Virtual Canvas Ch. 07

Normally whistling wasn't a hobby of Nolan's, but he seemed to be doing it a lot lately. He whistled as he set up the enormous canvas he'd gotten his hands on this morning, as he lined up a row of paint tubes and tubs.

Today wouldn't be easy; he knew that. He was getting through to Kateri but she made it quite a challenge. Not that he blamed her. What was done to her was...sickening, he thought. He wished he could strangle the man who'd done it. As for Molly...well, he knew from a quick Google search that her career was dead in the water these days, but it hardly seemed enough for what she'd done.

Perhaps he was getting in over his head with this. Kateri needed a lot of patience, a lot of gentle coaxing, to get her out of her shell and she was stubbornly resistant to it. Nolan had plenty of patience, though. Even though sometimes she didn't seem grateful he still wanted to help. And really, she was warming up to him quite nicely.

Perhaps a bit too nicely, he thought, frowning. That would be the most difficult part of the day: keeping his hands off her. His desire to avoid frightening her struggled to overcome his, well, desire period. If he closed his eyes he could still see the image of her, her lips wet with strawberry juice, her eyes bright with curiosity as she watched him make dessert. That was not the kind of thought that would leave clearheaded.

The door rattled. Nolan turned, forcing those thoughts out of his head for the moment. Kateri stepped through the door, wearing a dusty rose hoodie and a tentative smile.

"Hey," she said quietly.

"Glad you came," he responded, grinning. "Was a little worried you might bail on me."

"I considered it," she admitted unabashedly. "But it seemed poor repayment for such a delicious meal."

"I'll remember that next time you try to wriggle out of something."

Her smile widened. She turned and locked the studio door—though Nolan didn't think anyone would intrude—then unzipped her hoodie. She obviously had some idea what his plan was, as she dressed prepared: a plain white camisole beneath a short pair of overalls already showing a few faint paint stains.

"This isn't going to work," she said, draping her hoodie over a stool. "I've tried. I can't hold a brush."

"Good thing we won't be using brushes, then."

She blanched. "What?"

"Relax, princess," Nolan said, suppressing a frown. He was upset, but not at her. "What's wrong now, huh? Don't tell me you're afraid of getting a bit of paint on your hands."

He tried to keep his voice light. When she continued to hang back uncertainly, he went to her. Nolan caught her hand, cupping it tenderly. He urged her towards the canvas.

"I don't know about this," she hedged.

"You can't know until you try, right?"

"I have tried..."

He glanced at her, eyebrows raised. An expression of sorrow, deeper than any he'd yet seen, crossed her face. She kept walking towards the canvas. Kateri reached out, brushing the canvas' surface with her fingertips. A deep, shuddering sigh wracked her from head to toe. Guess you can take the girl out of the art, Nolan thought, but you can't take the art out of the girl.

"What happened?" he asked. He came up behind her and put his arms around her, drawing her against him.

"I thought—I thought they weren't too bad. But I showed them to my father, and he..."

"He isn't here now," Nolan murmured. "Just you and me. I'll even paint with you. Then your father could hate it twice as much."

Much to his relief, she laughed. Though she rolled her eyes, when she slipped out of his grasp it was to reach for the paint. He hadn't been certain what type she'd prefer, so he'd laid out oils, acrylics, and watercolors. After a moment of thought she selected a tube of acrylic, cadmium red to be exact. Good thing I dressed for this, Nolan thought ruefully. His old jeans and T-shirt weren't likely to come out of this in good shape.

As if something had sparked inside her, Kateri began choosing colors with abandon. She stuck to bright shades of yellow, orange, red and similar, plus a pale peach and tubes of white and black. He watched with fascination as she set things up where she wanted them, though he saw no rhyme or reason to her decisions.

"My father doesn't care for red very much, you know," she said as she tried to twist off the cap.

"I'm starting to think you're right about your father," Nolan admitted. "He's a jerk."

Without a word he carefully pried the tube from her grasp and unscrewed the cap. She looked only mildly peeved when he handed it back.

"I used to look up to him just as much as you," Kateri said. She used her palms to squeeze some paint onto a palette. "Maybe I shouldn't have. I saw signs of how he really was even when I was a kid, but I never really wanted to acknowledge it."

