Few Words (A Bookworms & Booya Book)

  *

  We stopped at Fisherman's Horizon for pictures pertinent to the backstory as I found and purchased a swimsuit. On our way to Edea's orphanage, I changed into a different outfit while Marshal waited on deck.

  Now, Marshal came to stand beside me just outside the transport on Edea's beach. I glared and adjusted my crossed arms. It wasn't his fault. I was a hard-ass that couldn't back down. All my life I'd backed down, and when I had enrolled at Garden I promised to never do it again. Even if it would have been the better thing to do--

  Marshal took a picture. I focused my glare on him. He lifted the camera. "Great first-date picture," he said, matter-of-fact.

  I arched an eyebrow.

  He lifted his hands, still holding the camera. "Swear. No blackmail." He offered forward the camera and brought up a preview of the picture. "See? And believe me, I've had a few dates that didn't look so great."

  All I saw was my profile against the sky. I looked away.

  "What?" Marshal examined the digital shot. "You don't like it?"

  Scars and bled color. What was to like?

  "Sure, I haven't taken photography, but I thought I took a pretty good shot." He smirked and raised his gaze to me. "Everyone's a critic."

  I stepped forward onto the beach. 'Ugly freak. Get out of my face!' 'Why don't you do something about that freaky silver hair? You look like a hag!'

  'The white of your eye's cool, especially with your silver hair--'

  "Okay. I figure we can get around three 'vacations' shot here."

  I looked to my right. Marshal easily held my pace.

  He motioned up near the orphanage building. "Grass and trees there." He pointed down the coast. "Boulders and caves there; Sally told me about some great inter-connecting corridors. Natural." Marshal stopped and motioned along both sides of the coast. "And the beach here." He put his fists on his hips. "We'll do the shots here last."

  Six month anniversary. I clenched my jaw and headed toward the cliff steps. Marshal retrieved the blanket and picnic props from the transport pilot before stepping after me.

  Picnics.

  Walks on the beach.

  Dinners by candlelight.

  Never done. Now putting on a show to fool a possible saboteur. How could I convince anyone? I hadn't been allowed to show emotion for almost ten years. I hadn't been touched in five.

  Marshal caught up to me midway up the cliff stairs. "All right. Here's the plan: we'll play on the 'shy' thing in the pictures. I'll do all the stupid things like make faces and jump off buildings and stuff. You keep with the somber and silent."

  I sent him a sidelong glance, which he met.

  "This is what I figure: you were in a car accident." Marshal motioned toward me. "That will explain your eye."

  "DETAILS."

  "You were on your way home from the bookstore after closing--New Year's Eve, almost eleven--and got clipped and rolled by a drunk driver who ran a signal near the arch there in Deling. It's a high-risk area. Most believable."

  I gave a nod. Marshal was good; detail-oriented. Damn quick with solid explanations and stories. I had to reluctantly admit him to be as good as Seifer.

  "Due to the accident and the eye injury, you kept to yourself and never got out much. Stayed with your folks and helped them with the bookstore. Two years later. . . ."

  Marshal motioned for me to walk with him toward the grass and trees behind the orphanage. Careful not to touch, and careful not to invade my space. I regarded him with a sidelong evaluation and a slightly narrowed gaze.

  "Two years later, my character enters the scene," he continued. "Just out of a bad relationship--she was caught cheating with my best friend--I decided to get out and meet new people in a completely different circle. 'Ex' was a model." Marshal snapped and pointed at me. "Hey. That'll work good. She flaunted, you didn't. Her beauty was skin deep, yours went further. Yeah." He absently nodded. "Good stuff. It'll make it believable." Marshal laughed. "Although why a silver-haired fox spends time with an ass like me will make them all suspicious--What?"

  I had stopped and fully faced him at the unexpected--"FOX?" I queried.

  Marshal's ears pinked, and he looked away as he rubbed at the back of his neck. Something I noticed he did when uncomfortable. "Oh. Uh, just a, erm--Never mind." He waved it away and stepped forward again. "Forget it."

  I gauged his retreat with slowly crossed arms. I had been called a lot of things, but never a silver-haired fox. Fox? My eyebrow twitched.

