Morning came and with it, more rain, pattering gently against the singles and the panes of glass. The worst of the storm seemed to have passed, leaving a gentle rain in its wake, wet but hardly the storm that it had been the night before. The old house, at least, had weathered it well, though the same might not be said for the occupants who both suffered a restless sleep. It was in the small hours of the morning when another sound could be heard, echoing through the empty halls and rooms of the grand old house. This sound was not the sound of rainfall, but a different kind of sound. Quiet at first, as gentle as the rain. It seemed to be coming from the Music Room, where the piano had stood silent and unattended since the master of the house had disappeared three nights ago.

On the next floor down, tucked tightly in her blankets, Kit stirred, vaguely aware on the edge of consciousness of the music that lilted through the house. She rolled onto her back, away from the damp patch on the pillow that signaled stormy tears before sleep, rubbing her eyes as she frowned into the darkness. For a long moment, she wasn't sure what she was hearing, blaming her sleep-deprived mind for creating phantoms to taunt her beneath the near constant patter of rain. But the longer she lay there, the more real it seemed, and she felt her aching heart lift in her chest. Without seeming to give herself conscious instruction, she flew from the bed, forgetting a robe or a cover to keep herself warm, rushing from her bedroom to scramble up the stairs, running along the hall to burst into the music room, hope all over her face.

The music was as soft and gentle as the raindrops tapping against the glass, sad in a way - melancholy strains of Chopin that reminded one of a rainstorm, starting slowly at first before reaching a crescendo and then gentling again. It was a haunting sort of melody that touched the heart and soul with a strange sense of longing or loneliness, lovely and stirring. The music almost seemed to draw her forth, to summon her from bed, to call her from her dreams to seek out the music that was playing so sadly and so sweetly just above her head, the sound of it growing louder, stronger the closer she came. When all at once, she opened the door, who and what she found there was likely to give her the shock of her young life. There before her, as plain as day, was the Randal she remembered - or so it seemed. So lost in the song was he that his eyes were closed, his fingers moving over the black and white keys almost unconsciously, as if he was in a sort of trance, hardly aware of what he was doing.

There he was, just as she remembered him, pale and quiet, lost in the music as it flowed from beneath his fingertips. And solid, real, not a ghost who could only tell her he loved her, but a man who could show her. Kit let out a quiet sob, barely recalling the eerie visitor from the night before as she lurched forward from the doorway, stumbling toward the pianist. "Randal," she finally said his name, falling onto her knees beside him, reaching up to touch his face. "You came back."

He opened his eyes at the sound of his name, slowly, like a dreamer waking from dream. He stopped playing, drawing his fingers away from the keys and turning to look at her in confusion and wonder. "Kit?" he asked, in that same voice she remembered, that of the captain she loved and the lawyer who'd arrived in the rain. He looked on her with those same blue eyes, that same puzzled frown, reaching up with that same long-fingered hand to touch her cheek in wonder and awe and familiarity, as if he'd known her forever.

"Are you staying?" She didn't dare offer anything else, anything more than the wondering, hopeful touch that skimmed over his cheek, into his hair, her eyes wide with the sort of joy that might break her if it were taken away again. She had to know she wouldn't be alone again. "Stay with me?"

He made no reply just yet, his eyes studying her face as if seeing her for the very first time. His fingers wandered over her cheek, touching her lips, her hair, his gaze moving over her to take her in completely. "I had a dream," he started, in that voice that seemed to belong to both men who were different and yet the same.

"A dream?" Kit hesitated, some part of her remembering the Randal who had stayed the night, putting him together with what was happening right now. A little of her hope died, but there had to be some reason he was here, in this room, playing this piano as though born to it. She rose from where she knelt, sliding onto the seat beside him, her hand tangling with his. "Tell me."

He shrugged his shoulders as if it was nothing, just the way her Randal had done, as if he was unsure how to explain. He closed his eyes to try and remember, to see it all in his mind once again. "We were dancing, you and I, to Glenn Miller, I think. It was our only night together, or so it seemed, and I..." He paused for just a moment before continuing, as though he was unsure if he should share all the details of his dream. "We were kissing, and I wanted you so badly. So very badly. It seemed impossible, this yearning, this longing inside me. All I wanted was you," he said, opening his eyes to her once more, tears clouding his vision, though he wasn't sure why. "I said that I loved you and I always would, and you asked me to never let go."

