Day Job [Jakarta/public]

Life here wasn't much different than it was at home. More white people, for sure....but then again they were getting more populous in Indonesia, too. It was hot, but not like she was used to, and not as dry as she was used to. She'd heard of deserts, but she never knew they would be in a place like this. Where were the dunes? It was possible they might have been made up to make deserts seem more grandiose.

Citra was a commodity here, just like she was at home. But at the carnival people seemed more in awe of her. Mainly the ones that had braved going to get a look at her. Stepping into her car, she made sure not to trip over the fake snake tail built into the floor. Some parts could be moved from men outside and under the car, just incase there was any doubt to its 'reality'. There had only been a few that had actually seen her. Even then, they still believed she was some kind of monster. Which she didn't mind. She'd had enough of men.

She always reflected when she put on her working clothes-- it was a bride's ensemble her parents had made for her. They wanted her to marry someone... Who left and never came back. So she left in the hopes that it would be revenge when he finally did return. He was smart, and sweet, but cared a bit too much. She had lived before he arrived, safely. And she could live without anyone safely. She would never see him again. Forgetting him was taking a bit longer. Good things could be forgotten easily, but not the rest. Never in the few years she'd sat at the mirror and put on her headdress every day did she think that maybe she had done something to sour things. If he really did love her like he said, he would have been okay with her changing her mind about the sentiment. It was good for her to be in love for a while, but after that it bored and frightened her. He left anyway. She had saved herself the grief.

And now, she had no grief, over any man. The most she had done is given a few brave ones a kiss. It was all she ever wanted. It was her life, and others just passed through it like the men she saw everyday. Unimportant, but necessary.

Checking her makeup once more before pulling heavy drapes over the vanity, she took her place on a throne of pillows and golden curtains. They'd seriously exaggerated her exoticness. But how could she complain? Unlike home, she was paid rediculously for sitting around and looking nice.

A smile graced her face when she thought about it, before it was covered by a sheer mask. "Okay," She rapped on the side of the car at the workers on the outside who would fill it with steam and oriental grammophone music and work the tail. "Tell them to start moving the line in." There was always a line.

Niels did not enjoy this place. He did not enjoy this job that required him to be anywhere near this place. Currently, he was making his way around the sleeping cars, looking for the one that belonged to the ringleader. (With the management changing so frequently, he was accordingly having to update their business contracts, each time.) 

Obviously, this had been the wrong time to come--he should have waited until all the people were gone--but he worked on a tight schedule. ...Rather, the amount of work he imposed on himself forced him into a tight schedule. But that was how he preferred things. Because he couldn't forget her. He didn't even try, despite being strongly advised to do so. The day he learned that she was gone, he just about lost his head entirely--one might have thought she'd actually died, the way he mourned the loss. Since then, he never forgot, and he never gave up on the (perhaps slightly delusional) belief that if he found her again, he could make things right. They could still be together. 

So he traveled the world and the seven seas, occupying his mind with work when they weren't close enough to Asia.

He didn't consider the possibility that she might not be in southeast Asia, anymore. For one thing, he didn't know where else she would go, so it was better, perhaps, to not consider it. There was a frighteningly astronomically high chance that he'd never find her, if his domain was expanded to include more than one continent.

Thus, when he found his path blocked by a line leading into a car that played something Oriental-sounding, he didn't think much of it. Other than annoyance that people couldn't queue up properly.

Attempting to go through a small gap between two of the men, a heavy hand fell on his shoulder, nearly causing him to drop his briefcase, "Hey, no cutting--"

"I'm trying to get around," Niels explained, feeling slightly disturbed that a complete stranger would clap his shoulder like that. "What is everyone waiting for, in any case?"

"Some kind of snake-monster East Indies queen," came the (in Niels' opinion) somewhat crass reply, "If you get close enough to see her face, you get to snog her, or something." For the most part, all he could do was snort (Snake monster? Did people honestly buy this nonsense?), but one bit did grab his attention. He highly doubted that Indonesian nobility was actually sitting inside that car, let alone a queen, but if there was... She might know something. Any morsel of helpful information. It was highly improbable--but then, he'd been far less rational with issues related to Citra, before. He didn't have anything to lose (besides time) by taking a chance.

Without a moment's hesitation, he rushed to the end of the line, already feeling impatient for his turn to come. As he moved up, little by little, he contemplated how to go about persuading this mystery woman. If he just pretended it was a hearing or a business transaction, it should have been no problem. He could be very starkly persuasive, in the right setting.