  Marshal started spreading the blanket and then set up the prop picnic. I stepped forward. When I heard him mutter "Damn it, Marshal," my eyebrow twitched higher.

  He set everything up and stood, retrieving the camera and making an absent gesture toward the blanket as he began adjusting the settings. "Go ahead and sit down. I'll get a couple shots of just you--act camera shy--and then I'll flub one of me trying to get in to the picture before the timer's up. You'll have to try and look shocked or something when that happens. Right. All set."

  Marshal lifted his gaze from the camera, smiling. His smile vanished when he looked at an empty blanket, save the picnic props. He glanced to his left. I still stood off to one side, arms crossed as I stared at the blanket and all it entailed.

  "What's the problem?" he asked simply.

  Problem? I had to play the part of a loved and happy woman and he could ask that? I forced my feet forward, squashing the terror as I cautiously knelt on the plush flannel blanket. My fingers recoiled from the softness, and I just stared at the blues and burgundies of the plaid pattern.

  "Fujin? You okay?"

  Was I? Nobody ever asked--I clenched my jaw and looked up. "FINE."

  Marshal smirked and briefly lifted the camera. "This won't believe you. You've got to relax or the camera will pick it up. Hm. Tell you what, let's try something." He motioned to me and then the blanket. "Lay on your stomach."

  I regarded him warily before doing so.

  "Okay. Now bend your knees and cross your ankles. Good. Now just fiddle with the--Bingo. Don't look at the camera--Perfect." The camera clicked. "Now why don't you just--"

  I slightly looked up to get the instruction. He smiled and took a picture with an excited "Got it!" I arched an eyebrow.

  Marshal previewed the pictures and gave a shake of his head. I could have told him the pictures wouldn't--

  "You ever think of modeling?"

  I blinked and looked him full in the face--I glared.

  He laughed and raised his hands. "Okay, okay. Sorry I asked. I thought you'd take it as a compliment." He handed the camera toward me. "Your turn, and be kind."

  I sat up and just looked at the camera. Kind. What did I know of that? I moved my gaze away. Survival. That was all I knew.

  "Oh. Right. The out take. Okey Dokey." Marshal brought out a tripod and set the camera on it. Then he adjusted the settings. "Now, I'm setting a short timer so it'll catch my trip on the edge of the blanket. I'm not going to tell you what I'm planning, Fujin, so don't kill me. I need a somewhat shocked expression for the camera." He looked up and met my gaze, smiling wide. "I'll be the only one humiliated. Promise."

  'I won't do it again, baby. I promise--' I looked away.

  "Ready?"

  Marshal pushed a button on the camera and then hurried around to perform whatever antics he had planned. Before he reached the edge of the blanket, however, he caught his toe on the tripod leg. Marshal gave a strangled shout as he floundered head-first toward me and the picnic. I dodged and he flailed straight into the ambrosia salad. The camera was heard to click twice as it toppled onto its side and grinned at us.

  Marshal roared with laughter, rolling onto his back to wipe the cream and topping from his face and eyes. I smirked and handed him a spoon. He took it and laughed harder. I didn't fault me my smirk, either. Marshal had both looked and sounded ridiculous. To his 'credit', the camera likely caught it all.

  I stood and retrieved the camera. As suspected, it had a picture of Marshal falling h
ead-first into dessert highlighted by an expression of muted surprise on my face. Picture number two, taken after the camera had fallen on its side, had caught a glowing shot of Marshal's butt as well as a slight smirk from me.

  I looked up. Marshal had sat up and begun cleaning himself off with a fistful of napkins. "PERFECT."

  "Thank you. I try." He motioned toward me while continuing to wipe down. "Why don't you take a couple shots of me cleaning off."

  I moved to sit cross-legged on the blanket, lifting the camera for a shot just as Marshal sent a sidelong glance. He grinned, as camera-hogs tend to do, and I took that picture as well. Then I set the camera aside and started packing up the picnic.

  "Hey, hey. Not so fast," Marshal protested. He took the plate of sandwiches from me.

  "EXPLAIN."