She was silent for a long moment, watching her fingers play with his. Then her eyes rose once more, matching tears blurring her own vision as she met his gaze. "I don't know how you know," she said very softly. "Unless you really are the Randal I know. That happened three days ago, on the night he ....you ....disappeared." She twisted, curling her hands to his cheeks, looking deep into his eyes. "Is this real" Is this what Isabelle meant?"

"I don't know," he replied quietly, blinking once, causing those tears to spill over onto his face and stream down his cheeks, though he wasn't quite sure why. "She came to me last, Isabelle did. She told me that....that I am somehow part of all this, that she arranged it this way. That all I had to do was accept it and believe, and I would be him, the man that you love."

"But I do love you." Even hearing herself say it seemed to bring confusion into Kit's eyes, shocked at herself for betraying her captain so terribly, so soon after losing him. But she couldn't deny that this Randal held the same piece of her in his hand, even if it made no sense at all. "It sounds crazy, I know, and you already think I'm crazy, which probably doesn't help, but ....for three days, I've lived in a house that has felt completely empty. And yet the moment you stepped into the house, that emptiness went away. There's only one person I know who can make this place feel like that."

"But I'm not him, Kit..." he argued, finding himself unable to stop the tears now that they'd been let loose. What was it that was moving him so' Had his life really been so lonely that he'd hardly realized it until now, or was he feeling the other man's pain" "You love him, not me." He looked at the piano, wiping a hand across his face, looking so very much like her Randal - that same distraught expression, that same confusion and pain. "I don't know how to play the piano. How can I know how to play the piano?"

"What if he is you?" she asked him softly, reluctantly releasing his hand. The joy and hope she had felt on her mad rush from the bedroom was very slowly seeping away. If this was Isabelle's promise fulfilled, it was no less cruel than if she had deceived them in the first place. How could this Randal ever trust Kit's heart' She bit her lip, breathing slowly to keep herself from crying with him. "You know how to play because it's something a part of you loved to do, once upon a time. All you need is to remember it."

He couldn't help but notice how adorable she looked in her pajamas, though he was trying hard not to notice. As for himself, he was dressed nearly the same as he was when he'd passed out in bed, though far more rumpled than he'd been when he'd arrived. "How did you know?" he asked as he stepped into the kitchen and up beside her.

"Know what?" she asked, tipping her head back to look up at him. Odd, how more aware she was of his height now than she ever had been before. One hand reached out to flick the coffee pot on - one modern amenity she had insisted on having in the house from day one, refusing to make it the old fashioned way just because that was what was expected of her.

He had asked for a cup of tea, and here she was making him a full English breakfast. "How did you know that..." He trailed off, realizing that other Randal must have told her, though he didn't quite remember the entire conversation. Perhaps it would come to him later. He furrowed his brows, looking a little troubled for a moment as he rubbed that aching spot in his temple once again. "May I ask you something personal?" he asked as he stood there, towering over her at just over six feet and a couple of inches.

Steam was already rising from the spout of the tea-pot where it sat on the counter - she had made tea, but had apparently just kept going once that was left to steep. Kit offered him a gentle smile, turning to pull open the cupboard over her head. "Of course you can," she told him, sure there was nothing she'd keep a secret from him. He already thought she was crazy, after all. Rising up onto her toes, she reached for a couple of plates, glancing at the stove as the bacon spat excitedly.

"I was just wondering..." he started. He beat her to the plates, reaching over her head without thinking to take down several plates and cups and setting them on the counter before them, almost without considering what he was doing, almost as if he knew they were there without asking. The only problem was that by doing so, he had to lean dangerously close to her so that he could reach over her head - so close that they were almost touching.

She felt him before she saw his hand reach over her head, the heat of his body close at her back more than enough to reignite certain feelings she had told herself to hold down. He had enough to deal with right now without her libido complicating matters. Skin flushed, she held herself still for a long moment, turning just enough to look up at him. "Thank you."