When he finally approached the door, he was all but jittery with anticipation. There was a chance...there was even the smallest chance... It was more than he'd had, in a long while.

Stepping up inside the car, he waded through the steam, just nearly avoiding a trip over some snake tail that could have only been fake. If he'd had time to care, he would have rolled his eyes at the theatrics. When he finally neared the lounging feminine figure, he addressed her in Javanese (his accent was atrocious, but at least he knew a few basics), knowing that if she understood, the chances grew, "Nuwun sewu--"

But he stopped mid-sentence. The steam had cleared enough for him to get a better look at a sight he'd been longing for, for far too long. It couldn't be...

For a moment, he was frozen, then, trembling fingers acting almost of their own accord, he reached out and pulled the veil down gently, with both hands. When it fell away, he snapped back in shock. Was he so far gone out of wanting to see her, that his mind was actually conjuring her image? Or was there actually some sort of otherworldly business, going on here? He found himself not caring.

"Citra...!" He managed to choke out, face quickly reddening (it always did, around her--), "You... I... How--why are you--" Nothing was being articulated correctly, so he forced himself to blurt out, "I've been looking for you!" 

Why was she here? Was she being held against her will, to be made a spectacle of? He'd buy her back, he'd take her back to The Hague, he'd reclaim his job, they'd get married-- Not thirty seconds had passed, and he was already deciding her future and how it would have a place for him, in it.

So far, only a few had gotten a kiss. The rest, too masculine to wear glasses for their eyesight and also too masculine not to jump on the chance to get a kiss for bravery from a 'jungle woman' (or whatever else they were calling her, she had a few names) had run out, barely silencing a scream. Those were the best. It made her job worthwhile.

It was always the meek ones with the glasses that ended up seeing her for what she was. She liked that, too. The bits of Niels' (or whoever's. Who was he again?) countenance she did remember were handsome, intelligent... It was everything he did that was ugly and less than smart. He had glasses. The meek ones had glasses. And for one kiss she could pretend she was in love again and he was the way she wished he would have stayed.

She saw some black-rimmed glasses floating around in the smoke. She began to smile, and was about to encourage him to walk closer... Until she saw whom the glasses belonged to. Her smile dropped as images flooded her mind and she could see his face clearly in front of her before he even got there.

Finding herself frozen, she stared at him in disbelief. How did he even find her? It couldn't have been an accident. He was smart, he knew things. It was only until she felt the sheer scarf fall into her hands that the shock in her wide eyes became a look of horror. kicking off the snake tail (it was uncomfortable with bottoms on, and it worried her. Not that he was dangerous--at all--, but around someone who thought she was helpless... It wasn't good to be vulnerable.), she groped around above her, trying to pull curtains down between them.

Just as speechless as he, she shook her head fervently as she backed further into the depths of her car-- into where she actually lived. It was only superficial comfort-- it would give her enough time to call for help if she needed to, but not protect her from someone she knew wasn't dangerous, but didn't want around just as much.

"WHY?!" She finally blurted out, half-hiding behind a drape she had accidentally pulled to the floor in her panic. "YOU'VE BEEN FOLLOWING ME! You-- you've got people tracking me...? Who are they?!" Finding the wall with her palms, she rapped on it as hard as she could, forgetting in the panic that the stage hands knew nothing about her language. "Bantu! BANTU...!" It was his words that were dangerous.

Oh dear. This wasn't how he'd hoped it'd go.

Was it too much of a surprise? Did she similarly initially think he was an apparition of some sort? What did he do wrong?? Feeling his own anxiousness multiplying exponentially the more and more horrified she looked, he fiddled with his tie (a nervous habit) with a shaky, high-strung attempt at a smile. 

Maybe it didn't seem that there was anything to be smiling at here, on the surface. But inwardly, the part of him that wasn't feeling the pressure, was flooded with joy. He found her, finally. She was real and tangible again, and not just a fantasy he was chasing after. He could have just taken a minute to bask in the sight of her... But it didn't seem like it would be appropriate, everything considered.

As she backed up, he followed, step by step--just as he'd followed her steps all the way here (albeit unknowingly). His heart hammered as it dawned on him that, after immersing himself more than ever in his work, in her absence, he'd forgotten what it was like to even talk to a woman. A normal, non-Citra woman. Let alone Citra. He had a feeling that no matter what he chose to say in the next few moments, it was going to be extremely awkward, at best.

