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seren_ccdTitle: Swimming in December
Fandom: Teeth, Claws and Guinness
Ship: Various pairings
Word Count: 5,703
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: They are, well, actually, these guys are mine. All of them. The title and lyrics are from the song We are the People by Empire of the Mind.
There is an excerpt taken from the book Fairies by Brian Froud. I highly recommend this book to everyone!
A/N: Here is the second part of my original fic. It would probably help if you read these two snippets first: here and here. The lovely and amazing![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
fringedweller beta'd this monster. Thank you for helping me Welsh-ify this thing!
Summary: Evan is beginning to learn all about the village. Including just how Hannah came to own the Sheep and Crow.
Previously
“Well,” Dr. Carson said putting his stethoscope behind his neck. “You’re really very healthy.”
Evan nodded from his position on the exam table. As per Hannah’s suggestion, he was visiting the local doctor, Mark Carson, for a check-up.
“He’s had to deal with extreme cases before,” she’d said. “Just go see him. He won’t judge.”
And he hadn’t. If anything, his enthusiasm was a bit on the too interested side for Evan’s tastes. After their initial meeting, Dr. Carson had advised Evan to come back for a proper physical.
Evan had woken early from odd dreams. Dreams where the sea spoke to him and the moon taunted him with its full brightness. He woke feeling off balance and blamed it on the journal lying on the bed next to him.
He stumbled through his morning coffee and, with a groan, headed over to the surgery for his morning appointment.
“Your heart rate is excellent, BP is spot on,” Carson continued. “You’ve not an ounce of fat on you.”
“Yeah,” Evan said rubbing a hand on his chin and wincing when he felt the stubble that seemed to grow back an hour after shaving. “That happened after my first, ah...”
“Change?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, that’s to be expected,” Carson said taking a seat on a small stool, holding his notepad. “Your body has to expend a lot of energy to transform from one shape to another. It’s easier to make changes with less mass than it would with more. Can you tell me, if you know that is, what type of wolf you change into?”
Evan furrowed his brow.
Carson elaborated. “Like is it more American Werewolf in London or The Wolf-Man or Ladyhawke?”
“Well,” Evan said slowly. “The actual transformation is the pain and grotesqueness of American Werewolf in London, but I think the end result is more like Ladyhawke.”
“So you aren’t bi-pedal, like Lon Chaney, you’re on all fours?”
Evan thought back to his last transformation and distinctly remembered the feeling of running through woods, the smell of wet leaves and dirt as his paws touched the ground.
“Definitely on all fours,” he said firmly. “No Lon Chaney in sight.”
“Hmm.” Carson made a note. “How many, ah, moons, have you been through?”
“Three.”
Carson looked up. “So, it was a recent attack?"
Evan felt the phantom teeth tear into his shoulder and he nodded with a clenched jaw.
“Right,” Carson said. “Well, I have to say, this is all very interesting. And exciting. I mean, we’ve got folks in the village who are, shall we say, multi-faceted, but no one does full on transformations. I’d like to draw some blood and let my colleague Dr. Kelly, run some tests.”
“O-kay,” Evan said. “But, look, I don’t want to turn into some kind of guinea pig. No locking me up in labs or trying out weird crap on me.”
“Of course not,” Dr. Carson said looking horrified. “That’s unspeakable stuff. We’d never treat you that way. If only for the sole reason that I’d rather not have Hannah MacNeil come after me. I like all my limbs where they are, thank you very much.”
Evan chuckled and pulled his shirt back on.
“What are you planning on doing for your next transformation?” Carson asked. “Where will you go?”
“Hannah said something about the woods behind her house,” Evan said. “They stretch all the way to the mountains. It’s as good a place as any, I suppose.”
“Well, we do have a room here,” Carson said. “It locks well. If you ever need someplace in a hurry.”
Evan thought for a moment, but shook his head. “I think I’ll take my chances alone in the woods.”
“Fair enough. How do you feel the next day?”
“Like all my muscles and bones have been rearranged and my inner organs relocated,” Evan said bluntly.
“Well, I imagine that would be the answer,” Carson said with a shake of his head. “There’s a fella in town that can change aspects of his appearance. He’s told me that a massage the day after does a world of good.”
“This wouldn’t be Stev? The fishmonger?” Evan asked.
“It would indeed,” Carson said. “You’ve met him?”
“He’s a new client and I hear he’s close to Hannah’s family,” Evan replied.
Carson studied Evan. “You’ve been reading up on the Reeses, haven’t you? No, no,” he said when Evan tried to protest, “I think it’s a grand idea. This is a peaceful village, but it’s got it’s fair share of sadness and mystery. Better to know what you’re getting yourself into. Anyway, you should ask Hannah to help out. I think she took a course once on massages when she was travelling.”
Evan felt himself flush. “I don’t... I mean, we aren’t... She’s just a mate.”
Carson gave him a smirk. “Interesting choice of word there. But, I was suggesting it for her as much as for you. She likes helping people. She gets that from her uncle.”
“Bryn?”
“Oh no, her blood uncle, Donovan,” Carson said. He smiled sadly. “Good man.”
“What happened to him?” Evan asked.
Carson opened his mouth to answer and then closed it. He looked away, out the window and finally said, “Sometimes, things just fall.”
Evan left the surgery and squinted in the bright sunlight. He wandered over to a park bench situated next to a birch tree. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. His mind catalogued all the scents: the bakery a few doors down, the exhaust from the diesel powered lorry, the damp earth beneath the bench, the traces of disinfectant from the surgery. He turned his face into the sun and closed his eyes.
Then he pulled out the journal from his bag and started to read.
Gwendi's Story
Gwendi was a quiet child. She’d look about her and take in everything that passed before her eyes. The night her mother left and her father left her in her uncle Bryn’s care, she fretted the entire night, letting out tiny whimpers and cries.
When her father stumbled in the door, his trousers soaked and his eyes red from crying, his voice hoarse from yelling, he took Gwendi into his arms and rocked her back and forth. She quieted immediately.
And that was how things were for the majority of the first part of her life: her father holding her, caring for her while she just observed. Observed and waited.
Collen would take her to the pub with him and she'd lie happily in her little playpen watching the bustle of the people and widening her big eyes when the lads got a bit too rowdy. Her Uncle Bryn always made her chortle when he made faces at her behind the pint and wine glasses.
When she turned old enough to attend nursery school, she held tightly to her dad’s hand all the way to the little blue building with the big yard and the two sets of swings.
They both stopped across the street and watched the other parents drop their children off and those said children run and yell in the playground. Gwendi frowned. Collen noticed.
He crouched down in front of her. “You don’t have to go, cariad. It’s okay if you don’t want to.”
Gwendi nodded with a seriousness that belied her five years of age. Then she said, “I hear they have books, dad.”
“I heard that too,” he said. “I also heard they have paints and felt-tip pens.”
“Glitter?”