He found himself very close to her, too close for comfort really, close enough to catch the scent of her perfume or perhaps it was just her own sweet scent he was sensing. He froze in place for a moment as their eyes met, that charming blush creeping into her cheeks once again. He just studied her for a long moment, longing to kiss her, two sides of himself debating whether to do it or not, before the more prevalent side won out, and he stepped back a pace to give her space. "Yes, of course," he mumbled in awkward reply. How were they going to get through breakfast if he could hardly stand in the same room with her without making a complete ass of himself"

She wasn't quick enough to hide the disappointment that flickered through her when he stepped back, though she had sense enough to at least try to keep it from his eyes, turning her attention to serving the meal she had created. Every part of her longed to turn and throw herself into his arms, to complete what she had refused to allow the last time they had been together, aching to love and be loved once again. But there was still an insistent voice in her mind, reminding her that he needed to come to terms with what seemed to have happened to him, that he didn't need her to complicate matters, no matter how much she wanted to. "Eat," she told him, setting the plates onto the table with the cutlery. "Maybe you'll feel better after you have something in your stomach."

"Yes," he admitted, almost as disappointed as her. Maybe he should have just kissed her, swept her off her feet, but he wasn't that kind of man. And yet, she had professed to love him - or love the man who'd been his predecessor. He nearly forgot his question, almost too embarrassed to ask it now, wondering what she'd think of him if he did. In a way, they felt like strangers, and yet, they were not. "Perhaps I will," he admitted, following her to the table and pausing to pull out a chair for her before claiming one for himself.

Claiming the tea pot from the counter, she smiled to find him holding her chair for her - a sweet, genuine smile that came to her face without forethought or hesitation, the first truly spontaneous smile he'd seen from her. "Thank you." Sitting down, she moved to pour the tea, watching him sit down with her. "What did you want to ask me?"

"Oh," he said as she took her seat, blushing himself, as flushed in the face as she'd been only a few moments earlier. He shook his head, too embarrassed to follow through on the question now that she'd remembered he had something to ask. He waved a dismissive hand in the air. "It's nothing," he replied, reaching for the milk and pouring a little into first her cup, then his, as if he knew just how she liked it.

She bit her lip as he poured just enough milk into her cup, failing to hide the warm smile that crossed her face on seeing just how much of her was in his mind already. "May I ask you something?" she queried softly, raising her knife and fork to begin eating.

"I'm not sure I will have an answer, but yes, of course," he replied, returning the creamer to the table and stirring his tea. There was something in the way he made his tea, the way he spoke, the way he moved, everything he did that seemed so very much like her Randal, that it was difficult to tell them apart. If she'd put him in a military cap and coat, they'd be completely identical, right down to the last detail - or at least, as far as she knew.

"Why are you running away from London?" You. It wasn't a question pertinent to the part of him she had known and loved, nor was she seeking more similarities. Kit was asking about him, the life he had lived so far, and still with that loving softness in her eyes. Perhaps her way of accepting things without asking how or why was not such a terrible approach to life, after all.

"Running away?" he echoed, in that way the Randal she'd known and loved had been in the habit of doing. "I'm not running away," he told her, reaching for his cup and taking a sip of tea, unable to hide the nervousness he felt at the question. There was obviously something he was either hiding or reluctant to share, though there was very little reason to hide it.

"Oh." She lowered her eyes, unaccountably hurt by his refusal to answer the question, though in a way he had. But there was something in London he was retreating from, she was sure of it. He had said there was nothing left for him there, an implication that something had happened in the city that had urged his decision to accept his new posting here in Hastings. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry."

"It's not that," he said, not wanting her to think it was her or that he was keeping any secrets, though he couldn't say why he cared. He sighed, focusing his attention on his tea cup, which he was fiddling with nervously in his hand. "It's just....My mother passed away recently, and....it's still a bit of a shock."

He didn't know he'd taken away her excuse to escape with those words, with that smile, and she wasn't about to tell him. She would just have to pull herself together more quickly, under watchful eyes, that was all. Managing a faint smile in answer to his, she nodded once again, lowering her gaze to her meal. Time. It always came back to time, and faith. Time to learn and understand, to develop faith in her heart and her loyalty. It had taken a year for him to do it, and now she could foresee more distrust of her looming. It was not a prospect that whetted her appetite.