Jumping slightly when she accused him of something that sounded uncomfortably similar to stalking or harassment, he tried to placate her, "No, no, nobody's tracking you, I only wanted to see you again--" When she started banging on the walls, he practically broke out into a cold sweat as he leapt from nervous, to panic mode. Hovering around her like he wanted to hold (and/or stop) her, he fretted, voice strained, "C-Citra, it's okay-- I'm sorry, I-I didn't know you were here-- Please, hear me out, I can make this right, I just, I--" He was in grave danger of breaking down into one long, incoherent string of stammering.

For once, he wished he was one of his brothers. Broos would have known what to say... And Diederik would have at least kept his cool. Though he would have been loathe to admit that.

Nobody was following her? That was new. But he seemed different than he used to, by the end. He wasn't telling her that she needed to go with him, or that she couldn't live here anymore because it wasn't good for her. He was stammering, and blushing, and seemed almost... Lost. Her panic ebbed, gradually.

This was him before he digressed to stress that seemed less than sane. The one she liked. The one that had forgotten what to say when he was trying to convince her of something or make a deal about something (she couldn't remember what) and couldn't even hold papers in his hands, they were shaking so much.

He said he wanted to make things right-- did that mean he finally knew what he did wrong? It was impossible to know if he'd changed for real, but after so many years she didn't think he would just leave if she told him to.

Deliberating for a moment, she finally resigned herself to the fact that she couldn't just forget about it all, and dropped to a seat in a hill of pillows, feeling defeated. She wondered if she even would have a choice. "I came here... Because before you left you dictated my life. I don't think you know what love really is." It wasn't just about being afraid to lose something precious. "You said you loved me, but you were always occupied with something else and you expected me to wait for you." Looking up at him bitterly, she repeated the thought she'd held in her mind ever since she left. "You left me, so I left you. And I don't think I can love you anymore." He scared it all away.

But if he had changed, then things could be different. She didn't know anymore what she wanted. When something's gone, one can either miss it or move on as if it was never there. She had chosen the latter, but now he was back. Could she still pretend he didn't exist?

Glancing up at him warily, she waited for him to make his case.

Exhaling with relief when she calmed down, he felt his own anxiety decrease, a little, as well. But the trial wasn't over yet, and for the first time in his life, he was the one being accused. It didn't feel reassuring.

Grimacing as she relayed to him how controlling he was (had he really been that bad?), a sort of sickness settled into his stomach. He felt as stricken with grief as he had the day he'd discovered her absence, when she confessed she may have lost the capacity to love him. It was like losing her all over again, except that this time, she wasn't actually 'gone'.

Clearing his throat (it felt like it'd tightened to half it's size), he made the only possible appropriate opening statement, "I-I'm sorry." Not just sorry for himself that he'd messed up, but sorry that he'd hurt her. "I'm good at my job, but not with people, so...so, I became a little paranoid, when I thought I'd lose you." The understatement of the century. He got so paranoid and dictating that it only backfired, and pushed her away.

"I work more, now," he admitted, "For my brother--because I needed a-a way to travel...and he has his ship." The self-disgust was evident in his voice; she knew how he felt about Diederik. It took a lot of dignity-sacrificing to work under him. "I've been trying to find you, all this time... I still love you-- Even if I don't know what it 'really' is, I still do..." 

Biting his lip, he adjusted his tie again, knowing that even after all these years, he was as awkward as he was when he first confessed. Probably redder in the face, too, now that he knew she might never feel the same way, again.

She spent too much time mentally torturing herself-- even more than he had, her. Did he not trust her? Was it because she was a stupid island girl who wouldn't know right and wrong if it was right in front of her nose? She figured that was what he thought, and built up a glacier around herself to resist his condescension... Whether it was real or imagined.

Beginning to realize that with his sudden appearance she was forced to notice that she couldn't blame everything on him. Before him, she was always confident that she was better than anyone. She didn't like love, it introduced her to the feeling of 'not good enough'. "It was almost as if," She began, eyes locked on her hands, unable to see what could only be a devastating expression on his face. "I wasn't human anymore to you..." Just an emotion he could claim to have, as long as she was around.

She couldn't decide if his lifelong search for her was sentimental or scary, but it was impressive nonetheless. Finally raising her eyes to him, she murmured, "Why would you do all that...?" It almost made her speechless. He signed on to work for a horrible practice to find her without any notion of where she was or if she was even still alive. Maybe he knew what love was better than she.