“Quite possibly.”
Gwendi took a deep breath. “I think I’ll give it a try. I like books and paint.”
“That’s my girl.”
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“Will you be okay while I’m here? I don’t want you to get lonely.”
Collen smiled. “Well, it just so happens that today is inventory day. Your uncle Bryn is helping and you know how he gets when no one is there to make sure he counts things correctly.”
“He is pretty silly,” Gwendi said. “You had better keep an eye on him.”
Collen laughed and tweaked her nose making her giggle. Then he took her hand in his once again and walked across the street to the school.
It turned out that they did have glitter. In all different colours, as evidenced by the state of Gwendi’s shirt when Collen came to pick her up. They were still finding the tiny pixels of metal a week later whenever Collen washed her hair.
Nursery school was officially declared ‘fun’.
Gwendi made friends easily, with her sweet smile and easy-going nature. If, sometimes, she’d tilt her head to the side as if she was listening to something only she could hear... Well, that was hardly a defect in her personality. Considering how little George Baker ate glue. Bottle and all.
Gwendi grew older and the bond between her and her dad grew stronger. He took her fishing and hiking, she knew every good spot on the river and the wood behind her house was her playground.
When she was seven, she was taken to the library with her other schoolmates. Now, next to her woodland, Gwendi had a new favourite place. She’d come home loaded down with books on everything. Nights in the busy pub faded away to background murmurings when she opened a book as she’d disappear into the story.
One day, when she was ten, she found a book of folk tales. When her friend, Portia Smythe who had recently discovered she had the uncanny ability to move things with her mind, came over to visit, Portia showed Gwendi how she could flip through the pages of the book.
“See?” Portia said happily as the two little girls stared at the book laid out on the floor, pages turning merrily. “I just squint and they move!”
“Wow!” Gwendi said. “Can you move the book itself?”
“No. I can’t move anything that weighs over a hundred grams,” she said with a pout. “We measured it last night.”
The pages continued to leaf until Portia blinked and they stopped. Portia frowned at the picture on the page.. “Hey! It’s got your eyes.” She pointed at the creature drawn sitting on a rock.
“What?” Gwendi leaned forward and sure enough, the creature had large, round dark brown eyes not dissimilar to Gwendi’s. She read the blurb beneath the picture out loud.
“The seas around Orkney and Shetland harbour the shy Selkies or Seal-Faeries (known as the Roane in Ireland). A female Selkie is able to discard her seal skin and come ashore as a beautiful maiden. If a human can capture His skin, the selkie can be forced to become a fine, if wistful, wife. However, should she ever find her skin she immediately returns to the sea, leaving the husband to pine and die. The males raise storms and upturn boats to avenge the indiscriminate slaughter of the seals.”
“Weird,” Portia said who was trying to levitate a stuffed pig. “Maybe you’re part selkie. You’re really good at swimming, right?”
“Yeah, I am,” Gwendi said softly. She picked the book up and sat it on her lap. Her index finger traced the hair of the creature in the book and wondered. She really was good at swimming. Her father took her to the old quarry and she’d taken to it like the proverbial duck to water.
However, when the other kids were off to nearby Llandudno to see the sea and walk the prom and eat ice cream, Gwendi never went. Oh, her father was never cruel about it, but would simply say:
“Why do you want to go to some old kiss-me-quick town? Why don’t we give ourselves a challenge and try to climb Mt. Snowden?”
Gwendi would smile and run to find her hiking boots.
But on the bus ride into the mountains, she’d catch the slightest glimpse of the silvery blue of the sea and something in her chest would ache and salty tears sprang to her eyes.
She’d have turn and bury her face into her dad’s arm. He’d hold her tight and hum old songs.
Gwendi never showed the book to her father.
When she was sixteen, her father had a heart attack. One minute, they were quietly making dinner before he headed back to the pub, the next thing Gwendi knew, he was grabbing at his arm and sinking to the floor, his face contorted in pain.
“Dad!” She ran to him and held him close. “Dad?”
“Call Paul,” he managed to say between gritted teeth. Gwendi nodded and left him only to grab the phone and dial the doctor’s number. She went back to her father, letting the phone cord stretch across the kitchen. She took his hand and pressed her head to his while she talked to the doctor.
That was how Drs. Carter, father and son, found them when they arrived: Gwendi curled around her father, the phone lying on the floor next to them.
Collen was lucky.
At least that was what the Drs. Carter kept saying to him and Gwendi. Lucky that it hadn’t been a serious heart attack. And if he took care of himself, didn’t work too hard and ate well, he would continue to be lucky.
Gwendi took this very seriously. She started helping out at the pub every night, except for Wednesdays when she sang with the chorale. Bryn showed her how to make mixed drinks and her father showed her how to reload the kegs.
In the spring of her twentieth year, Collen decided the pub needed a bit of remodelling done. The front facade was looking a bit shabby and the back storage area needed a complete overhaul.
“You could get Old Mike to do it,” Stev said one night over his evening pint with Collen and Bryn. “He’d be glad to come out of his retirement for you.”
“And then he’d be glad to pitch over sideways picking up a piece of timber,” Bryn said.
“I was thinking of taking a crack at some of it myself,” Collen said.
“No, you bloody will not,” Gwendi called out from behind the bar. “If I even see you raise a hammer, I’ll never cook for you again.”
“Now, Gwens, that’s a bit harsh,” Bryn said with the beginnings of a smirk on his face. “Speaking to your old dad like that.”
“And I’ll cut the two of you off and only serve you cider,” Gwendi said pointing to Bryn and Stev, “if I see you encouraging him.”
All three men winced.
“I wasn’t serious, cariad.”
“Your wish is my command, dear niece.”
“Wouldn’t think of it, Gwendi.”
They all sat contemplating their pints while Gwendi served the other customers.
“Ah well, this is Cwm Alaw, Coll,” Stev said. “Someone’ll just turn up.”
Someone did.
His name was Donovan MacNeil and the first thing that Gwendi noticed about him was his height. Six foot even, but he seemed so much larger. Clearly from Scotland, his brogue was easy and friendly, his eyes kind and his laugh unrestrained and free. He was twenty-six and the way he told it, he’d left Edinburgh looking for something different and after a few wrongs turns ended up in Cwm Alaw. When asked what he did for a living, the answer was:
“Construction. Joinery and woodwork, mostly. But, I can do just about anything, including re-wiring. Why? Someone need something fixed?”
Collen liked him. The two men got on right from the start. Don looked over the sections of the pub Collen wanted to remodel and made some suggestions and gave him a price. Collen agreed and threw in lodging in the room above the pub, which Don said he’d be happy to fix up. Within a week, Don found himself a crew made up of local boys and got to work.
He was nice.
He was good with his hands.
He was very handsome.
He made Gwendi very, very nervous.
It wasn’t that she didn’t like him. She did. It was wonderful to see a complete stranger take the time to fall in love with the Sheep and Crow like her family did.