  "Explain what? This is a picnic. We eat the food." Marshal regarded me while he stuffed the soiled napkins into a sack packed along for refuse.

  I held his gaze and deliberately crossed my arms.

  "Aren't you hungry?" he asked.

  I looked at my watch.

  "Don't give me that. We've got plenty of time. Here." He offered a small bowl of mixed fruit. "Have some. It's great stuff. Besides that, it's your new persona's favorite."

  I took the bowl, accepting the fork with a frown. My idea of an investigation didn't involve picnics and laughter to woo the suspicious ones into a slip. I preferred dark rooms and one-word questions that cut to the chase. Maybe some 'persuasion' now and again.

  I skewered a piece of melon and scoffed before eating it. Seifer--ASS! If I'm your friend, why can't you leave me alone? Who gives a damn if it's been five years or fifty! I don't! And my father sure as hell hadn't. Bastard.

  I smirked as I skewered another fruit. Not so tough when you know I can kick your ass, huh, Daddy? Not so free with the love when you know I might have had better than you'll ever be!

  I glowered and roughly set aside the bowl, bringing my hands up to rub the remembered gropes from my skin. No. Those memories would burn a lot longer. I couldn't even stand Seifer to touch me. How would a man. . .how could--I pushed the nausea away and rubbed harder, but it never worked. The pain always lurked to remind--

  "Fujin?"

  I flinched and looked sharply to my left at the soft question. Marshal's expression held--I moved my gaze away.

  "You okay?"

  "FINE."

  Marshal regarded me a moment. "You don't expect me to believe you, right?"

  I could care less. I crossed my arms.

  "Is it going to effect the mission?"

  I clenched my jaw. "NO." I can handle it. I always have.

  "Fujin."

  I glared at him. "WHAT."

  "If you--if I can. . . ." Marshal released a quick breath as he looked away. "Never mind. Forget it." He started packing up the picnic this time. "Come on. Let's get cracking. We need to have these pictures done so we can head over to Deling and get shots of us in the city."

  Deling. I hated the city. Nothing good ever happened there.

  "Oh." Marshal sent a sidelong glance my direction as I stood and moved off the blanket. "I came up with, uh, an idea of, um. . . ." He rubbed at his neck with a muttered, "Damn it, Marshal," before looking me full in the face with a determined expression. "Between now and our arrival in Winhill tomorrow afternoon--we're staying in Deling City tonight--I'll be touching you on random occasions."

  My expression went blank, my stomach in knots.

  "A touch on the arm or shoulder or back. Nothing major. Just so you can get familiar with the idea and restrain the cringe or violent retaliation." Marshal grimaced. "Damn. That sounds--Look, Fujin, I get that you don't want anyone invading your space. I'm fine with that. That's why I'm pissed at Seifer for putting you up for this. Just bear with me and I'll back off when I can. Swear."

  I glared, and Marshal's blink of surprise barely registered. "STOP."

  "Stop what?"

  But how could I put it into one word? I pressed my lips together.

  Marshal regarded me with a slightly tilted head. Then he put down the picnic basket and crossed his arms. "Stop?" he urged.

  Stop treating me like a fragile little toy! The words practically rumbled within. I balled my hands into fists, fighting against the words for fear more would come--Fear. Fear! Damn it! My eye sparked as I brought a fist up to pound once on my chest. "NOT WEAK."

  Marshal's eyes widened briefly. Then he frowned. "Hell no you're not weak, Fujin. I know that." He rested his hands on his hips. "I'm just trying to give both of us a chance to get used to the idea. I do the same thing every time I go under cover." He spat. "You said before you didn't want to be touched, so I wanted to give you a chance to transition past that. Who said anything about anybody being weak? You're the toughest lady on Security, and I'm just respecting your boundaries!"

  Then he grabbed up the picnic basket in one hand, the blanket in his other, and strode back toward the cliff stairs. I regarded him with a slightly narrowed gaze. Respect. I hadn't heard that word very often. I lowered my gaze and picked up the camera and tripod. All these years I had fought for respect and position. Now, when it was offered, I slapped it down while accusing the person of saying I was weak. I pressed my lips together and stepped forward.