What she said next rattled him more than anything, thus far. Immediately, he began to deny it, "That's not--" It wasn't what? How he'd actually felt? For a moment, he stopped, blinking in surprise as he was faced with the him that he used to be (or was 'could be' more appropriate?). He could say with certainty that by the time he'd fallen for her enough to become possessive, she'd become something far superior to a mere human, in his mind. But before that...he did see her as someone inferior. Some backwards native; an exotic gem he'd found in the Orient and decided to keep. A pretty, almond-eyed creature that he expected would be submissive and novel and willing, just because his country oppressed hers.

Considering how he felt for her now, he was somewhat sickened by the retrospective view. And yet...had he changed, completely? Did he now see her has an equal, even after putting her on a pedestal? He didn't know his own answer, and instead of immediately trying to address it, he put it on the shelf to be bothered about later.

"It...it wasn't my intention, to make you feel like that..." He finally amended, quietly, "I'm sorry..."

He'd been deliberating on whether or not it was okay to touch her--the last thing he wanted to do was upset her even more, at this point. Tentatively, he knelt down in front of where she sat and took her hands (his own were starting to shake madly, again). Searching in her eyes for any hint of reciprocation, he steadied his voice as best as possible, "I can't let go--I don't want to, unless I know, beyond the shadow of a doubt... Just tell me, if there's absolutely no way you could ever be with me again." If there was even the slightest possibility, he would never stop going after it.

She wasn't blind to how he tried to treat her before he really knew her. What was he expecting, someone looser? She knew his brothers-- and was horrified at how loose women seemed to be, to them. But he had stuck around. His hands shook in hers for weeks before she finally allowed him to kiss her. He had chased her when tradition dictated she pretend to be uninterested. And he had no idea she wasn't. So what did that mean?

"Don't apologize..." She said quietly, fighting to get her voice out from the lump that had grown in her throat. "It was too long ago..."

But at his ultimatum the dam finally broke, and she hung her head and shook it, lips trembling. It had been so long since she'd cried. The last it had been was when he had been upset at her for something innocuous. Now it was completely different. She saw both sides of him in her blurred, watery double-vision. She left to not remember either, and now she had to choose between them. "Please..." She begged him, collapsing into his hands, weeping both over him and the fact that she had a reason to weep that she'd ignored. "Please don't make me choose..." She didn't want to be unhappy in the end-- if they married there was no guarantee that he'd change. And if they didn't marry there was no way she could be as close to him as she wanted. "I... I love you but I... Don't... I can't have you," She wanted Dr. Jekyll-- but it was Mr. Hyde responsible for making sure she was protected for him. "I'm scared... Niels... You don't understand," It was much more than just love, to her. She was the very opposite of the primitive girl he'd first expected.

It wouldn't have been far-fetched to say that, before her, what he knew of women was mainly based on what he'd seen from his brothers' relationships. And while he would have been appalled at the idea of fraternizing with the kind of sluts he'd seen them with, his idea of a desirable woman was no more unyielding. Classy and compliant, was what he was expecting.

And yet, when she ended up being only the former, it was anything but off-putting. It made him want her more, when he discovered she wasn't giving herself up. It still did.

Lifting her headdress off and placing it beside her so that he could hold her properly, he stroked her hair and murmured, "I want to understand... Don't be afraid..." On the inside, a part of him rejoiced. She loved and didn't love him? It was the shadow of doubt. It was doubt, itself. It meant he had some kind of a shot, that she didn't completely hate him. He just had to figure out how to remove the "don't" from the equation.

Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he dabbed at her eyes so that her makeup wouldn't stream all over her face. "It's okay...you don't have to decide anything now." He'd heard all he needed; he wasn't going to force her into anything else.

Beginning to calm down enough to think easier, she didn't decide to do it right away. There was something significant about being held by someone who knew there was a chance that she didn't have feelings for him. Besides, she missed being held by him, though she would never admit it-- although she might as well have, with how long she'd stayed there, clutching his lapels.

"I want to be with you," She finally murmured into his collar with a sniff. "But I don't-- I can't... I can't marry you." One didn't exist without the other, where she was from. But.... This wasn't where she was from. And neither was he. And when she thought about it, didn't she leave home to discover what else the world had to offer her? And how could she experience it without embracing it?

To resist and feel good about her choices... But not happy. Or be happy and feel disgraceful. Neither seemed to be a lesser evil. "Why did you come back... You're making me terribly sad..." She chastised, through a sad laugh.