"Most of us don't ever want to admit there could be something really wrong with our parents. That's perfectly normal."

"Here, mix this with a bit of water for me, would you?"

She tossed him a tube of orange paint. Nolan grabbed some of the sticks he usually used for paint mixing. They worked in near silence, with only the occasional command from Kateri. The years hadn't changed that part of her; she still knew exactly what she wanted when it came to art.

After a few minutes she let out a frustrated growl and shoved her hair back over her shoulder. Nolan reached into his backpack and pulled out a spare bandana (he always kept a few). While she scowled impatiently, he tied the bandana in place. And here she acted like she didn't want to do this, he thought, swallowing a laugh at the eager way she dipped her fingers in the paint. She probably didn't even realize she was doing it, probably still thought she was being stubborn and cranky.

He tied his own bandana firmly in place, then stood there, uncertain what to do next.

"Did you bring brushes?" Kateri wanted to know. Her eyes remained on the canvas.

"Yeah."

"Good. Get them out. I've got an idea."

"Should I be worried about that?" he asked as he rooted his brushes out of his backpack.

"Perhaps."

She was already at work, feathering her fingers over the canvas, spreading orange paint. Nolan had no idea what she was getting at, but he stuck a spare brush behind his ear and moved to stand next to her.

"Here," Kateri said. She grabbed his wrist and pushed his hand where she wanted it, a short distance from her own work on the canvas. "Move like this..."

Though she couldn't hold a brush anymore, Nolan quickly found out there was nothing wrong with her ability to guide. Of course, it meant he got paint on his hand and arm, wherever she touched, but he'd suffered worse indignities in his life. And well, she was already getting plenty on herself, not just on her hands but on her clothing too.

"So," she said, a slight murmur of distraction in her voice, "are you ever going to explain?"

"Um...huh?" Ah, yes, there he went with the eloquence again. The problem seemed to be even worse around Kateri.

"Why you're doing this. Why...why you even like me. I know you had a thing for me when we were younger, but—but why? Was it just the art thing?"

She continued to focus on the canvas when she asked, as if that gave her the courage to speak. Nolan noticed the slow creep of a pink flush, up her neck, over her cheeks, all the way to her ears. He felt a little warm himself. Though Kateri worked—and kept pointing him in the direction she wanted him to go, guiding his hand in arcs or wispy strokes—he got the impression she waited intently for his answer.

"I guess...'cause you were nice," he said finally. "I mean, not just to me, but to everyone. Even people who weren't so nice to you."

"Not anymore," she pointed out. "I barely even talk to people anymore."

"You were pretty nice the other day when you were helping your dad's students."

She went even redder.

"Hey, look, you asked. I'm not so great at words, though; I prefer to show people. Bloody hard to show someone why you like them."

Kateri considered that for a moment, then giggled. "This is the most awkward conversation I've ever had."

"Hey, you started it."

She turned to him for the first time in a while and, to his surprise, stuck her tongue out at him. Her eyes crinkled with laughter.

"Aha!" Nolan exclaimed. "So that's the attraction. You've gotten so immature, I finally feel like we're on the same wavelength."

She expressed the immaturity he accused her of by swiping her paint-smeared fingers across his shirt. A self-satisfied smile played on her lips as she turned back to the canvas. Nolan stood for a moment in thought. Then he tapped her bare shoulder. Kateri faced him again, one eyebrow raised, still looking smug. He lifted his paintbrush and stroked it down her cheek, leaving behind a faint trail of peach paint.

Her eyes widened in outrage; real or not, he couldn't quite tell. She swiped a glob of cadmium red from the palette and dabbed at his cheek in turn. Nolan yelped; despite her warm fingers the paint was cold from the studio's air conditioning. Kateri let out a huff of mock indignation and went back to work, her nose in the air. Nolan gaped at her.

"You're distracting me," she said primly.

"Well, excuse me, princess," he riposted. "For a moment there I thought I saw a sense of humor and it shocked me, truly."

She laughed. "Oh, quit fooling around and help me."

