Baker and Jones Ch. 13

"If I kiss you again," Cordelia whispers slowly, "I'll never cease wanting to. I cannot endure the unbearable weight of needing something that I can't have."

"Then have me," Annette begs.

Cordelia lowers a hand to Annette's collar, sending a warm shiver of desire through her. The detective's thumb slowly rubs along the leather, only to drop down and gently hold the small ring attached to it. "You know why I can't."

Annette raises a hand and places it on top of Cordelia's, pushing it against her neck. She furrows her brow, declaring, "I am not Samantha. I am not 'Miss Baker.' I am Annette, and I want you to have me."

Cordelia grimaces, pulling her hand away and resting it in Annette's short hair instead. "You are only here because you have to be," she sulks grimly, "You have no other option."

Annette stares deeply into Cordelia's eyes, trying desperately to let her see the passion underneath. "I am in your home because I have to be. I am on this rooftop because I want to be."

Cordelia sighs. "I'll always be afraid you are simply trying to appease me."

Annette leans forward. "Taste my lips and tell me that all that is there is appeasement."

Cordelia gazes over her for a long moment, weighing the words in her head and letting them settle for a long moment. Just as Annette begins to fear that she may have pushed too far, or scared her away in some form, Cordelia gives in, pushing her body down onto Annette and letting her lips meet hers.

Annette feels a small, involuntary whimper leave her throat as she melts into the kiss. She throws her arms around Cordelia, pulling her in closer and trying to distill all of her emotion into the movements of her tongue, and body, and breath, and lips. She presses deeper and deeper into the kiss and embrace, grabbing hold of the folds in Cordelia's clothes as though she might be swept away into the dark sea if she did not hold on tight enough.

Cordelia pushes her back into the tiles. The hand on the back of Annette's head, fingers running through her hair, locks her in place, holding Annette with such a tender desperation that it is difficult to feel anything other than this moment. The cold fades away, as does her fears, and Annette simply relinquishes all of her reservations and replaces them with conviction.

When Cordelia finally does remove her lips, there's a nervous and moving tremor in her eyes. They dart all across Annette's face, scanning for any possible reaction that might indicate she did something wrong. Annette smiles, her face warm and flushed, and asks, "Do you have your answer?"

"Annette..." Cordelia sighs, descending to kiss her once more.

Annette finds herself giggling delightedly. "Will you please bring me in from the cold?"

She watches her breath condense in the air and blow against Cordelia, and the detective smiles along with her. She nods, pursing her lips and trying to contain the beaming expression building. They slowly climb down, returning to the merciful warmth of the third floor, and stop just in front of the door to Cordelia's study. Cordelia turns, her face once again grave and burdened, and she quickly exhales:

"I don't want you to have regrets."

Annette takes her hand, stepping forward into her space. "Cordelia, you have seen me in ways that no one else ever has, believed I was capable of more than I ever could have imagined, and have given me a home I didn't know I needed." She places a soft kiss on the detective's cheek. "I want you to have me."

Cordelia nods, her face proper and restrained. She nervously peeks back at the door, whispering, "Once I cross that threshold..." She looks away, unable to meet Annette's eyes. "Annette, I cannot bear the heartbreak of losing you."

Annette tilts her head down, forcing Cordelia to meet her gaze. "Then I will not be lost."

Cordelia frowns apprehensively. "You cannot make that promise."

Annette gently runs her fingers along Cordelia's arm. "Allow me to try."

The detective takes a long moment to think, her eyes darting all of the room in a frantic display. When she speaks once more, her voice is filled with a tender and sorrowful concern.

"I..."

Annette steps back slightly. "I understand."

"A day," Cordelia adds quickly, still holding Annette's hand tightly. "To consider carefully."

She nods, slowly, and smiles up at her. "A day," she affirms.

- - -

Annette eventually finds her way to sleep, and when she awakes, she smirks at the realization Cordelia must not have had the same success. Just underneath the door to Annette's bedroom, she sees an envelope.

