by W. J. May
She couldn’t tell if he was joking. By now, he’d lost enough blood that he was having a hard time determining if that had been a strange thing to say. In the end she simply motioned him to the bed, the only place in the room where someone could sit down. “Here, let me see that.”
He waited for her to come close.
She bravely pulled away her sweater, only to turn a sickly shade of green the second her fingers touched blood. The automatic gag reflex was soon to follow but she reined it in as best she could, much to Gabriel’s immense enjoyment.
“Is someone scared of a little blood?”
She stopped grimacing long enough to shoot him a dirty glare. “No. I just don’t like to bathe in it the way you seem to.” With a look of steely determination, she doused a towel in some rubbing alcohol then lifted it valiantly into the air. “On three?”
His face gentled with an affectionate grin as he stared down at her. “I don’t need a countdown—you can just do it.”
Her skin grew impossibly greener, and she breathed deeply through her mouth. “Who said the countdown was for you?” Another deep breath, and she closed her eyes. “Okay, one...two...three.” He waited patiently but her hand had frozen in mid-air, like it was stuck in some sort of invisible net. “Okay. I feel like we’re rushing this. Do you feel like we’re rushing this? Maybe we need a longer countdown...”
He laughed quietly, and eased the towel from her hands. “Just let me do it.”
“What? Oh, okay.” She couldn’t let go of the thing fast enough, looking relieved beyond belief. “I mean, only if you want. If you’re afraid of letting someone else do it for you.”
Gabriel laughed again, kneading it gently against his skin. “That’s what it is. I’m afraid.”
They sat there quietly for a moment as he worked, calmly and methodically sterilizing every inch of skin.
After a while she peered up at him, looking uncharacteristically shy. “Thank you. For stalking me.”
Their eyes met, and he warmed with a sudden smile. “Anytime.”
For a moment, time stalled and the two simply stared at each other. The air between them heated up, and both were suddenly hyper-aware that they were sitting on a bed. Then Natasha shifted uncomfortably, and Gabriel lowered his eyes to the floor.
“Listen, I don’t—”
There was a sudden commotion as the front door was yanked open and slammed shut. The sound of it echoed through the rickety house, followed soon after by the shuffling of heavy feet.
“Natasha!”
Natasha bolted up as though she’d been shocked. Every muscle at the ready, every hair standing on end. Her skin paled as her eyes locked onto the door, but before she could say a word the man shouted again.
“Tasha, you’d better be in there!” The words were slurred and sloppy, the voice of a perpetual drunk. “It’s called curfew for a reason!”
Gabriel glanced at the door curiously, but she grabbed him by the arm and tugged him to his feet. Whispering nervously, she manhandled him over to the window.
“You’ve got to go,” she whispered, shoving open the frame.
Gabriel glanced down at his chest, then over the wall to the two-story drop.
“Are you serious?”
“What?” She grinned and gave him a shove. “You’re like some secret agent hotshot, right? I’m sure you can manage.”
He opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again with a helpless smile. Without another word, he gave her a salute and dropped noiselessly out the open window.
“’Night, Gabriel.” She leaned outside with a mischievous smile. “You’re my hero.”
He rolled his eyes and waved over his head, moving into the dark with a grin. “Later, crazy.”
Chapter 8
The next day, Gabriel arrived at Natasha’s apartment earlier than usual. Armed with two bagels, two coffees, and a rather strange agenda.
“No work today,” he declared authoritatively. “Today, I’m teaching you how to fight.”
She froze where she stood. A toothbrush still hanging out of her mouth.
“Excuse me?” A crooked smile pulled at his lips and she rolled her eyes—moving to the kitchen sink to spit out a mouthful of foam. “What time is it? What’re you even doing here?”
“Best to get an early start.” He breezed past her and grabbed her coat off the sofa, draping it over her shoulders before leading her to the door. “Come on. We’re killing daylight.”
“So, let it die!” She wriggled out of his grasp, straining towards the kitchen enough to glimpse the oven clock. “Gabriel, it’s seven in the morning! I just got here myself!”
“And now you’re leaving.” He pulled her back to the door with a patient smile. “There’s a nice symmetry to that.”
“Well, I can’t leave just yet!” she snapped, swatting at his hands. “I have a morning routine to follow, all right? I need to fire up my computers, I need to feed Hans—” She broke off at his dubious expression. “All right, that one’s a bit more metaphorical. But I still need to check him for repairs. I can’t just take off—”
“I brought coffee.”
There was a beat.
“...let me just get my shoes.”
There was hardly anyone at the park so early in the morning. Just a few masochistic runners and a dedicated pigeon enthusiast who already had a small crowd gathered by her bench.
Gabriel and Natasha feasted on coffee and bagels on the banks of a sloping hill before he took her by the arm and led her to more level ground.
“Before we get started, this isn’t going to be like your training, right?” She folded her arms across her chest and looked at him warily. “You’re not going to shoot me or something?”
He raised his eyebrows slowly. Looking both surprised and a little impressed. “Really? You’re going with that joke?”
She grinned coyly. “Too soon?”