During the day, when Don was working, Gwendi would be behind the bar, cleaning or taking inventory or placing orders and she’d watch him. She’d watch his hands as they leveled the planks of timber. His fingers would trace the edges and then he’d curl them around and lift the board to hold it in place, the muscles on his forearms flexing smoothly. By this time, Gwendi’s face would be flushed and she’d leave the room, holding her chilled hands to her cheeks. Sometimes, he’d stop her, calling out a question that she’d do her best to answer without stumbling over her words. He’d nod and listen and give her a smile that lit up his eyes and she’d feel herself heating up from the inside.
“It’s called lust,” Portia told her. “Plain and simple. And you’ve got it bad.”
Gwendi glared at her friend, but the glare was softened by the roundness of Portia’s stomach. She was expecting her first child and she was doing it all on her own while managing her mum’s cafe. No one knew who the father was and Portia wasn’t telling.
“Just jump him,” Portia continued.
“Oh, please,” Gwendi said. “I hardly know him. Plus, I not exactly the ‘jumping’ kind.”
“Well, that’s certainly true,” Portia said getting to her feet to check on her scones. “How long did poor Davy have to wait until you’d let him kiss you?”
“And I regretted it immediately afterwards,” Gwendi said as she helped Portia get the baking sheet out of the oven. “This is different, Portia. This is...more.”
Her friend looked at her and smiled sadly. “In that case, it’s going to be wonderful and amazing and it’s going to hurt like hell.”
Gwendi sighed.
“But first,” Portia said brightening up. “You’ve got to talk to actually talk to the man.”
As it turned out, he came to her. One night before the pub opened, Gwendi was cleaning the sawdust off the tables while Don pulled the drop cloths off the chairs.
“I’m sorry it’s so dusty in here,” he said. “We plan to be finished by the end of the week.”
“It’s not a problem,” she replied, feeling the inevitable blush start on her face. “It looks wonderful already. Dad’s so happy.”
“Well, it’s a grand old building,” Don said laying a hand on a pillar and looking up at the exposed oak beams. “I’ve hardly had to do anything.”
Gwendi watched his hand as it moved over the pillar. She turned away abruptly. “So, where will you go next?”
“Down the road,” Don said. “Mrs. Temple wants me to build her a conservatory. Then Mr. Kepper wants a shed and a garage. I think I might be here for a while.”
She bit her lower lip trying to hold in a grin. “Sounds like you’ve made an impression.”
“Have I?”
The serious tone of his voice made her turn around. He stood in the middle of the room, blue eyes fixed on Gwendi and he looked hopeful and honest and why wasn’t her voice working?
“I... I don’t...” Gwendi tried to speak. She gave an exasperated sigh and just said. “Yes. You have. Made an impression.”
The grin that crossed his face made her grin in return. “I’m glad. That I’ve made an impression. I’d like to make more of one, if I could?” He took s step closer to her.
“And what kind would you like to make?” she asked, taking a step of her own.
“One that involved you and me and a walk or a drive or dinner or anything that let me be alone with you for more than five minutes,” he said, once again moving closer.
“That sounds like a number of impressions to choose from,” she said, meeting him halfway. She could feel the warmth of his body, only inches away. She had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes, he was so much taller. “I think I agree to all of them.”
“‘You think’?” he whispered leaning forward. “Only ‘think’?”
Her heart pounding and her fingers curling into her palms, she said, “Maybe, I know--”
Gwendi was cut off by his lips on hers.
And that was that.
Of course, Don asked Collen ‘permission’ to see his daughter. Permission that after a few moments of quiet blinking was given with a rueful smile.
“I’ve already trusted you with my pub, I imagine I can trust you with my daughter.” This was said with a slightly too firm shake of Don’s hand.
They took it slow. And by slow, this meant hikes in the woods, long talks about nothing and moments spent kissing madly behind buildings which became so heated, Gwendi thought her blood would boil to the surface of her skin. The feel of Don’s mouth on her flesh was intoxicating and she knew she was never going to get enough of it.
One day, he picked her up from her home early in the morning. She hopped into his old van and after a long kiss ‘good morning’, she asked where they were headed.
“Somewhere you’ve never been before,” he said.
It wasn’t until they hit one of the main roads that Gwendi realised they were headed towards the sea. She began to shiver and the old ache in her chest came back.
“Don,” she croaked out.
He turned to her with an anxious expression on his face, his hands still on the wheel. “What? What is it? Are you hurt? Do you need me to pull over?”
Gwendi just shook her head. She could see the water in the distance and she sucked in a breath. Waves were cresting white and the smell of salt filled her nose and stirred her blood.
It called to her.
“Stop the van,” she finally said. Don pulled over immediately, ignoring the honk from the car behind them. Before the van stopped completely, Gwendi opened the door.
She breathed in deeply and finally understood what the pang in her chest truly was.
It was longing. Longing for a world she’d never seen but knew was as much a part of her as the woods behind her house were, as much as her father was. And also as much as the man standing beside her with the warm hands and kind eyes.
“Take me home, Don,” she said at last. “Take me home before it takes me.”
Don searched her face and followed her gaze to the sea. Then he nodded, took her hand and led her back to the van. As they drove off, Gwendi’s breathing evened out and the pain in her chest lessened. She realised that Don was still holding her hand. She looked over at his profile.
Portia was right. It was amazing, it was wonderful and it was going to hurt like hell.
Gwendi lifted his hand and kissed the back of it. He glanced at her and she kissed his hand again, near the top of his wrist. Then she turned his hand over and kissed his palm, the beat of his pulse in his wrist.
With a groan, Don yanked the wheel with his other hand and pulled the van over to a stop under some beech trees next to the crossroads on the outskirts of the village. He violently turned the truck off and reached for Gwendi as she reached for him.
Their kisses were frantic and desperate. She crawled into his lap and straddled him. He pressed kisses down the column of her throat and pulled at her neckline to lave at her collarbone. Her hands dug into his hair, then down to trace the lines of his face, the planes of his chest, to wind up fumbling at the buttons of his jeans. He pushed her skirt up and her underwear to the side and then he was inside her. They groaned into each other’s mouths as they rocked together.
They were married three months later. They had planned to marry a month after the moment in the truck, but Portia went into labour early and Gwendi happily postponed the wedding to help her friend and her new little girl, Elinor, get settled.
It was a quiet ceremony in the garden behind the house Gwendi grew up in. Don’s younger brother by one year, Malcolm and his wife, Erin came to the wedding. Erin was expecting and was happy to talk to Portia about the trials of a newborn and happily held little Elinor while Portia served as Gwendi’s maid of honour.
As the music started, Don and Malcolm stood up at the base of an oak tree next to the minister. Malcolm glanced at Don’s face. He grinned.
“Never seen you look like this, big brother,” he said.
