Gabriel
Chapter Eleven


The Rocky Mountains
September 20, 2001
5:45 p.m.


Gabriel let his head loll against the back of
the tub with a contented sigh.  He'd slept most
of the day, only rising to eat and stretch his
legs every few hours.  The respite was welcome,
especially after Julia's probing that morning. 
When she hadn't returned by mid-afternoon, he
figured she wasn't going to come back to the
cabin that day, and he decided it was time for a
good washing.

After he unwrapped his arm, he found he had a
decent range of motion, though it still hurt
like a bitch when he tried to overextend in any
direction.  He wasn't going to wrap it again,
but he knew the sling would still be necessary
for a few days.  He wouldn't miss the bindings,
that was certain.  And the skin of his throat
and neck was healing nicely; in a week, he'd be
good to go.  Hopefully his friends would arrive
by then; already he was getting the itch to be
as far away from this place as possible.  More
than that, he wanted *her* away from here.  He
wouldn't be satisfied until she was safe.

But for now, he lazed in the hot water and felt
the grime sluice away from his body,
invigorating him in preparation for the flight
to come.  He would have preferred a shower, but
there was none - only a huge, claw-footed tub
that nearly took up one wall of the small
bathroom.  He wondered if he'd be able to get
out of it easily, but not from pain at his
injuries.  He felt decadent somehow, not wanting
to abandon the soapy water that smelled of her.

Just as he was about to give in to the urge to
nap, he heard a noise in the cabin, one that
made him sit upright.  Someone was in the outer
room - panic made him still, when all he wanted
to do was fly from the tub, naked or not.  Damn
it, he should have brought one of the kitchen
knives in the bathroom with him.

"Gabriel?"

Her soft call of his name blew the breath from
his lungs with relief.  But panic set in just as
quickly - naked and wet was *not* the way he
wanted to greet her.  Shit, shit, shit, his mind
screamed.  That's what you get for letting your
guard down, moron.

"Gabriel, are you in there?"  The voice came
closer, just beyond the open door of the
bathroom.

He was also a stupid fool for not closing the
door of the bathroom.  He slid in the tub,
trying to use his good arm to lever himself up
while draping the washcloth - the pitifully
small washcloth - over his hips.  However, his
feet couldn't get a grip on the slick surface
and he fell back with a splash, just as she
peeked in around the door.

Her mouth dropped for a fraction of a second,
but she recovered quickly, smiling at the drops
of water he wiped from his sputtering face. 
"Sorry," she chuckled, turning to lean against
the doorjamb, arms crossed.  "Didn't mean to
surprise you like that."

Like hell she was sorry, he thought.  He could
see the smirk on that profile and hear the mirth
in her voice.  Just as he could feel the hot
blush of embarrassment paint his chest and
cheeks as he sank lower into the thankfully
murky water.  This was ridiculous; she'd seen
him in the buff lots of times, but he couldn't
help but feel exposed.  Like a schoolboy
trembling before his first woman.  "I didn't
think you were coming back," he said, his voice
stronger from its hours-long rest, though it
still sounded like someone had dragged their
fingernails down his throat.

"I brought you some more clothes.  I swiped them
from the laundry.  Hopefully, they'll fit you
better than Matthew's."

Is that all she came for?  He opened his mouth
to let her have it about venturing out so close
to sunset, but she continued, cutting off his
tirade with a sly glance over her shoulder.

"I spoke to the Colonel today."

Gabriel held his breath at the pronouncement;
what had Frohike told her?  Not much, if her
appearance was anything to go by.  She was the
picture of good health - if she'd seized again,
she certainly wouldn't have had the strength to
come to the cabin so soon.

"He said to tell you they're coming, as soon as
possible.  He also said he expects me to grace
him with a ribbon in return this time - wonder
what he meant by that?"  Completing the turn,
she faced him fully, her eyes wide and
searching.  "I mean, he's never met me before,
has he?  Why would I give him a ribbon *this*
time?"

He could not answer; anything he said would, at
the least, keep the questions coming.  Deny
everything - remember that, he told himself. 
Keeping silent was the best form of denial.  He
lowered his head and watched the steam rise from
the water.

The seconds crawled by and he felt her gaze move
over his face in a gentle, yet piercing forage
for truth.  Without looking up he deliberately
steered the conversation into safer territory. 
"How's Matthew?"

Her sigh was pained, but not from worry over the
boy, he knew.  "He still has a temperature, but
the doctor says it's just a virus.  He's being a
royal pain, trying to get up out of bed. 
Another couple of days and he'll be okay - if he
takes it easy."

He deemed it safe to look at her as he said,
"Good.  That's good."  Another awkward pause
followed his scratchy statement and he cleared
his throat, plunging ahead.  "Julia, would you
mind?"  He gestured with a nod for her to leave
so he could get out of the tub.