He chuckled. She reminded him of his friends back home. He beckoned her forward. “Well, seeing as it technically happened over a decade ago, I guess it’s allowed.”
The two faced each other from just a few feet apart. One of them, buzzing with nervous excitement. The other, poised with a confidence brought on by years of experience.
“Okay, the first thing we’re going to work on is your stance.” He strode forward, closing the distance between them. “Your feet should be about shoulder-width apart. Bent slightly at—”
“I feel like the first thing we should work on is my swing.” She curled her fingers into a tight fist, taking a playful jab at his face. “You gotta walk before you can crawl, right?”
“Sure.” He shrugged as if it couldn’t matter less. “Whatever you say.”
A second later, he gave her a strategic push—toppling her over backwards before she could even think to take a step.
“...or we could work on my stance?”
“Now you’re talking.”
For the next thirty minutes or so, they went through the basics. How to stand. How to step. How to make a proper fist. Natasha was a quick study. A bit reckless and overconfident, but Gabriel happened to like that very much. It reminded him of himself. But all that confidence came to a screeching halt when he told her to hit him for the first time.
“Wait...what?” She dropped her hands immediately, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. “You want me to hit you? Like...with my fist?”
“Unless you had something else you’d like to use.”
“I’m serious.” She fidgeted again, growing more and more nervous by the minute. “You just want me to take a swing at you?”
Gabriel spread his arms, waiting with a patient smile. “I’m wide open.”
For a split-second, it looked like she might do it. Then she took a sudden step back, shaking her head back and forth. “No, I can’t. Just show me more moves, okay?”
He grinned and closed the distance between them, presenting himself as a target once more. “How are you going to learn if you never pract
ice? Come on. Don’t be scared. Are you scared?”
“I’m not scared,” she insisted defiantly. “I just...I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You’re not going to hurt me.”
There was a beat of silence.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Her eyes flashed as her chin jutted into the air. For a moment, she reminded him very strongly of Angel—the first time he was teaching her how to do the same thing. “You think I’m not strong enough to hurt you?”
He bowed his head so she wouldn’t see him smile. Yep, just like Angel.
“I think you’re not going to hurt me. There’s a difference.”
“Well, how do you know—”
“I put Hans in the microwave when I was putting up those shelves. Thirty seconds. Twice.”
There was another beat of silence. Then a tiny fist went flying through the air.
He didn’t move out of the way, he just let it hit him. Absorbing the impact in his open hand. “Good. That was really good, Natasha.”
Her face lit up with a flush of adrenaline as she grinned from ear to ear. Thrilled to death with her own daring. “Thanks. Some might say I’m a natural.”
“All right, killer.” He smiled in spite of himself, finding the entire situation a lot more adorable than he’d been expecting. “Let’s see if you can do it again.”
This time she leapt forward, emboldened by her initial success. Except, this time, when her fist flew, Gabriel was nowhere to be found.
“Wait—” She whirled around, astonished to find him standing behind her. “How the heck did you do that? I thought your tatù was only for metal.”
The pigeon lady glanced over curiously, and Gabriel flashed her an innocent smile. “What was rule number one?”
Natasha bowed her head with a little grin. “...always be aware of your surroundings.”
He stepped back around to face her, lowering his voice so as not to be heard. “I didn’t use ink. I anticipated where you were going to hit, then moved my body elsewhere. Simple as that.”
She put her hands on her hips and looked at him dead on, those delicate eyebrows lifting doubtfully into her hair. “You anticipated where I was going to hit? What—do you have a psychic on speed dial?”
Well...yes, actually. “It isn’t hard to do.” He lifted his hands and beckoned her forward. “Here—punch at me again, but this time in slow motion.”
She did as she was told, moving at a glacial speed as he abandoned his position and came to stand behind her. Her back pressed into his chest as he ran the tip of his finger along the length of her arm, speaking softly as he went.
“Do you feel that? The way the tendons tighten before they spring? You can see that from a few feet away. It will let you know which arm to watch out for.”
A slight shiver ran up her body, and she nodded quickly.
“As for the direction...that’s all in the waist.” His hands skimmed down the sides of her shirt, wrapping lightly around her slender hips as he swayed them gently back and forth. “You can tell where someone’s going to move by the way they shift their balance. They lean forward on the left—the punch is coming from the right. And visa-versa.”
There was another shiver as his lips brushed against the back of her head. For a second, it almost felt like she was going to twist around to face him. But she kept her eyes front and center.
“Do you want to try it?” he asked quietly.
She nodded again and he took her hands, enclosing her tiny fists within his own. Their arms moved as one, lifting and falling slowly in the air. Their bodies melded together as they swayed from side to side, like they were listening to music only they could hear.
“It’s almost like a dance,” she murmured, closing her eyes as her head leaned back to rest against his shoulder.
A surge of unexpected emotion rushed through him, warming his face with a smile before settling in his eyes. “It’s very much like a dance. One that doesn’t exactly end well.”
She pulled away, laughing, then turned around to face him with that same sparkle in her eyes. For a second, all Gabriel could do was stare.