“Never felt like this, little brother,” Don said staring dazedly as Gwendi started walk down the aisle on Collen’s arm. Malcolm clapped a hand on his shoulder and smiled at his wife who smiled back.
After they were pronounced ‘man and wife’, the audience clapped while Gwendi and Don kissed and tiny green leaves drifted over their heads. Gwendi shot Portia an amused look while the other woman gave her an innocent one in return.
Their honeymoon was spent in a cabin in the Brecon Beacons in which they never left the bedroom.
When they came back, they discovered that Collen had moved in with his brother and left the house to Gwendi and Don. However, he still came over every Sunday morning for a proper fry-up and worked behind the bar with Gwendi.
However, as willing as his mind was to keep going, his heart was not.
One night in the midst of reaching for a pint glass, he collapsed. Gwendi rushed to him instantly, Bryn by her side while Don called the doctor.
Collen smiled his daughter and raised his hand to touch her cheek. “My Gwendi. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, cariad. I love you--so much.”
Gwendi pressed her lips to his forehead and as her first tear fell, Collen slipped away.
The years passed quietly. Gwendi and Don were still very much in love, the pub was doing well, as was Don’s construction business. Uncle Bryn still made the best cocktails in the village, Portia’s little Elinor was fact becoming a charmer and as quick-tongued as her mother and Stev continued to let out his feathers.
Six years to the day they married, Gwendi woke up with a strange feeling. She glanced at Don sleeping peacefully beside her, mouth open and snoring loud enough to wake the dead; she nudged him to his side. He turned and the room fell silent. Still feeling odd, Gwendi got out of bed and wandered about the house. She walked into the room that Don had added on two springs prior. Gwendi let her hand trace the carved mouldings in the window seat and frowned. They had tried to get pregnant and things just hadn’t aligned, but somehow as Gwendi stood in the room, she knew there would be a child sleeping in it by the autumn.
Two weeks later they got the call saying Don’s brother Malcolm and wife Erin had been killed in a car accident. A drunk driver had hit them head on. Hannah, their six-year old daughter, had been left to Don and Gwendi’s care.
Gwendi stayed behind to get things ready for Hannah’s coming, while Don went to Edinburgh to attend the funeral and pack up the house there.
One Saturday in September, Don pulled into the drive with Hannah in the front seat. Hannah clutched Bill the Bear and let Don open the car door for her. She slid out of the car and looked around at the house in front of her. Her Gwendi came out of the front door and gave her a small sad smile. Something in Hannah cracked and she suddenly ran across the yard straight into Gwendi’s arms.
Gwendi scooped her up and sat down, right there on the wooden porch steps and held her tight. Bill is squished under Hannah’s chin and her little hands flexed convulsively at the bear and Gwendi’s shirt. She cried, loud, pitiful sounds while Gwendi murmured things into the top of her head in Welsh. Don walked up the steps and sat down on the other side of Gwendi and eventually, his arms surrounded both his wife and his niece. They clutched at one another, each connected by their sadness: Hannah for her parents, Gwendi for bereft little one in her arms, the mother she never knew and the father who loved her with all his heart, and Don for his little brother that always wanted to beat him just once racing home from school.
They sat there, on the porch that Don built the previous summer with his bare hands until the sun set and they had cried themselves out.
The next several years were happy ones. Busy ones. Hannah found a fast friend in Elinor and Gwendi and Portia simply shrugged their shoulders at the thought of all the trouble the two little girls were going to create. Hannah took to the pub and the village instantly. Gwendi and Don loved her with everything they had and she gave that love back to them triple fold.
But, nothing lasts forever.
Hannah had just turned sixteen and she and Gwendi were in the pub where Gwendi was showing her how to use the beer engine properly, when Elinor ran inside, tears streaked down her face.
“Don! School! Accident!” was all the girl managed to get out.
Gwendi and Hannah ran the entire way to the old school where Don and his crew had been hired to renovate. Both women let out a cry at the sight of Don on his back, a pile of scaffolding covering his body. They moved to go near him, but were stopped by Dr. Carson, Jr.
“You need to know, there is nothing we can do for him,” he said gently, his own voice shaking. “He’s been pierced too badly. We try to move him and he’ll die. Gwendi - I’m so sorry.”
Gwendi’s face paled and became stony. Hannah swallowed and said, “What? He’s just going to die? What do you mean?” Gwendi took her hand and the two women pressed their foreheads together and tried to draw strength from one another. Then silently, they walked over to where Don lay.
Gwendi dropped to her knees beside him, Hannah behind her. They both took his free hand.
Don opened his eyes and smiled weakly. “My girls. How I love my girls.”
“Shut up, you wretched man,” Gwendi said harshly. “You haven’t finished making an impression on me. How could you let this happen?”
He sighed. “Ah, Gwens. Sometimes things just fall. Like I did for you. Ton of bricks. At your feet.”
“Such a charmer,” Hannah said, her smile tremulous.
“You’ve inherited it, kiddo,” Don said. “Use it wisely, my darling girl.”
“Don,” Gwendi’s voice broke. “I can’t do this.”
“Just stay until she’s grown,” Don said, his eyes dimming and his pulse slowing. “Then go where you’ve got to go. Will you do that?”
Gwendi pulled his hand to her mouth and kissed it. “Yes, yes, please don’t go.”
“Love you. Love my girls,” he said.
And he was gone.
They stayed there, crouched beside Don’s body until the sun set and they were finally pulled away by Bryn and Portia.
Gwendi stayed true to her promise and remained in the village with Hannah. But, she often got a faraway look in her eyes and no longer bothered to smile at anyone save Hannah. She’d tilt her head to the side and breathe deeply. She took to wandering the house and woods at night and it worried Hannah.
Then two weeks after Hannah turned twenty, one night Gwendi went into Hannah’s bedroom while she slept, kissed her niece’s forehead, left a packet of papers on the kitchen table and walked out of the house.
Old Roger Carothers would swear up and down the next day that he saw Gwendi Rees walking barefoot down the road that led to the sea.
To this day, no one has seen or heard from her.
Not even Hannah.
Evan put the journal down and closed his eyes. He was struck with the urge to find Hannah, but honestly had absolutely no idea what to say.
He opened his eyes and looked in the direction of the pub. Smoke was coming from the chimney meaning Hannah or Bryn had lit the fire. Looking closely, he could see where Don’s renovations had taken place. Newer planks of timber lay alongside older pieces, but so seamlessly that if you didn't know they were there you'd miss it. Love and care went into that renovation. He could feel it every time he walked inside.
He turned away from the pub and wondered what to do. As he thought, his stomach growled.
Food, he thought. Go eat something and then figure yourself out.
He stood up and, not even realising it, gave a full body shake. Then he walked in the direction of a cafe that boasted freshly baked scones.
The bell jingled as he walked inside.
Part Three
A/N: I'm so sorry for the angst and the sad bits. I promise the final chapter will be more hopeful! Thank you all for actually reading this!
