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seren_ccdTitle: Swimming in December
Fandom: Teeth, Claws and Guinness
Ship: Various pairings
Word Count: 6,197
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.
A/N: Here is the last 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!
Thank you all for indulging me in this little experiment! I hope you've enjoyed reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing it! :D
Summary: Evan is beginning to learn all about the village. Including just how Hannah came to own the Sheep and Crow.
Part One Part Two
The bell jingled above Evan’s head as he walked into the cafe. He looked around and noted the impressive wood work, the elegantly carved chairs and booths. The smell of spicy soup and warm bread made his stomach rumble loudly.
“Just take a seat anywhere!” a voice called out from a room in the back.
Nodding to an older couple eating their lunch, Evan took a seat at a table near the window. He plucked the menu from the holder on the table and looked it over. There was loud laugh from the kitchen and Evan looked up. He read the list of specials on a chalkboard and decided on the soup.
A young woman with dark, wavy hair wearing a bright pink apron came out of the back and headed his way. Evan noticed her focused gaze and bright smile aimed directly at him and wondered if he needed to feel nervous. Because he did. He really, really did.
“Hi! I’m Elinor,” the young woman said pulling a pen and pad from her apron. “You must be Evan. It’s about time you came by. I’d tell Hannah off for keeping you to herself, but we’ve been out of town, hence the reason she hadn’t brought you by. Which she would have done eventually as we’re best friends, since practically forever.”
“For pity’s sake,” another woman chimed in from the kitchen. “Stop talking his ear off, Ellie and let the boy order.”
“Or what, mum?” Elinor called back. “You’ll float some flour over me?” She turned to Evan and whispered. “That’s my mum.”
“She wouldn’t go by the name of Portia, would she?” Evan managed to say.
Elinor stood up straight and grinned. “Starter for ten! Looks like someone’s been doing his homework.”
“Just a little light reading,” Evan said.
“Well, as you should,” Elinor said, pointing her pen at him. “Mum was there for all of it. She misses Aunt Gwendi like you wouldn’t believe. Anyway! Are you here for lunch or do you want to do our taxes?”
“Lunch, actually,” Evan said. “But, if you need someone for your taxes...”
“Oh, we don’t,” Elinor said waving her hand in the air. “We might when mum finally loses her last bit of sense--”
“But, that won’t be happening for quite some time, young lady,” came from the doorway to the kitchen. A tall woman with a matching pink apron and a strikingly lovely face gave Elinor an exasperated look underlined with fondness. She switched her gaze to Evan and smiled. “You must be the young man Hannah’s helping. I’m Portia Smythe.”
Evan stood up and offered his hand to her. “Evan Michaels. It’s lovely to meet you.”
“Ooh, someone’s got manners,” Portia said shaking his hand and smirking. “I approve already.”
“You’re not as hairy as I expected,” Elinor said thoughtfully looking him over. Portia nodded and gave him the same once-over.
Evan blushed and cleared his throat. “I understand you’re friends of Hannah’s family?”
“Oh, yes,” Portia said waving him back to his seat and taking the once across from him. “We all go back a ways. Hannah and Elinor used to raise bloody hell in this village until they finally grew old enough to hide it from the rest of us.”
“Mum!”
“Please, darling, do you honestly think for one second I don’t know that it was the two of you who sabotaged the last jumble sale?” Portia asked.
Evan raised his eyebrows. Hannah sabotaged a jumble sale?
Elinor drew herself up and adopted a haughty tone and said, “I have no idea of what you speak, mother.”
Portia snorted. “Of course you don’t. I will just say that just because you disagree with a certain person’s view in regards to the proper usage of icing that is no reason to sabotage someone’s display table.”
Elinor sniffed and looked away. Evan blinked. The proper usage of icing?
Portia took in Evan’s expression and patted his hand. “Don’t worry. It’s a very nice village.”
Evan cleared his throat. ”Yes, it certainly appears to be.”
“Oh, I’m so glad you brought that up,” Portia said happily. “It does certainly ‘appear’ so."
Evan started to feel nervous again, but Portia went on.
"That's the funny thing about appearances. They can be so misleading. For example, you may have decided that you wanted a nice bowl of soup and wandered into a cafe that for all appearances is run by a lovely mother/daughter duo. Who, of course, look absolutely harmless.”
“Completely and totally harmless,” Elinor added, dropping her hand to rest on the back of Evan’s chair.
Portia continued. “However, as they tend to do, appearances can be deceiving and this harmless mother/daughter duo could actually be really rather powerful in certain circumstances, say, if one of their closest and dearest friends was ever hurt or saddened.”
“Or abandoned,” Elinor said.
“Or abandoned, thank you sweetheart,” Portia said. “So, appearances are certainly something to wary of, wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Micheals?”
Evan swallowed. “I most certainly do, Ms. Smythe.”
“Oh, it’s Portia, dear,” she said smiling and patting his hand once more. “We don’t stand on ceremony here.”
“Except every other Thursday,” Elinor said brightly. “Now, what are you hungry for? Oh! Do you eat raw meat?”
“Ah, I’d love a bowl of the soup, if that’s okay,” Evan said.
“Coming right up! I’ll throw in a roll and a pot of, let’s see,” Elinor studied him, “you’re an Earl Grey fellow, aren’t you?”
“I’m afraid so,” he said.
Elinor nodded. “Knew it! Be back with your soup.” She walked briskly back to the kitchen. Evan looked over at Portia who was rising from her seat.
“She seems so happy,” Evan said before he could stop himself.
“My daughter?” Portia said. “Well, she generally is.”
“No, I meant...” he stopped.
“You meant Hannah.” Portia sighed and looked out the window. “I think she is. I also think she feels like she’s missing something. But, then again, don’t we all?”
“I’m up to her story,” Evan said quickly.
Portia looked at him in query. He pulled the blue journal out of his bag. “Oh, heavens. That,” Portia said. “She’s given you permission to read it?”
Evan nodded.
“Then I suggest you eat a bowl of my extremely good Tuscan bean soup made with chorizo sausage. Eat a roll with some butter spread on it. Fix yourself a cup of Earl Grey along with one of Elinor’s scones. Then finish the story.”
She smiled and gave him a wink. Evan stared after her and then turned his head to look out the window at the bustling village.
Elinor brought him his soup, roll, tea and scone. Evan did as suggested and ate his soup. Then he fixed his tea and munching on a scone covered liberally in jam, he picked up the journal.
Hannah's Story
There was some debate over whether or not to start Hannah MacNeil’s story at her birth or when she moved to Cwm Alaw.
To try to come to a decision in regards to this and as he was not actually present during the time in question, this humble chronicler asked Miss MacNeil to describe the first six years of her life.
The, at that time, nineteen year old woman thought for a moment and then simply replied with, “Loved.”
As there is no way for me to elaborate or possible do justice with such an answer, Miss MacNeil’s story begins when she arrived in Cwm Alaw.
Adjusting to life in Cwm Alaw went much more smoothly than Hannah expected. Adjusting to life without her parents...well, that took some time. But her Uncle Don and Aunt Gwendi were wonderful and kind, so while the pain of losing her parents never left her, after a few months it settled into a dull ache.
If anything, living in a village where half the members of the town council had ‘talents’ and your aunt’s best friend was telekinetic, not to mention the fact that you got to help out in a pub, while it didn’t erase all of the pain, it certainly managed to distract a person from most of their troubles.
A few days after Hannah arrived in the village, she was sitting in the kitchen watching her Aunt Gwendi fix lunch. Hannah hadn’t been able to eat much more than a few bites since the accident. She knew her aunt was worried about her, but she just couldn’t seem to bring herself to eat.