He could at least get something for his unbelievable trouble. "You didn't get your kiss yet..." She reminded him. "Do you still want it...?"

If she thought she missed it, she had no idea how much he was reveling in the feeling. Hopefully, she couldn't hear how much his heart was pounding. He hadn't had many opportunities, even before, to be close to her in the physical sense. Eventually, he learned that part of it had to do with cultural differences, but he still never really knew for sure.

"Why not?" He demanded gently (if such a thing was possible), "I want you to." Just being lovers or engaged wasn't good enough; they'd been that, and estranged, to boot. He wanted her as his wife. To be bonded in holy matrimony, for better or for worse, til death did they part. Then he wouldn't have to be paranoid, anymore. ...Or, so he assumed.

It was a struggle not to flat-out order her to marry him. Marry him and don't be sad. He was used to being a little bossy... Or a lot bossy, depending on who he was talking to. (With his older brother being something of a complete asshole, it had usually been up to him to step up and manage the family affairs.) But having been outright told that she didn't like it, he forced himself to curb his first instinct. What she said next made it easy to forget about it, though. Because he was too busy blurting out stupid things, again.

"Of course!" Immediately turning bright red, he stumbled over his own words, "I mean, of course, I-I always--NO, I mean, I'd never not want... I..." Deciding to just shut up, he resigned himself to just looking terribly embarrassed.

Truth be told, she was ignorant of other people that weren't of her race, before he came along-- not stupid, just inexperienced. There were a wealth of different tribes on the islands, but she had never known one to get so red or have such a rapid heartbeat. He said sometimes it could get cold, where he was from. Maybe it was instinct, to keep him warm. Of course, now she knew much better. He just wasn't one to relax easily. Or have the capacity to at all.

"You think I didn't want to marry you...?" She reminded him sorrowfully. The headdress, what she was wearing then, it was all supposed to be for them. She would contend to that before she would have left for god-knows-where with him to live the life that he did. She wasn't unhappy with her home, she just knew she could be happier with things that seemed much better than her own. But maybe, now, when she thought about it, those opinions were his for her to use.

And of course, there were other issues. If she married him, she couldn't get a divorce. She didn't want to not be allowed to even leave the house after a year of it. "I still would... If you could promise me truthfully... That I wouldn't be miserable." It wasn't abuse, it wasn't ill-intended (or so she thought), but it was a creeping, forceful claustrophobia. And it was terrifying. "Promise me I won't suffer just because you love me."

She didn't think she could marry him, but she gave a kiss to whoever made it to her, and he certainly had. Lifting her head from his shoulder, she pulled him to her gently by his tie and pressed her lips to his for the first time in years for a few more moments than she gave all the rest. When she pulled back, she smiled lightly and rubbed her lipstick off of his face with her thumb. He wasn't going to go back to his brothers with painted lips (again). "I think you should go... You're too busy to be--"

Before she could finish her sentiment, there was an audible click at the door, along with a gruff "lights out!"

Immediately she pushed away from him and rushed to find her clock. She wasn't treated horribly, but she was a foreign (read: 'stupid') investment that they couldn't afford to lose. After the sun set, after wandering off became easier... She was locked up. And now he was, too. She glanced up at him and muttered a fretful apology. But, in some darkly humorous way, perhaps it would show him how it felt to be with him. Hyperbolically. Mostly. "You think your business can wait until morning...?"

"I promise," he agreed, easily. Of course he didn't want her to be miserable. Of course he'd never intended for his love to equal her suffering--it was virtually unthinkable. That was just how it turned out. But now that he'd messed up once, he'd be careful (or at least, he'd try his best) not to do it, again. For both of their sakes.

When she kissed him, it was like being born again, it felt so good. It had been a long time in coming, but she did not disappoint. When she drew away, it was with a slight gasp on his end, as if the breath had literally been taken right out of him. It was probably a good thing that the door locked when it did. Because for the moment, the only replies he'd be giving would be sputtering and incohesive in nature.

Then again, 'good' may not have been an appropriate adjective for this situation, either. On the one hand, it was like a fantasy come true: locked up by accident, overnight, alone with her. On the other hand, after having pined for her for several years straight, suddenly being faced with this situation was making him highly uncomfortable.