Fandom: Teeth, Claws and Guinness
Ship: Various pairings
Word Count: 5,703
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: They are, well, actually, these guys are mine. All of them. The title and lyrics are from the song We are the People by Empire of the Mind.
There is an excerpt taken from the book Fairies by Brian Froud. I highly recommend this book to everyone!
A/N: Here is the second part of my original fic. It would probably help if you read these two snippets first: here and here. The lovely and amazing
fringedweller beta'd this monster. Thank you for helping me Welsh-ify this thing! Summary: Evan is beginning to learn all about the village. Including just how Hannah came to own the Sheep and Crow.
Previously
“Well,” Dr. Carson said putting his stethoscope behind his neck. “You’re really very healthy.”
Evan nodded from his position on the exam table. As per Hannah’s suggestion, he was visiting the local doctor, Mark Carson, for a check-up.
“He’s had to deal with extreme cases before,” she’d said. “Just go see him. He won’t judge.”
And he hadn’t. If anything, his enthusiasm was a bit on the too interested side for Evan’s tastes. After their initial meeting, Dr. Carson had advised Evan to come back for a proper physical.
Evan had woken early from odd dreams. Dreams where the sea spoke to him and the moon taunted him with its full brightness. He woke feeling off balance and blamed it on the journal lying on the bed next to him.
He stumbled through his morning coffee and, with a groan, headed over to the surgery for his morning appointment.
“Your heart rate is excellent, BP is spot on,” Carson continued. “You’ve not an ounce of fat on you.”
“Yeah,” Evan said rubbing a hand on his chin and wincing when he felt the stubble that seemed to grow back an hour after shaving. “That happened after my first, ah...”
“Change?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, that’s to be expected,” Carson said taking a seat on a small stool, holding his notepad. “Your body has to expend a lot of energy to transform from one shape to another. It’s easier to make changes with less mass than it would with more. Can you tell me, if you know that is, what type of wolf you change into?”
Evan furrowed his brow.
Carson elaborated. “Like is it more American Werewolf in London or The Wolf-Man or Ladyhawke?”
“Well,” Evan said slowly. “The actual transformation is the pain and grotesqueness of American Werewolf in London, but I think the end result is more like Ladyhawke.”
“So you aren’t bi-pedal, like Lon Chaney, you’re on all fours?”
Evan thought back to his last transformation and distinctly remembered the feeling of running through woods, the smell of wet leaves and dirt as his paws touched the ground.
“Definitely on all fours,” he said firmly. “No Lon Chaney in sight.”
“Hmm.” Carson made a note. “How many, ah, moons, have you been through?”
“Three.”
Carson looked up. “So, it was a recent attack?"
Evan felt the phantom teeth tear into his shoulder and he nodded with a clenched jaw.
“Right,” Carson said. “Well, I have to say, this is all very interesting. And exciting. I mean, we’ve got folks in the village who are, shall we say, multi-faceted, but no one does full on transformations. I’d like to draw some blood and let my colleague Dr. Kelly, run some tests.”
“O-kay,” Evan said. “But, look, I don’t want to turn into some kind of guinea pig. No locking me up in labs or trying out weird crap on me.”
“Of course not,” Dr. Carson said looking horrified. “That’s unspeakable stuff. We’d never treat you that way. If only for the sole reason that I’d rather not have Hannah MacNeil come after me. I like all my limbs where they are, thank you very much.”
Evan chuckled and pulled his shirt back on.
“What are you planning on doing for your next transformation?” Carson asked. “Where will you go?”
“Hannah said something about the woods behind her house,” Evan said. “They stretch all the way to the mountains. It’s as good a place as any, I suppose.”
“Well, we do have a room here,” Carson said. “It locks well. If you ever need someplace in a hurry.”
Evan thought for a moment, but shook his head. “I think I’ll take my chances alone in the woods.”
“Fair enough. How do you feel the next day?”
“Like all my muscles and bones have been rearranged and my inner organs relocated,” Evan said bluntly.
“Well, I imagine that would be the answer,” Carson said with a shake of his head. “There’s a fella in town that can change aspects of his appearance. He’s told me that a massage the day after does a world of good.”
“This wouldn’t be Stev? The fishmonger?” Evan asked.
“It would indeed,” Carson said. “You’ve met him?”
“He’s a new client and I hear he’s close to Hannah’s family,” Evan replied.
Carson studied Evan. “You’ve been reading up on the Reeses, haven’t you? No, no,” he said when Evan tried to protest, “I think it’s a grand idea. This is a peaceful village, but it’s got it’s fair share of sadness and mystery. Better to know what you’re getting yourself into. Anyway, you should ask Hannah to help out. I think she took a course once on massages when she was travelling.”
Evan felt himself flush. “I don’t... I mean, we aren’t... She’s just a mate.”
Carson gave him a smirk. “Interesting choice of word there. But, I was suggesting it for her as much as for you. She likes helping people. She gets that from her uncle.”
“Bryn?”
“Oh no, her blood uncle, Donovan,” Carson said. He smiled sadly. “Good man.”
“What happened to him?” Evan asked.
Carson opened his mouth to answer and then closed it. He looked away, out the window and finally said, “Sometimes, things just fall.”
Evan left the surgery and squinted in the bright sunlight. He wandered over to a park bench situated next to a birch tree. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. His mind catalogued all the scents: the bakery a few doors down, the exhaust from the diesel powered lorry, the damp earth beneath the bench, the traces of disinfectant from the surgery. He turned his face into the sun and closed his eyes.
Then he pulled out the journal from his bag and started to read.
Gwendi's Story
Gwendi was a quiet child. She’d look about her and take in everything that passed before her eyes. The night her mother left and her father left her in her uncle Bryn’s care, she fretted the entire night, letting out tiny whimpers and cries.
When her father stumbled in the door, his trousers soaked and his eyes red from crying, his voice hoarse from yelling, he took Gwendi into his arms and rocked her back and forth. She quieted immediately.
And that was how things were for the majority of the first part of her life: her father holding her, caring for her while she just observed. Observed and waited.
Collen would take her to the pub with him and she'd lie happily in her little playpen watching the bustle of the people and widening her big eyes when the lads got a bit too rowdy. Her Uncle Bryn always made her chortle when he made faces at her behind the pint and wine glasses.
When she turned old enough to attend nursery school, she held tightly to her dad’s hand all the way to the little blue building with the big yard and the two sets of swings.
They both stopped across the street and watched the other parents drop their children off and those said children run and yell in the playground. Gwendi frowned. Collen noticed.
He crouched down in front of her. “You don’t have to go, cariad. It’s okay if you don’t want to.”
Gwendi nodded with a seriousness that belied her five years of age. Then she said, “I hear they have books, dad.”
“I heard that too,” he said. “I also heard they have paints and felt-tip pens.”
“Glitter?”
“Quite possibly.”
