The Accident

"Why do you hesitate in your duties, Thete?" The young woman in pastel robes was once again in Remy's hotel room, tapping her foot as she stood at the end of his bed. Lavendar hair dangled limply around her face and her longish bangs sheltered her bright sapphire eyes. "This mortal cares nothing of you, only the child that he cannot save. End their suffering for them to heal and move on." Her gaze fell upon Remy's forlorn expression and her brow furrowed in sympathy.

Remy hadn't moved or made any attempt to answer. Instead, he only turned his head to look at her as she had come over and sat down beside him on the side of the bed. He lay there, staring up at the ceiling, in wonder. He thought about all of the befores that came through the centuries. And then he thought about how Logan was now, unwilling to follow the flow of history.

The young woman placed a hand on his chest and softened her gaze to a smile as she spoke next to him. "Do you wish me to aid you?" Round, wet sapphire orbs studied Remy's face more closely now that she sat next to him. "What makes this so hard for you? Clearly, you are not afraid of what jeopardy you place yourself in by disobeying. Do you ache for what was instead of what can be?"

"He may have been mine long ago but, I cannot bring myself to take something from Logan and not make sure he is alright." Finally speaking yet turning away as to avoid persecution, Remy let his hands feel the smooth material of the blanket beneath him. His auburn hair was long enough to fall back onto the crisp white pillow.

She had been watching Remy closely enough but hadn't paid attention to his surrounding patrons. Through the centuries, Remy had been her commitment that she felt obligated to understand everything about. She had been frustrated with him when he was brand new but over the decades and coming to terms with his penance, he had become a favored fixture in her duties. "Come, I would like to ease your troubles, if you will permit?" Standing up and holding out a patient hand for him to take, she waited for him to stand beside her. "We all have a time to part this Earth, Thete. None may decide more or less than when they pass. We must not interfere, only escort our charges to their destination."

"It is not the boy's time." Remy growled under his breath. He stood beside her and reflected on watching Logan in the hospital, with his son.

"You have followed this young man throughout time, wondering if you would be his mate, again. Though, you may believe he cares nothing of you now, what makes you sure he did not care for you as time passed?" With her hand lightly holding his, she traced an invisible circle in front of them with her free hand and both disappeared from the room.

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1428

Two knights jousted in the open field, lances were long and steady as the horses aimed for the other at the end of a far ride. Galliant steads raced towards one another, never slowing as the loud and shrill sound of metal-tipped lances stabbed at the steel breastplates of their heavy riders.

A tall and muscular knight with shined silver armor fell from horseback and landed on his hands and knees in the dirt beside the separation barrier. The loud grunt of anger was buried under the heavy Bascinet helmet as the rider forced himself up to his feet and yanked off the headpiece. But a boy lurked underneath; flawless handsome features of a man of 18, yet hair the length of a maiden-long auburn satin. Brown eyes flared at his opponent as he tossed the helmet to his Page and impatiently waited for his sword. Angry words were shouted to the still mounted and waiting knight. "Get down and fight like a man!"

Unfalteringly, the second knight swung himself down from the horse and slapped it on the ass, sending the steed back to its handler. Removing his helmet and sneering at the brash young knight, the opposer tapped blades to announce his readiness. Black hair, damp by sweat, gleamed in the hot sun light of afternoon. Blue eyes settled calmly on his young opposer. Both taking a fighting stance but the elder letting the younger wear himself out in battle.

With the fight ending in the young knight's mortal wounding, the king had been furious to see his son not use his wound to his advantage but only lie on his back amidst the dirt and stare, panting, at his bester.

"Lie there! Be glad I don't run you through, boy," the older knight snarled and walked away.

Much later that night, a knock on the young knight's door shook him awake and out of bed. Padding over to the door as he held his bandaged left shoulder, he opened it to find his lover -the older knight- cleaned up and awaiting entry. He smiled and was instantly scooped up in an embrace that carried him from the closing door back to the feather bed.

1564

Two gondoliers pass each other under the Ponte Cestius, in Rome. One stopped while the other continued with its fare. Auburn hair whipped wildly in the early morning breeze. The man of 20 turned to look for prying eyes but found none other than his adoring fare the lounged at the other end of the gondola.

The royal fare waved the man over and smiled as he patted the cushion next to him.

Obeying his royal request, the young man laid down and was immediately covered by the older, charismatic visiting king. Divesting both men's clothes, the king covered them in his heavy, purple robe and made mad, silly love to the young tour guide. Kisses splayed and wet promises dripped huskily into ears before both screamed out in heat, claiming their love for one another.