"Ja--" His voice started out an octave higher than usual, and he had to clear his throat to make it normal. ...Relatively normal. "Ja, i-it, it's nothing--it wasn't...that...important...." (Honestly, he'd completely forgotten about it.) Trailing off, he adjusted his tie with a nervous smile, wondering how he'd make it through the night without desperately needing a hole to crawl into. It was pathetic, how much his composure went down the drain just because he wanted her. So badly. Maybe the experience of knowing what it was like to be with him would fly over his head... But it was only because he was feeling a different kind of punishment.

She still didn't seem very convinced. She wasn't. But what other options did she have? The restrictions may have been cultural, but they were engrained in her head. As much as she wanted to defy them she didn't think she could. Besides his one issue he was the perfect man-- smart, rich, kind... Not exactly the former two, at the moment. There was so much he wasn't considering. "I'll marry you..." She declared tentatively. "But we can't live like this... I don't want to live on a... A slave boat... You need to get a job, and find a house... Not here, not in this place." She knew 'as long as I'm with you' wasn't enough for a marriage to survive. "Have you even thought about this...? I don't think marriage is feasible until then."

Not wanting to stress more about it, she got up and began to gather pillows in one area, throwing a sheet over it. "I'll sleep here," She said before moving to get things out from a dresser. Her own bed wasn't much different. Small and tucked away into a corner. "You can take mine." Perhaps he had changed-- he never asked if she was happy here; she wouldn't have admitted it anyway.

For the first time that evening, his demeanor was allowed to relax somewhat; the way she was negotiating made it like business. He could handle business. Frowning with distaste, he shook his head, "I never want you to live on that ship. I don't want to live on that ship." Even if it weren't overseen by Captain Dick, it was still an unpleasant lifestyle. He had zero passion for sailing, and an unfortunate tendency towards seasickness. 

"I still own my house, in Den Haag; it's being rented out, right now." And it had been, since he'd left. He'd done some crazy things to find her, but he was still savvy enough to leave some backups for himself. "I don't have my job, but I have a home, and the money I'll collect from the rent... I can start over, I just need time." It should have been easy to pick up his practice where he left off, given his past success, but with the economy the way it was... Well, he'd have to see. Some worry creeping back to his voice, he added, "The contract for the rent, though... I can't move back in until the end of this year, at least. And if my brother leaves, soon..."

He wouldn't go with him and leave her, not after it'd taken this long to track her down. Adjusting his glasses, he considered it and decided, "I'll quit working for him." (Something he'd been dying to do, for quite some time, now.) "I'll...I'll work for this place. They need someone to help manage things properly... When the year is over, I can buy tickets for both of us, to leave this country." And buy her freedom, if it came to that. He didn't bother wondering if she was happy here; he assumed, based on what he'd seen in the past few hours, that she wasn't. Who would be? And if she was...well, she could always be happier.

Retrieving his briefcase, he was going to look over some papers relating to this particular carnival (out of the several they did business with), when she suggested he take her bed. Shocked, he nearly dropped everything he was holding (it wouldn't have been the first time), and sputtered, "W-what--??"

Have her bed when she wasn't even in it? Even if it still smelled like her, he'd be too embarrassed to even want to take it. He'd feel like too much of a scumbag to sleep, anyways, ousting a woman from her bed. "I-I couldn't possibly-- I'll sleep on the floor, please, I can't take your...your..." Flustered, he just stopped talking altogether. It was the concept of her bed; he was getting nowhere near that, verbally.

There was still a slight fear that if she moved away with him and decided they shouldn't have been married, that if she left she would be in an unfamiliar place, and lost. She'd realized by then that if she married him and he became frightening, it was alright for her to go. She wouldn't divorce him, she'd just move away, because although he could be detestable, she couldn't imagine marrying anyone else. It was an odd paradox.

It seemed like he was choosing the lesser of two evils of where to work, but it was reasonable. She wondered for a moment if she could wait that long to be close to him-- they should have been married years ago, after all. She would just have to see. Maybe since they would be married, it was okay. No one would know.

Her round cheeks burnt with frustration at his denial of what hospitality she could offer. "Well I'm sleeping on the floor too, so no one gets the bed." It was stubborn, but it still gave him the choice. Taking some bedclothes she pulled out of the dresser, she dragged a drape between them so she could change. It took a while, considering all she was wearing. She peeked out, letting her long braid out of it's tight coil on her head. "Why do you stutter like that?" It was endearing, but she doubted she wanted to live with that for possibly the rest of her life.