“My friend, Portia and her daughter, Elinor, are coming by,” Gwendi said. “I hope you don’t mind. Elinor’s excited about meeting you.”
Hannah shrugged, not really listening, just focusing on the way Gwendi was slicing the cheese, noticing how different it was from the way her mum did it. Used to do it. She scrunched up her face and forced the tears back inside.
“I have a feeling you and Elinor will get on,” Gwendi said. “She’s just about your age.”
Hannah studied the tablecloth and didn’t reply. Gwendi didn’t push it.
When Portia and Elinor arrived, Hannah reluctantly followed Gwendi to the door to greet them. Her first impression of Portia was of strength and beauty and Hannah was a little intimidated by her. Her first impression of Elinor was energy and a huge smile. The girl bounced, honestly, bounced, as in her feet left the floor and her hair flew around her face, her way over to Hannah.
“Hi! I’m Elinor and you’re Hannah,” she said excitedly. “It’s really lovely to meet you, I’ve heard all about you. Well, mostly all about you. You’ve got really ginger hair! It’s so pretty! I’ve always wanted ginger hair. Do you like it?
“My hair?” Hannah asked feeling bewildered. “It’s all right, I guess.”
“Oh, it’s better than all right, it’s really cool,” Elinor said. “Did Aunt Gwendi make sandwiches?”
“Yeah,” Hannah said.
“Yum! Come on!” With that, Elinor grabbed Hannah’s hand and pulled her in the direction of the kitchen. While Elinor talked about everything and anything, Hannah sat quietly and picked at her sandwich.
“Aren’t you hungry?” Elinor asked when she realised her companion hadn’t said anything.
Hannah shook her head. Elinor frowned.
“I’m really sorry about your mum and dad,” she said slowly.
Hannah squeezed her eyes shut.
There was silence in the kitchen for a few minutes. Then Elinor whispered, “Did you know my mum can make stuff float in the air?”
Hannah opened her eyes and gave Elinor a scathing look. “That’s not possible.”
“It is! Come on!” For the second time in less than an hour, Elinor grabbed Hannah’s hand and dragged her into the living room where Portia and Gwendi were drinking their tea.
“Mum! Do the floaty thing!” Elinor said.
Hannah crossed her arms over her chest and tried to look disinterested. Gwendi and Portia gave each other looks and Portia sighed.
“You are aware, child of mine, that I don’t respond very well to orders?” Portia asked Elinor.
Elinor rolled her eyes. “Mum, would you please do the floaty thing? Hannah doesn’t think it’s possible.”
Portia looked at Hannah and Hannah looked right back at her. Portia smiled. Hannah blinked. The teaspoon next to Gwendi’s teacup was slowly rising into the air. It was followed by five cubes of sugar and then Portia’s teaspoon. The cubes of sugar floated in the air until one of the teaspoons gently batted a cube. The opposing teaspoon batted the cube back.
Hannah’s jaw dropped as she watched an impromptu tennis match involving two teaspoons and a cube of sugar played out in the air right before her eyes. She narrowed her eyes and ducked her head. She waved her hand just above and below the floating objects.
“There’s no string,” she said.
“Nope,” Elinor said proudly. “Just mum.”
Hannah looked into Portia’s eyes. Then she turned to her Aunt Gwendi, who smiled and held open her arms. Hannah went into them and let Gwendi pull her onto her lap.
The ladies watched a teaspoon make a particularly good serve.
“Exactly what type of a village is this?” Hannah whispered.
“The best kind,” Elinor said firmly.
The next few years were very happy. Hannah was by nature a cheerful person, so while the weight of the loss of her parent’s hung around her neck, she didn’t let it stop her from enjoying her life and the strange new world she’d been invited into.
And she had been invited. There wasn’t a place in the village she hadn’t explored by the time she was eleven. She learned how to swim in the old quarry and her Uncle Don and Uncle Stev took her fishing in the best streams.
Stev even let her touch his feathers.
She knew the woods behind her house like the back of her hand. During the summer, Gwendi would wake up to the sound of the back door closing and look out the window just in time to see her niece running into the woods in her bare feet to start her day’s exploration.
When she was twelve, Ambrose Collins scoffed at her boast of superior knowledge of the woods. Hannah’s eyes narrowed.
“You don’t believe me?” she asked.
“Of course not,” Ambrose said sticking his nose in the air. “I bet I could find you in a heartbeat.”
“Prove it,” Hannah said fiercely.
Elinor, who had become Hannah’s best friend, upped the stakes. “I dare you to prove it.”
Ambrose looked at his mates who all nodded in support. “Fine. You go hide. I’ll give you to the count of one hundred and then I’ll find you.”
“And if you don’t find me,” Hannah said, “you’ve got to declare that I know the woods better than you do and I am superior in every way.”
“And when I find you,” Ambrose said. “You have to say that I am superior to you in every way.”
Hannah exchanged a look with Elinor and then nodded. “Deal.”
The two shook on it while the kids around them ooh-ed and ahh-ed. Then the group of children walked to the edge of the woods near Hannah’s house.
Don walked up behind Gwendi who was watching from the kitchen window. He put his arms around her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder. “Do I want to know why half of the village children are in our back yard?”
“Hannah’s about to clean Ambrose Collins’ clock,” Gwendi said, leaning into her husband.
“She’s going to beat him up?” Don asked incredulously.
“No! She’s going to do far worse,” Gwendi said, sounding far too satisfied. “She’s going to outwit him.”
Don looked down at his wife and then out into the back yard at his niece who was determinedly removing her shoes. He chuckled and shook his head.
“God, I do love my strong girls,” he said. He pressed a kiss to Gwendi’s throat.
She hummed with pleasure and said, “You’re lucky we love you back.”
Outside, Hannah bounced on the tips of her bare feet.
“You can do this, Han,” Elinor said. A few of the other kids chimed in. Hannah grinned.
“I going to start the count, MacNeil,” Ambrose said. “Ready. Steady.”
Hannah braced herself.
“Go! 100, 99, 98...”
Hannah took off into the woods, her feet barely making a sound on the leaf-covered ground. She turned left, then she turned right. She leaped over the stream and scampered over the large rocks. She found a hollow in a small tree and huddled down.
After ten minutes, she emerged and carefully headed back towards her house. She caught sight of Ambrose in the distance, crunching the leaves under his feet loudly. Hannah shook her head.
“Amateur,” she muttered to herself. Swiftly, she circled around him and picked up a small rock. She lobbed it in the opposite direction of where she was going and Ambrose took off like a shot. Hannah fought the urge to laugh out loud. Instead, she turned around and walked back to her house.
By the time Ambrose gave up, Hannah had been sitting in her back yard sipping hot chocolate for an hour. The boy’s shoulders slumped.
“Fine. You win. You’re superior to me,” he said glumly.
“In every way,” Elinor prompted.
Ambrose sighed loudly. “In every way.”
“Thank you,” Hannah said graciously. “Would you like some hot chocolate? It’s very good.”
The boy thought for a moment and then accepted the mug. Hannah’s knowledge of the woods was never questioned again.
When her Uncle Don died unexpectedly, Hannah felt the pain from losing her parents flare up inside of her. Something in her started to freeze. Almost as if a tiny sliver of ice had found its way into her heart and was doing its best to freeze the rest of her.
She fought it as best she could. She truly tried not to hate being reminded of Don every time she entered her house or the pub. She tried not to notice how her Aunt Gwendi was losing her own fight against the cold.
Hannah knew her aunt was going to leave. She’d heard the stories about Gwendi’s mother and the fact was, whether or not it was because of some supernatural forces or simply because it was in her nature, Gwendi had to go.
How could Hannah argue with an urge that she herself was fighting?
So, the morning after Gwendi left, Portia and Elinor found Hannah sitting in the kitchen with a mug of tea long gone cold between her hands staring out the window into the woods.