Dearest Annette,

Before this letter causes you pause, alarm, or relief, I would like to be forthright and inform you that I have not yet come to an answer for you. I have not yet, and truly doubt I shall at all, found the graceful rest of sleep this night. Instead, I have watched the dawn come, pouring over pages and pages of my journal, unsure of how to chart a path through the treacherous waters I find myself in. Do you journal? I find that it is among the only ways I can make sense of the world apart from my own intuition; which is at its best, insightful, and at its worst, suspect. I wrote a great deal about you over our time together, and I have prepared a selection of excerpts from these volumes that I believe you may find illuminating in some way. Perhaps not. I shall pursue the point nonetheless.

Entry One:

"Miss Baker appears to be cut mostly of the same cloth as dear Miss Pennyworth. She retains many of the same neuroses as Penny, insisting that my natural organization is void of any sense of purpose. She does not possess Penny's incessant formality or deference, however, and instead has replaced these characteristics with a penchant for wit. Interesting."

Entry Three:

"Today, Miss Baker stood her ground in order to defend her position that basil is a superior herb to dill. I care not for dill in any notable way, save the odd dish where it is necessary, but I persisted in allowing her to believe that I value it greatly, curious to see if she might fold upon meeting resistance to her opinion. She remained unwavering in her conviction, naming a veritable cornucopia of dinners featuring dill that could replace it with basil and be improved. She then challenged me to name even a single dish where dill might perform the same feat."

Entry Six:

"Kereland. Of course she is from Kereland. Might she have been orphaned by the famine? She must be a hearty sort, indeed, to have survived such an ordeal. I shall avoid requesting dishes featuring the potato in any prominence."

Entry Seven:

"I lost my temper with Miss Baker tonight. Unacceptable."

Entry Nine:

"Observation: Miss Baker recognizes and deduces far more than she lets on. It is clear that her mind is constantly at work, though she seems sometimes hesitant to allow such sides of herself to be put on display."

Entry Ten:

"It has been all but confirmed: Annette experiences the feeling I have so oft been burdened by. It is unclear if she is entirely aware, or whether or not she has always felt so, but it cannot be doubted any longer. She is inconsistent, and occasionally frustrating in her resistance to turmoil, but I hope such things are temporary defenses."

Entry Fourteen:

"I have been thinking about the twice-born; specifically, my old friend Mister Monroe, and of course, Annette. I think, in some ways, that I possess a certain jealousy of them; to have understood oneself so clearly at such a young age that they were able to articulate this desire for rebirth - that, I would not have been capable of. I could hardly have enumerated even a singular one of my emotions as a child, yet it seems that both of them could bear comprehensive witness to a legion of such feelings. I contend that it is a contributing factor to provide an explanation for why her mind is so astute and focused."

Entry Seventeen:

"Miss Baker has yet to complain to me about wearing dresses; though she seems to have found great joy in sporting my wardrobe this evening."

Entry Twenty:

"So it seems Annette has fallen under the spell of Lady Deveroux; how poetic. It is likely that they met as Lady Deveroux was on her usual prowl at the Fleeting Faery. One part of me wonders what responsibility I have to inform Miss Baker of our past, whilst another has no wish to disrupt what appears to be her happiness."

Entry Twenty-Five:

"A recipe recovered from my mother:

One round onion, diced.

Three carrots, cut into disks.

Two stalks of celery, diced.

Two Bay leaves, and assorted herbs.

A half teaspoon of ground ginger.

Salt, to taste.

Cook with chicken on bones, simmer for multiple hours.

Add barley, approximately one cup.

According to her, this soup was well regarded by Susan for improving my mood as a child, which I can corroborate from my own memory. I recall that it unfailingly cured whatever despair had befallen me in a given moment. I am unsure of whether or not heartbreak is beyond its capacity to heal, but perhaps it will assist Annette."

Entry Twenty-Eight:

"A part of me resents Annette for her initiative and resolve. Only a part, though I cannot help but wonder from where this part has come to be. Her absence from the home is striking, and I keep finding myself stating something clever aloud and hoping she will reply; the silence in response is quite tedious. To say that I think about her constantly in her absence would do an injustice to the frequency of my consideration for her while she was still here. It seems my mind cannot quit pondering what she might say or think in a given moment; what emotion will decorate her face as she witnessed me today; or what exciting insight I might glean from her mind today. Perhaps it is time to face the music, so-to-speak."