Barely suppressing something between a gasp and a scream, he attempted to say something, but no sound came out. Not that he knew what to say, anyways. Refuse? Could he? And on what basis? It wasn't like a part of him didn't thoroughly enjoy the idea--

Frozen in place as long as she was in sight, as soon as the drape closed, he started pacing like mad. What was he supposed to do? Was she expecting something of him--and what?? Working to keep his breathing under control, he fretted with his tie until it came completely lose. Irritated, he pulled it off altogether, and realized--he couldn't sleep in his suit. What was appropriate to take off... His jacket and shoes, of course, and his belt wouldn't be comfortable...

That was it. Definitely. Actually, no, the belt was staying on, too; he would just have to deal with it. On that note, maybe that went for the jacket, too. Should he actually be layering more on?? He didn't have anything else, oh god--

Stopping in place, he took a moment to force himself to calm down. Just the jacket and shoes...that should have been okay. There wasn't anything significant about it, it was just a question of being respectful towards her... Yeah... He was attempting to undo the buttons when she peeked out, and his attention swiveled to her automatically like a homing missile. When she was dressed up, it was absolutely stunning, but when all the flashy ornament was gone...well, it still felt like his knees had turned to jelly.

Blushing at her question, he mumbled, "N-nervousness...I guess..." Idiot. It wasn't a guess, it was a known fact. He was banking on the hopes that by the time they were married, he'd be able to stop worrying that he would say something to make her shun him. The cruel irony was that it was exactly that worry which made him do and say such stupid things, around her.

Fingers shaking too badly to manipulate even a single button on his jacket, he gave up in frustration. Taking his glasses off momentarily, he buried his face in the palm of his hand, rubbing his temples. He gave a short, painful laugh, followed by an even more painful sigh. "I don't know--I don't know what's wrong with me."

Should she have told him that he wasn't restricted to her little bed on the floor? Or maybe he was acting like that just because he didn't want to sleep on the floor. Well that's what the bed was for then. His loss.

But, when she caught sight of him again, where he was sleeping didn't seem to be the problem. At least not in the way she'd thought. He was having a harder time with this than she was. After deliberating for a moment, she stepped over to him quietly and unbuttoned his jacket. She could feel him shaking, even over the suit. It was alot more than nervousness.

When she thought about it, no one in this place would care about her mores. Her family was thousands of miles away-- as sad as it seemed. He was promising her a home and a new family, as long is it wasn't derailed for a second time. Not only that, he'd traveled for years and across oceans just in the hope that he'd find her. Both hands clutching his jacket, she stared absently into his shirt buttons for a long moment. His constant fits only got worse since she'd seen him last. What did that mean?

"Niels... If we do something, will you tell anyone...?"

When she approached him and undid his jacket, he hardly dared to breathe. He was rather a lot like a very awkward, nerdy teen with his first girlfriend. ...Actually, that was pretty much exactly what it was, except that he wasn't a teenager anymore. But the fact remained that he had little experience and very little innate talent, when it came to handling women. He wasn't even sure how to touch her.

Nevertheless, he found his fingers straying to the side of her face, almost of their own accord. For years, he'd devoted all his time and energy into the singular goal of seeing that face again.

"N-no, I'd never," he assured her quietly, having to swallow and take a steadying breath. "But I'm not...asking you to do anything. Not if you'd rather wait..." His time amongst sailors did not change how he felt about soliciting sex from women--especially classier ones.

((Late-ish reply, sorry--there's been some intense cooking going on here. :I XD I sent that email reply, too, btw))

"I don't want you to shake or not know what to say anymore," She reasoned. She couldn't live with him if he was like that. "I think.... This would make it go away." Then, significantly quieter, she murmured, "And I want to..."

And that was all well and good but she had no idea how 'this' was supposed to go. She couldn't even say the word. Trying to remember what she'd heard in passing from the brothel, she could only come up with the words 'boring' and 'wished it was worth the money he paid for it'. Which she didn't know how to trust, or feel about.

Standing on her toes, she tested how far she could reach. Not enough. Not even close. "I... Don't know how to... Well..." It was something she was reluctant to admit. Suddenly it seemed like she was less because of it. Letting go of his jacket, she instead tried her best to push him to her bed. By then, she was the one that was shaking.

She was still wrestling with her morals (which weren't effective in this place, but then again they weren't morals if they didn't stand up to the adversity, were they?), and had come to the conclusion that this time wouldn't mean anything in the grand scheme of it all. Even if it was her first. Even if the fear and excitement of it made her feel like it should be important. She hadn't even mentioned the word yet. For the first time in a while (her crying earlier notwithstanding) she showed how vulnerable she really was. "This... This time it doesn't count. ...Okay...?" She mumbled quietly, not waiting for him to agree before kissing him again.