“So, she’s gone, then?” Portia asked quietly. “Damn it. Oh, Gwendi.”
Portia sunk into a chair next to Hannah and took one of her hands. Elinor kissed her mother on the top of her head and went to put the kettle on.
“She’s left me the pub,” Hannah said, her voice quiet, yet strong. “I don’t know what to do.”
They were quiet while Elinor made tea. When Hannah had a fresh cuppa in front of her, she spoke again. “I think I’ve got to get out of here.”
Portia sighed and Elinor grabbed Hannah’s other hand. “Han, are you sure?”
Hannah shook her head. “No. I just know that being here hurts and I’m fairly sure that working in that pub night after night would kill me. I just can’t do it. Not right now.”
“Where would you go?” Elinor asked.
“I don’t know,” Hannah said. “I’ve got money my parents left me, I could just travel. See the world.”
“Do you think you’d come back?” Elinor asked in a small voice.
“Of course!” Hannah turned to her. “I’d always come back. This is my home. But, I can’t be here right now. I don’t know how to.”
“Then you should go,” Portia said softly. Hannah looked at her gratefully.
“Do you think you could not go, like, immediately?” Elinor asked tentatively. “I’d just like to get used to the idea of my best friend not being around.”
Hannah stifled a sob and hugged Elinor who hugged her back. Eventually, the three women moved to the living room to huddle together on the couch.
Hannah didn’t leave immediately. She made sure all the papers Gwendi had left her were in order and started to slowly lock up the house. Her Uncle Bryn listened carefully to her plans and when she asked if he thought he could manage the pub for an unspecified amount of time, he held his hand up to stop her talking.
“I loved my niece and I love you,” he said. “You are my family. Go. See the world. Cwm Alaw will be here when you get back.”
So she did. She told no one when she was leaving; she just got up one morning, grabbed her rucksack and left.
Two days later, both Bryn and Elinor received a letter with her vague itinerary and a promise to call every couple of weeks.
She started in Amsterdam, spending her days in museums and riding a bicycle along the canals. While she talked to people, she never talked to the same person twice and always left alone.
From Amsterdam she went to Rome, walking the city every day until her feet were sore, drinking wine at night and dancing in clubs until dawn.
From Rome, she went to Morocco. She spent an entire day sitting in a cafe overlooking the Djema al-Fna in Marrakesh and fell in love with Fez, walking its narrow streets and drinking mint tea.
She started to notice a pattern.
In every city she visited, she’d start out in the most tourist-filled section and by the end of her first day she’d find herself in a quarter of the town that was most definitely lacking tourists.
Hannah would spot a pointed ear here and an oddly shaped eye there. She’d run into at least two telekinetics and one shapeshifter. The woman could morph her hands so that her fingers webbed together, making her an ace at swimming.
By the time she made it to Marrakesh, she was familiar with nachtmerries, minotaurs and cyclops. Fez introduced her to a kapre who wanted to know all about the Sheep and Crow back home.
Hannah started to wonder if she had some kind of internal compass that pointed her towards the supernatural.
From Morocco, she went to Vietnam.
The humidity nearly bowled her over and her skin flushed pink. She took a small room in the city of Hanoi and began her usual wandering of the city. She wound up at the Tran Quoc Pagoda and sat on a bench facing the waters surrounding the pagoda.
Her eyes slid shut as she listened to the water lapping and the other tourists chatting and taking pictures.
“If you’re not careful,” an accented voice said, “you’ll lose your bag.”
Hannah’s eyes opened and she looked over at the man who had taken a seat next to her. He was reading a newspaper printed in Vietnamese. He had dark cropped hair and a full-lipped mouth. When he glanced in Hannah’s direction, she was struck by how sad his eyes looked.
“I’ve got a pretty good handle on it, thank you” she said, tightening her grip on her satchel.
The man smiled at his paper. “Oh, I’ve missed the sound of someone from Scotland. Say something else.”
“Something else,” Hannah said dryly. He chuckled. She cocked her head to the side. “Are you... Is that a French accent I hear?”
“Hmm, after all this time, you’d think it would have softened,” he said quietly. “But, yes, I am originally from Paris. My family moved here some time ago.”
“It’s incredible,” Hannah said looking out at the city. “I’ve never seen such colours before.”
“Yes, it is incredible,” the man said. He carelessly folded up his paper and turned to her. “So, what has brought you to Hanoi?”
Hannah shrugged. “It seemed like as good a place as any.”
“Oh, my,” he said. “Are we running from something? Someone?”
“More like some place,” Hannah said. She sighed. “Or maybe, myself.” She cringed. “God, that sounded trite. And cheesy. Ick. Ignore that last bit.”
He smiled and said, “If you like. You are alone?”
“Yep. All on my lonesome.” She frowned and looked at him with narrowed eyes. “I probably shouldn’t have said that. You’re not going to lure me to some dark hostel and do horrible things to me?”
He laughed out loud at that and she noticed that his face looked years younger when he smiled. Then he said, “No, I won’t lure you anywhere you don’t wish to go. However, it is lunch time soon; would you care to join me?”
“Seriously?” she asked crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re truly going to try to pick me up outside a national monument? Wow. Why?”
“Perhaps I just like the sound of your voice and would like to continue to listen to it,” he said.
Then he met her gaze and her internal supernatural compass started to spin. Oh, hell. Not again, she thought.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“My name is Jean Moyen,” he replied. “And you are?”
“Hannah MacNeil. And I’ve got to tell you,” she said, “I am fully capable of defending myself and I fight dirty.”
“I am very glad to know it and would not like to hear otherwise,” Jean said. He stood and offered her his hand. Hannah took it and was only slightly surprised by the skittering of electricity that ran up her arm.
Oh, double hell, she thought as they started to walk back to the city, her hand resting in the crook of his elbow.
They wound up at a small hole in the wall cafe where Jean knew the owners. The food was glorious and filled Hannah’s mouth with the taste of lemongrass and coriander. It was when she was eating her banh flan that she noticed the waiter had diamond shaped eyes. As she took a look around at the other customers, she started to notice other quirks and odd features. She sighed and looked Jean in the eyes.
“I’m not actually one of you,” she said directly.
He finished sipping his coffee and said, “But you are attracted to us.”
Hannah raised an eyebrow.
“Attracted, as in drawn to us,” he amended. “Not in the sexual sense. Although...”
“Look,” she said interrupting him. “I don’t go looking for you. It just seems to happen.”
Jean tapped a long finger against his mouth in thought, then he asked, “Does it truly bother you? You can walk out right now. I won’t follow. If that is what you want.”
She poked at her dessert with her spoon. “I don’t know what I want. I know I don’t want to go.” She propped her arm up on the table and cupped her chin in her hand. “It doesn’t really bother me. It’s just odd. I left my home trying to find something different and just keep finding the same.”
“Is that why you left?” he asked. “I could have sworn you left simply because you could.”
Hannah’s eyes flew to his and her fingers clenched around her spoon. “Who the hell are you?”
Jean smiled and looked down at his hands. “Just someone who’s seen it all.”
He raised his head and Hannah felt the electricity from earlier zip through her body. Oh, triple hell. Girl, you and your supernatural shenanigans, she thought. Just remember. This trip is for you and you alone. No getting involved with men who have traces of centuries flashing in their eyes. And absolutely, positively, no going home with him.
She went home with him.
He showed her all of Hanoi and all over the surrounding areas. One day, they took his small car out to where his family had their plantation. The two walked through the trees and vines that covered the land. Jean took her hand at one point and she had the sensation of falling through time and could almost see how it looked years ago. When they got back to the city that night, she dreamt of Cwm Alaw and running through the woods behind her house.