He had so many questions for her, so many things he didn't understand, but for now all of that would have to wait. "Eat your breakfast," he told her with a gentle smile. "I'm not going anywhere. I promise," he said, digging into his breakfast with the same enthusiasm as that her captain had just a few days earlier.

The enthusiasm he showed for the food put paid to any thought she had of leaving the table, knowing that if she did, he would either follow her, or lose his own appetite. His smile was just a little heartbreaking to see, knowing that he had too much to absorb to truly mean that smile for her right now. But she forced herself to play along a little, managing another mouthful at least. "You mentioned that you're a solicitor," she offered, attempting to make conversation politely. "What firm are you attached to?"

"Finchley and Associates," he replied, shoveling a slice of toast into his mouth that he'd just dunked in his eggs. "Have you heard of it?" he asked, arching both brows at her as he leaned over his plate of full English.

"Um, yes, actually," she admitted, relaxing a little as the mundane conversation took her away from the intense reality of how she was feeling. She pushed her plate away, the contents only half-touched, raising her tea cup instead. "They're the firm that my grandmother used. They dealt with her estate after she died."

"I see." The mention of death made him wince a little, but he covered it up quickly with a sip of tea. How ironic that they'd both lost someone they loved so recently. "I'm wondering something," he said, pushing his plate away now that he'd finished breakfast and leaning toward her, one arm resting against the table.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, seeing his wince, looking down guiltily into her cup even as he leaned toward her. Slowly her eyes rose, with an expression that made her look remarkably like a small child expecting to be scolded for something they may or may not have done. "What are you wondering?"

"Well, I'm new in town, and I'm going to need someone to show me around." There was that smile again, charming, disarming, and just a little playful. "Would you know anyone who might be interested?" he asked, teasing her just a little, as she had to know he was hoping she'd volunteer.

She stared at him for a long moment, finally cracking a smile as she glanced down, shaking her head as that smile deepened. And no, she couldn't resist teasing him in return. "Well, I know a few people who might take you up on that offer," she mused thoughtfully, rising to collect their plates and begin the process of tidying up. "Though I won't be giving you Noah's number. I think I may have eradicated it a while back."

His smile faded and he looked almost crestfallen at her denial, not quite realizing she was teasing him just yet. "Noah?" he echoed, the name prickling at some memory or other, though he couldn't quick call it up. "I was rather hoping you would show me around yourself," he confessed, pushing back from the seat to help her clear the table.

"Then perhaps you should have asked me directly, instead of playing coy," she countered. The turn of her head toward him betrayed a dimpled cheek and a wide, rather playful grin before she looked away again, rinsing the plates under the tap as she giggled very quietly.

"Oh, I see how it is. You don't appreciate flirtation. You would rather I be straight forward and honest. Very well," he said, setting the cups on the counter for rinsing. "Miss Clarke, would you be so kind as to show my poor, pathetic self around town and perhaps join me for dinner?" he asked, hoping to surprise her with that last part.

Kit couldn't help it - she giggled once again, delighted to be teased, even if it didn't mean what she wished it might. "Well, that really does rather depend on whether or not you plan on staking a shower before this day out and dinner, Mr. Nichols," she informed him cheekily, leaning in to sniff with exaggerated mischief at his chest. "Manly it may be, but hardly for mixed company."

Despite everything, he found himself chuckling at her remarks, her teasing wit more than a match for his own and lightening the mood between them. "And yet, here you stand beside me hardly even wrinkling your nose," he pointed out with a playful smirk.

"Ah, well, there could be any number of reasons for that," she mused with a playful twist to her smile, bending to set the rinsed articles in the dishwasher. "Deadened sense of smell from years of sawdust up my nose ....a particular attraction to your brand of manly musk ....English politeness being stretched to the very limit ..."

"Mmm, I think perhaps we can dispense with the politeness. I would rather you be frank, though to be perfectly honest, I haven't anything to change into. I left my luggage in the car." Which, admittedly, was only a short walk away. Why had he chosen this house, of all the houses nearby' Perhaps because in some deep recess of his mind it had seemed familiar" Or perhaps it was simply meant to be.