As they dressed, the king smoothed his black hair and replaced his yellow tunic and aqua pants while the young laborer sat hidden under the robe, watching. "Take me with you, Majesty." Peering eyes stared adoringly from under the robe. "Each time you visit is too far between." Silky soft voice caressed the chilly morning air. He hadn't moved to dress but waited for the king to turn back to face him.

"No." Came the gruff reply.

The young man sighed and accepted his position of lower stature.
Finally, the king turned and gingerly reached out for a kiss. "My queen has taken ill, as of late. She has become more suspicious of me."

A sullen nod. Downcast eyes.

Another soft kiss. "I will come for you, soon."

1730- Scotland. A lazy, high society coach makes its way through the tall trees of Muckairn Woods. The early morning Spring sun spilled its gold down into the mossy green forest. Two young men sat inside the coach, on either side, grinning coyly at one another. The coach hobbled along down the dirt path and with each bump and jolt, the smiles became wider and more playful.

1816- Paris. Two men snuggling in a small hotel room, in front of the fireplace that roared with heat. The night had been so dark and cold but the room was warm and breathing with lust and passion. While the winter blizzard ravaged the town outside, the mad passion of the two plain gentlemen rushed against the shores of their bodies on the bearskin rug, in front of the fire.

1945- Iwo Jima. Different uniforms pressed together, hidden in a deep foxhole that had been abandoned by American forces. As bullets flew and canons burst with loud, deafening noises, two soldiers told their stories of back-home girlfriends and pending families, knowing this would be their last comfort. Tanks roared by as bombers screamed across the evening sky. The bodies and souls under the different uniforms became one, each telling of love for the other man while destruction closed in on their bliss.

When the dust of gunfire and dirt cleared from the trench, the two interwoven bodies lay there, peacefully. The dark-haired man had been shot a number of times while the auburn-haired beauty beneath him had only one, between the eyes. Seeing his new love fall without even a round fired, himself, the dark-haired man had gone into frenzied movements.

The enemy had surrounded the foxhole and fired unwavingly into it.
Weapon jammed, body punctured and leaking red, he fell forward and crawled his way back to his love. Climbing atop, as if to protect him in death. Brown eyes had been kept open, head turned to the side, waiting for the last kiss from the blue-eyed man before joining the other in death. Their eyes met and a kiss with a last breath.

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Their final stop was in the bathroom of Logan's apartment. Logan was in the shower, washing away the tensions of the day. He pounded on the walls with his fists and cursed under his breath of situations that had played on over the days. Growling to himself and nearly tearing apart the washcloth, as he grabbed it from the shelf behind him, Logan reached for the soap bottle and clutched it so hard there was little force behind placing the liquid on the cloth.

They stood there, in the middle of the room, and watched through the glazed glass door as the man soaped and scowered himself until blood came from the harsh texture of the yellow sponge.

Logan knelt in his small stall, next to the bathtub, closing his eyes and letting the hot water pour down over him. He sat there, soaping his body and paying more attention to his genitals than the rest of his lower half. Panting and stroking and soaping and panting and tensing before whispering Remy's name. Tears came as he stroked harder out of frustration and need than lust. The name he repeated out of tenderness and passion as if carrying a conversation of the name with the water of the shower.

As Logan reached up and turned the water cold, he sighed a low whisper of apology to his somewhat absent foe. The tears came freely and more heavy as he stood up and turned his face towards the spray. The days of tension and anger and worry drained from his body as the hot water cooled to a chill. Hands gripped the walls to the side and in front for support but his head hung in merciless shame until his body was shivering from the cold spray.

Sapphire eyes looked on with sadness. "Do you truly believe he does not want or need you in this lifetime? Are you certain he would die himself to keep his child alive?" She hadn't needed to turn around to see the red glow dim amongst the blackness of his eyes. Her own life of the Egyptian royalty had been plagued with shame and betrayal so, it had been no wonder that instead of outright reprimanding him, she took interest in letting him deal with his past.

"The boy should not die for Logan to bury."

Her head turned to stare at him. "However, you wish to be the one he lays next to at night. His small village casted out a poor, wandering young man and sent your love to the firey depths, didn't they? It was your soul that chose your path, after that. When I came to you, on that night, I saw what this very day brought." She turned back to Logan, who had turned off the water, opened the door to grab his cheery yellow towel and began to dry himself off.

Remy now turned to her and waited for the finishing statement. "What is the answer?"

"I cannot tell you."

"Why not?"

With a wave of her hand, Logan and his bathroom had disappeared and had been replaced with complete blackness. She now stood before him, expressionless. "That is for you to decide." A blink and a soft smile left him back in his motel room, alone.

To be continued....