She looked so different than she had that first day he met her. There was no surly eye makeup or punk rock clothing. No perpetual scowl with a razor tongue to match. The girl in front of him now was fresh, happy, unrestrained. There was something lighter about her than there had been just a few days ago. Something free.
And he was all the more enchanted.
“So, what about throws?” she asked suddenly.
He blinked quickly, trying to pull himself back into the present. “Throws?”
“Yeah, I want to learn how to throw people.” She looked up at him mischievously before her face tightened with sudden concern. “Can you do that? I mean...with your chest?”
“I’m all healed.” He flashed her a casual smile, one intended to mask the mess of feelings going on below. “Peter did it last night.”
It was an easy thing to talk about now, in the bright light of day. It had felt very different when Gabriel stumbled in at midnight, leaving a trail of blood in his wake. While the good doctor had been more than willing to help, his skill had in no way improved. Needless to say, it wasn’t an experience Gabriel would be repeating anytime soon.
“All right, then. So how about it?” Natasha swept her hair up into a quick ponytail, still grinning as she bounced from side to side. “A guy comes up and grabs me—how am I supposed to flip him over? You know, like you did last night.”
There was a sudden pause in the momentum of the conversation and she looked up anxiously, like she was nervous to have brought it up. Without thinking, her eyes dropped down to his hands, hands she had seen do terrible things, before she looked back up with a question. “Gabriel...why wasn’t that man able to shoot you?” There was a sudden hitch in her breathing, and he looked down with concern. A great deal more concern than was probably reasonable. “When I saw him lift the gun, I thought...” She trailed off, unable to complete the sentence, unable to face the image. “...and it would have been all my fault.”
“Hey.” It came out louder than he expected, brimming with a profound need for her to understand. “Nothing that happened last night was your fault. Do you understand me? Nothing.”
She nodded automatically, but didn’t meet his eyes. Not until he put his hands on her shoulders and bent down to eye-level, saying it all over again.
“Nothing. Not a single thing that happened was your fault.”
This time she held his gaze, staring deep into his eyes.
For a moment, he got lost in that ocean-blue. Then he remembered that she’d asked him a question. “My ink isn’t fast enough to dodge a bullet, but it works on the gun.” He pinched his fingers together with a little wink. “I shut the barrel of the gun. Made it misfire.”
She stared at him. Stared down at the grass. Then stared at him all over again. “...of course you did.”
There was a moment of silence. One where they tried to collect themselves, faced with problems lightyears older than what they should have been expected to understand. Then he clapped his hands together with a brisk smile.
“Throws?”
FOR THE NEXT HOUR, Gabriel and Natasha had more fun ‘training’ than was most likely allowed. The throws turned out to be a source of particular entertainment.
First, she came up behind him, wrapping her arms around his chest as she pretended to be a man much bigger than herself. Oftentimes, she would either yell or curse to recreate the effect. Once Gabriel was able to stop laughing he would grab her gently by the wrist, flipping her effortlessly over his shoulder and sending her tumbling to the ground.
He never let her fall. Not once did her head ever hit the ground.
When Gabriel was the one getting thrown, he wasn’t so lucky...
“Did you see that?!” she shrieked, completely over the moon with her success. “It totally worked! Gabriel! Did you see?!”
He picked himself up off t
he ground, grinning all the while. How could he possibly not have seen, when he was the one getting thrown through the air like a rag doll.
“I did.” He cocked his head towards the grassy hill. “Why don’t we take a break for a minute? Let my bones snap back into place.”
“Just one more time?” she pleaded, her cheeks flushed with excitement. “Please, just one more time, and then we can head home. I promise.”
He took one look at her face, her breathless adorable face, then dropped his head back with a moan of defeat. “One more time. Then that’s it. We’re done.”
“Yes!” She clapped her hands together, automatically turning to face the other direction as she braced herself for the attack. “And don’t go easy on me. Really try this time, okay?”
Like I haven’t been trying all the other times?
He took a deep breath and began his wind-up, breaking into a light sprint as he closed the gap between them. The second he wrapped his arms around her he was airborne, flying through the air above her head before smashing full-force into the ground.
“YES!” she cried, throwing her hands up in victory. “I am a CHAMPION!”
He laughed painfully, wrapping his arms around his sides. “You’re a-a mean bully.”
Now it was her turn to laugh. She did so smugly, prancing towards him with a highly superior expression before looking down at him in the dirt. “Someone doesn’t lose well. Did Cromfield never teach you that lesson down in the cave?”
His eyes flashed up for the briefest of moments before he lifted a shaking hand to his chest. A visual tremble shook his body as he tried to push himself up, then fell back to the ground with a gasp. “Freakin’ A,” he panted, trying to catch his breath, “I think I tore something...”
“What?!” She was by his side the next second, running her hands helplessly over his shirt as her face paled in fright. “Are you sure?! Here, just try to take a deep breath.” With shaking hands she reached into her pocket, pulling out her phone. “I’m going to call Peter; he can be here in about fifteen minutes. Just hold on, okay? I’m so sorry! I never meant to—”