"Oh, I don't think you want me to be quite that frank," she laughed quietly, her cheeks lighting up in a brilliant blush once more as she straightened. "I might frighten you away forever, and then who would show you around town?"

"You have a point. Shall I trudge on over to my car then and grab a change of clothes, or do you prefer my manly musk?" he teased back, blue eyes twinkling with mischief, a smile lighting his face, finding that blush quite adorable again.

Kit bit her lip, gathering her courage to turn and face him, letting her head tip back as she looked him in the eye. Her fingers twitched to touch, but she made herself hold back. He wasn't hers to touch. Not yet. "I think, perhaps, the sooner we're both dressed properly, the better it might be," she mused teasingly.

"I'll have you know this was proper dress when I left the house yesterday." He said, tugging at his shirt and glancing down to find he was looking rather rumpled. He laughed, as if he'd only just noticed. "Is there something wrong with wrinkles?" he teased back.

"It depends how they come about, I suppose." Her shy smile had returned as she stepped back, taking herself out of the range of temptation, fingertips picking at the slightly damp bandage on her hand as she wrapped her arms about herself. She glanced at the window, a little surprised to find that the rain seemed to be easing away. "It doesn't look as though you'll get too wet marching out there, though."

"Kit, I..." he started, the first to break the silence that had settled between them. "There are things about me you don't know yet. I would like you to know me....I would like to know you before we, well, you know..."

She blushed, biting her lip even as she smiled. "I understand," she assured him softly. "Really, I do. This is all a little overwhelming even for me, and I've been living it a lot longer than you have." Her fingers stroked against his cheek a moment longer, the pad of her thumb sweeping over his lips in a sweetly intimate gesture that didn't ask for anything he wasn't ready to give. "We have time."

Less than twenty-four hours ago, he'd found himself banging on her door and meeting her for the very first time. She'd seemed cold at first, distant. He hadn't realized at first how very broken she was, devastated by the loss of a man who was, in some strange way, a part of him, part of his soul. As ridiculous and unbelievable as the idea sounded, he was starting to understand, starting to open his heart and his mind to the idea that there was much more going on here than he could have ever possibly imagined. "We have all the time in the world," he replied with a soft smile as his lips met hers again, softer this time, gentler, but with equal fervor.

That second kiss surprised her, his lips finding her smile as she leaned into him once again, not asking for anything, nor yet demanding it, content to take what she was given and return her own heart into his keeping. A stray thought crossed her mind, and she giggled suddenly, breaking the kiss with a slightly embarrassed edge to her laughter. "I'm sorry," she apologised through her giggles. "First kisses never seem to happen to me when I'm dressed like a normal human being."

He mirrored her smile, amused by the unnecessary apology and the giggle the followed. "And just what does a normal human being dress like?" he queried, clearly amused and finding her simply adorable. His gaze moved over her again, as she stood there in jammies that didn't really match the weather. "Would you like to try again with us both properly dressed?"

"That might be an idea," she admitted, embarrassed now she had realised that she was essentially only one layer away from being utterly naked in his arms, and her pajamas weren't exactly made from robust material. "You'll be easier in yourself when you've checked on your car, anyway."

"It's just a car," he said, though that wasn't quite true. His whole life was in that car, or at least, a good portion of it. He'd hired movers to bring the rest of his belongings down later, when he actually had a place to call his own. It had taken months to go through all his mother's things, and even now, some of it had gone into storage as he just couldn't bring himself to part with it. "I suppose I should do that then." He glanced at the windows, noticing it had finally stopped raining, and the sun was trying to keep through the clouds. "Would you mind very much if I use your shower?" he asked, not wanting to assume anything. He'd planned on getting a hotel room for the evening before his car had forced him to change those plans.

"Well, there are ....five bathrooms," she assured him with a wide smile. "I shouldn't think there would be much of a problem with you using one of them." Her hands gently smoothed down over his chest as she finally made to step out of his arms. "You're very welcome to make yourself at home, as much as you like. For as long as you'd like."