Jean invited her to go to Paris with him as he had some business he had to take care of there. Hannah accepted.
While Jean took care of his ‘business’, Hannah wandered about Paris, drinking coffee and eating pastries and watching people.
She went to the top of the Eiffel Tower one morning, sans Jean who’d refused the outing.
(“I’ve seen enough of that ridiculous metal monstrosity to last me at least several lifetimes.”
“Really? How many lifetimes have you already had?”
“A gentleman never tells.”)
As she stood looking over Paris as it woke up for the day, she started to feel homesick.
That night, after attending a party thrown by a friend of Jean’s, Hannah stood barefoot in her thin slip dress looking out the window at the lights along the Seine.
Jean lay on the bed watching her. “Why do I feel like this may be the last time I make love to you?”
“Because it probably is,” she said. “I’ve got to go home.”
“You’ve got to?”
Hannah rolled her eyes and walked over to the bed. “Fine. I want to go home.” She crawled over the sheets to sit Indian-style next to him.
“Good, I’m glad for you,” he said running a hand along her shin, over her knee to rest on her thigh underneath her dress. “Will you say good-bye?”
“I doubt it,” she said honestly. “I still have a perverse need to be the one who leaves first.”
“Ah, ma femme rouge, that is not perverse,” he paused. “What Alain wished to do to Penelope earlier this evening? That was perverse.”
Hannah laughed and let him pull her down for a kiss.
She left the next morning, leaving a note with the address of the Sheep and Crow on it in case he ever found himself in the wilds of Wales wanting a pint.
Cwm Alaw hadn’t changed much in the year she’d been gone. The shops still looked the same and the air was still fresh and clean. The Sheep and Crow was still standing and when Hannah walked through the door, the old familiar scent of the timber and the smell of hops made her tear up.
Someone shrieked, “Hannah!”
The next thing she knew, she was getting hugged to within an inch of her life by Elinor. Uncle Bryn was next, followed by Portia, then Uncle Stev and Aunt Grace.
“Sit! Sit! Tell us everything!” Elinor said. “Was it amazing? Did you meet anyone interesting?”
“All of the above,” Hannah said laughing.
She stayed up half the night with her family talking and telling all about her travels. Well, almost all about her travels.
After sleeping through most of the next day in the room above the pub, Hannah headed out to the house on the edge of the village. She unlocked the door and started to clean away the dust that had settled in.
By the end of the day, the kitchen was gleaming and the living room wood burner was crackling softly.
Hannah walked outside and stood in the backyard. She kicked off her shoes and set off at a run through the woods. Finding the old tree she’d once hidden from Ambrose Collins in, she sat down and simply breathed in the scent of home.
“But, it’s on my terms,” she murmured to the trees. “I can leave whenever I want. You’re home, but I’m not bound to you. And I won’t be bound. I just want to see what happens next.”
What happened next involved a naked young man on her porch steps.
Evan frowned. He flipped forward several pages, but that was the last line of the journal. Well, that wasn’t very sporting.
He drained the last of his tea, making a face at the taste of cold Earl Grey and fumbled in his pocket for some money.
“First lunch is on the house,” Elinor said standing next to her mother behind the counter. “Just make sure to come back.”
“Oh, I will,” Evan said. “I promise. Thank you.”
He smiled at the two Smythe ladies and then rushed out the door. He practically ran all the way to Taylor’s Titles and burst into the store. This time, he was greeted by the sound of Bach’s Cello Suite No. One.
“Let me just get past the prelude,” Mr. Taylor’s voice came from the small room in the back.
Evan just laughed quietly and shook his head. “Take your time,” he called.
“Ah, Mr. Michaels. I’ve got a computer all picked out for you!”
The cello played on and at the first pause, Mr. Taylor emerged from the back room with a few sheets of paper. “I really think this Dell is the one for you,” he said meeting Evan at the counter.
“That’s grand, thank you,” Evan said. He looked over the sheet Mr. Taylor handed him and nodded his head. “Spot on. I’ll take it.”
“Wonderful! I’ll place the order tonight and it should be here within a week.” He started to tap on his keyboard, but stopped when he realised Evan hadn’t moved. “Was there something else?”
“Yes, um, I finished this.” Evan pulled the journal from his bag and set it on the counter. “It just stops.”
“Well, yes,” Mr. Taylor said matter-of-factly. “Hannah hasn’t finished living her story yet.”
“Right,” Evan said. “I guess... I just expected something more...”
“More final? More illuminating?” Mr. Taylor said. He shook his head. “I was able to end Collen’s and Gwendi’s stories because they’ve gone. Hannah is still here, alive and well. Who knows how it’s going to end?”
“I suppose I just,” he paused, then grinned a little, “I just want to know what happens next.”
“Don’t we all?” Mr. Taylor said.
They both chuckled and Evan said his good-byes and moved to leave. He had just opened the front door when he stopped, turned and asked, “There are several blank pages at the end of the journal. Whose story are they for?”
Mr. Taylor smiled. “Why, they’re for your story, Mr. Micheals.”
Later that night, Evan sat at the bar nursing his Guinness and shaking his head at the display of rubbish coaching on the telly.
“Heard you stopped by Ellie and Portia’s today,” Hannah said wiping down the bar top next to him. “Did you try a scone?”
“I did. Bloody delicious,” he said.
Hannah chuckled. “Oh, yeah. El’s a fiend in the kitchen. Just don’t talk to her about icing, she’s very particular.”
“So particular that it required the sabotaging of a jumble sale?” he asked watching her face for a reaction. He wasn’t disappointed to see a blush start in her cheeks and spread to her collarbone.
“Shut up,” she said good-naturedly.
Evan laughed. He watched her hand as it moved the cloth around in circles on the smooth wooden surface. Without truly considering his actions, he put his hand on hers, stopping the motion. She looked up at him and he caught just the faintest hint of panic in her eyes, before it was replaced with wariness.
“I don’t know if I ever said it,” he said. “But, thank you. For finding me.”
“Well, you were in your all-together on my front porch,” Hannah said, her voice unsteady. “You were pretty hard to miss.”
“True, but you didn’t have to help me,” he said. “You certainly didn’t have to take me in and, and care for me and show me that I wasn’t completely crazy.”
“Well, the jury’s still out on that one,” she said finally cracking a smile.
Evan smiled back. “Knock it off, I’m being serious here. Thank you, Hannah. I mean it.”
“Well, you’re welcome,” she said turning her hand so that her palm met his. Something intense and powerful ran up his arm and down his spine to settle in his chest and his senses flared. He knew she felt it when her eyes widened and her pupils dilated. Her lips parted and Evan swallowed hard.
Hannah slowly pulled her hand away and turned to organise the wine glasses behind her. Evan tried to calm his heart.
He watched for a minute and took a drink. Then he said, “I’m not going anywhere.”
Her hands stilled, but she didn’t turn around.
“I just wanted you to know that,” he continued. “I’m not leaving any time soon.”
“And why is that, exactly?” she asked turning to face him. Her voice was light, and her eyes warned him against saying anything too serious.
Evan raised his glass and smirked. “Well, I’ve got four businesses depending on me to get them through tax season and I couldn’t possibly leave them to the tender mercies of Her Majesty’s Revenue and Customs.”
Hannah returned the smirk. “Oh, no, we couldn’t possibly have that.”
They grinned at each other while the rest of the pub’s patron’s groaned at another missed goal.
And, as always, to be continued when next time, Evan undergoes his first transformation in the village and what kind of door has Elinor opened and why are all those little creatures running amuck in Hannah’s pub?
Fandom: Teeth, Claws and Guinness
Ship: Various pairings
Word Count: 6,197
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.