Gwendi took a deep breath. “I think I’ll give it a try. I like books and paint.”
“That’s my girl.”
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“Will you be okay while I’m here? I don’t want you to get lonely.”
Collen smiled. “Well, it just so happens that today is inventory day. Your uncle Bryn is helping and you know how he gets when no one is there to make sure he counts things correctly.”
“He is pretty silly,” Gwendi said. “You had better keep an eye on him.”
Collen laughed and tweaked her nose making her giggle. Then he took her hand in his once again and walked across the street to the school.
It turned out that they did have glitter. In all different colours, as evidenced by the state of Gwendi’s shirt when Collen came to pick her up. They were still finding the tiny pixels of metal a week later whenever Collen washed her hair.
Nursery school was officially declared ‘fun’.
Gwendi made friends easily, with her sweet smile and easy-going nature. If, sometimes, she’d tilt her head to the side as if she was listening to something only she could hear... Well, that was hardly a defect in her personality. Considering how little George Baker ate glue. Bottle and all.
Gwendi grew older and the bond between her and her dad grew stronger. He took her fishing and hiking, she knew every good spot on the river and the wood behind her house was her playground.
When she was seven, she was taken to the library with her other schoolmates. Now, next to her woodland, Gwendi had a new favourite place. She’d come home loaded down with books on everything. Nights in the busy pub faded away to background murmurings when she opened a book as she’d disappear into the story.
One day, when she was ten, she found a book of folk tales. When her friend, Portia Smythe who had recently discovered she had the uncanny ability to move things with her mind, came over to visit, Portia showed Gwendi how she could flip through the pages of the book.
“See?” Portia said happily as the two little girls stared at the book laid out on the floor, pages turning merrily. “I just squint and they move!”
“Wow!” Gwendi said. “Can you move the book itself?”
“No. I can’t move anything that weighs over a hundred grams,” she said with a pout. “We measured it last night.”
The pages continued to leaf until Portia blinked and they stopped. Portia frowned at the picture on the page.. “Hey! It’s got your eyes.” She pointed at the creature drawn sitting on a rock.
“What?” Gwendi leaned forward and sure enough, the creature had large, round dark brown eyes not dissimilar to Gwendi’s. She read the blurb beneath the picture out loud.
“The seas around Orkney and Shetland harbour the shy Selkies or Seal-Faeries (known as the Roane in Ireland). A female Selkie is able to discard her seal skin and come ashore as a beautiful maiden. If a human can capture His skin, the selkie can be forced to become a fine, if wistful, wife. However, should she ever find her skin she immediately returns to the sea, leaving the husband to pine and die. The males raise storms and upturn boats to avenge the indiscriminate slaughter of the seals.”
“Weird,” Portia said who was trying to levitate a stuffed pig. “Maybe you’re part selkie. You’re really good at swimming, right?”
“Yeah, I am,” Gwendi said softly. She picked the book up and sat it on her lap. Her index finger traced the hair of the creature in the book and wondered. She really was good at swimming. Her father took her to the old quarry and she’d taken to it like the proverbial duck to water.
However, when the other kids were off to nearby Llandudno to see the sea and walk the prom and eat ice cream, Gwendi never went. Oh, her father was never cruel about it, but would simply say:
“Why do you want to go to some old kiss-me-quick town? Why don’t we give ourselves a challenge and try to climb Mt. Snowden?”
Gwendi would smile and run to find her hiking boots.
But on the bus ride into the mountains, she’d catch the slightest glimpse of the silvery blue of the sea and something in her chest would ache and salty tears sprang to her eyes.
She’d have turn and bury her face into her dad’s arm. He’d hold her tight and hum old songs.
Gwendi never showed the book to her father.
When she was sixteen, her father had a heart attack. One minute, they were quietly making dinner before he headed back to the pub, the next thing Gwendi knew, he was grabbing at his arm and sinking to the floor, his face contorted in pain.
“Dad!” She ran to him and held him close. “Dad?”
“Call Paul,” he managed to say between gritted teeth. Gwendi nodded and left him only to grab the phone and dial the doctor’s number. She went back to her father, letting the phone cord stretch across the kitchen. She took his hand and pressed her head to his while she talked to the doctor.
That was how Drs. Carter, father and son, found them when they arrived: Gwendi curled around her father, the phone lying on the floor next to them.
Collen was lucky.
At least that was what the Drs. Carter kept saying to him and Gwendi. Lucky that it hadn’t been a serious heart attack. And if he took care of himself, didn’t work too hard and ate well, he would continue to be lucky.
Gwendi took this very seriously. She started helping out at the pub every night, except for Wednesdays when she sang with the chorale. Bryn showed her how to make mixed drinks and her father showed her how to reload the kegs.
In the spring of her twentieth year, Collen decided the pub needed a bit of remodelling done. The front facade was looking a bit shabby and the back storage area needed a complete overhaul.
“You could get Old Mike to do it,” Stev said one night over his evening pint with Collen and Bryn. “He’d be glad to come out of his retirement for you.”
“And then he’d be glad to pitch over sideways picking up a piece of timber,” Bryn said.
“I was thinking of taking a crack at some of it myself,” Collen said.
“No, you bloody will not,” Gwendi called out from behind the bar. “If I even see you raise a hammer, I’ll never cook for you again.”
“Now, Gwens, that’s a bit harsh,” Bryn said with the beginnings of a smirk on his face. “Speaking to your old dad like that.”
“And I’ll cut the two of you off and only serve you cider,” Gwendi said pointing to Bryn and Stev, “if I see you encouraging him.”
All three men winced.
“I wasn’t serious, cariad.”
“Your wish is my command, dear niece.”
“Wouldn’t think of it, Gwendi.”
They all sat contemplating their pints while Gwendi served the other customers.
“Ah well, this is Cwm Alaw, Coll,” Stev said. “Someone’ll just turn up.”
Someone did.
His name was Donovan MacNeil and the first thing that Gwendi noticed about him was his height. Six foot even, but he seemed so much larger. Clearly from Scotland, his brogue was easy and friendly, his eyes kind and his laugh unrestrained and free. He was twenty-six and the way he told it, he’d left Edinburgh looking for something different and after a few wrongs turns ended up in Cwm Alaw. When asked what he did for a living, the answer was:
“Construction. Joinery and woodwork, mostly. But, I can do just about anything, including re-wiring. Why? Someone need something fixed?”
Collen liked him. The two men got on right from the start. Don looked over the sections of the pub Collen wanted to remodel and made some suggestions and gave him a price. Collen agreed and threw in lodging in the room above the pub, which Don said he’d be happy to fix up. Within a week, Don found himself a crew made up of local boys and got to work.
He was nice.
He was good with his hands.
He was very handsome.
He made Gwendi very, very nervous.
It wasn’t that she didn’t like him. She did. It was wonderful to see a complete stranger take the time to fall in love with the Sheep and Crow like her family did.