He frowned a little as she drew away, but not because of that. It was indecision that made him frown, or perhaps just a touch of uncertainty, not because of her, but because he didn't want to assume too much or take advantage of the situation. "Are you sure" I was going to get a hotel, until I can find a place of my own. I don't want to intrude."

"There's plenty of room," she assured him, careful to turn away before she added something a little more pertinent. "I'm not used to being completely alone. I-I'd like it, if you chose to stay. Even just for a few days."

He sensed there was a little more to her reasoning than she was letting on, which had something to do with the matter of a man who was already deceased, but he said nothing about it. Unlike her, he was used to being alone most of the time, but that didn't mean he liked it. "All right," he agreed, without much hesitation. "But you must let me help out. I'm not afraid to help with chores."

Her smile was bright as she met his gaze. "If you are prepared to wield a duster and lug boxes around, then maybe I should hire you as live in help," she giggled, giving in to an urge he might not have fully appreciated. The little woman in front of him threw her arms about his waist, hugging him tight. "Thank you. And I promise, I'll get dressed."

He was more taken aback by the unexpected hug than he had been by the kiss, though he chuckled a little at her suggestion. "Well, I already have a job, but perhaps we can work something out. Perhaps some sort of trade," he suggested in return. It might work out well for both of them. Perhaps he could help her around the house in return for room and board, though he wasn't afraid to pay for his keep. He dropped a kiss against the top of her head, fond and affectionate and again without much thought. "I'd better go check on my car."

"The front door's unlocked," she assured him, stepping back with that same bright smile. "You can get in and out easily enough." Helping around the house in exchange for room and board was easily managed, she thought, though she was already planning on hiring a cleaner to maintain the house once she was done clearing out and redecorating. "If you need me, I'll be in the Blue Room," she offered shyly. "Third door on the right, first floor."

"The Blue Room, right," he repeated, wondering how she could afford this place. Only rich people named rooms, and she didn't seem very rich, but he knew that didn't mean anything. She'd inherited the house from her grandmother, she'd said, and somehow, those memories inside him knew it to be true, but how was she ever going to handle the maintenance and upkeep of such a place all on her own" "I, uh, I won't be long," he assured her, as he started in the direction of the front door.

"All right." She watched him out of sight, and let out a happy little squeal, hugging herself tightly. "Okay, don't get ahead of yourself, Kit," she told herself firmly, pattering bare foot over the floor to scramble up the stairs and into her bedroom. Shower first, then clothes, and then ....who knew"

About twenty minutes after he'd stepped out the door, the sound of a car engine was heard outside as it pulled up the long driveway and parked just outside the house. If she looked out a window, she'd find none other than her unexpected guest climbing out of the car, which was an nondescript sedan of some kind, and pulling a suitcase out of the trunk.

If he had looked up in the moment that she looked out the window, he would have seen an awful lot more of her than he had professed himself to be ready for just yet. Fresh from the shower, Kit distracted herself smiling down at the sight of him pulling a suitcase from his apparently not so broken car, recalling her nudity abruptly in time to dart back from the window, groping for her robe.

He studied the picture for a moment, looking for some small difference, but there was none. The man in the photograph was identical to him in every way. He had the same eyes, the same face, though he looked a few years younger. He even had the same all-too serious look on his face that he often wore when he was troubled or deep in thought. "How did you meet' I mean, I know what you told me, but how did you get close" All the bits and pieces are like a jigsaw puzzle in my head."

"The first time I met him, I was six years old," she smiled faintly. "In this room. I'd woken up, and there was a man standing in my room, watching me sleep. I wasn't scared, not until I woke up properly and remembered all my mother's warning about strangers. I screamed the place down." She laughed, shaking her head at the memory of her silly reaction back then. "I didn't see him again until Halloween last year." She described the party, every detail of that first true meeting with Captain Nichols, even her own highly embarrassing behavior while drunk; and further, she described finding that very photograph in the attic, and her attempts to confirm what she had been told. Attempts that had finally led her to the music room, and to a promise that she had kept all year.