Entry Thirty-One:

"The house is empty. And empty. And empty. And empty."

Entry Thirty-Two:

"Another collar escaped this week. I wonder if their owner may also dread the loss of companionship; how pitiful it would be if all they missed was the emptiness of their dinner plate and the not sting of a quiet house. Perhaps Annette was responsible, and if so, I commend her."

Entry Thirty-Seven:

"It is time to accept that she will not be returning. Perhaps in another month, I shall not feel such a desperate angst as I watch the door for her. Should I simply replace her? How wretched an idea. Could Michealangelo replace his David?

It is done, Cordelia. You must relinquish your naivety and return to the world of reality, for your own sake."

Entry Thirty-Eight:

"'Thank you for teaching me to be Annette.'"

Entry Forty:

"Her heart was beating so fast."

Entry Forty-One:

"'Taste my lips and tell me that all that is there is appeasement.'" She tasted of whiskey, and something far greater.

I hope you will find these entries illuminating in some way. I have now read your first letter, and I cannot help but wonder what you mean by abandoning a position of neutrality; the logical meaning is clear, of course, but perhaps I am more concerned with the question of motive. I consider it incomprehensible that you could desire such a thing as me; that I could endear in you such a level of depth of feeling that justifies your actions of late. The concept of being sought after in such a way is as foreign to me as a frog must be to a star. I feel as though I am trapped within some grand comedy, or a building tragedy, as though there is no conceivable way that a woman of your immeasurable quality could find my companionship suitable. I beg of you, from the greatest depths of kindness you can summon, be merciful with my heart.

With great consideration,

Cordelia.

- -- -

Cordelia is away from the house for the entirety of her day of consideration, and Annette cannot tell if that improves or worsens her nerves. She putters about the home all day, fretting and tittering with energy. She cleans, she bathes, she listens for the door. When evening finally comes, she's long since prepared dinner and allowed it to simmer over a low fire, ready for Cordelia's return. She sets the table, returns to the living room, and waits.

When the lock on the door finally clicks open, the sun is just beginning to set. Cordelia tosses her cloak onto the rack, carefully strolls down the hall, and joins Annette on the couch. She smiles politely.

"I made dinner," Annette breaks the silence.

Cordelia nods, grinning apologetically. "Unfortunately, I have no appetite."

"Neither have I," Annette exhales. "Are... are you ready to talk?"

"I am. I-,"

"Allow me to speak first," Annette blurts out, "if you would be so kind."

Cordelia smiles and gestures for her to speak.

She takes a breath, feeling her passion take hold of her, and leaps into the speech she has been rehearsing all afternoon. "I could never have envisioned the person I've become as a result of your influence, Cordelia. I could have lived a thousand lives and never become this person."

"You give me too much credit," the detective dismisses. "You were always capable-,"

"I became this person because I desired so deeply to impress you."

"Impress me?"

Annette bobs her head quickly, ruffling her fingers through her hair as she gathers herself. "I think constantly about how I might earn your approval; and once gained, I immediately seek out my next opportunity. It was you and your vision that emboldened me. You made me realize that all of this, this person I am now, was possible."

Cordelia raises an eyebrow. "Even despite your objections?"

Annette restrains a smirk. "Cordelia, you are eccentric."

"I am unaware of-,"

"I adore the way your mind works," Annette interjects. "I may not always understand it, but it is so clear to me that you perceive something of the world that no one else dares to witness. It's invigorating. It's refreshing."

Cordelia shrugs. "All I do is pay attention."

"And it is remarkable what you see!" Annette shuffles forward in her seat excitedly. "I am constantly astounded by you. You are undoubtedly the most incredible woman I have ever met."

The detective blushes graciously and looks down at the cushions. "Thank you."

Annette feels her energy still press forward, but notices Cordelia remains quiet despite it. "You... you still seem hesitant," she ventures.

"I can be remarkable and not attract your attentions," she sighs. "You could so easily return to Marian, or any number of beautiful women."

Annette snorts. "I would get bored."

"I don't bore you?" She asks slowly.