A/N: Here is the last 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! Thank you all for indulging me in this little experiment! I hope you've enjoyed reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing it! :D
Summary: Evan is beginning to learn all about the village. Including just how Hannah came to own the Sheep and Crow.
Part One Part Two
The bell jingled above Evan’s head as he walked into the cafe. He looked around and noted the impressive wood work, the elegantly carved chairs and booths. The smell of spicy soup and warm bread made his stomach rumble loudly.
“Just take a seat anywhere!” a voice called out from a room in the back.
Nodding to an older couple eating their lunch, Evan took a seat at a table near the window. He plucked the menu from the holder on the table and looked it over. There was loud laugh from the kitchen and Evan looked up. He read the list of specials on a chalkboard and decided on the soup.
A young woman with dark, wavy hair wearing a bright pink apron came out of the back and headed his way. Evan noticed her focused gaze and bright smile aimed directly at him and wondered if he needed to feel nervous. Because he did. He really, really did.
“Hi! I’m Elinor,” the young woman said pulling a pen and pad from her apron. “You must be Evan. It’s about time you came by. I’d tell Hannah off for keeping you to herself, but we’ve been out of town, hence the reason she hadn’t brought you by. Which she would have done eventually as we’re best friends, since practically forever.”
“For pity’s sake,” another woman chimed in from the kitchen. “Stop talking his ear off, Ellie and let the boy order.”
“Or what, mum?” Elinor called back. “You’ll float some flour over me?” She turned to Evan and whispered. “That’s my mum.”
“She wouldn’t go by the name of Portia, would she?” Evan managed to say.
Elinor stood up straight and grinned. “Starter for ten! Looks like someone’s been doing his homework.”
“Just a little light reading,” Evan said.
“Well, as you should,” Elinor said, pointing her pen at him. “Mum was there for all of it. She misses Aunt Gwendi like you wouldn’t believe. Anyway! Are you here for lunch or do you want to do our taxes?”
“Lunch, actually,” Evan said. “But, if you need someone for your taxes...”
“Oh, we don’t,” Elinor said waving her hand in the air. “We might when mum finally loses her last bit of sense--”
“But, that won’t be happening for quite some time, young lady,” came from the doorway to the kitchen. A tall woman with a matching pink apron and a strikingly lovely face gave Elinor an exasperated look underlined with fondness. She switched her gaze to Evan and smiled. “You must be the young man Hannah’s helping. I’m Portia Smythe.”
Evan stood up and offered his hand to her. “Evan Michaels. It’s lovely to meet you.”
“Ooh, someone’s got manners,” Portia said shaking his hand and smirking. “I approve already.”
“You’re not as hairy as I expected,” Elinor said thoughtfully looking him over. Portia nodded and gave him the same once-over.
Evan blushed and cleared his throat. “I understand you’re friends of Hannah’s family?”
“Oh, yes,” Portia said waving him back to his seat and taking the once across from him. “We all go back a ways. Hannah and Elinor used to raise bloody hell in this village until they finally grew old enough to hide it from the rest of us.”
“Mum!”
“Please, darling, do you honestly think for one second I don’t know that it was the two of you who sabotaged the last jumble sale?” Portia asked.
Evan raised his eyebrows. Hannah sabotaged a jumble sale?
Elinor drew herself up and adopted a haughty tone and said, “I have no idea of what you speak, mother.”
Portia snorted. “Of course you don’t. I will just say that just because you disagree with a certain person’s view in regards to the proper usage of icing that is no reason to sabotage someone’s display table.”
Elinor sniffed and looked away. Evan blinked. The proper usage of icing?
Portia took in Evan’s expression and patted his hand. “Don’t worry. It’s a very nice village.”
Evan cleared his throat. ”Yes, it certainly appears to be.”
“Oh, I’m so glad you brought that up,” Portia said happily. “It does certainly ‘appear’ so."
Evan started to feel nervous again, but Portia went on.
"That's the funny thing about appearances. They can be so misleading. For example, you may have decided that you wanted a nice bowl of soup and wandered into a cafe that for all appearances is run by a lovely mother/daughter duo. Who, of course, look absolutely harmless.”
“Completely and totally harmless,” Elinor added, dropping her hand to rest on the back of Evan’s chair.
Portia continued. “However, as they tend to do, appearances can be deceiving and this harmless mother/daughter duo could actually be really rather powerful in certain circumstances, say, if one of their closest and dearest friends was ever hurt or saddened.”
“Or abandoned,” Elinor said.
“Or abandoned, thank you sweetheart,” Portia said. “So, appearances are certainly something to wary of, wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Micheals?”
Evan swallowed. “I most certainly do, Ms. Smythe.”
“Oh, it’s Portia, dear,” she said smiling and patting his hand once more. “We don’t stand on ceremony here.”
“Except every other Thursday,” Elinor said brightly. “Now, what are you hungry for? Oh! Do you eat raw meat?”
“Ah, I’d love a bowl of the soup, if that’s okay,” Evan said.
“Coming right up! I’ll throw in a roll and a pot of, let’s see,” Elinor studied him, “you’re an Earl Grey fellow, aren’t you?”
“I’m afraid so,” he said.
Elinor nodded. “Knew it! Be back with your soup.” She walked briskly back to the kitchen. Evan looked over at Portia who was rising from her seat.
“She seems so happy,” Evan said before he could stop himself.
“My daughter?” Portia said. “Well, she generally is.”
“No, I meant...” he stopped.
“You meant Hannah.” Portia sighed and looked out the window. “I think she is. I also think she feels like she’s missing something. But, then again, don’t we all?”
“I’m up to her story,” Evan said quickly.
Portia looked at him in query. He pulled the blue journal out of his bag. “Oh, heavens. That,” Portia said. “She’s given you permission to read it?”
Evan nodded.
“Then I suggest you eat a bowl of my extremely good Tuscan bean soup made with chorizo sausage. Eat a roll with some butter spread on it. Fix yourself a cup of Earl Grey along with one of Elinor’s scones. Then finish the story.”
She smiled and gave him a wink. Evan stared after her and then turned his head to look out the window at the bustling village.
Elinor brought him his soup, roll, tea and scone. Evan did as suggested and ate his soup. Then he fixed his tea and munching on a scone covered liberally in jam, he picked up the journal.
Hannah's Story
There was some debate over whether or not to start Hannah MacNeil’s story at her birth or when she moved to Cwm Alaw.
To try to come to a decision in regards to this and as he was not actually present during the time in question, this humble chronicler asked Miss MacNeil to describe the first six years of her life.
The, at that time, nineteen year old woman thought for a moment and then simply replied with, “Loved.”
As there is no way for me to elaborate or possible do justice with such an answer, Miss MacNeil’s story begins when she arrived in Cwm Alaw.
Adjusting to life in Cwm Alaw went much more smoothly than Hannah expected. Adjusting to life without her parents...well, that took some time. But her Uncle Don and Aunt Gwendi were wonderful and kind, so while the pain of losing her parents never left her, after a few months it settled into a dull ache.
If anything, living in a village where half the members of the town council had ‘talents’ and your aunt’s best friend was telekinetic, not to mention the fact that you got to help out in a pub, while it didn’t erase all of the pain, it certainly managed to distract a person from most of their troubles.
A few days after Hannah arrived in the village, she was sitting in the kitchen watching her Aunt Gwendi fix lunch. Hannah hadn’t been able to eat much more than a few bites since the accident. She knew her aunt was worried about her, but she just couldn’t seem to bring herself to eat.
“My friend, Portia and her daughter, Elinor, are coming by,” Gwendi said. “I hope you don’t mind. Elinor’s excited about meeting you.”
Hannah shrugged, not really listening, just focusing on the way Gwendi was slicing the cheese, noticing how different it was from the way her mum did it. Used to do it. She scrunched up her face and forced the tears back inside.