During the day, when Don was working, Gwendi would be behind the bar, cleaning or taking inventory or placing orders and she’d watch him. She’d watch his hands as they leveled the planks of timber. His fingers would trace the edges and then he’d curl them around and lift the board to hold it in place, the muscles on his forearms flexing smoothly. By this time, Gwendi’s face would be flushed and she’d leave the room, holding her chilled hands to her cheeks. Sometimes, he’d stop her, calling out a question that she’d do her best to answer without stumbling over her words. He’d nod and listen and give her a smile that lit up his eyes and she’d feel herself heating up from the inside.
“It’s called lust,” Portia told her. “Plain and simple. And you’ve got it bad.”
Gwendi glared at her friend, but the glare was softened by the roundness of Portia’s stomach. She was expecting her first child and she was doing it all on her own while managing her mum’s cafe. No one knew who the father was and Portia wasn’t telling.
“Just jump him,” Portia continued.
“Oh, please,” Gwendi said. “I hardly know him. Plus, I not exactly the ‘jumping’ kind.”
“Well, that’s certainly true,” Portia said getting to her feet to check on her scones. “How long did poor Davy have to wait until you’d let him kiss you?”
“And I regretted it immediately afterwards,” Gwendi said as she helped Portia get the baking sheet out of the oven. “This is different, Portia. This is...more.”
Her friend looked at her and smiled sadly. “In that case, it’s going to be wonderful and amazing and it’s going to hurt like hell.”
Gwendi sighed.
“But first,” Portia said brightening up. “You’ve got to talk to actually talk to the man.”
As it turned out, he came to her. One night before the pub opened, Gwendi was cleaning the sawdust off the tables while Don pulled the drop cloths off the chairs.
“I’m sorry it’s so dusty in here,” he said. “We plan to be finished by the end of the week.”
“It’s not a problem,” she replied, feeling the inevitable blush start on her face. “It looks wonderful already. Dad’s so happy.”
“Well, it’s a grand old building,” Don said laying a hand on a pillar and looking up at the exposed oak beams. “I’ve hardly had to do anything.”
Gwendi watched his hand as it moved over the pillar. She turned away abruptly. “So, where will you go next?”
“Down the road,” Don said. “Mrs. Temple wants me to build her a conservatory. Then Mr. Kepper wants a shed and a garage. I think I might be here for a while.”
She bit her lower lip trying to hold in a grin. “Sounds like you’ve made an impression.”
“Have I?”
The serious tone of his voice made her turn around. He stood in the middle of the room, blue eyes fixed on Gwendi and he looked hopeful and honest and why wasn’t her voice working?
“I... I don’t...” Gwendi tried to speak. She gave an exasperated sigh and just said. “Yes. You have. Made an impression.”
The grin that crossed his face made her grin in return. “I’m glad. That I’ve made an impression. I’d like to make more of one, if I could?” He took s step closer to her.
“And what kind would you like to make?” she asked, taking a step of her own.
“One that involved you and me and a walk or a drive or dinner or anything that let me be alone with you for more than five minutes,” he said, once again moving closer.
“That sounds like a number of impressions to choose from,” she said, meeting him halfway. She could feel the warmth of his body, only inches away. She had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes, he was so much taller. “I think I agree to all of them.”
“‘You think’?” he whispered leaning forward. “Only ‘think’?”
Her heart pounding and her fingers curling into her palms, she said, “Maybe, I know--”
Gwendi was cut off by his lips on hers.
And that was that.
Of course, Don asked Collen ‘permission’ to see his daughter. Permission that after a few moments of quiet blinking was given with a rueful smile.
“I’ve already trusted you with my pub, I imagine I can trust you with my daughter.” This was said with a slightly too firm shake of Don’s hand.
They took it slow. And by slow, this meant hikes in the woods, long talks about nothing and moments spent kissing madly behind buildings which became so heated, Gwendi thought her blood would boil to the surface of her skin. The feel of Don’s mouth on her flesh was intoxicating and she knew she was never going to get enough of it.
One day, he picked her up from her home early in the morning. She hopped into his old van and after a long kiss ‘good morning’, she asked where they were headed.
“Somewhere you’ve never been before,” he said.
It wasn’t until they hit one of the main roads that Gwendi realised they were headed towards the sea. She began to shiver and the old ache in her chest came back.
“Don,” she croaked out.
He turned to her with an anxious expression on his face, his hands still on the wheel. “What? What is it? Are you hurt? Do you need me to pull over?”
Gwendi just shook her head. She could see the water in the distance and she sucked in a breath. Waves were cresting white and the smell of salt filled her nose and stirred her blood.
It called to her.
“Stop the van,” she finally said. Don pulled over immediately, ignoring the honk from the car behind them. Before the van stopped completely, Gwendi opened the door.
She breathed in deeply and finally understood what the pang in her chest truly was.
It was longing. Longing for a world she’d never seen but knew was as much a part of her as the woods behind her house were, as much as her father was. And also as much as the man standing beside her with the warm hands and kind eyes.
“Take me home, Don,” she said at last. “Take me home before it takes me.”
Don searched her face and followed her gaze to the sea. Then he nodded, took her hand and led her back to the van. As they drove off, Gwendi’s breathing evened out and the pain in her chest lessened. She realised that Don was still holding her hand. She looked over at his profile.
Portia was right. It was amazing, it was wonderful and it was going to hurt like hell.
Gwendi lifted his hand and kissed the back of it. He glanced at her and she kissed his hand again, near the top of his wrist. Then she turned his hand over and kissed his palm, the beat of his pulse in his wrist.
With a groan, Don yanked the wheel with his other hand and pulled the van over to a stop under some beech trees next to the crossroads on the outskirts of the village. He violently turned the truck off and reached for Gwendi as she reached for him.
Their kisses were frantic and desperate. She crawled into his lap and straddled him. He pressed kisses down the column of her throat and pulled at her neckline to lave at her collarbone. Her hands dug into his hair, then down to trace the lines of his face, the planes of his chest, to wind up fumbling at the buttons of his jeans. He pushed her skirt up and her underwear to the side and then he was inside her. They groaned into each other’s mouths as they rocked together.
They were married three months later. They had planned to marry a month after the moment in the truck, but Portia went into labour early and Gwendi happily postponed the wedding to help her friend and her new little girl, Elinor, get settled.
It was a quiet ceremony in the garden behind the house Gwendi grew up in. Don’s younger brother by one year, Malcolm and his wife, Erin came to the wedding. Erin was expecting and was happy to talk to Portia about the trials of a newborn and happily held little Elinor while Portia served as Gwendi’s maid of honour.
As the music started, Don and Malcolm stood up at the base of an oak tree next to the minister. Malcolm glanced at Don’s face. He grinned.
“Never seen you look like this, big brother,” he said.