But she didn't budge, answering his unspoken
command with a gentle rebuke, her eyebrow
shooting up.  "Please.  I've seen a naked man
before.  At least I *hope* I have." With a quirk
of her lips, she waved at the protrusion under
the buttons of her dress.

Rolling his eyes, he answered, "Not me."  Yet
another lie; the color in his cheeks flamed now
with the remembrance of just how many times she
*had* seen him naked.  Every one stood out in
his mind like a photo album of treasured
moments, albeit just a tad on the erotic side. 
A decidedly un-Hallmark collection... but one he
wouldn't part with for all the world.

"Sure I have."

His embarrassment ratcheted up to enormous
proportions and he gulped as he realized it
wasn't only the abstract reacting to her husky
voice and subtle innuendo.  A part of him long
asleep stirred under the washcloth and he
shifted in the water, giving her what he hoped
was a scathing, leave-me-alone stare.

"Your first night here.  You couldn't very well
sleep in those muddy clothes, now could you?"

Inwardly, he groaned, his eyes slipping shut. 
"Julia," he began, intending to beg for some
privacy, but she cut him off.

"Well, Matthew was the one who undressed you,
really.  I just caught a glimpse here and
there."

The disappointed purse of her lips told him
she'd tried like hell to look.  It made him more
uncomfortable; her very being exuded curiosity
and he knew she'd never stop trying to get under
his skin.  His only hope was the power of his
lies, something that was proving to be damned
difficult with an iffy voice.  But he couldn't
stop trying, even though his plea came out more
like a gentle breeze than a roaring tornado. 
"Julia, please -"

"You didn't wash your hair, did you?"  She was
good at stifling his weak resistance, her
question delivered with schoolteacher reprimand.

"I was just about to," he hissed through
clenched teeth, even though he knew the task was
beyond his ability to move his arm.  Anything to
get her away from him before he thoroughly
humiliated himself by dragging her into the tub
with him.

"Yeah, right," she snorted.  His eyes flew open
and he saw her smile as she walked forward in
her bare feet through the water on the floor. 
"Can you sit up?"

"Julia, watch the water," he cried, seriously
taxing his voice until the last word came out in
a hoarse croak.

She took her time, reaching up to the shelf on
the wall behind his head.  "I'm being careful,
Slick."

He cringed at the awful nickname she'd bestowed
upon him as he sat up, trying to fold in two to
hide his growing arousal from her.  If he hadn't
just worn out his voice on his alarmed near-
shout, he would have told her that he hated when
she called him that.  No way was he a 'Slick',
not by any means.  Never had been, never would
be.  Certainly not where she was concerned; for
God's sake, it had taken him years to let
himself love her, and then only because of their
dire circumstances.

He heard the splash of water behind him and he
tensed, wondering what she was up to.  She
wasn't actually going to wash his hair, was she? 
God help him.

"Gabriel," she breathed, sadness tinging her
voice.

In that instant, he knew she'd seen the lash
marks on his back.  Before, in the dimness of
the outer room, it had been difficult for anyone
to notice the faint red lines.  He hung his head
and started at the feel of her fingers, his body
curling in upon itself.  Don't say anything
else, he pleaded silently.  I don't know if I
could stand your pity once again.  It was bad
enough that his back reacted to the familiar
touch, shivering as if asking for more.

Thankfully, she said nothing more, just cleared
her throat and moved behind him.  The rush of
water over his head made him gasp.  Yes, it
looked like his torture was just beginning.

"Sorry," she murmured.  "I'll warn you next
time, okay?"

Like that would help any, he thought.  No amount
of warning would ease his growing anxiety - just
be cool, he told himself.  Let her do this and
she'll be satisfied.  Once you're out of the
tub, you'll have room to maneuver.

The perfume of the shampoo wafted over him in
the split second before he felt its cold slide
over his scalp.  Then he almost purred at the
touch of her fingers in his wet hair.

Sit still... don't move... breathe.  He had to
admit, he was getting good at calming himself;
his body relaxed into the sphere of her warmth.

Until her hands began to move.  Her short nails
scraped over his skull and the heels of her
palms massaged his curls into a frenzy of sweet-
smelling foam.  Jesus, it felt like he'd died
and gone to heaven.

"Was it... bad?"  Her hesitation drifted over
his shoulder and he tensed, wondering where she
was going with this.  "The invasion.  Was it
that bad?"

He didn't feel like talking about it; to bring
up the horrors as he was trying to control his
physical reaction to her would seriously tax his
emotions.  "Later," he whispered, hoping she
would simply forget to ask later.  Much as he
wanted her to remember him, this was one subject
best put off for as long as possible.

Her hands kept moving through his hair.  "You'll
tell me before you leave, won't you?  Because I
want to know - and no one here will tell me."

"I promise."  If he had his way, she'd remember
on her own.  He didn't want to be the one to
give her those memories, especially since he
hadn't lived through them with her.  His
experience with the invasion began and ended on
an alien ship, oblivious to everything but his
own pain.  Then, living in the lap of luxury
with his father didn't exactly make him an
expert on life after the bees.