“I have a feeling you and Elinor will get on,” Gwendi said. “She’s just about your age.”
Hannah studied the tablecloth and didn’t reply. Gwendi didn’t push it.
When Portia and Elinor arrived, Hannah reluctantly followed Gwendi to the door to greet them. Her first impression of Portia was of strength and beauty and Hannah was a little intimidated by her. Her first impression of Elinor was energy and a huge smile. The girl bounced, honestly, bounced, as in her feet left the floor and her hair flew around her face, her way over to Hannah.
“Hi! I’m Elinor and you’re Hannah,” she said excitedly. “It’s really lovely to meet you, I’ve heard all about you. Well, mostly all about you. You’ve got really ginger hair! It’s so pretty! I’ve always wanted ginger hair. Do you like it?
“My hair?” Hannah asked feeling bewildered. “It’s all right, I guess.”
“Oh, it’s better than all right, it’s really cool,” Elinor said. “Did Aunt Gwendi make sandwiches?”
“Yeah,” Hannah said.
“Yum! Come on!” With that, Elinor grabbed Hannah’s hand and pulled her in the direction of the kitchen. While Elinor talked about everything and anything, Hannah sat quietly and picked at her sandwich.
“Aren’t you hungry?” Elinor asked when she realised her companion hadn’t said anything.
Hannah shook her head. Elinor frowned.
“I’m really sorry about your mum and dad,” she said slowly.
Hannah squeezed her eyes shut.
There was silence in the kitchen for a few minutes. Then Elinor whispered, “Did you know my mum can make stuff float in the air?”
Hannah opened her eyes and gave Elinor a scathing look. “That’s not possible.”
“It is! Come on!” For the second time in less than an hour, Elinor grabbed Hannah’s hand and dragged her into the living room where Portia and Gwendi were drinking their tea.
“Mum! Do the floaty thing!” Elinor said.
Hannah crossed her arms over her chest and tried to look disinterested. Gwendi and Portia gave each other looks and Portia sighed.
“You are aware, child of mine, that I don’t respond very well to orders?” Portia asked Elinor.
Elinor rolled her eyes. “Mum, would you please do the floaty thing? Hannah doesn’t think it’s possible.”
Portia looked at Hannah and Hannah looked right back at her. Portia smiled. Hannah blinked. The teaspoon next to Gwendi’s teacup was slowly rising into the air. It was followed by five cubes of sugar and then Portia’s teaspoon. The cubes of sugar floated in the air until one of the teaspoons gently batted a cube. The opposing teaspoon batted the cube back.
Hannah’s jaw dropped as she watched an impromptu tennis match involving two teaspoons and a cube of sugar played out in the air right before her eyes. She narrowed her eyes and ducked her head. She waved her hand just above and below the floating objects.
“There’s no string,” she said.
“Nope,” Elinor said proudly. “Just mum.”
Hannah looked into Portia’s eyes. Then she turned to her Aunt Gwendi, who smiled and held open her arms. Hannah went into them and let Gwendi pull her onto her lap.
The ladies watched a teaspoon make a particularly good serve.
“Exactly what type of a village is this?” Hannah whispered.
“The best kind,” Elinor said firmly.
The next few years were very happy. Hannah was by nature a cheerful person, so while the weight of the loss of her parent’s hung around her neck, she didn’t let it stop her from enjoying her life and the strange new world she’d been invited into.
And she had been invited. There wasn’t a place in the village she hadn’t explored by the time she was eleven. She learned how to swim in the old quarry and her Uncle Don and Uncle Stev took her fishing in the best streams.
Stev even let her touch his feathers.
She knew the woods behind her house like the back of her hand. During the summer, Gwendi would wake up to the sound of the back door closing and look out the window just in time to see her niece running into the woods in her bare feet to start her day’s exploration.
When she was twelve, Ambrose Collins scoffed at her boast of superior knowledge of the woods. Hannah’s eyes narrowed.
“You don’t believe me?” she asked.
“Of course not,” Ambrose said sticking his nose in the air. “I bet I could find you in a heartbeat.”
“Prove it,” Hannah said fiercely.
Elinor, who had become Hannah’s best friend, upped the stakes. “I dare you to prove it.”
Ambrose looked at his mates who all nodded in support. “Fine. You go hide. I’ll give you to the count of one hundred and then I’ll find you.”
“And if you don’t find me,” Hannah said, “you’ve got to declare that I know the woods better than you do and I am superior in every way.”
“And when I find you,” Ambrose said. “You have to say that I am superior to you in every way.”
Hannah exchanged a look with Elinor and then nodded. “Deal.”
The two shook on it while the kids around them ooh-ed and ahh-ed. Then the group of children walked to the edge of the woods near Hannah’s house.
Don walked up behind Gwendi who was watching from the kitchen window. He put his arms around her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder. “Do I want to know why half of the village children are in our back yard?”
“Hannah’s about to clean Ambrose Collins’ clock,” Gwendi said, leaning into her husband.
“She’s going to beat him up?” Don asked incredulously.
“No! She’s going to do far worse,” Gwendi said, sounding far too satisfied. “She’s going to outwit him.”
Don looked down at his wife and then out into the back yard at his niece who was determinedly removing her shoes. He chuckled and shook his head.
“God, I do love my strong girls,” he said. He pressed a kiss to Gwendi’s throat.
She hummed with pleasure and said, “You’re lucky we love you back.”
Outside, Hannah bounced on the tips of her bare feet.
“You can do this, Han,” Elinor said. A few of the other kids chimed in. Hannah grinned.
“I going to start the count, MacNeil,” Ambrose said. “Ready. Steady.”
Hannah braced herself.
“Go! 100, 99, 98...”
Hannah took off into the woods, her feet barely making a sound on the leaf-covered ground. She turned left, then she turned right. She leaped over the stream and scampered over the large rocks. She found a hollow in a small tree and huddled down.
After ten minutes, she emerged and carefully headed back towards her house. She caught sight of Ambrose in the distance, crunching the leaves under his feet loudly. Hannah shook her head.
“Amateur,” she muttered to herself. Swiftly, she circled around him and picked up a small rock. She lobbed it in the opposite direction of where she was going and Ambrose took off like a shot. Hannah fought the urge to laugh out loud. Instead, she turned around and walked back to her house.
By the time Ambrose gave up, Hannah had been sitting in her back yard sipping hot chocolate for an hour. The boy’s shoulders slumped.
“Fine. You win. You’re superior to me,” he said glumly.
“In every way,” Elinor prompted.
Ambrose sighed loudly. “In every way.”
“Thank you,” Hannah said graciously. “Would you like some hot chocolate? It’s very good.”
The boy thought for a moment and then accepted the mug. Hannah’s knowledge of the woods was never questioned again.
When her Uncle Don died unexpectedly, Hannah felt the pain from losing her parents flare up inside of her. Something in her started to freeze. Almost as if a tiny sliver of ice had found its way into her heart and was doing its best to freeze the rest of her.
She fought it as best she could. She truly tried not to hate being reminded of Don every time she entered her house or the pub. She tried not to notice how her Aunt Gwendi was losing her own fight against the cold.
Hannah knew her aunt was going to leave. She’d heard the stories about Gwendi’s mother and the fact was, whether or not it was because of some supernatural forces or simply because it was in her nature, Gwendi had to go.
How could Hannah argue with an urge that she herself was fighting?
So, the morning after Gwendi left, Portia and Elinor found Hannah sitting in the kitchen with a mug of tea long gone cold between her hands staring out the window into the woods.
“So, she’s gone, then?” Portia asked quietly. “Damn it. Oh, Gwendi.”
Portia sunk into a chair next to Hannah and took one of her hands. Elinor kissed her mother on the top of her head and went to put the kettle on.