“Never felt like this, little brother,” Don said staring dazedly as Gwendi started walk down the aisle on Collen’s arm. Malcolm clapped a hand on his shoulder and smiled at his wife who smiled back.
After they were pronounced ‘man and wife’, the audience clapped while Gwendi and Don kissed and tiny green leaves drifted over their heads. Gwendi shot Portia an amused look while the other woman gave her an innocent one in return.
Their honeymoon was spent in a cabin in the Brecon Beacons in which they never left the bedroom.
When they came back, they discovered that Collen had moved in with his brother and left the house to Gwendi and Don. However, he still came over every Sunday morning for a proper fry-up and worked behind the bar with Gwendi.
However, as willing as his mind was to keep going, his heart was not.
One night in the midst of reaching for a pint glass, he collapsed. Gwendi rushed to him instantly, Bryn by her side while Don called the doctor.
Collen smiled his daughter and raised his hand to touch her cheek. “My Gwendi. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, cariad. I love you--so much.”
Gwendi pressed her lips to his forehead and as her first tear fell, Collen slipped away.
The years passed quietly. Gwendi and Don were still very much in love, the pub was doing well, as was Don’s construction business. Uncle Bryn still made the best cocktails in the village, Portia’s little Elinor was fact becoming a charmer and as quick-tongued as her mother and Stev continued to let out his feathers.
Six years to the day they married, Gwendi woke up with a strange feeling. She glanced at Don sleeping peacefully beside her, mouth open and snoring loud enough to wake the dead; she nudged him to his side. He turned and the room fell silent. Still feeling odd, Gwendi got out of bed and wandered about the house. She walked into the room that Don had added on two springs prior. Gwendi let her hand trace the carved mouldings in the window seat and frowned. They had tried to get pregnant and things just hadn’t aligned, but somehow as Gwendi stood in the room, she knew there would be a child sleeping in it by the autumn.
Two weeks later they got the call saying Don’s brother Malcolm and wife Erin had been killed in a car accident. A drunk driver had hit them head on. Hannah, their six-year old daughter, had been left to Don and Gwendi’s care.
Gwendi stayed behind to get things ready for Hannah’s coming, while Don went to Edinburgh to attend the funeral and pack up the house there.
One Saturday in September, Don pulled into the drive with Hannah in the front seat. Hannah clutched Bill the Bear and let Don open the car door for her. She slid out of the car and looked around at the house in front of her. Her Gwendi came out of the front door and gave her a small sad smile. Something in Hannah cracked and she suddenly ran across the yard straight into Gwendi’s arms.
Gwendi scooped her up and sat down, right there on the wooden porch steps and held her tight. Bill is squished under Hannah’s chin and her little hands flexed convulsively at the bear and Gwendi’s shirt. She cried, loud, pitiful sounds while Gwendi murmured things into the top of her head in Welsh. Don walked up the steps and sat down on the other side of Gwendi and eventually, his arms surrounded both his wife and his niece. They clutched at one another, each connected by their sadness: Hannah for her parents, Gwendi for bereft little one in her arms, the mother she never knew and the father who loved her with all his heart, and Don for his little brother that always wanted to beat him just once racing home from school.
They sat there, on the porch that Don built the previous summer with his bare hands until the sun set and they had cried themselves out.
The next several years were happy ones. Busy ones. Hannah found a fast friend in Elinor and Gwendi and Portia simply shrugged their shoulders at the thought of all the trouble the two little girls were going to create. Hannah took to the pub and the village instantly. Gwendi and Don loved her with everything they had and she gave that love back to them triple fold.
But, nothing lasts forever.
Hannah had just turned sixteen and she and Gwendi were in the pub where Gwendi was showing her how to use the beer engine properly, when Elinor ran inside, tears streaked down her face.
“Don! School! Accident!” was all the girl managed to get out.
Gwendi and Hannah ran the entire way to the old school where Don and his crew had been hired to renovate. Both women let out a cry at the sight of Don on his back, a pile of scaffolding covering his body. They moved to go near him, but were stopped by Dr. Carson, Jr.
“You need to know, there is nothing we can do for him,” he said gently, his own voice shaking. “He’s been pierced too badly. We try to move him and he’ll die. Gwendi - I’m so sorry.”
Gwendi’s face paled and became stony. Hannah swallowed and said, “What? He’s just going to die? What do you mean?” Gwendi took her hand and the two women pressed their foreheads together and tried to draw strength from one another. Then silently, they walked over to where Don lay.
Gwendi dropped to her knees beside him, Hannah behind her. They both took his free hand.
Don opened his eyes and smiled weakly. “My girls. How I love my girls.”
“Shut up, you wretched man,” Gwendi said harshly. “You haven’t finished making an impression on me. How could you let this happen?”
He sighed. “Ah, Gwens. Sometimes things just fall. Like I did for you. Ton of bricks. At your feet.”
“Such a charmer,” Hannah said, her smile tremulous.
“You’ve inherited it, kiddo,” Don said. “Use it wisely, my darling girl.”
“Don,” Gwendi’s voice broke. “I can’t do this.”
“Just stay until she’s grown,” Don said, his eyes dimming and his pulse slowing. “Then go where you’ve got to go. Will you do that?”
Gwendi pulled his hand to her mouth and kissed it. “Yes, yes, please don’t go.”
“Love you. Love my girls,” he said.
And he was gone.
They stayed there, crouched beside Don’s body until the sun set and they were finally pulled away by Bryn and Portia.
Gwendi stayed true to her promise and remained in the village with Hannah. But, she often got a faraway look in her eyes and no longer bothered to smile at anyone save Hannah. She’d tilt her head to the side and breathe deeply. She took to wandering the house and woods at night and it worried Hannah.
Then two weeks after Hannah turned twenty, one night Gwendi went into Hannah’s bedroom while she slept, kissed her niece’s forehead, left a packet of papers on the kitchen table and walked out of the house.
Old Roger Carothers would swear up and down the next day that he saw Gwendi Rees walking barefoot down the road that led to the sea.
To this day, no one has seen or heard from her.
Not even Hannah.
Evan put the journal down and closed his eyes. He was struck with the urge to find Hannah, but honestly had absolutely no idea what to say.
He opened his eyes and looked in the direction of the pub. Smoke was coming from the chimney meaning Hannah or Bryn had lit the fire. Looking closely, he could see where Don’s renovations had taken place. Newer planks of timber lay alongside older pieces, but so seamlessly that if you didn't know they were there you'd miss it. Love and care went into that renovation. He could feel it every time he walked inside.
He turned away from the pub and wondered what to do. As he thought, his stomach growled.
Food, he thought. Go eat something and then figure yourself out.
He stood up and, not even realising it, gave a full body shake. Then he walked in the direction of a cafe that boasted freshly baked scones.
The bell jingled as he walked inside.
Part Three
A/N: I'm so sorry for the angst and the sad bits. I promise the final chapter will be more hopeful! Thank you all for actually reading this!