What would he tell her, anyway?  He knew what he
*wanted* to tell her.  That he'd been lifeless
until she'd come for him.  That if not for her,
he'd surely have long since been insane or dead.

No, life after the invasion was a subject he'd
avoid as long as possible.  Especially in light
of the fact that the serenity in these mountains
was meant to be undisturbed.  With as little
disruption as possible, he'd get her out of
here.  That's all that mattered.  

Who wanted to think about such things at a time
like this?  He gave himself up to her touch with
a silent sigh, letting all his worries fade for
this precious few minutes.  The gentle scrub of
her hands made his whole body feel like jello
and he found himself leaning to the right, his
eyes closed in the joy of pure sensation.

"Oh!"  A little thump accompanied her
exclamation and his eyes shot open to find her
face inches away from his, her arms practically
encircling his neck.  He started to sit upright,
but she wouldn't give way, saying, "It's okay -
you stay right there.  I just couldn't reach you
any more, so I knelt down."

Her bright, laughing eyes, her lazy smile, the
even more familiar husky timber of her voice...
Gabriel drowned in them and his lips opened to
gulp in air as he sat, mesmerized by her
proximity.  The front of her dress was damp and
the soap bubbles trailed slowly down her
forearms to the cuffs of her shoved-up sleeves,
but she didn't seem bothered by it at all.  In
fact, her smile became broader.

"Gabriel?" she chuckled, her cheeks rosy with
heat from the water and embarrassment.  "You
still with me?"

Shaking off his stupor, he lowered his chin,
feeling like a lovesick fool.  She wasn't
laughing at him, he knew.  Her tender heart
wouldn't allow her to have fun at another's
expense.  Somehow, that made his staring even
worse, because she saw it all in his face and
let it go, when she could have pounced on his
vulnerability.  If the roles were reversed, he
would have done so in a heartbeat, delving into
her as far as he could go.  Which never was too
deep; she always had a knack for repairing any
breach in her armor before he could penetrate.

Had it ever been this difficult for her?  He'd
always considered himself an open book as far as
letting his grief, anger, or happiness show. 
Hell, even though he'd never told her so -
except for the drugged confession in Bermuda,
which didn't count, in his opinion - he always
thought she could see his love for her.  It
wasn't something he made an effort to hide. 
Now, he was finding it a monumental task to keep
it all in.  Sometimes he felt as if he would
explode.  Like now, as she touched him with such
gentleness he thought he would cry.  How the
hell did she ever withstand the need to just let
go?  She was made of much sterner stuff, that
was certain.

"Here goes the rinse again."

He closed his eyes at the warning and sat still
as the warm water washed all traces of soap
away.  Now what?  Did she expect him to get out
of the tub with her watching?

"There.  All finished."

Resisting the urge to shake like a wet dog, he
brought a hand up to wipe the strands of hair
from his face.  The next thing he knew, a towel
was shoved in his face.

"Dry off.  We have work to do."  Up and gone,
she disappeared around the corner of the
bathroom door.

Work?  Did the Colonel give her some sort of
specific instructions to follow?  Gabriel hoped
he hadn't; the less she was involved in their
escape, the better.  Although the real person
behind that soft exterior and those easy smiles
would likely want to know every nuance of the
plan.  But if she already knew too much, he'd
have to acquiesce to her involvement.  He just
hoped it wouldn't overtax her, physically *and*
mentally.

With his weight balanced on his right side, he
gingerly got to his feet and stepped out of the
tub.  It wasn't as difficult as he thought it
was going to be; the hot water had soothed his
muscles and he felt more limber than he had in
days.  He turned to pull the plug on the tub and
almost slipped at the voice behind him, hastily
wrapping the towel around his waist.

"Your clothes," she said, dropping them on the
lid of the toilet.  "They should fit you better,
if I judged the size correctly."  A small,
flirty grin blossomed on her face as her eyes
shifted down, then back up again.  "Nice," she
purred, turning to leave.

Jesus, she was going to kill him yet.  Raising
suddenly pleading eyes to the ceiling, he prayed
to an iffy deity who seemed determined to test
his wavering belief.  Give me strength, his mind
screamed.

He took his time toweling off, listening to her
putter around the main room of the cabin.  What
the hell was she doing?  A thump, then a scrape
of a chair; the sound of water running in the
sink and the clatter of instruments of some kind
in its metal basin - if he didn't know better,
he'd say she was preparing for an operation.

Shit.  He paused in the act of pulling on the
faded denim shirt, realization dawning.

She quickly confirmed his suspicions, her voice
demanding and precise.  "Leave the shirt off,
Gabriel.  You owe me a haircut and a shave."

His mind raced - how to put her off?  Easy. 
Just tell her he didn't have the proper use of
his arm yet to shave or trim his hair.

"And before you come in here and give me that
'I'm injured' look... *I'm* going to do the
honors."



End Chapter Eleven