“She’s left me the pub,” Hannah said, her voice quiet, yet strong. “I don’t know what to do.”
They were quiet while Elinor made tea. When Hannah had a fresh cuppa in front of her, she spoke again. “I think I’ve got to get out of here.”
Portia sighed and Elinor grabbed Hannah’s other hand. “Han, are you sure?”
Hannah shook her head. “No. I just know that being here hurts and I’m fairly sure that working in that pub night after night would kill me. I just can’t do it. Not right now.”
“Where would you go?” Elinor asked.
“I don’t know,” Hannah said. “I’ve got money my parents left me, I could just travel. See the world.”
“Do you think you’d come back?” Elinor asked in a small voice.
“Of course!” Hannah turned to her. “I’d always come back. This is my home. But, I can’t be here right now. I don’t know how to.”
“Then you should go,” Portia said softly. Hannah looked at her gratefully.
“Do you think you could not go, like, immediately?” Elinor asked tentatively. “I’d just like to get used to the idea of my best friend not being around.”
Hannah stifled a sob and hugged Elinor who hugged her back. Eventually, the three women moved to the living room to huddle together on the couch.
Hannah didn’t leave immediately. She made sure all the papers Gwendi had left her were in order and started to slowly lock up the house. Her Uncle Bryn listened carefully to her plans and when she asked if he thought he could manage the pub for an unspecified amount of time, he held his hand up to stop her talking.
“I loved my niece and I love you,” he said. “You are my family. Go. See the world. Cwm Alaw will be here when you get back.”
So she did. She told no one when she was leaving; she just got up one morning, grabbed her rucksack and left.
Two days later, both Bryn and Elinor received a letter with her vague itinerary and a promise to call every couple of weeks.
She started in Amsterdam, spending her days in museums and riding a bicycle along the canals. While she talked to people, she never talked to the same person twice and always left alone.
From Amsterdam she went to Rome, walking the city every day until her feet were sore, drinking wine at night and dancing in clubs until dawn.
From Rome, she went to Morocco. She spent an entire day sitting in a cafe overlooking the Djema al-Fna in Marrakesh and fell in love with Fez, walking its narrow streets and drinking mint tea.
She started to notice a pattern.
In every city she visited, she’d start out in the most tourist-filled section and by the end of her first day she’d find herself in a quarter of the town that was most definitely lacking tourists.
Hannah would spot a pointed ear here and an oddly shaped eye there. She’d run into at least two telekinetics and one shapeshifter. The woman could morph her hands so that her fingers webbed together, making her an ace at swimming.
By the time she made it to Marrakesh, she was familiar with nachtmerries, minotaurs and cyclops. Fez introduced her to a kapre who wanted to know all about the Sheep and Crow back home.
Hannah started to wonder if she had some kind of internal compass that pointed her towards the supernatural.
From Morocco, she went to Vietnam.
The humidity nearly bowled her over and her skin flushed pink. She took a small room in the city of Hanoi and began her usual wandering of the city. She wound up at the Tran Quoc Pagoda and sat on a bench facing the waters surrounding the pagoda.
Her eyes slid shut as she listened to the water lapping and the other tourists chatting and taking pictures.
“If you’re not careful,” an accented voice said, “you’ll lose your bag.”
Hannah’s eyes opened and she looked over at the man who had taken a seat next to her. He was reading a newspaper printed in Vietnamese. He had dark cropped hair and a full-lipped mouth. When he glanced in Hannah’s direction, she was struck by how sad his eyes looked.
“I’ve got a pretty good handle on it, thank you” she said, tightening her grip on her satchel.
The man smiled at his paper. “Oh, I’ve missed the sound of someone from Scotland. Say something else.”
“Something else,” Hannah said dryly. He chuckled. She cocked her head to the side. “Are you... Is that a French accent I hear?”
“Hmm, after all this time, you’d think it would have softened,” he said quietly. “But, yes, I am originally from Paris. My family moved here some time ago.”
“It’s incredible,” Hannah said looking out at the city. “I’ve never seen such colours before.”
“Yes, it is incredible,” the man said. He carelessly folded up his paper and turned to her. “So, what has brought you to Hanoi?”
Hannah shrugged. “It seemed like as good a place as any.”
“Oh, my,” he said. “Are we running from something? Someone?”
“More like some place,” Hannah said. She sighed. “Or maybe, myself.” She cringed. “God, that sounded trite. And cheesy. Ick. Ignore that last bit.”
He smiled and said, “If you like. You are alone?”
“Yep. All on my lonesome.” She frowned and looked at him with narrowed eyes. “I probably shouldn’t have said that. You’re not going to lure me to some dark hostel and do horrible things to me?”
He laughed out loud at that and she noticed that his face looked years younger when he smiled. Then he said, “No, I won’t lure you anywhere you don’t wish to go. However, it is lunch time soon; would you care to join me?”
“Seriously?” she asked crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re truly going to try to pick me up outside a national monument? Wow. Why?”
“Perhaps I just like the sound of your voice and would like to continue to listen to it,” he said.
Then he met her gaze and her internal supernatural compass started to spin. Oh, hell. Not again, she thought.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“My name is Jean Moyen,” he replied. “And you are?”
“Hannah MacNeil. And I’ve got to tell you,” she said, “I am fully capable of defending myself and I fight dirty.”
“I am very glad to know it and would not like to hear otherwise,” Jean said. He stood and offered her his hand. Hannah took it and was only slightly surprised by the skittering of electricity that ran up her arm.
Oh, double hell, she thought as they started to walk back to the city, her hand resting in the crook of his elbow.
They wound up at a small hole in the wall cafe where Jean knew the owners. The food was glorious and filled Hannah’s mouth with the taste of lemongrass and coriander. It was when she was eating her banh flan that she noticed the waiter had diamond shaped eyes. As she took a look around at the other customers, she started to notice other quirks and odd features. She sighed and looked Jean in the eyes.
“I’m not actually one of you,” she said directly.
He finished sipping his coffee and said, “But you are attracted to us.”
Hannah raised an eyebrow.
“Attracted, as in drawn to us,” he amended. “Not in the sexual sense. Although...”
“Look,” she said interrupting him. “I don’t go looking for you. It just seems to happen.”
Jean tapped a long finger against his mouth in thought, then he asked, “Does it truly bother you? You can walk out right now. I won’t follow. If that is what you want.”
She poked at her dessert with her spoon. “I don’t know what I want. I know I don’t want to go.” She propped her arm up on the table and cupped her chin in her hand. “It doesn’t really bother me. It’s just odd. I left my home trying to find something different and just keep finding the same.”
“Is that why you left?” he asked. “I could have sworn you left simply because you could.”
Hannah’s eyes flew to his and her fingers clenched around her spoon. “Who the hell are you?”
Jean smiled and looked down at his hands. “Just someone who’s seen it all.”
He raised his head and Hannah felt the electricity from earlier zip through her body. Oh, triple hell. Girl, you and your supernatural shenanigans, she thought. Just remember. This trip is for you and you alone. No getting involved with men who have traces of centuries flashing in their eyes. And absolutely, positively, no going home with him.
She went home with him.
He showed her all of Hanoi and all over the surrounding areas. One day, they took his small car out to where his family had their plantation. The two walked through the trees and vines that covered the land. Jean took her hand at one point and she had the sensation of falling through time and could almost see how it looked years ago. When they got back to the city that night, she dreamt of Cwm Alaw and running through the woods behind her house.
Jean invited her to go to Paris with him as he had some business he had to take care of there. Hannah accepted.
While Jean took care of his ‘business’, Hannah wandered about Paris, drinking coffee and eating pastries and watching people.
