” the fairy snapped as Tudor started to pull me up by my hands. “For fuck’s sake, I can do this! You need to back the hell off.”

  “Hey, sorry,” said Tudor, putting his hands up in a gesture of surrender, causing me to stumble into Tink’s waiting arms.

  Tink looked appeased. “Well good, at least you can follow instructions. Come on, Wil.”

  Tink walked me to my room, leaving Tudor watching us go and Tate still sitting on the couch, unmoving and clearly regretting his surprise date idea.

  Once inside and settled on the bed, Tink began to pace. “Do you see what I mean?” he stopped and gesticulated wildly towards the closed and thankfully soundproof bedroom door.

  “Tink, he was just trying to make your date happen. Which I still think you should go on by the way.”

  He looked so torn, bless him.

  “I do want to go but I won’t leave you alone. I fancy Tate… a lot… but I obviously care for you more. You're my priority; I’ve only just met the little lovely in a bow tie.”

  “Well Tudor has offered to stay–”

  “Oh no, Wil, we have discussed this! After all you went through with Nathan, how bad of a friend would I be to green-light you getting all hot and steamy with Mr. Fort Knox out there? I can see how you look at him, your sex-deprived Fu-Fu is gagging for him, don't bother denying it. He’ll break your heart if you let him, Wil.”

  I sank into the pillows. “He would simply be watching out for me until you get back. I don’t think getting me glasses of water and bags of frozen peas constitutes ‘getting hot and steamy’, do you?” I laughed, but was slightly taken back by his words.

  Was it blatantly obvious that I liked him? I didn’t think I’d even made that decision yet myself.

  Tink began pacing once more, glancing my way every now and again. His defences were crumbling.

  “Tink, go be wined and dined by your new boy. He looked absolutely devastated when you refused before, and quite frankly I think you’re a fool if you don’t take him up on his offer,” I tried to persuade him.

  Tink sat on the edge of the bed and stared at me. “I think he planned to stay with you all along.”

  I gave him my ‘as if’ face. “Tink, he came to check if I was okay, not to bully you into a date, which you want to go on, with his assistant, who just so happens to fancy the pants off you, in a grand plan to get me alone and have his nefarious way with me,” I wiggled my fingers in a witch-like manner and cackled to emphasise the point.

  Tink cracked a cheeky smile and went silent for a few seconds, indecision written in his expression, tongue between his lips. “Fine, you win. I’ll go out and leave Mr. Dark-and-Brooding here with you,” he submitted. “But know that I’m on to him,” he added, pointing a perfectly manicured figure at my face and then my nether regions. “He wants a slice of your pastrami pie, Wilbur.”

  “Go get ready, my favourite fay. Oh, and switch on my TV. I think it’s best if I stay in here. I keep getting dizzy on that sofa. We don’t want any more embarrassing episodes in front of Mr. Hollywood out there.”

  He looked worried again so I pushed. “Go on, for frigg’s sake, I’ll be fine!”

  With that Tink sighed, shook his head in exasperation, and blew a kiss as he opened the bedroom door, off to tell our guests the change in plan.

  A night with Tudor alone, this should be interesting!

  Chapter 11

  … the word itself say’s I’m Possible!

  Audrey Hepburn

  I opened my blurry eyes, waking up to someone gently caressing my arm. “What the–?" I croaked.

  “Tash, it’s me, you fell asleep. I need you to take these tablets and put this on your head.”

  Tudor held out the bag of frozen peas wrapped in a towel and a bottle of pills. I tried to sit up, and felt a sickening throb in the back of my skull.

  “Steady, Tash. Here let me.” He moved towards the bed, and I noticed he had shed his jacket and beanie hat.

  He crawled onto the bed and lifted my head gently, manoeuvring the cold bag into place, his black tribal tattoos all on display, winding seductively around the sleeve of his arms down to his wrist and creeping out of the V-neck of his T-shirt.

  “You have a shaved head,” I involuntarily blurted out.

  Way to be cool, Tash.

  Tudor glanced down at me and gave me the lopsided smirk. “Err… yeah. I normally do,” he smiled, obviously bewildered by my Tourette-like assessment of his follicles.

  I blushed and beamed red. “I just kept wondering what it looked like under the hat that’s all – I wanted it to be shaved.”

  He smiled shyly. “Well, I'm glad to be of service.”

  Tudor handed me the pills and a glass of cold, refreshing water, and watched me closely to make sure I swallowed them. He guided me back to my pillows and set the glass on my bedside cabinet.

  I shuffled to make myself comfortable, pulling down my piggy hood with ears and run my fingers through my nearly dry hair.

  Tudor sat back and positioned himself on the bed beside me. “What you watching?” he asked, flicking his chin in the direction of the TV.

  I looked up to see an infomercial advertising some industrial-strength carpet cleaner. “Nothing, I was asleep." I glanced covertly at the Greek god sprawled out on the left side of my bed. "Are you staying in here now?” I couldn’t help thinking that having him there looked, well… well… fucking incredible, truth be told.

  Tudor grabbed the remote off my lap and began flicking through the channels. “I have been given orders to stay with you and keep you awake. I thought it would be easier to just lay here with you than keep running back and forth from the living room,” he replied, settling on a music channel and lightly placing the remote back on my lap.

  “Orders?” I asked, tryi
ng to focus on Nicki Minaj jumping around in a pink bikini singing about Starships.

  “Yep, from Herr Tink,” he winked and smiled.

  Mortified, I shifted my gaze his way. “Oh no, I’m sorry. What did he tell you to do?”

  “Hang on.” Tudor slid off the bed and went into the front room. He came back with a pink, laminated sheet of A4 paper. “He left me this.”

  I cringed.

  Clearing his throat to disguise his laughter, he handed me the sheet, which I saw was entitled:

  ‘Mission: Keep Tash Alive’

  “When did he do this?” I asked, shaking my head lightly.

  “Before he left. He had it printed out already and stuck to the fridge, but he laminated it about an hour ago in case I ruined it with my clumsy sausage hands and forgot what to do, thus causing me to fail in my task. Who has a laminator in their bedroom anyway?”

  I grimaced. “He can be a tad dramatic. And the boy does love his stationery; he’ll find any excuse to laminate. You should see the take-away menu drawer… he has shares in Staples!” I tried to explain, but hey, it’s Tink, and he beats to the sound of his own drum.

  “It’s no problem. I’ve noticed he is very protective of you, so I’m not surprised.”

  He pulled the sheet aside and climbed back onto his side of the bed. His side? At that point, I suddenly remembered the scarf that he had left with me was tucked under my pillow, which I realised may make me look like a slightly crazy obsessed fan, rather than the detached and independent woman that I clearly was.

  Had he seen it? I surreptitiously ran my gaze over where I had been lying – phew, out of sight.

  “Yeah, he is. He just doesn’t like me being hurt,” I explained, shifting my body to the side to make it easier to talk.

  Tudor mirrored my position so we were facing each other about two feet apart. “Have you been hurt badly before?” he inquired.

  “In what sense? I’m clumsy as all hell and have had a few bouts of illness, if that’s what you’re asking?”

  He nodded and began to rub his lips together. He looked up guiltily. “What about with men?”

  Well that’s a bit personal.