  'You're the toughest lady on Security.'

  Apparently, I was the only one who didn't know it.

  I arrived at the foot of the cliff stairs to find Marshal changing out of his red t-shirt into a long-sleeved one of blue, all the while mumbling under his breath. I didn't say a word. I boarded the transport after leaving the camera and tripod on the beach. Then I changed into a pair of regular blue jeans and a long-sleeved denim shirt with a white tank-tee beneath. I changed from my sneakers into my hikers and then exited onto the beach.

  Marshal sat in a beach lounge chair while turning the camera over in his hands. He now wore loose jeans and leather hikers as well as the long-sleeved cotton tee and a denim jacket. He looked somewhat normal--civilian even. I probably did, too. Except for the eye. I raised a hand to the scarring and lightly touched it with my fingertips. I had come to hate it. Daddy's last gift. A permanent reminder.

  'the white of your eye's cool--'

  I pushed it aside, lowering my hand from my face as Marshal looked up. He stood and met me half way. Then he handed me a flashlight and motioned ahead to the caves. I stepped forward, and he fell in beside me. After a moment or two of walking he took a picture of our steps. I glanced over at him to notice a slight, almost lopsided smirk. He didn't look over at me. He didn't explain. What he did do was take a picture of the set of steps behind us. Then he gave a brief nod and looped the camera strap around his neck. He tucked his hands into his pockets.

  I continued to regard his profile.

  "All right," he said suddenly, very businesslike. "From now on we call each other by our assumed names. That means no more Goddess of Wind for you and no geekdom for me. Just Ana and Bla--what?"

  I had grabbed him by the arm and jerked him to face me. ". . .what?" I hissed.

  "Ana and Blake," he repeated slowly. "You're Ana--your mom called you that--short for Ahndra--"

  I released his arm and stepped back. I felt as if I'd been punched. Marshal watched the reaction with an odd expression. Ahndra. I shook my head as I stepped back again. I stumbled on a ridge of sand, but Marshal grabbed my flailing hands before I went down. I pulled my hands free with another slight shake of my head. I rubbed the touch away on my jeans. No. I swallowed back the nausea. Ahndra. Ana. What my mom had called me. . .before she died, leaving me with. . .him.

  "What's the deal with the name?" Marshal asked carefully.

  I lightly tapped my chest as I continued to stare at the ground, not trusting my voice or my control on the lurching of my stomach.

  "Your name's. . . ?"

  I slightly nodded, raising a hand to rub at my scarred eye. It throbbed.

  Marshal swore under his breath. Then he released a deep breath. "
Sorry," he said finally. "Everything has already been set up. I can't change it."

  I could feel him watching. Studying. Gauging. It unnerved me--

  "Tell 'em to screw off."

  I lowered my hand and met his gaze. "What?"

  "The memories. It's a nice name, and now we've got a better use for it then whatever asshole screwed with it last time."

  I reluctantly smirked. Hear that, Daddy? He hasn't even met you and he's calling you an asshole.

  Marshal ducked his head down slightly, still holding my gaze as he reached out and gripped my upper arm. I twitched and pulled back. "All right?"

  I curtly nodded.

  We stepped again toward the caves. "I've got a question for you--please don't hit me too hard."

  I sent him a sidelong glance. "ASK."

  "Correction. Make that two questions. The first will get me a dirty look at least, so I'll ask the second. Can you lower your volume a little? Maybe add another word or two? I mean, I could add that you're slightly deaf, to your backstory I mean, but geez. I don't think you want them yelling at you."

  I smirked again. "NO."

  "No you don't want them yelling at you, or no you don't want to lower your volume? You see how frustrating it is to get one word hacked out of a sentence? And I'm a detail-anal'd person. I need a bit more than one word."

  "TRY."

  "You'll try? Or I should try to get over it? See how important that pronoun is?"

  I clasped my hands tighter behind my back as I fought back an actual smile. My use of one word sentences had always been a form of control. Mind games, almost. My dad had only ever given me 'Yes' or 'No' questions. The world outside had been a lot different.

  But a mission was a mission.