She went to the top of the Eiffel Tower one morning, sans Jean who’d refused the outing.
(“I’ve seen enough of that ridiculous metal monstrosity to last me at least several lifetimes.”
“Really? How many lifetimes have you already had?”
“A gentleman never tells.”)
As she stood looking over Paris as it woke up for the day, she started to feel homesick.
That night, after attending a party thrown by a friend of Jean’s, Hannah stood barefoot in her thin slip dress looking out the window at the lights along the Seine.
Jean lay on the bed watching her. “Why do I feel like this may be the last time I make love to you?”
“Because it probably is,” she said. “I’ve got to go home.”
“You’ve got to?”
Hannah rolled her eyes and walked over to the bed. “Fine. I want to go home.” She crawled over the sheets to sit Indian-style next to him.
“Good, I’m glad for you,” he said running a hand along her shin, over her knee to rest on her thigh underneath her dress. “Will you say good-bye?”
“I doubt it,” she said honestly. “I still have a perverse need to be the one who leaves first.”
“Ah, ma femme rouge, that is not perverse,” he paused. “What Alain wished to do to Penelope earlier this evening? That was perverse.”
Hannah laughed and let him pull her down for a kiss.
She left the next morning, leaving a note with the address of the Sheep and Crow on it in case he ever found himself in the wilds of Wales wanting a pint.
Cwm Alaw hadn’t changed much in the year she’d been gone. The shops still looked the same and the air was still fresh and clean. The Sheep and Crow was still standing and when Hannah walked through the door, the old familiar scent of the timber and the smell of hops made her tear up.
Someone shrieked, “Hannah!”
The next thing she knew, she was getting hugged to within an inch of her life by Elinor. Uncle Bryn was next, followed by Portia, then Uncle Stev and Aunt Grace.
“Sit! Sit! Tell us everything!” Elinor said. “Was it amazing? Did you meet anyone interesting?”
“All of the above,” Hannah said laughing.
She stayed up half the night with her family talking and telling all about her travels. Well, almost all about her travels.
After sleeping through most of the next day in the room above the pub, Hannah headed out to the house on the edge of the village. She unlocked the door and started to clean away the dust that had settled in.
By the end of the day, the kitchen was gleaming and the living room wood burner was crackling softly.
Hannah walked outside and stood in the backyard. She kicked off her shoes and set off at a run through the woods. Finding the old tree she’d once hidden from Ambrose Collins in, she sat down and simply breathed in the scent of home.
“But, it’s on my terms,” she murmured to the trees. “I can leave whenever I want. You’re home, but I’m not bound to you. And I won’t be bound. I just want to see what happens next.”
What happened next involved a naked young man on her porch steps.
Evan frowned. He flipped forward several pages, but that was the last line of the journal. Well, that wasn’t very sporting.
He drained the last of his tea, making a face at the taste of cold Earl Grey and fumbled in his pocket for some money.
“First lunch is on the house,” Elinor said standing next to her mother behind the counter. “Just make sure to come back.”
“Oh, I will,” Evan said. “I promise. Thank you.”
He smiled at the two Smythe ladies and then rushed out the door. He practically ran all the way to Taylor’s Titles and burst into the store. This time, he was greeted by the sound of Bach’s Cello Suite No. One.
“Let me just get past the prelude,” Mr. Taylor’s voice came from the small room in the back.
Evan just laughed quietly and shook his head. “Take your time,” he called.
“Ah, Mr. Michaels. I’ve got a computer all picked out for you!”
The cello played on and at the first pause, Mr. Taylor emerged from the back room with a few sheets of paper. “I really think this Dell is the one for you,” he said meeting Evan at the counter.
“That’s grand, thank you,” Evan said. He looked over the sheet Mr. Taylor handed him and nodded his head. “Spot on. I’ll take it.”
“Wonderful! I’ll place the order tonight and it should be here within a week.” He started to tap on his keyboard, but stopped when he realised Evan hadn’t moved. “Was there something else?”
“Yes, um, I finished this.” Evan pulled the journal from his bag and set it on the counter. “It just stops.”
“Well, yes,” Mr. Taylor said matter-of-factly. “Hannah hasn’t finished living her story yet.”
“Right,” Evan said. “I guess... I just expected something more...”
“More final? More illuminating?” Mr. Taylor said. He shook his head. “I was able to end Collen’s and Gwendi’s stories because they’ve gone. Hannah is still here, alive and well. Who knows how it’s going to end?”
“I suppose I just,” he paused, then grinned a little, “I just want to know what happens next.”
“Don’t we all?” Mr. Taylor said.
They both chuckled and Evan said his good-byes and moved to leave. He had just opened the front door when he stopped, turned and asked, “There are several blank pages at the end of the journal. Whose story are they for?”
Mr. Taylor smiled. “Why, they’re for your story, Mr. Micheals.”
Later that night, Evan sat at the bar nursing his Guinness and shaking his head at the display of rubbish coaching on the telly.
“Heard you stopped by Ellie and Portia’s today,” Hannah said wiping down the bar top next to him. “Did you try a scone?”
“I did. Bloody delicious,” he said.
Hannah chuckled. “Oh, yeah. El’s a fiend in the kitchen. Just don’t talk to her about icing, she’s very particular.”
“So particular that it required the sabotaging of a jumble sale?” he asked watching her face for a reaction. He wasn’t disappointed to see a blush start in her cheeks and spread to her collarbone.
“Shut up,” she said good-naturedly.
Evan laughed. He watched her hand as it moved the cloth around in circles on the smooth wooden surface. Without truly considering his actions, he put his hand on hers, stopping the motion. She looked up at him and he caught just the faintest hint of panic in her eyes, before it was replaced with wariness.
“I don’t know if I ever said it,” he said. “But, thank you. For finding me.”
“Well, you were in your all-together on my front porch,” Hannah said, her voice unsteady. “You were pretty hard to miss.”
“True, but you didn’t have to help me,” he said. “You certainly didn’t have to take me in and, and care for me and show me that I wasn’t completely crazy.”
“Well, the jury’s still out on that one,” she said finally cracking a smile.
Evan smiled back. “Knock it off, I’m being serious here. Thank you, Hannah. I mean it.”
“Well, you’re welcome,” she said turning her hand so that her palm met his. Something intense and powerful ran up his arm and down his spine to settle in his chest and his senses flared. He knew she felt it when her eyes widened and her pupils dilated. Her lips parted and Evan swallowed hard.
Hannah slowly pulled her hand away and turned to organise the wine glasses behind her. Evan tried to calm his heart.
He watched for a minute and took a drink. Then he said, “I’m not going anywhere.”
Her hands stilled, but she didn’t turn around.
“I just wanted you to know that,” he continued. “I’m not leaving any time soon.”
“And why is that, exactly?” she asked turning to face him. Her voice was light, and her eyes warned him against saying anything too serious.
Evan raised his glass and smirked. “Well, I’ve got four businesses depending on me to get them through tax season and I couldn’t possibly leave them to the tender mercies of Her Majesty’s Revenue and Customs.”
Hannah returned the smirk. “Oh, no, we couldn’t possibly have that.”
They grinned at each other while the rest of the pub’s patron’s groaned at another missed goal.
And, as always, to be continued when next time, Evan undergoes his first transformation in the village and what kind of door has Elinor opened and why are all those little creatures running amuck in Hannah’s pub?
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Date: 2010-12-05 05:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-06 05:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-06 10:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-06 10:05 am (UTC)There will definitely be more, I promise. Just probably not until the New Year. Yeah. Who signed up for three fic-fests this year? *raises hand* Argh.
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Date: 2010-12-05 06:43 pm (UTC)Awesome socks!
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Date: 2010-12-06 10:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-19 01:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-02 07:30 pm (UTC)