Kateri grabbed his wrist—covering him in more paint in the process—and dragged him near, until his side pressed against hers. Nolan shifted so he stood behind her, putting his arms around her to reach the canvas. Now this is nice, he thought, inhaling the scent of peaches and paint. He didn't know what had gotten into her, though he could hazard a guess. And I like it. A lot.

For a long while he had no idea what the picture was supposed to be. But under Kateri's fingers—still skilled even without a brush, even broken and mangled—and her quiet guidance, it began to take form. He marveled as their strokes and smears turned into a waterfall. Except it didn't look like a waterfall normally did.

The water was deep red, turning to sunset orange where the light hit it. The white foam of rapids was instead yellow and peach. The rocks the water spilled over looked like small, misshapen suns and at the bottom, where a regular waterfall sprayed a heavy mist, brightly colored flames danced. Nolan watched it form with near breathless anticipation. Kateri's father would hate it, but it was truly magnificent.

"I never used a canvas this large, even after the...attack," Kateri said sometime later. "It's...useful."

"This—this is different from you usual work," Nolan responded, choosing his words carefully. "Less..."

"Classical?"

"Yeah. And really, really amazing."

She turned to look at him, rolling her eyes. Then she gave his cheek a poke, leaving behind a streak of yellow paint.

He returned the 'assault' with one of his own, brushing his paintbrush over her nose. She squealed in surprise—a wholly un-Kateri-like yet wonderful sound—and lunged at him. As she crashed into him he caught her wrists, trying to keep her paint-covered fingers away from his face. Her laughter chimed, sweet and high and bell-like. She looked happy, the happiest he'd seen her since they'd reconnected, and he just couldn't help himself.

Nolan pulled her to him and pressed his mouth to hers, forgetting about the paint on her—and his—hands. She didn't really seem to care. She dug her fingers into his hair and clung to him, her mouth opening beneath his. He slid his tongue up against hers, savoring the heat of her mouth and the press of her body. Kateri let out a moan, a purring sound that built from somewhere low in her throat and startled the heck out of him.

He jerked back, breaking the kiss. "Sorry!"

"Why?" Kateri demanded, pulling away from him. "Why, why, why!? Every time we kiss, you do this. What's wrong with me?"

"Nothing! Believe me, nothing is wrong with you."

"Then what's the problem?"

Nolan sighed. He ran his fingers through his hair, wincing when they came away covered in paint. "It's just...what happened to you. I don't want to scare you or hurt you."

"I'm not made of porcelain, Nolan," Kateri responded. "What happened—yeah, it was bad. And sometimes I still think about what might have happened if my parents didn't come home when they did. But...but it didn't happen.

"And you," she went on, throwing her hands up, "you're the one who keeps trying to draw me out. It's like you keep trying to show me I don't have to live my life as a victim and at the same time, you keep treating me like one. What is it you want? Do you want me to do this?" She gestured at the canvas. "For you, I would. Because you make me want to do it for me. But you..."

She stopped, letting her hands fall limply by her sides. Unshed tears wavered in her eyes and she looked so forlorn. I am such an idiot, Nolan thought, staring at her. God, he could kick himself.

He reached out for her, terrified she'd pull away. When she just stood there, he closed the distance between them and put his arms around her. She leaned into him with a heavy sigh.

"Look, I just...I'm new at this," Nolan said. "I'm not exactly an expert in princess rescuing. And uh...when I'm around you, I want—that is, I really want to, um—and well, you see, I'm afraid you might...oh, fuck it."

He caught her face in his hands and kissed her. By now they were both covered in paint and he thought neither of them cared; he knew he didn't. She moved against him, whimpering softly, her fingers curled tight around his biceps. Nolan drew in a ragged breath and pulled back, but this time he didn't apologize or let her go. Instead he stared down into her stormy sky eyes and smiled, a little uncertainly.

She took a deep breath and said, "Come home with me."

He swallowed. His entire body felt too warm and tight. "If...if I do, I—well, I want..."

"I know." Kateri smiled. "That's why I want you to come home with me."

Nolan leaned his forehead against hers. "You really know how to pull my strings, don't you?"

"Isn't that what a princess does?"

He chuckled. "Yeah, I guess so. Come on, let's clean up...and go home."