  I took in a deep breath and said, "I will try." Marshal stopped. I twitched--I don't know why--and turned to face him. "WHA--" I took in another breath and tried again. "What?"

  He pointed at me. "You have a--" His mouth clicked shut as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. His ears pinked. "Nothing."

  Curiosity and intrigue arched my eyebrow.

  Marshal cleared his throat. "The first question has to do with the 'touch' thing." I looked away. "Yeah. I know. But I'm curious--or something. Is it all kinds of touch? Or just one?"

  My eyebrow arched again as I met his gaze. "EXPLAIN."

  Marshal rubbed at his neck. "Explain," he mumbled absently. He shrugged. "I'll have to give an example, Ana--You okay? You went a little green."

  I slightly nodded and fought back the memories and the nausea. Then I grabbed at my revulsion and presented my arm, sleeve pushed up. His question made me curious. Daddy never touched me softly or gently. It had always been rough and bruising. Did I react differently to one than the other?

  Marshal rubbed his palms on his jeans before reaching out to hold my forearm in a normal grip. I twitched and had to pull my arm free and rub the crawling away. Marshal absently nodded. Curiosity grabbed me again and made me produce my arm a second time. The second hold felt as if it were barely there. There was a sudden whole-body shiver, but once that vanished there was only a slight, continued prickle. I arched an eyebrow.

  Marshal removed his hand and gestured. "Rub it away. One more."

  I rubbed the touch away, intrigue holding me by the throat, and then produced my arm a third time. When Marshal reached out this time, it felt like only air touched my skin. There was no shiver. No invasion. Nothing but a slight warmth.

  "Okay. Now rub that away and close your eyes."

  I rubbed the touch away while gauging Marshal's expression. There wasn't one as he focused on my arm. I closed my eyes and produced my arm yet again. The touch came to my shoulder. I twitched and grabbed the wrist and hand before I could even think. My eyes snapped open as I released my hold.

  Marshal smiled and rubbed his wrist. "It's okay. I knew it was coming." He lowered his gaze to his wrist and the hand that rubbed it. "If you don't know where or when the touch is coming, self-preservation kicks in. As long as you can control the touch or can see it coming, it's not so bad. You have time to get ready. Except for hard or heavy touch. Bad memories come with that, so you can't take it. Light and normal were okay."

  I blinked. Normal?

  Marshal glanced my way and then nodded. "I know. You thought that first was 'normal', but it wasn't. Touch two was."

  I looked down.

  Marshal cleared his throat, drawing my gaze. "Come on. Let's go. I don't know about you, but I really want to see these caves."

  But I didn't move. I kept staring at my hand and arm, wondering why all these years I had thought--Then again, why wouldn't I? I hadn't allowed anyone close enough to change my twisted views on normal contact. I knew they were wrong, that life wasn't like that. School in Deling City had shown me what 'normal' was. The couples. The friends. Arm in arm. Kissing. Hugging. Innocent touches that brought smiles instead of. . . .But I was a freak. Silver-haired from the age of fifteen. Now with a white eye--

  'The white of your eye's cool, especially with your silver hair.'

  'You look like a hag!'

  I glared and lowered my arm, rage boiling within as I balled my hands into fists. Screw off, Daddy! I raised my eyes to Marshal's. "AHND--" Deep breath. "Ahndra." Bastard. You can't have the name anymore. It's mine!

  Marshal slightly nodded. "Sure." He smirked. "Can I call you that once the mission's over? I like it better than 'Fujin', not that it's lame or anything." I arched an eyebrow. "Oookaaay. I won't. Come on." He reached out for my upper arm while motioning forward to the caves with the other. "We're burning daylight."

  I tensed and clenched my jaw, and at the contact I didn't cringe or twitch. I balled my hands into fists to keep from striking out.

  Marshal glanced down at me with another smirk. "Good job."

  I sent him a hard look and a carefully chosen "Don't be an ass."

  He laughed. "Can't help it."

  "Try."

  He laughed harder, which I didn't really understand. I looked away. 'I like it better than 'Fujin'. . .' 'It's been five damn years.' I lowered my gaze to the ground. 'Hell no you're not weak.' Maybe one day I would believe it.