Annette lets out a bark of laughter, incredulous and amused. "How could you possibly bore anyone?"

Cordelia grimaces and drops her shoulders. "You should see me make conversation with anyone other than you. Especially when in polite society."

Annette grabs her hand quickly, squeezing it. "Cordelia, if your mind were a book I would never stop reading it. The whole time I was away from here, I wished you could be at my side."

"You said you needed space to develop yourself."

"I needed space," Annette affirms, then adds a second later, "I wanted you."

The detective is quiet for a breath. "And what do you need now?"

"You," Annette scoots forward.

"I see," Cordelia nods. She furrows her brow and stares back at Annette, her emerald eyes glimmering with curiosity. "Why?"

"My life has never been so good as it has been since the day you entered it," she answers quickly. "I could never return to the way things were before; you have ruined me for normality. I want to exist only in the world as you see it. I need it."

Cordelia's thumb gently strokes the back of her hand. "You speak with such conviction."

Annette lowers her head and looks back at her, trying to read the mild confusion upon her face. "Your letter made it seem as though you needed reassurance regarding my intentions in order to make a decision."

"Oh," Cordelia pips. "Not anymore."

"Not anymore?"

"I've made my decision," she says nonchalantly.

"Which is...?"

Cordelia leans forward, lifting her thighs to straddle Annette, pushing her back into the couch. "Damn the consequences," Cordelia exhales, throwing herself into a kiss.

Annette's heart bursts as Cordelia kisses her, and she feels a wave of relief and elation pour through her. She wraps her arms around Cordelia's waist and sighs as she feels the detective's tongue slowly push inside of her. It explores her excitedly, and she allows her the pleasure for as long as she desires it. Annette's pulse races inside of her chest, and she feels a powerful bubbling of enrapture race through her sternum.

She pushes Cordelia off of her, guiding her to lay down onto the couch so Annette can fall into her embrace more fully. She melts into the feeling of their limbs intertwining, dropping her kisses onto Cordelia's neck and bursting with pride as she can hear the detective's breaths grow louder and louder. Cordelia soon after returns the favor, running a hand through the girl's hair and pulling her head back softly, kissing the space between her jaw and her collar. Annette relinquishes her sense of shame, allowing her soft moans to wash over the room.

They trade control back and forth for some time, until the two of them slowly and organically allow the kiss to fade. It's replaced with a warm embrace, and Cordelia folds the smaller woman into her chest, allowing Annette's head to rest against her collarbone. Her fingers slowly trace along Annette's back as the two cuddle for a while, sending delightful tingling feelings through her body. Her heart glimmers with warmth and she can feel her cheeks burn from smiling so deeply.

"I... I am quite relieved," she whispers after some time.

She feels Cordelia's chest bounce gently as the woman laughs. "And I do believe I am now hungry."

Annette lifts her head, meeting Cordelia's gaze and drinking up the satisfied expression decorating it. "And how might I serve you, Miss Jones?"              

Cordelia places a kiss on Annette's collarbone. "Accompany me to the table, if you would be so kind, Miss Baker."

"But of course," Annette beams.

She slowly rises, slinking away to the table whilst Cordelia retrieves the simmering pot from the kitchen. Cordelia is chuckling with amusement and appreciation as she sets it down onto the table and serves a pair of bowls.

"You... you made the recipe from the letter," she remarks happily, "my mother's soup."

Annette bites her lip mischievously. "I... in the event you decided not to pursue me... ahem... I was hoping you would eat dinner first and its reported effects on your mood would tip the balance of your decision into my favor."

Cordelia takes a seat in the chair just beside Annette, turning it to face her slightly. She shakes her head and laughs in disbelief. "I..." She gives up on speaking and kisses Annette instead.

Annette smirks as they exit the kiss. "I would hate to distract you from your dinner, Miss Jones."

"Then you must be filled with loathing, Miss Baker."

"Then I shall endeavor to be less distracting."

"As though such a thing were in your control."

The two of them eat, sitting in a place of excitement and comfort. The mood between them feels light and free and relaxed and electric, and Annette is constantly meeting Cordelia's gaze as the two of them sneak glances at one another.

Eventually, Annette says, "I enjoyed your letter this morning."