This was part of the story he hadn't heard yet, though some part of him must have known. He listened quietly, patiently through the retelling of it, knowing that what she was telling him was true. "He loves you very much," he told her, reaching for her hand. Not past tense, like her captain was dead. He wasn't dead, not exactly, not so long as Rand was alive and keep her captain's memories safe inside his head. "Perhaps it will all make sense in time," he said, with a faint hopeful smile. What was it Isabelle had said" Something about faith and trust.

Her fingers curled into his, trusting her heart, taking everything on the faith the way she had always taken everything on faith, wishing he could do the same. "It doesn't seem fair," she said, her voice small in the stillness. "To end the curse, Isabelle did something with a witch or whatever, something that would give Randal a second chance to live his life with someone who loved him. All he had to do was trust me, trust that I really did love him and that I wouldn't ever leave. It took him a year to do it, but he did. And now you have to learn how to do it as well. Am I really so difficult to trust?" She looked up at him, needing to know the answer. "Do I really seem like someone who has to prove where their heart lies?"

"No," he replied as softly and gently as he could, reaching over to touch her cheek, for no reason at all except that he wanted to do it. "No, Kit, it's just the opposite, I'm afraid. You seem like you'd be very easy to trust, very easy to love. Maybe that's what I'm afraid of." He sighed, wondering if it wasn't time for some explanations of his own. "You know, Isabelle came to visit me last night. She told me the same things you've told me. She said all I have to do is believe, and I do. As crazy as it sounds, I believe her and I believe you. I'm trying, I really am, but it's all so very confusing," he said, rubbing at the spot on his forehead again. "I-I've never had the kind of love you and....and he shared. Oh, I've had a few girlfriends. I even thought I was in love once or twice, but I don't think I've ever had the kind of love you did."

Somehow, the mention of Isabelle didn't surprise her. Kit knew now that she had been unfair to the woman, guilt flaring in her heart for the thoughts she had been harboring against the woman, whom she hoped was now at peace. "Rand ....you do have that love," she told him softly, reaching up to smooth her fingers far more gently over the place where his ghostly self had endured a bump to the head not more than four days ago. "For whatever reason, however it happened, I love you. I've been in love with you for more than a year, before we ever met. You're not the only one who's frightened, who's confused. And I know I'm not making this any easier for you. I just wish I knew what I can do to help."

Her touch seemed to soothe him for some reason, like she was caressing his heart. What was it about this woman that touched him so deeply' He wouldn't call it love - not just yet, though part of him did love her. She deserved an explanation, to know how he felt. He'd tried to explain, but he wasn't sure if he'd made himself very clear. Part of him had only met her just yesterday. The other part...."He loved you, Kit. He loved you so desperately, but I....I need time. We need time. You loved him, but you hardly know me. Give me time to win your heart the way that he did. That's all I ask. Just for a little time." But then, she'd already granted him that. He found his eyes were filling with tears again, and he wasn't sure why. Perhaps he was just feeling her pain, her loneliness. She wanted this so badly. He wanted this so badly.

A little time. Kit smiled, a little sad but a lot hopeful in the same moment. Her thumb smoothed down his cheek as she gently drew her hand away, tucking her robe a little tighter about herself. The suggestion of what wasn't underneath was far preferable to the open sight of what wasn't, she thought. "We have time," she promised him, moving to rise onto her feet. She leaned down, brushing a soft kiss against his hair. "I'll leave you be, for now. I think I've confused you enough for one morning."

He was all too aware of the womanly curves hidden beneath that thin layer of cloth, and yet, he did his best not to think about it. If he let himself think about it, then he would give in to the longing and desire that burned deep inside him - a longing he wasn't sure was entirely his own. As much as he wanted her, he needed time to make sense of all this, to sort out what he was feeling, what he wanted, not that other that was living inside him. "I won't be long," he told her quietly, resisting the urge to take her in his arms and pull her down to the bed. How much longer would he be able to resist, living here with her day after day' Maybe that was the whole point - maybe he didn't need to resist.

She offered him that small, shy smile once again, making her way back to the door. "I'll be around," she promised, drawing the door closed behind her. For as long as you need me.

((That was a long one, but fun! Thanks to my awesomely awesome partner and to anyone who's following along. More to come very soon!))