"You're not ready--" He tried to insist, but she had tipped him onto her bed before he could finish. And suddenly, he was struggling with his own ethics--namely, that he couldn't remember them. His mind had gone blank. Somewhere, in the back of it, he reminded himself not to force it on her if she wasn't completely comfortable with the idea. She didn't seem completely comfortable. But then again, he never did, so who was he to judge?

And then, he wasn't the only one trembling. Something in him sensed that vulnerability and latched onto it, holding fast. Hands snaking around her back, he kissed her feverishly, feeling as though his whole body was electrified.

It was important. It did count. He'd been dreaming about this since he'd first laid eyes on her, when she was still in her teens. He gave up his life, walked the earth, and went across oceans to have her. People, his own family, said he was crazy, obsessed. That he'd lost his mind. Maybe he had, but he couldn't say he cared enough to stop wanting her.

Rolling her over so that he was arched over her diminutive form, he pulled off his jacket in a rush (it's stiffness was too restricting). Murmuring into her ear between kisses--he couldn't control himself--he assured her, "We can stop...if you want..." Truthfully, though, he didn't know if he could. "I need you," he admitted, in a whisper.

She'd been kissing him and suddenly... She was unable to breathe-- because of the kisses. In between excitement and light-headedness, she almost didn't comprehend what he was saying.

Stop? She didn't think it was possible. But it made her think-- after this, she had to marry him. No going back. What else would she do? She wasn't satisfied with just going home, nor with staying here. She didn't have many choices. And she did love him, once, so saying she did wasn't a lie. She just wasn't sure if it was pure love, with what she knew about him after the fact. As odd as it seemed, maybe this would fix things.

...Not only that, it did seem fun. Alot of fun. And something else she was afraid to name, but it forced a giggle up to her breathless lips, which had almost never happened before. Hands still shaking (but no longer from fear), she undid most of the buttons on his shirt (before this she'd never even seen it without the tie) before he'd spoken up again.

"I need you,"

It was without tremor, or a red face, or any nervousness whatsoever. It took her breath away-- well, more than it already was gone. Running her hands through his hair, she murmured into his lips, "Does it look like I'm going anywhere...?" She couldn't. And she was suspecting she wouldn't want to, anyways. For better or for worse, in sickness and in health... Etcetera.

If he'd known that there was no going back after this, that it would virtually be tying the knot...maybe he would have thought twice about offering to stop. It was quickly becoming a hollow offer, anyways.

A tremor ran up his spine when her fingers wove through his hair, as much from her words as from her touch. She wasn't going anywhere. Maybe she wasn't his yet (as far as he knew), but she wasn't going anywhere, either. The anxiety began to fade (even if just momentarily), leaving only desire for her.

Murmuring her name into her neck, he shrugged his shirt off and, fumbling for a moment without the aid of his sight, rid her of her clothing. Only once he knew she was completely bare, did he allow himself to look.

He doubted he had words to describe it, no matter how verbose he could be--in fact, he had no words for anything, at that moment. Just her name, murmured once or twice in a daze. At first, he could only stare. As though she were something so holy that he was afraid to do anything but worship her. It wouldn't have been an inaccurate description of his mindset, up until then. But now, hesitantly, he reached out and ran a hand over her, very lightly. At first.

When he couldn't restrain himself any longer, he drew closer to her and, for the first time, fully expressed his love to her.

There was that look-- as if she wasn't even human. She didn't know which was worse--being less than or more than. But it wasn't love. Slowly though, he saw through it. Maybe this was all he needed.

Of course, all of it was barely in the back of her mind. She couldn't hear her thoughts over her own gasps-- why had she waited so long for this? Why hadn't she done this when she had really truly loved him? Then again, maybe she did, and she was just to bitter to accept it. His touches were bringing something out of her, that was for sure.

But all too soon the gasps were caused intermittently by pain, and it was over. Was it supposed to happen that way? Did it mean this wasn't really meant to be? A sign? A warning, that his love was painful? No, no. There was no way she could go back from it. She was just exhausted and making up worries just because she'd taken a risk.

Despite all of her 'I-don't-love-him's, she attached herself to him immediately once things settled, murmuring into his chest, "This time doesn't count... Remember..."